CHAPTER XIV

An Airport Snatch

"frank!" exclaimed Mr. Hardy in astonishment. "What in the world are you doing here?"

The detective was even more amazed when Chet and Joe stepped into view. He glanced up and down the hall to make sure no one had witnessed the meeting, then beckoned the boys inside.

Mr. Hardy was dressed in old work clothes. His hair was dyed gray and his face made up to look old. Though the masquerade was effective, Frank and Joe would have recognized their father's tall figure and handsome countenance anywhere.

"Don't tell us you got tattooed just to make your disguise authentic!" Frank said, looking at the blue anchor on the back of Fenton Hardy's left hand.

The sleuth laughed. "No, it's only a semiper-115

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manent ink. It'll wash out with a few good scrub-bings."

"Spike Marlin, what a name!" Joe grinned. "Takes real talent to make that up!"

"Don't you know you're looking at a genius?" his father quipped.

When the boys made themselves comfortable, Frank asked what connection Whitey Meldrum had with the Ivory Idol.

His father explained, "The back of the envelope in which the letter to R. R. Dunn was sent was sealed with cellophane tape. I managed to take a good thumbprint from the tape. It proved to be Meldrum's. Now, may I ask what interest you boys have in our elusive Mr. Meldrum?"

Joe told about the scrap of paper bearing Mel-drum's name which had been found in Boko's wagon.

"That links Meldrum pretty well with Boko," Mr. Hardy said. "And probably a man named Tim Varney, too."

"Tim Varney!" Frank exclaimed. "How does he fit into your case?"

"I'm not sure yet. All I know for certain is that Meldrum left here in a hurry after an argument with Tim Varney."

Excitedly the brothers filled their father in on all they knew about Tim Varney and his confederates.

"It's beginning to look more and more as if

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there's only one case, and not two, as we thought at first," Frank noted.

"That's a very strong possibility," Fenton Hardy agreed.

"Well, what do we do next?" Joe asked.

Mr. Hardy smiled. "I think the most pressing matter at hand is to get some supper."

"Hear! Hear!" Chet said. The Hardys laughed and the quartet walked down the stairs.

"Your friends found you okay-huh, Spike?" the clerk commented.

"Yeah," Mr. Hardy replied in a gruff voice. "Thanks for sendin' 'em up."

"Sure thing."

A sallow-faced man appeared behind the clerk, a dirty duffel bag in his hands. "Hey," he said, "what am I supposed to do with these old shirts of Meldrum's?"

"I don't know," the clerk answered. "Maybe we should dump 'em. We ain't runnin' a storehouse."

"Did you say that duffel belongs to Whitey?" Mr. Hardy asked.

"Yeah. It's full of dirty shirts."

"Look," said the detective. "No sense in dum-pin' 'em. I'll keep 'em until ol' Whitey comes back."

The clerk took the duffel and plopped it on the counter. "Help yourself."

Mr. Hardy picked up the bag and casually went back up the stairs. The boys followed. Once back

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inside 2-D, they locked the door and took the duffel over to the bed.

"Cross your fingers, boys," Mr. Hardy said. "If we're lucky, we might pick up a clue or two." He spilled the shirts onto the spread. There were a dozen of them, several stained and torn. Mr. Hardy and the boys began going through the pockets.

"Here's something!" Chet said. He handed an old faded piece of paper to Mr. Hardy.

The detective studied it and read aloud: " 'It's getting worse every day. Don't know what will happen to Jonah. The Hong Kong job turned out to be a real flop. I'll let you know what happens. J. Kane.'"

"Wow!" said Joe. "We know now that Kane was one of the thieves who stole the Ivory Idol. But we can't get anything from him. He's dead."

Mr. Hardy was surprised to hear this and continued to search through the rest of the shirts, with negative results. Then, leaving no stone unturned, Frank pulled the duffel bag inside out and examined it. Close to the bottom seam he spotted a line of words in small letters, printed with India ink. "Listen to this!" he said. " 'Society of the Whale Tattoo: Blackright, Beluga, Blue, Bottle-nose, and Pygmy.'"

"That's great, Frank," Mr. Hardy said. "From the thumbprint we know that Meldrum is Black-

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right, but who are the others? Tim Varney? Maybe Boko?"

"And is this really a society?" Joe asked. "Or an old gang?"

Mr. Hardy became silent. After thinking for a while, he said, "Frank and Joe, how would you like to take a fast trip to Los Angeles?"

"Sure," Joe said. "What for?"

"To nail down this Society of the Whale Tattoo. The Los Angeles Police Department has the most extensive file on tattoos in the world of criminology. They arrest more than two hundred thousand persons each year, and every tattoo they find is recorded. Their file has been indispensable in breaking several difficult cases."

"Okay," Frank said. "We can catch a plane tonight and grab some sleep during the flight."

"What about me?" Chet asked.

"If you don't mind," Mr. Hardy said, "I'd like you to stay here and lend me a hand."

"All right," Chet said. "But as long as we have the details settled, what about that food we were going out for?"

They went to a small Italian restaurant, and after dinner walked back to the Seamen's Haven.

While Frank and Joe looked for a taxi, Mr. Hardy conferred briefly with Chet. The chubby boy accompanied the brothers to the parking lot where they had left their car. Next, Frank and Joe

12 0 Mystery of the Whale Tattoo

dropped Chet and his suitcase off at Seamen's Haven, then headed for Kennedy Airport.

They parked and took their luggage from the trunk of the car. "I sure hope we can find some answers," Joe said as they walked to the terminal.

"So do I," Frank answered. "Blackright won't be wasting much more time on R. R. Dunn. There are a great many wealthy art collectors in this country, and unfortunately, not all of them are as scrupulous as Mr. Dunn. If Blackright contacts one of them, the Ivory Idol may disappear forever!"

They checked in at the ticket counter and were told that the next flight to Los Angeles did not leave for another hour and a half. Frank bought tickets, had their luggage tagged and put on the conveyor belt, then walked with Joe into the main lobby, where they bought two magazines at a newsstand. They found an isolated grouping of chairs and sat down to read.

Soon they were engrossed in their magazines. There was a rustle in the chair next to Frank but the boy did not look up. He was turning a page when a gruff voice said:

"Hello, brats!"

Startled, Frank discovered Mug sitting beside him! A quick glance revealed that Joe was flanked by Baby Face. Joe started to move, but Frank waved him back, realizing that if Mug and Baby

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Face were confronting them in the open, the two thugs must have a pretty good trick up their sleeves.

"That's good thinkin'," Mug said. "You guys don't want to make a scene here."

"Yeah," Baby Face gloated. "Get up nice and quiet and take a little walk to our car."

"Why?" Frank's voice was cool.

"One, so your old man with his dopey dyed hair and his fake tattoo won't get hurt-and two, so your fat buddy stays just as healthy as when you dropped him off at Seamen's Haven."

"You see," Mug said with a sardonic smile, "our men are holding both of them. If anything happens to us, or if we don't come back with you two, then nobody'll see Daddy and Fatso again!"