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The mysterious guest 1 page





Franklin W. Dixon

Hardy Boys Mystery Stories: Volume Twelve

 

Footprints Under the Window

Copyright, 1933, by GROSSET & DUNLAP, Inc.

Illustrated by J. Clemens Ohetta

This is original text, 1933

 

Footprints lead to the breakup of a ring smuggling Chinese aliens.

 

CHAPTER I

SIDNEY PEBBLES

 

When Frank and Joe Hardy returned from a hike down the Shore Road one afternoon and found in the mail-box a notice to the effect that a message was awaiting them at the local telegraph office, they were immediately very much excited.

"Hope nothing has happened to Dad and Mother on their trip," exclaimed Frank.

"Maybe it's just a message saying they're coming home," replied Joe. "And I’ll be glad, too. Keeping house is all right in its way, but a week of it is plenty."

Frank hastily unlocked the door, strode to the telephone, and called up the telegraph office. He gave his name and asked for the message.

He listened for a moment. Joe, watching, saw Frank's eyes widen, heard him gasp in dismay.

"What is it? What is it?" asked Joe, nudging him anxiously.

"Goodnight!"

"What is it?" demanded Joe. "Tell a fellow, won't you! What was the message?"

"Aunt Gertrude!"

"Not coming here?"

"Coming here," admitted Frank dolefully.

"Tonight?"

"On the nine-thirty boat."

Joe jerked off his coat and dived toward the sink.

"Now we'll have to clean up the place," he said. "If there is so much as a teacup out of place we'll never hear the end of it. You know Aunt Gertrude."

Yes, they knew Aunt Gertrude. She was an elderly maiden lady whose temper was as uncertain as her age. She had great affection for her two nephews but this affection was carefully concealed. Aunt Gertrude was bossy, in fact, she was a tyrant.

"Seems to me every time the folks go away and we plan to camp out here and have some fun, Aunt Gertrude has to show up," grumbled Frank, as he grabbed a broom.

"That's true," agreed his brother, "but she never kept us from solving any mysteries. Just think how many times when she's been here, we've been on the trail of some crooks."

"Hope she brings a mystery with her this time," laughed Frank.

"Things have been a bit dull lately," Joe reflected, "but they won't be after she gets here!"

Little did he realize at the moment how prophetic his words were.

"She'll think we've been working on a case instead of housekeeping," said Joe, "if she sees this house the way it looks now!"

"Never mind the dishes," said Frank suddenly. "We'll do them later. We'll have to fix up the guest room."

"That's right," agreed Joe, who had been hopping about the kitchen in a frenzy and getting nothing done. "The guest room comes first."

He tore out into the hall and raced upstairs, Frank following. The upper floor of the Hardy home was a scene of violent commotion for the next half hour as the Hardy boys aired rooms, made beds, changed linen and swept floors. Not until the guest room was immaculate did they turn their attention to the linen closet. They were appalled at the quantity of soiled clothing. Both boys had completely forgotten to send their shirts out to the laundry, as well as the other things.

"We'll take them down to Sam Lee," decided Joe. "He's the best Chinese laundryman in town. If we tell him the fix we're in he'll have them all ready by tomorrow."

" Good idea. "

They gathered up the linen and stuffed it into the bag. While they were bringing it down stairs the front door opened. Chet Morton, fat, tousle-headed and beaming, stepped into the hall. When Chet spied the laundry bag he chirped:

"Washee? Washee? Any colla's today?"

''Gangway!'' shouted Joe. "Rush order for Sam Lee."

"Sam Lee? You can't take that laundry to him," said Chet.

"Why not?"

"He isn't in Bayport any more," Chet informed them. "He sold out to another Chinaman a while back."

"That's tough luck," said Frank. "Aunt Gertrude is springing a surprise visit on us and we have to get this work done in a hurry. We thought we could count on Sam Lee."

"You can't count on the new chap. He isn't like good old Sam," said Chet, shaking his head. "He wouldn't do his own grandmother a favor. Gee, he has a wicked grin."

"Well, I don't care what he looks like," insisted Joe. "If he's in the laundry business we have a job for him and the sooner he gets started on it the better for us. Come along, Chet."

The boys left the house and hurried down to the shabby little shop two blocks away. The name of Sam Lee was still inscribed upon the signboard that hung above the door, but when the boys stepped inside they were aware of a changed atmosphere.

Ordinarily Sam Lee would come hurrying forward to serve them, quiet, friendly and smiling. There would be much joking and high-pitched chatter among Sam Lee's helpers beyond the partition at the back. But now no one came. There was no activity whatsoever in the laundry.

"Maybe it's a holiday," whispered Joe.

Frank was just about to rap on the counter when he heard a voice. It was that of a Chinaman, deep and diabolical. It sent a chill through him.

"He nearly die," said the voice slowly. "Boat velly hot."

"Too young. Him lucky to live,'' interjected another voice, sharp and quick.

"No good. Catchee much tlouble sometime. No likee," returned the first man.

"All right. All right," growled a third man. He was obviously white, which explained the fact that his Chinese companions spoke in pidgin English. "It won't happen again. No, use talking–"

There was a sharp exclamation in Chinese, then a silence. A swift pattering of slippers on the floor heralded the approach from beyond the counter of the most villainous-looking Oriental the boys had ever seen. He had a long, lean face with high cheekbones. His head was pointed and almost bald, while a cruel mouth was partly concealed by a drooping wisp of mustache. His eyes were as cold and glittering as those of a snake.

"Why you listen?"

"Where's Sam Lee?" demanded Frank.

"Sam Lee gone. Far away. Back to China. Me Louie Fong. What you want? Why you listen?" snarled the man.

"If that's the way you talk to customers you won't get much business," remarked Joe. "We have some laundry here. We want it done by tomorrow."

"No can do," returned the Chinaman impatiently. He ripped a laundry check from a pad on the counter. "Thlee-fo' day. Not befo'."

"All right," sighed Frank. "Here's the laundry."

Louie Fong seized the soiled linen, tossed Frank the check, and retreated.

"You go 'way now," he snapped. "No listen."

The boys went out into the street.

"Nice man, eh?" grinned Chet.

"I'd hate to meet him in a dark alley," admitted Frank. "He's an ugly-looking one."

They returned to the house. Through Frank's mind was running the fragmentary conversation they had heard in the laundry: "Him nearly die-Him lucky to live-Catchee much tlouble sometime-" There was something sinister about that conversation, something quite as sinister as the atmosphere of the laundry, as sinister as Louie Fong's evil face. He quickly dismissed these thoughts, however, when they entered the house again and plunged into the business of straightening up the premises.

With the help of Chet Morton they had the place in perfect order by nine o'clock that evening. The house had been swept, dusted and aired; the guest room was neat and spotless; even Aunt Gertrude would have difficulty in finding anything to criticize.

"Now," said Frank, "we'll go down to the dock and meet our beloved Aunt."

It was dark when they reached the wharf on Barmet Bay. The boat had not yet pulled in, although they could see the red and green lights of the vessel far out in the bay. Chet nudged Frank.

In the shadows beside the passenger office on the dock they saw three dark figures. They were small, neatly-dressed Orientals talking "jarnestly together. One of the men seemed excited, and raised his voice. Though the boys could not hear what he said they recognized the tones. It was the sharp, quick voice of one of the men who had been talking with Louie Fong that afternoon.

One of his companions laid a hand on his arm, gesturing toward the boys nearby. The man glanced back, mumbled something, and then the trio moved off into the shadows.

"If Louie Fong were there he'd probably come over and accuse us of spying on them," laughed Chet.

In a few moments the boat's whistle sounded and slowly the big vessel came to rest at the dock. The boys waited patiently by the gangplank while passengers disembarked, but there was no sign of Aunt Gertrude.

"That's odd," muttered Frank. "Usually she's right at the head of the parade. Aunt Gertrude won't take second place to anyone."

"Maybe she missed the boat," Chet suggested.

"After all the work we did!" groaned Joe.

It was soon evident that Aunt Gertrude had not taken passage. The lads were at a loss to account for it, as punctuality was one of that lady's most prominent virtues.

At that moment there came racing down the gangplank a young man, good-looking, pleasant-faced, and neatly dressed. He glanced inquiringly at the three boys.

"I must telephone right away," he announced, "and I don't want to miss the boat. Is there a booth here?"

"There's one in the waiting room," replied Joe.

"We'll show you," volunteered Frank, escorting the stranger inside. "And we'll let you know when the boat's warning whistle blows."

"Thank you," said the young man, striding across the room.

To the amazement of the boys they saw a Chinaman, who had been sitting on one of the benches, get up quickly and go over toward the newcomer. At once the two entered into an earnest conversation.

"It seems we're bound to bump into Chinamen at every turn today," laughed Frank.

"You're right," agreed Joe. "Well, that young man had better hurry up with his phons call, or he'll miss the boat."

The stranger evidently realized this, for he stepped into the booth and closed the door tightly. Joe and Chet sauntered out to the dock, but Frank walked slowly toward the back of the waiting room.

He could hear the traveller from the boat shouting into the mouthpiece, but paid no heed. Suddenly his attention was arrested by the number being given to the operator–it was the telephone number of the Hardy home.

Just as Frank was about to go over to ask the young man what his message was, there came a sudden blast of the steamer's whistle. Joe and Chet rushed into the waiting room.

"Tell the man the boat's ready to leave!"

At the same moment the stranger in the booth began to shout frantically and bang on the door, as he struggled to get out.

"He's locked in!" exclaimed Joe.

"Let me out! Let me out!" shouted the prisoner. "I must catch that boat."

The boys wrenched and tugged at the door, but it would not open. They heard the last blast of the whistle, and the clamor of the engines together with the shouts of the deckhands as the vessel began to pull away from the dock. The exasperated fellow hurled himself at the obstinate door, spluttering with anger.

The joint efforts of the group, however, met with failure. Frank ran out, leaving the others still struggling with the door, and found Constable Riley of the Bayport police force standing on the wharf watching the receding boat as it steamed off into the bay.=

"Mr. Riley, Mr. Riley," he said. "There's a man locked in the telephone booth."

Constable Riley stared at him.

"Huh?" he said.

"There's a man locked in the telephone booth."

"What telephone booth?" asked Riley densely.

"In the waiting room. He can't get out."

"Why did he lock himself in?" asked Riley.

''He didn't. The door jammed. He's missed his boat."

"That was a foolish thing to do," said Riley gravely. "And you want me to help open the door?" This fact having dawned on him he took a small book out of his pocket and laboriously thumbed the pages. "Bein' a constable of the city police force," he said thoughtfully, "I don't know whether I'm within my rights by interferin' with the property of a private corporation. The telephone company owns the booth and the boat company owns the waitin' room, so if I don't get into trouble with one I'm likely to get into trouble with the other. I don't think I've got authority–"

"Oh, forget your old authority," exclaimed Frank. "You won't get into trouble with anyone. The man is locked in. You don't want him to stay there all night, do you?"

"I'd have to arrest him for trespassing if he did," mumbled Riley, inspecting the book. "Nobody is allowed to stay in the waitin' room all night, much less in the telephone place. I guess mebbe I'd better get him out of there."

The officer nearly wrecked the booth in his efforts to release the prisoner, but the door was finally opened and the young man emerged, red-faced and angry.

"What a nuisance!" he expostulated. "I've missed my boat just because of that confounded door."

"How did it happen?" asked Joe curiously.

"I don't know. When I went to open it I found it was jammed, that's all."

"Pardon me," interrupted Frank, "but I overheard you giving the telephone number of our house."

"Oh, are you the Hardy boys?"

"I'm Frank Hardy. This is my brother Joe. And this is Chet Morton."

"I'm glad to know you," said the traveller, putting out his hand to shake. "My name is Sidney Pebbles."

"What message were you trying to telephone to us?" asked Frank.

"I'm afraid it isn't very good news," replied Sidney Pebbles.

 

CHAPTER II

THE MYSTERIOUS GUEST

 

The Hardy boys waited tensely to hear the bad news that Sidney Pebbles was about to give them.

"Has-has something happened to our father and mother?" asked Frank.

"No-no," replied the young man. "It's about your aunt."

"Has anything happened to her?" asked Joe.

"Well-nothing fatal," said Sidney Pebbles, "but serious enough to prevent her from taking the boat."

"Was she badly hurt?" asked Frank.

Although Aunt Gertrude did make the boys toe the mark, nevertheless they had a genuine affection for the good lady.

"She injured herself, tripping over a loose plank in the dock just before the boat left. Gave her ankle a bad wrench. She asked me to telephone you at Bayport and tell you she'd come along as soon as she was able."

"It's too bad," commented Joe. "Maybe we ought to try to get in touch with her."

"Oh, it isn't serious enough to get worried about, I'm sure," said Pebbles. "Your aunt was more shaken up than anything else. She should be all right in a day or so."

"I'm sorry to hear about your relative," said Chet, "but I'm sorry, too, for the steamship company."

"How's that?" asked Joe.

"She's apt to sue them from here to the Supreme Court," snickered Chet.

At this moment Constable Riley fished out his notebook.

"I'll have to make out a report about this smashed telephone booth," he announced. "Now, young feller, your name and address, please. Your age and profession, color of your eyes, height, weight–"

"Report!" snorted Pebbles indignantly. "I don't have to get my name in the police records just because I couldn't open the door of a telephone booth, do I? When can I catch the next boat, that's what I want to know."

"The next boat south doesn't leave until ten o'clock tomorrow morning," Chet informed him. "You'll have to spend the night in Bayport."

Sidney Pebbles looked dismayed.

"All my luggage is on the boat," he said.

Frank and Joe looked at each other. They were sorry for the young man in his predicament–a predicament caused entirely on their account.

"Why not come and spend the night with us?" Frank suggested. "We're alone at the house and we have a spare room. You're welcome if you'd like to do that."

"Why, that's very good of you," returned Pebbles gratefully. "If you're sure I'm not putting you to any trouble–"

"It ain't regular," muttered Constable Riley as he put his notebook away. "By rights I ought to make a complete report about this affair. Who's going to pay for the damage to that telephone booth?"

"The company," said Sidney Pebbles promptly. "Their doors shouldn't jam."

As it happened, however, it had not been the fault of the telephone company that the door had jammed.

Leaving the dock, the boys brought Sidney Pebbles to their house. Frank was puzzled by the incident of the telephone booth. He was convinced that the door could not have become stuck accidentally, and he wondered if the Chinaman to whom Sidney Pebbles had been talking could have had anything to do with the affair.

"Better stay for a while," Joe said to Chet. "You don't have to go home just yet. We'll make some lemonade, and get a bite to eat."

It was a warm night, and while Frank went to the kitchen, Chet and Joe opened the windows which had been closed during the boys' absence from the house. Sidney Pebbles took off his coat and hung it over the back of a chair. The inside of the garment was plainly visible, and from the inner pocket projected the end of a legal-looking document with heavy red seals.

"Are you on a vacation?" asked Joe.

Sidney Pebbles shook his head.

''No,'' he said briefly. ''Just a business trip. It's annoying to miss that boat because I lose an entire day, but I suppose I'll just have to wait until tomorrow."

"Are you a traveller?" asked Chet.

"No, I'm not a traveller," returned Pebbles. But he volunteered nothing more. He did not even tell them where he came from. It was obvious that he was a very close-mouthed young man so the boys did not press their inquiries further.

They all enjoyed the refreshments which Frank brought in. During the course of the evening Joe laughingly mentioned the work they had done in straightening up the house before Aunt Gertrude's arrival and told of their experience with the new Chinaman, Louie Fong.

"It's strange," he said, "how Sam Lee moved out of Bayport without saying goodbye to anyone."

"That story reminds me of an incident in my own home town," said Pebbles. "We had a laundryman named Joe Sing who was very popular. One morning he disappeared and there was a new Chinaman in the laundry. He didn't know anything about Joe Sing, he said. About a week later I was returning home late at night and I met Joe Sing on the street.

" 'When did you come back, Joe?' " I asked the Chinaman.

"He shook his head and said: 'Me not Joe. Me Charlie Wu.'

"Well, I was positive he was Joe Sing but I didn't argue the matter. Two days later I went into the laundry and there was Joe Sing behind the counter, as large as life. I asked him if he hadn't met me on the street but he said he had just returned from New York that morning. Next day I passed the place and found the laundry closed. Both Joe Sing and the other Chinaman had disappeared and no one in town ever saw them again."

"What do you think was behind it all?" said Joe.

Pebbles shrugged. "Who knows?"

He took his watch chain from his pocket and on the end of it the boys saw a peculiar charm. It was triangular in shape, made of a transparent green substance in the centre of which was a tiny silver serpent.

"Joe Sing gave me that charm one Christmas," said Pebbles, handing the little object around the group. "Odd thing, isn't it?"

Chet looked up suddenly.

"Bain!"

They listened. The unmistakable drumming of rain on the roof could be plainly heard. Chet grabbed his hat.

"I'll get a ducking if I don't race for home," he said.

"I'm afraid you'll get a ducking anyway," said Frank.

"The rain is just starting. I'll go so fast in that car of mine, I'll dodge between the drops."

"Goodnight," he shouted, as he streaked through the hall. "See you in the morning." He was over the threshold like a bullet, had slammed the door, and in another moment those in the house heard the clamorous uproar of the roadster.

"I guess we might as well go to bed," said Pebbles. "It's mighty kind of you fellows to put me up for the night."

"No trouble at all," they assured him. "It was good of you to tell us about Aunt Gertrude. If you hadn't got off the boat to give us that message you wouldn't have been left behind."

The young man picked up his coat. Frank noticed that he folded it carefully to hide the document with the red seals. They showed him upstairs to the guest room, saw that he was comfortable for the night, then went to their own room.

The rain had settled to a steady downpour.

"I think I'll dream of Chinamen tonight," yawned Frank as he took off his shoes. "What with Sam Lee and Louie Fong and the Chinamen on the dock–"

"And the Chinaman who talked to Mr. Pebbles, and that story he told us," added Joe.

However, neither of the lads dreamed of Chinamen, for they slept heavily. Even the storm that raged the greater part of the night did not arouse them. When they awakened in the morning their first thoughts were for their visitor.

Frank slipped into his dressing-gown and went across the hall. He knocked at the door of the guest room. There was no answer. He knocked again.

While Frank is waiting for an answer to his summons, we may take advantage of the moment to introduce the Hardy boys more clearly to those readers who have not already made their acquaintance in previous volumes of this series.

Frank and Joe Hardy were the sons of Fenton Hardy, a detective who won fame with the New York Police Department and who retired to conduct a private detective business of his own. He had moved to Bayport, a pleasant city of fifty thousand people on Barmet Bay, and there his fame as one of the greatest of American detectives had grown. Great business firms, private individuals and even the government had entrusted him with many delicate and difficult cases.

Although his sons, Frank and Joe, were still in High School they had already determined upon their choice of profession. Each meant to be a detective like his father. Opportunities to prove their worth had fallen their way and they had solved a number of mysteries that had baffled the Bayport police and–on one occasion at least–their father as well. With luck and ingenuity they had won such local reputations as amateur sleuths of more than ordinary ability that they had obtained their father's consent to follow in his footsteps.

In the first volume of this series, "The Hardy Boys: The Tower Treasure," has been related the story of the first mystery successfully solved by the boys, a story based on the confession of a dying criminal. Their success had led to many other cases, and in the immediately preceding volume of the series, "While the Clock Ticked," the lads aided in vindicating a man accused of crime, and had many stirring adventures in a spooky house with a secret room.

Now, as Frank waited outside the closet door, he was on the threshold of one of the most puzzling and sensational mysteries that had ever confronted the Hardy boys.

"What's the matter?" asked Joe, joining him in the hall. "Can't you waken him?"

Frank knocked loudly. Then he opened the door. The boys looked inside.

"Why, he's gone!" exclaimed Frank.

The room was deserted. The bed had been slept in but Sidney Pebbles had disappeared.

A tiny object lying on the floor was the only reminder of their recent guest. Joe picked it up, and found it to be the little green watch charm. The boys looked at each other, completely bewildered.

"Can you beat that?" said Joe at last. "He cleared out during the night, without even saying goodbye. Ungrateful, I'll say."

"Perhaps he's downstairs," Frank suggested.

At that moment, from the lower floor of the house, they heard a heavy thud. It was followed by a scream–the high, shrill scream of a woman!

 

CHAPTER III

AUNT GERTRUDE

 

"What was that?" gasped Joe.

Without a word Frank wheeled and raced toward the head of the stairs, Joe close upon his heels. As they ran down toward the lower hall they could hear groans.

Frank reached the living room first. There lie stopped short with an exclamation of amazement.

"Aunt Gertrude!"

On the floor beside the couch, lay their aunt. She was moaning and rubbing her head, apparently half-stunned and too weak to get up.

"Aunty!" shouted Joe. "How did you get here!"

Their relative opened her eyes and looked at them.

"Help me up," she muttered. "I don't feel well."

They were at her side in a moment and helping her to her feet. Aunt Gertrude shook her head in a dazed manner, then sat down heavily on the sofa.

"I fell off the couch," she said.

"But how did you get here?" they asked. "How did you reach Bayport when you missed the boat?"

Aunt Gertrude glared at them with some of her old-time fire.

"Nonsense!" she snapped. "I didn't miss the boat."

"But we met the boat last night. Mr. Pebbles said you hurt your ankle."

"Mr. Pebbles?" said Aunt Gertrude thickly. "Who is Mr. Pebbles?"

"Don't you remember? You told him to tell us you had hurt your ankle," said Frank.

"I didn't tell anyone any such thing," retorted the irate lady. She rubbed her forehead. "Such a headache!" she exclaimed. "I didn't hurt my ankle. You must be dreaming."

The boys were puzzled. They realized that Aunt Gertrude was not herself but they could not account for her presence in the house unless the story told by Sidney Pebbles had been fictitious.

"How did you come here?" asked Frank.

"On the boat. On the boat, of course," she said. "I came here at some unearthly hour in the middle of the night. The door was open so I came right in. What else would I do? I didn't want to disturb anyone so I decided to rest on the couch here. I was feeling mighty sleepy, anyway. I'm sleepy now. I don't know what's the matter with me. Everything seems to be going around and around."

"I don't think you're well, Aunt Gertrude," said Joe in concern.

"Of course I'm not well," she snapped. "I'm feeling very ill. I've been ill ever since I woke up and found myself on the boat last night."

"Then you were on the boat?"

"Of course I was on the boat!" stormed their aunt. "Don't ask so many silly questions. I've told you a hundred times that I was on the boat. I sent you a telegram that I would be on the boat. Was it my fault if I fell asleep and got carried past Bayport?"

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