Read The Flickering Torch Mystery Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
The Flickering Torch Mystery (6 page)
“And Biff. We'll need his muscle. I'll call him,” Joe said.
Eager to get on with the case, the boys left early the next morning and drove to the Weiss home, a modest cottage in the center of Pittston. The pilot's parents received them cordially, and after explaining their mission, Frank plunged directly into questioning.
“Mr. Weiss,” he began, “do the words âflickering torch' mean anything to you?”
The man nodded. “Yes. Martin went there many times!”
CHAPTER VII
Down the Cliff
FRANK and Joe were elated to find the answer to the riddle.
“What is the Flickering Torch?” Frank asked eagerly.
“It's a restaurant, not far from Beemerville,” Mr. Weiss told them.
Frank and Joe stared at each other.
“Why did Martin go to the Flickering Torch?” Frank asked.
“Well, my son liked country music. A combo plays there weekends,” Mr. Weiss explained. “Also, he met his friends there. The place was popular with the crowd from the airport.”
“Did Martin ever tell you the names of his buddies?” Joe said.
Their host shook his head.
“But that was all over anyway,” Mrs. Weiss spoke up. “About a week before the crash Martin said he didn't like the Flickering Torch any more. Besides, he was quitting his job!”
“Why would he do that, Mrs. Weiss?” Frank inquired.
“He didn't like flying the taxi service between Morrisville and Marlin Crag. Something about it was getting on his nerves.”
“We don't know what was bothering him,” Mr. Weiss continued. “Do you think it had anything to do with his accident?”
“We intend to find out,” Frank said.
“Well, I do hope we've been of some assistance,” Mrs. Weiss murmured as she and her husband showed the boys to the door.
“You've both been very helpful,” Frank assured her. “Now that you've identified the Flickering Torch for us, we can check it out.”
“We might find the clue to the mystery there,” Joe added.
As Frank, Joe, and Biff left Pittston, the sky grew ominously dark, and by the time they were halfway to Marlin Crag, a heavy rainstorm broke loose. It swept in from the sea in blinding sheets.
“Oh, great!” Biff groaned. “How are we going to get the engine in this kind of weather?”
“The waves will be pounding against the cliffs,” Frank said. He flipped on the car radio for the weather forecast.
The announcer said, “Rain through early afternoon, tapering off by this evening. Drive carefully.”
“Well, that's that,” Joe declared. “Let's go home, have lunch, and wait till it clears up.”
On the way back to Bayport the boys discussed the latest break in the case.
“We're going to hear some real cool folk rock pretty soon,” said Frank, skillfully maneuvering in and out of the traffic.
“At the Flickering Torch, you mean?” Biff asked.
“Right. We can take the girls, too. Mix dancing with detective work.”
They dropped Biff off at his house, then went home. Shortly after they had arrived, the phone rang. Joe answered, then gestured to Frank to listen in.
The caller was Fenton Hardy, who asked for a briefing on the Marlin Crag case.
Frank and Joe took turns describing the events of the past few days. “Dad, what do you think is our best lead now?” Frank ended the recital.
“The radioactive engine,” Mr. Hardy replied. “The low yield reported by the Geiger counter may not be too significant. But it could be the debris of a large amount of some radioactive substance.”
The detective pointed out that strict laws governed the handling of subatomic energy. “The hot stuff is too dangerous to be left lying around,” Mr. Hardy said. “People who handle it illegally often do just that. Some of them couldn't care less who gets a lethal dose of radiation.”
“Do you believe that Scott transported radioactive material illegally?” Frank asked.
“Who knows? We'll have to find out more about it.”
Joe said that he and Frank intended to go back to Marlin Crag for the engine as soon as the rain had let up. “We'll put it through a lab test,” he declared. “Maybe we can isolate the radioactive element.”
After they had discussed all possible angles to the mystery, Frank asked about his father's investigation.
“I'm making some progress by posing as a hood,” Mr. Hardy revealed. “I've discovered the stolen goods from the airport are being hauled away in trucks. Destination unknown. That's where you fellows come in.”
“How?” his sons asked in unison.
“While hobnobbing with the crooks I located an informer who's willing to talkâfor a price. Trouble is, he won't say anything to me or Sam Radley. He's afraid we'd be spotted and the mob might give him a one-way trip to the bottom of the bay.”
“And you mean Joe and I can contact him without causing suspicion?” Frank asked.
“Exactly.”
“Where do we find him?” Joe asked.
“I can't tell you yet. He's to let me know in a few days. When he does, I'll get back to you. Be ready to move quickly. And remember, this is a dangerous mission. You may run into some tough customers. Keep your wits about you.”
“Okay, Dad.”
After Mr. Hardy had hung up, Frank and Joe decided to hold another conference with their friends. Joe called Tony.
“What's up?” Tony asked.
“More detective work. We want you to come over for a think session.”
“Okay. Incidentally, don't call Biff. He's here. We'll be right over.”
Fifteen minutes later Biff's wagon wheeled into the Hardy driveway. The boys leaped out, took the front steps two at a time, and rang the bell. Joe let them in. Soon all four were deep in a discussion.
The Hardys told Tony of their discovery that the Flickering Torch was a restaurant.
“What's the strategy now?” Tony asked.
“Well, we've got two projects on our hands,” Joe pointed out. “Recover the radioactive engine and investigate the Flickering Torch.” He looked through the window. It was still raining, but not as heavy as before.
“Make mine the restaurant,” Tony said with a wink.
“Double the order,” joked Biff. “Tony and I are real rhythm hounds. We'll bring the whole band back with us if it'll solve the mystery.”
Frank laughed. “I wish it were as simple as that. Anyway, it would help if you two checked out the place.”
“What are we really after, Frank?” Biff inquired.
“I wish I knew, Biff. Just case the joint. See what you come up with.”
“Maybe you can find out why Martin Weiss got fed up with the place,” Joe added. “He must have had a reason.”
Biff and Tony drove off with a promise to drop in at the Flickering Torch that evening.
The Hardys called Chet to give them a hand with the engine. They picked him up and set out for Marlin Crag Cliffs in the family car. It was drizzling slightly, but the wind had abated, except for an occasional gust.
When they arrived, Joe tied a rope to the bumper and tossed the other end to the foot of the cliff. Testing the rope to be sure it would hold his weight, he gingerly lowered himself over the edge. Dangling high over the rocks, he began his descent.
Suddenly there was a gust of wind and Joe veered crazily out into space. Then he careened back, hitting the stony wall with a thud that knocked the breath out of him. Frantically he clung to the rope, gasping for air. When he looked down, he could see a long drop onto the rocky beach.
“I'm a goner if I let go,” Joe thought desperately. But his hands began to slip!
All at once his foot hit the cliff and came to rest on a narrow ledge. The toe hold enabled him to take some of the weight off his hands. Pausing until his strength returned, he climbed down the rope and jumped on to the beach.
Joe ran to the spot on the shoreline where they had left the engine. He kicked off his sneakers. Wading into the water, he looked around.
The engine was gone!
Joe returned to the foot of the cliff, climbed the rope to the top, and told Frank and Chet.
“Somebody must have taken it!” Chet exploded.
“There's a ledge along the shoreline,” Joe stated. “The tide might have shifted it. Maybe the engine tumbled into deeper water.”
“Another mystery to solve,” Frank said, disappointed. He looked up into the sky. “It's getting dark already. We'd better head home.”
That night the Hardys received a telephone call from the repair shop in Beemerville that their convertible was ready. They left the next morning by motorcycle to pick it up.
On Frank's Honda they zoomed past billboards and motels on the highway, and carefully moved with the traffic in small towns. Finally Frank sputtered to a halt at the garage.
They found their car looking as good as new. Frank loaded up the Honda, then slipped behind the wheel and drove into the street. He took the road linking up with the highway near the Marlin Crag Cliffs. It led up a steep hill toward the bluffs. After Frank crested the mountain, he started to descend.
Halfway down, something in the steering mechanism snapped. The steering wheel spun uselessly in his grasp as the convertible gathered speed down the incline!
CHAPTER VIII
The Emergency Exit
DESPERATELY Frank pushed the brake pedal to the floor. The convertible bucked and tires squealed, throwing the boys forward against their seat belts.
The car skidded sideways to the brink of a cliff. Hitting a big boulder, it tilted up on its left wheels.
“We're going over!” Joe shouted.
They braced themselves for the plunge. The car teetered toward empty space, rebounded on its four wheels, bounced a couple of times and settled in a cloud of dust.
Bruised and shaken, the Hardys climbed out.
“I thought for sure we were taking a long dive to the beach,” Joe said weakly.
Frank's face was pale. “I'll never know why we didn't go over the cliff. This calls for some tall explaining at the repair shop.”
The boys rode the Honda back to Beemerville and told the mechanic what had happened.
“Keep your shirt on!” the man replied to Joe's heated denunciation. “I don't know what conked out your steering mechanism.”
The repairman had the car towed to the garage. While he was working on it, Frank and Joe stood by to watch. They knew quite a bit about mechanics and wanted to make sure that no one sabotaged the works.
“A loose connection,” the mechanic said after he had found the trouble. “Just bad luck.”
When he was finished, Frank gave the steering wheel and the brakes a good workout before trusting the convertible to the hill above the cliffs a second time. The boys shuddered when they passed the spot where they had had such a close brush with sudden death.
“Think our friend Mudd was behind the accident?” Joe asked.
“It's possible. He's our prime suspect,” Frank replied.
After lunch Biff and Tony dropped in.
“Your staff is reporting back from the Flickering Torch,” Biff announced with a grin.
“What kind of place is it?” Frank asked.
“Real jumping joint. Music is supplied by a hot combo called the Emergency Exit. We had a long talk with the drummer.”
“He's a second cousin of mine,” Tony added. “His name's Bernie Marzi. What a surprise to see him there!”
“Did he say anything we can use in our case?” Joe wanted to know.
“Well, he said the place is managed by a guy named Leon Bozar. No one seems to know who the owner is.” Tony balanced a coffee mug in the palm of his hand. “We hear Bozar's never around, though.”
Nothing Biff and Tony had learned tied the Flickering Torch in with the plane crashes. But all four boys agreed to continue their investigation of the restaurant.
“We might get somewhere through the band,” Frank said.
“That's easy enough,” Tony stated. “Let me call Bernie.” He phoned his cousin, explained that the Hardys were friends of his, and turned the instrument over to Frank.
“Hi, Frank,” came Bernie's voice. “I've heard a lot about you and your brother and the cases you've solved. Anything I can do for you, just give the word.”
“Thanks, Bernie,” Frank said. “How about letting us have a rundown on the cast of the Emergency Exit?”
“Sure. There's Mark Bowen on the lead guitar, Linc Caldwell on the bass guitar, George Hansen on the rhythm guitar, and Pete Guilfoyle on the organ. Seymour Schill also plunks a guitar for us, and Joe Clark, a good friend of mine, is the emcee.”
“Tony and Biff say your combo's pretty good,” Frank put in.
“We've almost always got a booking somewhere,” Bernie admitted. “And we've been playing at the Torch steady for quite a while. We do have a soft spot in our lineup, though.”
“Oh? Who's that?”
“Seymour Schill. He's not too good.”
“Why keep him?”
Bernie chuckled. “Finances, Frank. His father runs a music store and lets us have a lot of stuff for free. So we figure it's good business to let Seymour stick around.”
They talked a while longer, and finally Frank said, “Thanks for the info, Bernie. We'll be seeing you. Joe and I will drop in at the Flickering Torch tonight.”
“Stop by the stage,” the drummer invited before hanging up. “I'll give you the big hello.”
Joe telephoned Iola, who was eager to go out that night, and Frank made a date with Callie. They arranged to meet at the farm and drive to Beemerville from there.
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