"Now tie up these smart alecks."
With a sneer the driver of the car pulled several lengths of heavy cord from his pocket. Robby bound the Hardys' wrists behind their backs, while Zeke began tying their ankles together.
As his henchmen finished, Hopkins snapped, "I have to get downtown. Nick, go out and start the car."
When the chauffeur left, Hopkins said to Zeke and Robby, "Don't forget-I'll need one of you a little later."
"How about me?" Robby asked hopefully.
"You'll do." Hopkins glanced at his wristwatch. "There'll be a taxi here to pick you up at noontwenty-three minutes from now. Be ready."
As Hopkins moved toward the door, Joe asked hotly, "How long are you going to keep us here?"
"Until your father drops the case he's on."
After a short interval there came the sound of a car driving away. Within seconds Zeke said to Robby, "Let's go downstairs and eat some lunch."
"And leave these boys?" Robby asked. "Zeke, you're crazy. They might get loose."
A crafty look came into Zeke's eyes as he gazed at a closet. It had an old-fashioned wooden latch.
"We'll lock 'em in there," he said. "If they try to bust out, we'll hear 'em and come runnin'."
"Okay," Robby agreed. "And for safety we'll lock the hall door."
Frank and Joe were dragged into the closet and the latch was secured. The men left the room. At once the Hardys began trying to free themselves. Frank managed to back close to his brother, and with his fingers, work at Joe's wrist bonds.
"We sure pulled a boner," Frank said grimly. "Dad told us before he left that the gang he's after is widespread."
"What puzzles me," Joe replied, as he finally extricated his hands from the loosened ropes, and untied Frank's wrist cords, "is how they knew we were heading for the West?"
Frank shrugged as he and Joe freed their ankles. "We'll find out later. Right now we must escape."
Joe was already feeling around the closet. On a hook hung a slender metal coat hanger. "I'll try this," he said. "The door crack by the latch is pretty wide. Hurray! The hanger goes through!"
It was only a matter of moments before the wooden latch had been pushed upward, and the boys stepped out of the closet. They pocketed the tickets, money, and wallets, which were still on the table.
Joe whispered, "The hall door won't be so easy."
Frank had tiptoed to the one window in the room. He pushed aside the shade and looked down onto a shabby backyard adjoined by empty lots.
"Too far to drop down there," he muttered. "We'll just have to rush those men when they come back."
The next instant came the sound of heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs. Joe stepped to one side of the door while Frank crouched in the center of the room.
The key turned in the lock and the door burst open. Frank charged forward, butting Zeke squarely in the stomach. The blow sent the man reeling across the hall against the hallway railing. Zeke toppled over it backward with a shriek of panic and would have plunged to the floor below had he not grabbed one of the rails.
Enraged, Zeke's partner seized Frank by the shoulder and swung him around for a punch. Joe rushed out through the doorway. His fist landed hard on the back of Robby's skull and the man collapsed in a heap.
"Come on! Let's go!" Frank exclaimed.
Zeke snarled and tried desperately to pull himself back up over the railing as the two boys dashed downstairs and out the front door. To their relief, they saw a taxi waiting at the curb, its motor idling.
"Boy! We timed things just right!" Joe exclaimed gleefully.
The driver, a thin-faced, hawk-nosed man, looked at the boys in surprise as they yanked open the car door and climbed in.
"O'Hare Airport," Frank ordered. "Fast as you can make it!"
The driver threw the car into gear and pulled away from the curb. Frank and Joe looked back at the house. As the taxi reached the corner and swung onto the avenue, the boys caught a glimpse of Robby rushing from the house.
"I'll bet he's mad enough to chew nails!" Joe thought with a chuckle.
"I'd like to see Hopkins' face when Robby reports what happened," Frank whispered.
"Can't you go any faster?" Joe asked the driver. "We have to catch a plane."
The taxi driver glanced at the Hardys in his rearview mirror. "Sure. I'll take a shortcut."
He turned right at the next corner. After threading his way through several narrow side streets, the driver came to another avenue. Here he swung right again.
The Hardys were puzzled. Although the side streets had slanted and twisted somewhat, it seemed as if they were now heading back in the same direction from which they had come! Joe was about to protest when Frank clutched his arm.
He pointed furtively to the taxi driver's identification card. The photograph on the card showed a chubby man with a small button nose. He looked nothing like the hawk-featured driver.
Joe gulped as he realized that this driver was an impostor-most likely one of Hopkins' thugs! The boys had escaped from Zeke and Robby only to fall straight into the clutches of another member of the gang!
CHAPTER IV.
A Painted Warning THE Hardys looked at each other, speechless. No wonder the taxi driver had seemed surprised! He must have guessed they had escaped from Zeke and Robby. But he had not dared risk any strong-arm tactics in full view of the neighboring houses.
Probably, Frank thought, he had driven around to gain time while figuring out his next move. Maybe the driver, too, had glimpsed Robby and was circling back to the house for help.
Joe wondered, "Could we tackle this hood without causing an accident? I'm afraid not."
As if reading his brother's mind, Frank scribbled a note on his plane-ticket envelope: Hop out at first stoplight!
Joe nodded tensely. Two blocks later a traffic signal loomed. It was just changing to yellow. The driver tried to beat the light, but an oncoming car made a left turn, blocking his way, and he had to slam on the brakes. Frank nudged his brother toward the right-hand door and Joe jerked it open.
"Hey! What's the idea?" the driver snarled as the boys leaped out. "Come back!"
Frank and Joe sprinted across the street. Reaching the curb, they glanced back. The driver was still snarling at them, but they could not hear what he was saying. Then the light changed and he was forced to move on in the surge of traffic.
"He may try a U-turn!" Frank said. "Let's go!"
"Wait! Here comes another taxi!" Joe exclaimed. They flagged it down and jumped in. "O'Hare Airport!
Step on it!" Frank ordered.
As the taxi sped off, the boys watched out the rear window. But no one was in pursuit.
"Whew!" Joe said, giving a sigh of relief. "Good thing you spotted that identification photo!"
Frank nodded. "That thug must have stolen the car from the real driver-and not just to trap us," he whispered. "I'll bet it was to be used for pulling another job!"
"Right! That's why Hopkins told Robby exactly when it would arrive-they may be planning a carefully timed holdup!"
It was only a few minutes before takeoff when the boys dashed into the air terminal. Frank made a hasty call to Captain Jaworski of the Chicago Police, an old friend. Frank quickly explained what had happened and told the chief their theory that the gang might be planning to use the stolen taxi for some crooked job.
"The name on the real driver's identification card was Ira Kleeder," Frank added.
"Good enough. We can get the license number from the taxi company. And thanks for the tip!"
Joe, who was standing watch outside the telephone booth, rapped on the glass and pointed frantically to his wristwatch. Frank rang off, and the boys raced to the loading gate.
"We nearly left without you," the stewardess said as she welcomed them aboard the plane. The Hardys smiled and found seats.
Soon they were airborne. The two boys settled back as the plane headed west.
"I'd sure like to know how Hopkins got word we were on our way to Lucky Lode," Frank mused.
"The gang out there must have informed him," Joe said. "Remember-he even knows that Dad is staying with Hank Shale."
"Another thing," Frank went on, "why should they be interested in that map? Is there some connection between Onslow's claim and the gang? We'd better ask Mike to send us another map."
"I can remember it pretty clearly," Joe assured him, then added soberly, "Why didn't Dad call us himself?
I hope he's not hurt."
Frank nodded, troubled. Lunch was served aboard the plane. Afterward, the boys dozed.
At Butte they were wary, staying close to other passengers as they changed planes. No one bothered them, however. Soon they were winging their way in a two-motored craft over the frozen ridges of the Rockies toward Cold Springs, the small airport serving Lucky Lode.
The plane set down bumpily on a snow-covered landing strip. As the Hardys came out and gazed around, a sharp, biting wind hit their faces.
"Wow! This sure is different!" said Frank.
Pine woods surrounded the bleak, windswept field with its Quonset hut terminal and hangar. A helicopter and a tiny single-engine aircraft were parked near the edge of the field. To the west loomed the snowy Bitterroot mountain range.
"Brr!" Joe shivered. "Lonely looking, eh?"
"Sure is." Frank replied.
As the brothers headed for the terminal, a hatless man in a plaid mackinaw strode toward them. "Frank and Joe Hardy?" he boomed.
He was a tall, handsome, ruddy-faced man. His white hair blew about in the wind. "I'm Bob Dodge," he added, shaking hands with the boys heartily. "Your father's working on a case for me in Lucky Lode. I came over in my helicopter to pick you up."
"Why didn't Dad come?" Frank asked.
"He had an accident-broke a couple of ribs.
Nothing serious," Dodge added, "but the doctor taped his chest and wants him to keep quiet."
Seeing a look of suspicion on the boys' faces, Dodge took a picture from his pocket. "Your father gave me this." He held out a snapshot of the Hardys' house with Aunt Gertrude standing on the lawn. "That's your father's sister," Dodge said.
"Okay." Frank knew that if the detective had been forced to hand over the picture, he would not have given Aunt Gertrude's true identity. Mr. Dodge must be all right.
"We have to be careful," Joe explained.
"I understand." Dodge smiled. "There's some stuff in the terminal I want to pick up. You two go on aboard." He gestured toward the helicopter.
The boys started across the field. They were still some distance from the craft when a tall, thin man suddenly jumped out of the ship and walked rapidly away.
"Wonder who he is?" Joe asked.
"Maybe an airport attendant," Frank guessed.
"If so, why is he heading for the woods?"
Frank frowned. When they reached the helicopter, he said, "I wish we knew what that fellow was doing aboard."
Joe pulled back the door and looked inside cautiously. The boys searched the helicopter but found nothing.
Frank chuckled in relief. "Okay, we didn't get booby-trapped. Let's stow our gear."
They climbed out and Joe was about to open the access hatch to the baggage compartment, just aft of the cabin, when Frank stopped him.
"Let's play safe and check this door."
"Good idea." Frank took a rope from his gear and tied one end to the hatch handle. The boys backed off to one side. Frank tugged the rope.
Boo-o-om! A deafening blast rocked the craft and knocked the boys off their feet. An acrid smell of gunpowder assailed their nostrils.
"Good grief!" Joe whispered.
Pale and shaken, they examined the baggage compartment. A sawed-off shotgun had been wired and propped into position inside, evidently by someone working through a removable panel in the forward wall. The gun had been triggered by a cord tied to the door latch.
Meanwhile, the explosion had brought Bob Dodge and an older man running from the terminal. "What happened?" they yelled together.
Frank explained, and the two men examined the deadly setup with dismayed looks. Joe cautioned them not to touch the weapon so it could be checked for fingerprints. Dodge's companion, who proved to be the airport manager, went off to report the incident to the police.
Frank and Joe took out their fingerprint kit and dusted the shotgun. No prints appeared.