The Mummy Case by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

don’t really know how to fix leaks! We’d have to learn first.”
    â€œNo need for a crash course,” Palos assured them and chuckled. “Now, here’s what you do. Go to the address on this card. Tell the tenant, Reggie Watson, that Mr. Baldwin has written to you. He’s the owner of the house but hasn’t lived here for many years. You are to check all the pipes and replace any that look old enough to give him trouble.”
    â€œGot it,” Joe said.
    â€œWhen you get in, split up,” Palos continued. “That way, if Watson is alone, he won’t be able to watch you both. Go though the house inspecting the pipes, and keeping your eyes open for anything that ties him to the gang.”
    â€œWhat do we do after we leave the place?” Frank inquired.
    â€œCall the embassy. We’ve all agreed that for safety’s sake, you won’t talk to anyone but me or your father. And be careful. This gang plays for keeps!”
    â€œThat’s it, then,” Compton stood up. “We can break up and—”
    â€œHelp!” A sudden scream rang through the hotel. “Help me, help me!”
    â€œSomething’s happening downstairs!” Frank cried out. “Come on!”
    The Hardys raced across the room, wrenched the door open, and shot out into the hall. Then they took the stairs down two at a time.
    A man in a leather jacket and crash helmet had the desk clerk by the throat!

9
    An Unpredicted Flood
    The assailant heard the Hardys bound down the stairs. Glancing over his shoulder, he released his victim and ran out the door before the boys had reached the lobby.
    Frank and Joe rushed to the clerk’s aid. He was beginning to get his breath back and opened his eyes. Realizing he was all right, the Hardys dashed out of the hotel. The street was empty!
    They turned the corner, but still saw nothing. “Leather jacket put on a good disappearing act,” Joe complained. “There’s no way of telling where he went!”
    â€œI don’t know about that, Joe! Listen!”
    From the other side of the hotel came the cough of a motorcycle engine. It was repeated several times.
    â€œHe’s trying to start his bike!” Frank cried. “Come on!”
    The boys ran around the building at top speed and saw the cyclist tramping on his starter. Frank noticed that the left handlebar of his bike was twisted. It was the same machine they had spotted on the cliff road!
    Seeing the Hardys, the cyclist kicked his starter desperately. Just then the motor came to life with a roar, and the cyclist varoomed down the street, kicking up a cloud of dust behind him.
    Angrily Joe socked his fist into the palm of his other hand. “He got away! Can you identify him, Frank? Colonel Palos might have a mug shot of him.”
    â€œNo way. That helmet’s as good as a mask.”
    The young detectives returned to the hotel and found Fenton Hardy, the ambassador, and Colonel Palos with the desk clerk, who was on his feet again, rubbing his throat.
    â€œI almost lost my Adam’s apple!” he croaked. “I was away from the desk for a moment, and when I came back, that guy was at the safe. When I asked what he was doing, he jumped me. Said he knew Secret Service plans were in the safe and he’d strangle me if I didn’t give them to him.”
    â€œHe made a mistake,” Palos commented. “We keep no Secret Service plans in that safe. Still, it means the conspirators know this hotel is our meeting place. We’ll have to find another one. I’ll send an agent to guard you,” he assured the clerk, “until we catch the gang.”
    â€œGood idea, Colonel,” Compton agreed. “And now we’d better get going. I think Frank and Joe know what to do.”
    â€œYes,” Frank admitted. “But what about the fact that one of the conspirators now knows what Joe and I look like?”
    â€œYou boys are our