The Mysterious Caravan by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

in a tight fix, Frank. That gentleman from the Jamaican Consulate wants us to turn over the mask pronto.”
    â€œYe gods, and it’s at the foundry!”
    â€œRight. Maybe we can promise it for this evening. Trouble is, he is insistent and wants it immediately.”
    â€œDad, we couldn’t give it to him if we had it. What about William?”
    Mr. Hardy had taken the letter from the envelope and a photograph fell to his desk.
    â€œOh, good,” he said. “Sam got a picture ofour man Scott.” He scanned the letter. “It was taken unknown to him at an employees’ picnic,” Radley had written.
    Frank stared at the snapshot and gasped. “Oh, no!”
    He took a magnifying glass from the desk drawer and focused on Scott. The people in the photo were magnified to twice their size.
    The Hardys exchanged shocked glances. “No doubt, Dad.” Frank said. “This man is in our living room
right now!”

CHAPTER IX
The Clue in the Coat
    T HE suspense and excitement were nearly unbearable. Although the sound of their voices was well insulated from the floor below, Frank found himself talking in a whisper.
    â€œDad, what do you make of it? If the man is really the airline-ticket thief, why does he want the death mask? And how did he know about it?”
    â€œEasy, Frank,” his father replied. “Maybe there’s a connection we don’t know about, though he did show us his credentials. I’ll phone the Jamaican Consulate in New York.”
    The operator gave Mr. Hardy the number, and his call went through in a few moments.
    After the detective had identified himself, he said, “We have a visitor here named Elroy Abrams. He is representing himself as an official of the Jamaican Consulate. I’d like to verify his credentials.”
    A minute or two of silence followed. “No, Mr. Hardy,” was the reply. “We have no person by that name in our employ.”
    â€œThen he must be an impostor!” Mr. Hardy said. After hanging up, he tapped out the number of Bayport Police Headquarters and spoke to Chief Collig, asking him to send two men over to arrest Abrams.
    â€œThree squad cars are investigating an accident on the highway,” the chief said. “But I’ll have someone there as soon as I can.”
    â€œWell,” Mr. Hardy said to Frank, “let’s go down and see what Mr. Abrams-Scott has to say for himself.”
    â€œAre you going to nab him right away?”
    â€œNo. Not until the police arrive.”
    When father and son returned to the living room, Mrs. Hardy had just brought in another pot of tea and a tray of cookies.
    â€œGood,” Frank thought. “This’ll give us the time we need.”
    The boy’s heart was thumping at the bizarre situation. Joe seemed embarrassed to have the bogus official dun him for the mask. The women, in an affable mood, were chatting with the caller, whose charisma was undeniable.
    After munching on a couple of cookies, for which he complimented his hostesses, the caller pressed his napkin to his lips and said with some finality, “Now what about the mask? I have toleave shortly to get back to New York. Joe, will you bring it to me?”
    Joe was not often tongue-tied. In fact, Frank had never known his brother to lack for an answer. But this time Joe’s mouth opened and no words came out.
    Frank quickly took up the slack in the conversation. He had to keep the ball rolling until the police arrived.
    â€œFirst of all,” Frank said, “Joe and I want you to know that we appreciate your kindness. You’ve been fair with us, and we’ll be fair with you, Mr. Scott.”
    Instantly the boy was stunned by his own blunder as well as by Scott’s reaction, which hit like a thunderclap. Realizing he had been found out, the man overturned his tray, the utensils and china thudding onto the carpet. Joe was immobilized by the suddenness of it all. He