CHAPTER VII

Bug Bait

GERTRUDE HARDY’S eyes bulged with fright as Frank kept a hand clapped over her mouth and half carried her down the stairway into the living room.

“Good night!” exclaimed Joe. “What-“

“Sh, sh!” Frank whispered frantically. “Don’t make a sound.” He released his aunt and led the trembling woman into the kitchen. The others followed.

Mrs. Hardy spoke first. “What on earth are you up to, Frank?”

“I know,” Aunt Gertrude said tartly as she smoothed her disheveled hair and set her spectacles straight. “Frank has gone stark raving mad, that’s what!” She glared at her elder nephew.

“I’m sorry, Aunty,” Frank said soothingly. “You see-I think that dirt spot on the ceiling you’re talking about is a bug.”

“Oh! It really is a beetle! Ugh!”

“Not that kind of bug,” Frank went on with a smile, ” ‘Bug’ is slang for a hidden microphone.”

“So that’s how the crooks knew all about our plans!” Joe whispered hoarsely.

“But that seems impossible!” Mrs. Hardy said. “No outsider has been here recently!”

“Except Mr. Kenfield,” Aunt Gertrude said. She had calmed down, but there was a look of deep concern on her face.

“Hmm. You said you heard his ladder against the house,” Frank reflected. “Joe, let’s go take a look at that ceiling spot.”

After cautioning the two women to keep their voices low, Frank and Joe kicked off their shoes and padded up the stairs. They went into the study and looked at the speck. No larger in circumference than a pencil, it protruded an eighth of an inch from the ceiling, so close to the corner that it might not ordinarily have been seen.

Frank put his finger to his lips and beckoned Joe out into the hall. There he whispered into his brother’s ear, “It’s a listening device all right. The transmitter must have been installed in our attic.”

Silently Frank opened the door to the attic stairway, and the boys tiptoed up. One window was opened halfway, and near it the Hardys spotted a small radio transmitter, inserted between two floorboards. Impulsively Joe reached down to yank it out, but Frank restrained him.

Retracing their steps, the boys hastened back to the kitchen.

“Well, what kind of beetle is it?” Aunt Gertrude asked.

“The big-eared type,” Joe replied. He quickly reached for the wall phone extension and called Mr. Kenfield. He asked the roofer to come over immediately.

In about ten minutes the roofer parked his truck in the front of the house. Mr. Kenfield, short and portly, was wearing his work clothes.

“Hello, Frank, Joe,” he said as the boys stepped outside to meet him. “I suppose it’s the garage roof you want me to look over, right?”

“No,” Joe said. “We’d like to ask you some questions.”

“Shoot.”

The boys’ first query was whether or not the roofer had gone into the attic. He said No; that he had examined the roof from the outside only. “But the electrical inspector,” Mr. Kenfield continued, “went into your attic.”

“Who?” asked Frank.

“An electrical inspector. He said you had some rewiring done, and he’d been called to look it over.”

The brothers exchanged glances. This was news to them!

“How did he get in?” Joe queried.

“Asked if he could use my ladder. It was okay with me. You know I’m willing to oblige.”

“Can you describe this fellow for us?” Frank asked.

“Why, sure. He was short, thin, kind of bandylegged and agile. You should’ve seen him zip up that ladder! Like a-“

“Like a monkey?” Joe put in.

“Yes, sure, that’s it! I was going to say monkey myself, but I didn’t want to insult him if he’s a friend of yours.”

Joe could not help smiling. “He’s not.”

Frank concluded that the roofer was not to blame. He had had no reason to suspect the “inspector” was a fraud.

“Thanks a lot, Mr. Kenfield,” Frank said. “That’s all we wanted to know.”

“Glad to help, any time.”

As soon as the roofer had left, Frank exclaimed, “Joe, now we have a chance to turn the tables! We’ll ‘confer’ in Dad’s study and feed the bug false information.”

“Great!” Joe said with enthusiasm.

“That way we can tell if the mike’s still in operation, and even lead the crooks on a wild-goose chase,” Frank added.

First the boys told their mother and Aunt Gertrude what they had learned. “So, if you see the monkey man anywhere around, call us right away,” Frank said. “And if we’re not here, notify Chief Collig.”

Aunt Gertrude shuddered. “First bugs, now a monkey! Oh dear!”

Frank and Joe put their plan into operation. They walked up the stairs noisily and entered their father’s study, chatting loudly.

“Well, we’ve got the dope on them,” Frank said. “Let’s fly down to Kentucky.”

“Right away?” Joe asked. He looked up toward the microphone and winked at his brother.

“You bet. We can get ready in a jiffy.” Frank made the telephone clatter as he lifted it from its cradle. Then, pressing the button down, he dialed and feigned talking with their pilot.

“Jack Wayne? … This is Frank Hardy. Get her fueled up. We’re taking off for Kentucky this afternoon.”

Frank hung up with a noise that was sure to be picked up by the bug, then added, “Come on, Joe. We’ll give those crooks a hard time.”

The boys confided in Mrs. Hardy what they had done and Frank told her, “We’re going out to Chet’s. If Jack should phone, please have him buzz us there.”

“All right. I hope your ruse works.”

The Mortons lived on a farm. The rambling homestead, surrounded by rolling countryside, was a favorite haunt of the Hardy boys. The foremost attraction was Iola Morton, Chet’s dark-haired sister, whom Joe regarded as his best girl. Her friend Callie Shaw, a slender, blond, lithesome girl, was often at the farm, which suited Frank fine since Callie was his favorite date.

Today, as they pulled up to the house, Frank beamed. “There’s Callie’s car.”

Joe’s face lit up. “That means Iola’s home. We’re both in luck.”

The Hardys hopped out and looked around for their friends. Suddenly they heard a dull clunk from behind the barn, followed by several giggles. “Oh, Chet, that was marvelous!” came Callie’s voice.

“Wonder what Chet’s up to now,” Joe said.

He and Frank trotted around a henhouse and reached the rear of the barn in time to see Chet, in a bulky sweatshirt, bend down to pick up a heavy metal ball. The two girls sat in the grass, their backs propped against the barn wall. Seeing Frank and Joe, they immediately jumped up.

“Hi!” dark-eyed Iola called gaily. “You’re just in time to see the exhibition of the year, by no less than my brother!”

“Aw, cut it out,” said Chet.

“No, really,” Callie insisted in mock seriousness. “Chet, you are destined to be a fabulous shot-putter.”

The Hardys stood grinning. From time to time their stout friend would plunge enthusiastically into a new sport or hobby. As a rule, the new interest was short lived.

Frank and Joe flopped down beside the girls. “C’mon, muscles.” Joe urged. “Let’s see you hurl.”

With deliberation, Chet walked back to a circle he had marked out on the grass. He picked up a book lying there and studied it intently. The title was Proper Methods for Putting the Shot.

“I’m glad to see you concentrating so hard, Chet old boy,” Joe needled.

“Kid all you want,” retorted Chet, mopping a trickle of sweat from his brow. “Don’t forget, the Olympics are coming up and Uncle Sam needs shot-putters!”

Iola finally spoke up in defense of her brother. “No fooling, boys, Chet’s really getting good at this.”

The stout boy threw out his expansive chest, balanced the shot in his right hand, and began to move his shoulders rhythmically.

“Let her fly!” Frank called.

Chet spun around and released the sphere.

“Wow!” Joe cried out. The ball arced directly over the henhouse.

Crash! With the sound of splintering wood, mingled with the squawking of the fowl, the metal ball pierced the roof, leaving a jagged hole.

The noise brought Mrs. Morton to the back steps of the farmhouse. “Chester!” she called out. “What’s all that racket?”

“Oh, nothing to worry about, Mom,” Chet replied hastily. “Say, Mom, would you like to have chicken for supper?” But Mrs. Morton had already gone inside. Fortunately, as the young people discovered, Chet’s mighty missile had missed the chickens.

“Chet, you’ve got a great throw,” said Joe. “I mean it. What power!”

“Yeah, but what a long time it’ll take me to fix the henhouse roof!” Chet groaned.

The young people’s laughter was interrupted by Mrs. Morton’s calling:

“Frank! Telephone!”

He rushed into the house, his face flushed with excitement. Joe ran after him.

“Hello… . Jack? … I thought it might be you.”

Joe stood by tensely. Then Frank burst out, “Just as I figured!”