envelope in his hotel room. I own the hotel, that's how I found it. Thought it
might help you to track 'em down. Fritz Stark's address is on it.'
'That's wonderful, Mr. Caine!' Frank cried out, and said to Joe, 'He has what might be the Starks'
address.' Turning back to the telephone, Frank asked, 'Where was the letter from?'
'Let me see . . .' the dock manager said. 'It's from Worldwide Radio Distributors, Yokohama, over in Japan!'
CHAPTER XVI
Skeleton Symbol
'MR. CAINE,' said Frank in a puzzled tone, 'may I have the address on the letter?'
After jotting down the information, Frank thanked him and said good-by. He told Joe, 'Just a San Francisco hotel. But the sender was the distributor for radios in Yokohama.'
'Sutton had a Yokohama radio!' Joe exclaimed. 'And we saw him talking to Ben Stark that day at Shantytown.'
'The radio seems to be a connection between them,' Frank pointed out. 'I think we'd better go back to the hi-fi shop, and find out more about the identity of Yokohama Super-X purchasers.'
After eating breakfast, the boys hurried off, first to pick up their motorcycles, then to go to the hi-fi shop.
When they entered the store, the young clerk was glad to see them.
'Change your minds, fellows?' he asked hopefully. 'Like to buy one of those sets?'
'We would like to look at them,' Frank replied.
Immediately the clerk bustled off and returned with four of the compact little radios. 'Go ahead,' he invited. 'Try them.'
While Joe flicked the button on one set, the young man said, 'These are neat. As I told you the other day, we buy them from a distributor in Japan.' In response to Frank's query about who had purchased them, the clerk gave the customers' names, all familiar to the Hardys. None of
them could be suspect.
'Three of these radios came in yesterday afternoon. I could give you boys a good price, since we bought them at a big discount.'
'How come?' Frank asked.
'Well, we didn't buy these from the distributor,' the clerk admitted. 'These were brought in by a fellow who wanted to sell them at a secondhand price, even though they're brand new. My
boss snapped up all three. He knows a bargain.'
'I see.' Frank nodded. 'No questions asked.'
'Oh, it's not anything illegal,' the clerk hastened to say. 'They were brought in by a respectable businessman, Mr. French, who owns the costume store down the street.'
'Mr. French!' the boys echoed in amazement.
'Yes. What's so strange about that?'
'Oh, nothing, I guess,' Frank replied. 'You just reminded us that we must see Mr. French ourselves right away. The radios will have to wait. Come on, Joe!'
While the mystified clerk stared after the Hardys, they bolted from the shop and hurried along the sidewalk toward the costume shop.
'Mr. French again,' Joe muttered, shaking his head. 'Is he one of this gang?'
'Somehow I trust him,' Frank replied. 'Maybe the robbers are forcing him to play along with them, and have threatened harm to his family unless he does.'
'He didn't look very happy the afternoon we picked up our costumes,' Joe recalled. 'Those men in his shop were threatening him. And when he came to our house in the middle of the
night, it was no mistake!'
'He knows Dad's a detective,' Frank said. 'I think he wanted him and was confused when we answered the door.'
'Well, we'll soon find out,' Joe said as they neared the shop.
'It looks closed,' Frank remarked. The heavy door was shut and the blinds drawn. Going closer, the boys saw a sign in the window: CLOSED INDEFINITELY
'I wonder why,' said Joe. 'Has Mr. French gone out of business?'
'Hey,' Frank cried out, 'where are the gorilla and magician outfits that were in the window yesterday afternoon?'
Only one costume was now on display-a skeleton suit, which stood up with outspread arms, like
a scarecrow!
'I hate to think what that costume means, if it's a signal,' Joe said.
'Never mind,' Frank said. 'We must find Mr. French. Perhaps he lives over the store.' Frank strode to a door at one side of the building. 'Yes, here's his name on the bell plate.'
Impatiently the young detective jabbed with his thumb at the button. The bell sounded loudly
but no one answered.
'Hey!' came a sharp voice. 'What are you two doing here?'
Frank and Joe whirled to face their two chums Jerry Gilroy and Tony Prito.
'We're sleuthing around,' Joe replied, and grinned. 'What are you fellows up to?'
Tony explained that he and Jerry were on an errand for Mr. Prito, then asked, 'Have you found out anything more about Chet and Biff?'
'We found out plenty!' Joe exploded. 'Chet and Biff were kidnaped by the bank robbers, who mistook them for Frank and me.'
'What!' cried Tony and Jerry. While they listened intently, Frank and Joe gave the details of their adventure the night before.
'But where is the gang holding them?' Jerry wondered. 'Could it be Hermit Island?'
'Could be,' Frank said. 'We found out the hermit we saw is a fake. The real one's dead.'
'And when Dad trailed Stark and Moran last night,' Joe put in, 'they went to the dock and waited for a boat. That could mean the rest of the gang-and Chet and Biff-are some place only
accessible by water.'
'Then what are we waiting for?' urged Jerry. 'Let's head for Hermit Island!'
'Yes-and no girls this time,' Tony added. 'That phony hermit carries a shotgun, and if the robbers are there, the danger is double.'
'Right,' Frank said. 'We'd better take both boats, Tony. In case of trouble, we'll be able to split up, or help each other.'
Tony agreed eagerly. 'Then we'll meet you at your dock at one-thirty,' Frank told him.
As their two friends hurried off, Frank and Joe walked to their motorcycles and rode home.
As they dismounted in front of their garage, Aunt Gertrude appeared behind the back screen
door, wringing her hands nervously.
'Hi, Auntie!' Joe called cheerfully. 'Where are Mother and Dad?'
'Your mother has gone shopping and your father's off on some more detective work! There's a giant in the living room waiting for you.'
'A what?' Joe asked, entering the house.
Aunt Gertrude made a sweeping motion with her arms. 'A man,' she said, 'a great big man!'
Laughing, Frank led the way into the living room. This must be Alf Lundborg!
The visitor's huge frame certainly dwarfed the Hardys' furniture. Grinning, he shook each
brother's hand in his crushing grip.
'I'm out of jail again,' he told them. 'Sutton wouldn't say I attacked him, so they finally let me go.'
'I knew you didn't do it, Alf,' said Joe.
The stevedore's good-natured face clouded. 'No, I wouldn't touch a little weasel like Sutton,'
