The Hooded Hawk Mystery Part 1

THE HOODED HAWK MYSTERY.

By FRANKLIN W. DIXON.

CHAPTER I.

Sender Unknown.

"frank, come here!" Joe Hardy called excitedly to his brother from the front porch of their home.

It was early afternoon of a hot August day, but tall, dark-haired Frank, eighteen years old, ran down the stairs at top speed. He knew from the tone of Joe's voice that something unusual was happening.

When he reached the porch, Frank stopped short and stared in amazement. An expressman, who stood there, grinning, had just delivered a burlap-covered crate and a package. Joe, blond and a year younger than Frank, had already removed the burlap. In the crate was a fine, proud-looking hawk.

"What a beauty!" Frank remarked. "Is it for us?"

"It says 'Frank and Joe Hardy, Elm Street, Bay-port,' " the expressman answered, holding out his receipt book for the boy's signature. As Frank wrote his name, the man added, "This is a peregrine falcon and you'd better take good care of the young lady.

She's valued at five hundred dollars."

"Phew!" Joe whistled. "I'll say we'd better take care of her!"

"Who sent her?" Frank asked, then read, " 'Rah-mud Ghapur, Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C.' Never heard of the man."

"Nor I," said Joe. "We'll ask Dad when he gets home."

As the expressman left, Frank opened the package. It contained several items which the boys decided were falconry equipment.

"Looks as though Mr. Ghapur expects us to become falconers," Frank declared. "But why?"

They searched for a note in the wrappings but found none. "We'll probably get a call or a letter of explanation," said Joe.

Frank agreed, adding, "In the meantime, let's learn something about falcons. Dad probably has some books on the subject in his study."

All this time the hawk, which was blackish blue with a black-barred creamy breast, had been sitting quietly in the crate, eying her new masters. Now she raised up, fluttered her wings, and cried keer, keer, keer, keer, as if she wanted action. The boys laughed as they carried the as if she wanted action. The boys laughed as they carried the bird and its trappings through the hall and upstairs to Mr. Hardy's combination office and study.

Here the famous detective had several file cabinets of criminal cases and photographs of underworld characters. Frank and Joe, endowed with natural sleuthing ability, had had many opportunities 5 to work with their father. Frank was serious and an honor student, while Joe was rather impulsive but always dependable. Though they had different temperaments, the boys made an excellent team.

Frank placed the crate on top of a bookcase in which Joe was already looking for books on falconry. Taking out two volumes, he handed one to Frank and began to flip the pages of his own. When he came to a series of pictures of the very articles that the expressman had brought, he said: "Look, Frank, this is the leather hood. It's put over the hawk's head, so that she will sit quiet when she's being carried from one place to another. And one of these bells is fastened to each of her legs, in order that the owner can keep track of her movements."

Frank nodded and looked at an ill.u.s.tration in his book. "Here are those two leather straps. They're called jesses. jesses. One end of each jess is looped and tied around each of the One end of each jess is looped and tied around each of the hawk's legs. The free ends of the straps are fastened to a swivel, which consists of two rings connected by a bolt that allows each ring to turn separately. Both straps are tied to one of the rings and this long leather leash to the other ring. Pretty tricky, Joe, because in that way the leash never gets tangled or twisted with the jesses."

Joe's eyes darted toward the crate. "Think we dare try all these trappings on Miss Peregrine?"

Frank laughed. "Maybe. But first, let's find out some more about falcons."

4 Joe, reading on, remarked, "She's sure a fussy eater. Prefers pigeons to all other foods. But she can be brought back from a flight with any kind of meat or even this, if she's well trained." He picked up the lure, a short stick on the end of which was a thick bunch of feathers.

Frank, meanwhile, was studying the falconer's glove which had come in the package.

"Joe," he said, "this glove must belong to someone from India or the Far East."

"How do you know?"

"My book said that in those countries falconers use right-handed gloves, while Europeans and Americans wear left-handed ones."

"Come to think of it," said Joe, "the name Rah-mud Ghapur sounds Indian-or Far Eastern, anyhow."

Frank agreed. "But the whole thing's still a mystery. Well, let's put the hawk's gear on."

As Frank held the equipment ready, Joe carefully opened the crate door. Although not sure how to handle the falcon, he quickly grabbed both legs so that the bird could not use her talons. She struggled while Frank fastened the jesses, then tied the straps and leash to the swivel. All this time the boys kept a wary eye on the hawk, in case she should suddenly slash at them with her beak. But the bird made no such attempt.

"I guess the book was right when it said a falcon 5 seldom uses its beak for defense," Joe remarked.

After Joe attached the little bells to the hawk's legs, Frank pulled on the glove, grasped both jesses, and lifted the falcon to his wrist. She sat there proud and defiant-a truly n.o.ble bird.

"So far, so good, Frank," Joe said. "Now what?"

"We'll take the hawk outside and let her fly around a bit," his brother replied. "And let's get that old block perch Aunt Gertrude once used for her parrot. It's in the cellar."

"Good idea," replied Joe. "Miss Peregrine can sit on it in the fresh air when she's not flying. By the way, the book said that hawks should get plenty of exercise."

Frank nodded. "And while we're flying her, we can watch for the mailman," he said.

"He's sure late today. Maybe there'll be a letter about the falcon."

Before they started downstairs, Joe suggested putting the hood on the hawk, but Frank said he wanted to show the bird to their Aunt Gertrude who was in the kitchen.

The boys and their strange pet got only as far as the first-floor hall when suddenly the falcon yanked free and made a beeline for the living room. Just then, the doorbell and the telephone rang. Frank sprang toward the front door and Joe headed for the phone.

At that instant the kitchen door at the end of the 6 hall opened and a tall, angular woman rushed forward. She was Mr. Hardy's spinster sister, who spent most of her time at his home.

"Aunt Gertrude, watch the hawk in the living room, will you?" Joe requested, picking up the receiver.

"Watch what?" what?" his aunt exclaimed. But the bewildered woman received no further his aunt exclaimed. But the bewildered woman received no further enlightenment. Joe was saying into the phone: "h.e.l.lo, Chet. Say, someone sent us a peregrine falcon."

"Great! What's that?" was the reply.

When Joe told him it was a hunting hawk, Chet said excitedly, "Bring it out to the farm, will you? I've never seen one."

"We will. I'll say good-by now because the bird's loose. See you later."

When Joe returned to the living room, Aunt Gertrude was standing stock-still, staring at the hawk, which was now alternately rising and diving from windows to furniture.

"Joe!" Miss Hardy finally managed to exclaim. "Get that beast out of here at once!"

Frank stepped to the doorway of the living room and reported to Joe that the mail had come, but there was no letter of explanation about the mysterious bird.

"What's going on here?" Aunt Gertrude demanded.

"We're flying a falcon," Joe replied, grinning.

7 "Obviously!" his aunt replied tartly. "But where did you get it?"

"Well, we don't know the person who sent her-" Frank began, and told her how the bird had arrived.

"Well, I know!" Aunt Gertrude exclaimed. "This Mr. Ghapur is probably some enemy of yours. One thing's certain-the bird is an ill omen and undoubtedly has poison on its claws!"

"Poison on its claws!" Frank cried.

"Oh, yes, I've read about such things being done for revenge!" Aunt Gertrude went on, her voice rising. "You and your father have made many enemies through the cases you've solved. You boys should have had more sense than to have accepted this hawk."

Before they had an opportunity to examine the hawk's talons for any poison, the bird suddenly lunged at Aunt Gertrude and grasped at her hands.

"Help! It's attacking me! Take it away!" she cried frantically.

Joe yelled, "It's that piece of meat you're holding, Auntie! She thinks it's a lure!"

Aunt Gertrude looked in embarra.s.sment at the stew meat she had absent-mindedly brought from the kitchen. Frank s.n.a.t.c.hed it from her hand and immediately the falcon returned to his glove. Then, after feeding the hawk the raw meat, he and Joe looked carefully at its talons but found no evidence of poison.

"Anyway, the falcon wouldn't live long if there 8 was poison on her claws," Frank told his aunt. "She'd be sure to harm herself with it."

"I suppose so," Miss Hardy admitted.

Joe put his arm around Aunt Gertrude. "The falcon was only doing what she has been taught to do. Pieces of raw meat are used as lures for training these birds. The falcon meant no harm."

"Well, maybe you're right," Aunt Gertrude conceded grudgingly. "But falconers don't train their birds in a living room! Take her out of here."

With this ultimatum, Aunt Gertrude turned on her heel and stalked back to the kitchen.

Joe looked at Frank, grinned, and told him of Chet's invitation. "Let's take Miss Peregrine out to the Morton farm," he said.

Chet Morton, a school chum of the Hardys, lived on a farm about a mile outside of Bayport. A chubby, good-natured boy, Chet had frequently shared in the Hardys' adventures.

Frank now took the hood from his pocket and attempted to put it over the head of the peregrine. The bird flew off his gloved hand, but the jesses and leash held her, and she soon stopped flapping and came up to a perching position on the glove.

"Boy, this is harder than I thought," said Frank.

Joe, recalling what he had read in the falconry book on how to "break" a falcon to the hood, said, "We ought to lay a small piece of meat inside the hood before putting it on her.

Then she'll a.s.sociate food with the hood and our troubles will be over."

9 Frank nodded. He said that the falcon is also fed a choice morsel of food after the hood is put on. Thus she connects a pleasant experience with hooding and does not struggle or fear the temporary blindness that the cover imposes.

After Joe had begged several sc.r.a.ps of raw meat from Aunt Gertrude, Frank managed to hood the hawk. He was awkward at it and resolved to practice until he could do it with a more deft touch.

As he carried the bird to the back yard, Joe ran to the cellar for the block perch. When Joe reappeared, Frank took the perch and said: "I'll get the convertible and meet you in the driveway. You bring the hawk," he said.

"Okay," Joe agreed, taking the glove and bird.

He paused long enough to call good-by to Aunt Gertrude, then started toward the driveway.

"I'll wait here for-"

Joe's thought was suddenly interrupted. A figure, masked by a red-and-white bandanna and wearing a battered felt hat pulled low on his forehead, darted around a corner of the house and crashed into him!

The boy whirled and swung his free fist. But the short, heavy-set stranger dodged to one side and gave Joe a shove that sent him sprawling on the ground. At the same instant the man grabbed the leash, s.n.a.t.c.hed the falcon from Joe's grip, and sped down the driveway.

Quickly Joe got to his feet. Yelling to Frank to follow, he dashed off in pursuit of the thief!

CHAPTER II.

Peregrine's Prize.

by the time Joe had reached the foot of the Hardy driveway, the thief was half a block down Elm Street. The man forced the hooded bird into a cloth sack as he ran. Then, seeing Joe in pursuit, he leaped a hedge and darted into a driveway between two houses.

As Joe reached it, a woman, leaning out a side window, gave a startled shriek. The masked man, evidently frightened, looked back to check Joe's progress. The side of his neck struck a clothesline, throwing him off balance, and Joe closed some of the gap between them.

"Drop that bird, you thief!" Joe shouted furiously.

The man staggered a few paces, then regained his balance. He jumped a low fence to the adjoining property and sped down its driveway, back to the street, still holding the bagged falcon!

Joe's shout and the woman's scream had attracted the attention of a policeman on Elm Street. As the thief reached the sidewalk, he slammed into the portly figure of Patrolman Sm.u.f.f, dropping the sack.

"Grab him!" Joe yelled to the officer.

But the masked man, recovering himself quickly, side-stepped Sm.u.f.f. Forgetting the bird, he cut across the street and disappeared into the dense, flower-covered foliage behind a house. Just then, Frank swung the convertible alongside the curb. Joe picked up the sack and thrust it in beside his brother.

Patrolman Sm.u.f.f had taken up the chase, and now Joe joined him. They searched the area thoroughly for two square blocks but were unable to find the fugitive or anyone who had seen him. As they retraced their steps to the convertible, Sm.u.f.f asked: "What's this all about, anyway?"

"That fellow tried to steal our bird."

"What kind of bird is it-a parrot?" the policeman inquired.

"No," Joe replied. "A peregrine falcon-a hawk."

"One of those hunting birds, eh? I didn't know they had 'em around this part of the country."