The Masked Monkey Read Free Page A

through a stoplight!”
    Joe, looking back, cried out, “We’re paving the avenue with golf balls! The tailgate’s open. We’re losing them!”
    Their cargo was streaming out of the pickup into the crossing. Pedestrians went into frantic contortions as the golf balls rolled under theirfeet. Cars jolted to a halt. Traffic was snarled in four directions.
    Chet pulled over to the curb. “We’re in for it now,” he groaned.
    â€œYou can say that again,” Frank muttered. “Here comes the traffic cop.”
    â€œAnd he’s not too happy about running the obstacle course we just set up,” Joe added.
    â€œEverybody out!” the officer commanded the three youths. “Start picking them up!”
    Frank, Joe, and Chet meekly climbed out of the truck and began gathering the golf balls. A group of youngsters pitched in for the fun of it. When the balls were back in the truck, Chet double-checked the tailgate before driving off.
    â€œLucky I didn’t get a ticket,” he sighed.
    â€œAnd fortunately nobody got hurt,” Frank said.
    They arrived at the Hardy house to find their pals Phil Cohen and Tony Prito waiting for them. Phil was the sensitive, studious type, but could be counted on when Frank and Joe were on a dangerous mission.
    Olive-skinned Tony, the son of a Bayport contractor, was another friend who frequently helped the Hardys solve mysteries.
    The two were told about Chet’s new business. They agreed to accompany him to the golf course that evening to complete the ball scavenging operation.
    Frank and Joe drove to Whisperwood. Theyhad dinner in a roadside restaurant. When they reached the estate, Retson showed them to his guesthouse. From a distance came a constant hissing sound.
    â€œIt’s the waterfall,” Retson explained. “It seems to be whispering all the time. That’s why we called our home Whisperwood.”
    â€œDid your son ever come to the guesthouse?” Frank inquired.
    â€œYes, occasionally. You see, Harris used the place while a wing of the mansion was being renovated. Graham liked him and visited him sometimes. Now the work on the house is done and Harris is back in his own quarters.”
    Joe described the incident of the note in his jacket pocket. “We’d like to talk to the butler about it,” he said.
    â€œOf course!” Retson replied. “Harris will have to answer to me if he’s the one responsible.”
    Their host led the way back to the mansion, where they confronted the butler.
    Joe handed the note to him. Harris became pale as he scrutinized the message. His eyes bulged. His breath came in gasps. He folded the note and handed it back. “Where did you find this?” he asked.
    â€œIn my jacket pocket, after you fixed it yesterday,” Joe said.
    Harris frowned. “If you think I wrote this, you are mistaken,” he said.
    â€œCan you prove that, Harris?” Retson asked harshly.
    â€œYes, indeed, sir. As you know, I make out the shopping list for the week. Here is the one I just wrote.” Harris drew a sheet of paper from his pocket. “Compare my handwriting with the note Mr. Hardy found in his coat.”
    Joe placed the two pieces of paper side by side. Frank looked on. The two scrawls obviously did not match!
    â€œIt seems someone else wrote the warning,” Joe mused.
    â€œBut who?” Frank replied. “Who else lives in this house?”
    â€œJackson, the gardener,” Retson said. “His wife is our cook. And of course there’s Mrs. Retson. My wife has had a nervous breakdown. She rarely leaves her room in the east wing. A nurse is on duty with her constantly. You can talk to Miss Hopkins if you want to. But don’t bother Mrs. Retson.”
    â€œWe’ll have to check out the whole staff,” Frank said.
    â€œWell, get on with the investigation first thing in the morning,” Retson urged. “My son may have