The Hooded Hawk Mystery Read Online Free PDF Page B

become familiar with their voices and thus obey them more promptly. By now, she came readily to either boy’s fist for food, as well as to the lure.
    When they arrived at the Morton farm, Mrs. Morton told them that Chet had gone to town but was expected back soon. They left a message for Chet to join them, and immediately set off for the isolated spot where they would release the falcon. There, Joe unhooded the bird and removed the leash. He then directed her attention to several crows which were flying over a clump of trees and threw her off.
    Instinct seemed to warn the crows, however, for almost as soon as the falcon had left Joe’s glove, they flew into a thicket. The hawk circled for a while, then climbed upward into the sky until she appeared no larger than a swallow.
    â€œMaybe we’re going to lose her,” Joe said, worried.
    â€œI don’t believe so,” Frank reassured him. “She’s ‘waiting on,’ expecting us to flush more suitable quarry for her to strike.”
    â€œWell, we’ll give her some,” said Joe, taking the lure from the falconer’s bag and waving it.
    â€œShe’s coming back!” Frank cried.
    Both boys watched a tiny speck hurtling toward them, growing larger by the second. In a long, graceful swoop the falcon came in and struck the lure with a smack. Joe held it firmly and the hawk came to rest. He offered her some raw meat, then hooded her and set the bird on his wrist.
    Just then Frank spotted Iola Morton running toward them. When she reached the Hardys, she paused for breath, then blurted out:
    â€œYour father’s home! He’s been trying to reach you. Something important has come up about your new case !”
    Surprised to learn that their father was back so soon from Washington, the boys dashed to the Morton house and called home.
    â€œWhat’s up, Dad?” Frank asked excitedly.
    â€œI’ve just received a phone call from Mr. Ghapur. He’s coming here from Washington with a friend from India who has a strange story to tell us.”
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œThe matter was too confidential to discuss over the telephone, Frank. The men will arrive tonight. I thought you boys would want to be on hand.”
    â€œWe’ll be there,” Frank promised.
    As Frank put down the phone, Chet appeared with a huge container of ice cream. Frank told Chet of the meeting to be held at the Hardy home that evening.
    â€œMaybe it’s about our rubies,” their stout friend suggested.
    As dinnertime approached, Chet drove the Hardys and their falcon home in his jalopy.
    â€œLet me know what happens, fellows,” he called, waving good-by.
    Fenton Hardy was waiting. “Our callers will arrive about nine o’clock,” he said.
    Night had closed in and they were waiting for the front doorbell to ring, when a knock sounded on the back door. The boys and their father hurried to the kitchen and Fenton Hardy opened the door. Two men were standing there.
    â€œMr. Ghapur!” the detective exclaimed.
    â€œWe thought we were being followed,” the importer explained, stepping in. “Please pardon this strange way of entering your home.”
    Rahmud Ghapur was a dark-complexioned man, about fifty years old, with lines at his temples that indicated a normally jovial disposition. Right now, however, his expression was tempered by the seriousness of the situation. His companion, about ten years younger, was introduced as Mr. Delhi, a trusted emissary and cousin of Satish Nayyar.
    Ghapur added that the Indian, who retained a high government post, had assumed the name Delhi because he wished to remain incognito while in the United States.
    â€œMy real name is Bhagnav,” Mr. Delhi said.
    Mr. Hardy shook hands with him and introduced his sons. “We’ll go up to my study,” he said, “where we can be sure that our discussion will not be overheard by possible eavesdroppers at our