Part 1 (1/2)

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!”