Free The Sting of the Scorpion by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

out. “He’d hardly apply for a job under his own name if there were enmity between his father and Quinn, especially if he were planning to sabotage the Safari Queen.”
    â€œTrue, but it’s not that easy to get the kind of fake ID he’d need, like a social-security number and maybe a birth certificate and so on. Unless—wait a minute!” Joe snapped his fingers. “Do you suppose there might have been someone else filling in yesterday, doing some temporary maintenance work, and wearing Maris’s coveralls?”
    â€œLet’s find out.” Frank picked up the phone, dialed the Quinn Air Fleet number, and was soon talking to Lloyd Quinn himself. But the air-fleet owner said no temporary help was ever employed, partly for security reasons and partly because of the high degree of specialized training needed for dirigible work.
    â€œI had a call this morning from that pipeline company,” Quinn added glumly. “The one my next airship was supposed to haul supplies for. Needless to say, they heard about the midair explosions yesterday, and the way they’re talking now, they may cancel our contract, just as I feared.”
    â€œAt least it hasn’t happened yet,” Frank said, refusing to be discouraged. “We’ll do our best to crack the case before it does happen.”
    He hung up without mentioning his family’s fears for his father’s safety.
    Meanwhile, Joe was studying the computer printout data on the crew.
    â€œLook. It says here Maris attended Ardvor College,” he remarked after listening to Frank’s report. “Why don’t we drop over there tomorrow and see what we can find out about the guy?”
    â€œGood idea.”
    Just then the phone rang. Frank picked up the handset and answered. His face burst into a happy smile as he heard the voice at the other end of the line.
    â€œDad! We’ve been worried about you. Are you all right?”
    â€œYes, son. I’m calling from Cleveland. Sorry I had to end our last conversation so abruptly.”
    â€œWhat happened, Dad?” Joe put in. He had realized that Frank was speaking to their father and now he eagerly crowded close to the receiver.
    â€œI discovered I was being watched,” Mr. Hardy replied.
    â€œBy whom?”
    â€œA known terrorist. At least that’s who he looked like. I was calling on an airport phone. When he saw I’d spotted him, he snatched a traveler’s bag and hurled it at me, and then got away in the confusion.”
    â€œYou think the guy’s a member of the Scorpio gang?”
    â€œIt’s possible. The odd thing is, he was reported to have fled this country over a year ago. He’s a Hindu named Jemal Raman, and at that time I was investigating him for acts of terrorism against his own government’s embassies over here.”
    Fenton Hardy explained that he had gathered enough evidence against Raman so that the U. S. Immigration Service was preparing to deport him. But before a hearing could be held, the Hindu escaped aboard a freighter, evidently fearing arrest.
    After listening to the boys’ report of their own activities, the detective advised them to keep an eye out for Raman. “He could be vengeful and dangerous. Better check him out in my files.”
    â€œWill do, Dad,” Frank promised. After hanging up, he got Jemal Raman’s dossier from the crime file in his father’s office so he and Joe could study its contents. These included three long-range telephotos, snapped without the subject’s awareness. They showed Raman to be dark-skinned, with a drooping mustache.
    â€œDo you suppose this could be the snoop we spotted at our boathouse this morning?” Frank asked, with a glance at his brother.
    â€œSure looks like him.” Joe was startled as he examined the photos closely. “Jumping catfish! Notice how his mustache curves down on each side of his mouth?”
    â€œWhat