Free The Hooded Hawk Mystery by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

lowered himself about sixty feet, then called to the boys:
    â€œThere are three fledglings. One egg didn’t hatch.”
    The mother hawk was not in sight. But Mr. Fenwick wasn’t taking any chances and called up again, “Keep your eyes open for the mother. She’s likely to resist an invasion of her nest. I don’t want any trouble, if I can help it. I’ve been attacked before and it’s no fun.”
    In a few minues Mr. Fenwick announced that he had one of the young birds in his packsack and was coming up. He signaled to be lifted to the rim. As he came over the edge and the rest of the line was pulled up, Mr. Fenwick said:
    â€œFunny, I haven’t seen any sign of the tercel, either. Usually he’ll do the hunting for food for the young. Then the falcon will take the quarry from him in mid-air, pluck it, and feed the fledglings.”
    â€œDo you think someone might have shot the tercel and the falcon is getting the food?” Frank asked.
    â€œThat’s possible,” Mr. Fenwick replied. “And she will have to do all the work herself until the young ones can fly.”
    Then the hawk hunter displayed the fledgling. The falcon’s tail and wing feathers were short because the bird was so young. Small tufts of down clung to them. The bird’s feet were a light greenish gray instead of brilliant orange like the adults’.
    Both Frank and Joe noticed how large the feet were. They were already fully grown, even though its feathers were still developing.
    The thing that amazed them most was that the young falcon was brownish black instead of blackish blue like their own hawk. Mr. Fenwick explained that the young birds never have the same plumage color and markings as the adults.
    â€œNext spring this bird will begin to molt—that is, drop her old feathers and grow new ones. Those will be adult plumage like your peregrine’s.”
    â€œIs that true for all hawks?” Joe asked.
    â€œYes,” Mr. Fenwick replied as he put the fledgling back in the pack to begin the return journey.
    When they reached Mr. Fenwick’s home, the falconer extended a cordial invitation to return soon.
    Back at their own house, they found Sam Radley waiting. He was seated in the garden with Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude. The falcon sat on the perch beside them.
    As Radley began his report, the two women arose and went into the house.
    â€œNo one returned to the hunting lodge and I doubt that anyone will, since they’ll figure it’s being watched. But as I was leaving Smith’s woods, I met Mr. Morton. He told me that Mr. Smith’s lawyer informed him that the property was leased for the summer to a dark-skinned man by the name of Sutter. I have a feeling he’s one of our Indian boys.”
    Frank and Joe agreed.
    At that moment a special-delivery letter arrived for the boys from the Mediterranean Line. It stated that no Indians had arrived on any of their vessels’ recent trips to New York.
    â€œThis information may interest you, however,” the letter went on. “A couple of years ago there was an Indian member of the Continental’s crew named Bangalore. He jumped ship. This company is particularly disturbed, because the immigration authorities hold us responsible for such things.”
    As he folded the letter, Frank said, “I wonder if we could get a photograph of Bangalore.”
    â€œI’ll try to locate one,” Radley offered.
    Frank then told him of the clue about the pigeon fancier using the name Bhagnav, and the boys’ decision to phone Mr. Delhi. Joe put in a call, but there was no answer at Mr. Ghapur’s home, where the emissary was staying.
    â€œAnything more I can do for you boys?” Radley asked. “I’ll continue to keep an eye on the lodge.”
    Frank and Joe could think of nothing else. They mentioned Kane’s shadowing the Daisy K’s crew and that they expected a report from him