Free The Masked Monkey by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

improvised flag at the ship, which slowed down and eased alongside.
    A rope ladder swung down over the railing. The boys quickly mounted to the deck. In the captain’s cabin, they told him that they had become lost in the jungle on the previous night.
    â€œWhere do you wish to go?” the captain asked.
    â€œTo Manaus,” Frank answered.
    â€œWe will be glad to take you.”
    â€œThank you very much, sir.”
    Frank and Joe freshened up and had a second breakfast. “Good thing we still got our money,” Frank said with a grin. “It got soaked, but it’ll still buy us what we need.”
    â€œHow about a plane trip back to Belem?” Joe asked.
    â€œGood idea. The only thing is, who’s going to take us?”
    Joe shrugged. “We’ll just have to make it to the airport and play it by ear.”
    It was about noontime when the Hardys arrived in Manaus. After getting their bags, they took a taxi to the airfield and Frank inquired if Rico Armand happened to be there.
    The airport manager, a rotund Brazilian with a bald head, shrugged. “If you know his plane, go out and look around. There are many small planes coming in here and I do not know all the pilots by name.”
    The boys made a methodical search of the field.
    â€œHey, Frank,” Joe said, “doesn’t that crate look like the one we came on?”
    â€œSure does. I recognize the number. Wow, are we in luck!”
    â€œTell you what,” Joe said. “I’ll stay here by the plane while you try to locate Armand.”
    â€œOkay.” Frank left. He returned a half hour later without the pilot. “Somebody told me he’d be flying out about three o’clock,” he said. “But no one knows where he is now.”
    â€œWe’ll wait right here,” Joe said. “It’s our best bet.”
    The boys squatted down beside a hangar from where they could keep the plane under surveillance. Rico Armand appeared about a half hour later. He was surprised to see the boys, who quickly asked for a ride back to Belem.
    â€œSure, get in,” the pilot said. “I’ll be glad to take you.”
    They arrived in Belem in the evening and found a small hotel to spend the night. After dinner they discussed the situation.
    â€œWhat next?” Joe asked, stifling a yawn.
    â€œObviously the Brazilian angle was nothing but a wild-goose chase,” Frank said. “We were lured here by San Marten and his gang to be eliminated.”
    â€œSuppose Retson had come instead of sending us?”
    â€œThen no doubt he would have run into the same difficulties.”
    â€œToo bad we didn’t learn where Graham really is,” Joe said with a sigh.
    â€œBack north most likely meant the United States. I vote we return to Granite City and work on the case from there,” Frank said.
    â€œI’m with you. Maybe we can get our papers tomorrow.”
    At the American Consulate the next day the Hardys were greeted by the same man they had spoken to before. “Your passport problem is solved,” he told them. “The lost ones have been canceled. Here are a couple of identification cards that will enable you to return home.”
    â€œThank you, sir,” Frank replied.
    The young detectives made plane reservationsand sent a cable to their family, saying they would be on a late-afternoon flight from Belem to New York. Then they taxied to the airport, bought tickets, and boarded a jet.
    Before they left the ground, Joe, who was at the window, nudged his brother. “Frank, look at that!”
    They saw a crate with a howler monkey being lifted into the hold of a plane operated by another airline. The animal stood on its hind legs, grasping the bars, and peered through with sharp black eyes.
    â€œWould you say that’s Diabo?” Joe asked.
    â€œHardly. This one has a pleasant face, not at all like the leering monster we tangled with.”
    They landed