Free The Secret Warning by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

in. “But, Dad, why should there be any conflict? If Zufar is on the level, he wants the Pharaoh’s head mystery cleared up as much as you do.”
    Mr. Hardy was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Tell you what. Suppose you fellows go to New York and talk to Zufar again. Tell him I’m not at liberty to take his case just now, but I’ll try to help as soon as possible if he’ll give you fellows all the facts.”
    â€œSwell idea!” Frank agreed. “Maybe we can pick up some good leads!”
    â€œIncidentally,” Mr. Hardy added, “I think Sam should be free this afternoon. He’ll fly to Bayport and the three of you can go to Whalebone Island as we planned.”
    â€œGreat!”
    Both Frank and Joe were eager for the trip to New York. After a hasty breakfast they drove to the railroad station and caught an early train. By ten minutes after eleven they were stepping out of a taxi at Zufar’s address in Lower Manhattan.
    The address proved to be a grimy loft building. On the card Zufar had given them he had also written the name “Fritz Bogdan, Curio Dealer.” The same name was lettered on the windows of a ground-floor shop.
    Frank and Joe entered the shop and found themselves in a long, dimly lighted room filled with Oriental carpets, statuary, paintings, and curios.
    A tall, hawk-faced man with iron-gray hair eyed them curiously.
    â€œMay I help you?”
    â€œAre you Mr. Bogdan?” Frank asked. When the man nodded, he went on, “We’re looking for Mr. Mehmet Zufar.”
    â€œOh, yes. I’m his American agent. He occupies office space here on his visits to this country.”
    Bogdan led the boys past a huge green Buddha figure to an inner corridor and pointed to an office doorway bearing Zufar’s name. Frank thanked Bogdan and rapped on the door.
    â€œCome in!”
    Zufar looked up startled from his desk as the Hardys entered. He listened with obvious impatience as Frank repeated what Mr. Hardy had said. Then he pounded a fist on the desk.
    â€œNow listen! Something has come up that changes everything. Your father must help me!”

CHAPTER XII
    Key 273
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    T HE mustached art dealer’s reaction took the Hardys by surprise.
    â€œDo you have some kind of clue?” Frank asked.
    Zufar’s eyes narrowed. “A good deduction.” His fingers nervously plucked an envelope from his desk. “This letter came in the morning mail,” he said, handing it over. “See for yourself.”
    Frank took the envelope, which bore a typewritten address and was postmarked New York, N. Y. Inside was a note and a small key stamped with the number 273.
    The note, which also was typed, read:
    We have the gold head of Rhamaton IV.
We will sell it back to you for $100,000.
Be ready with your answer. SHOW THIS
NOTE TO NO ONE IF YOU VALUE
YOUR LIFE!
    The Hardys exchanged baffled glances.
    â€œIf the gang who sent this have the Pharaoh’s head, Mr. Zufar,” said Joe, “why should they offer to sell it back to you? ”
    The dealer mopped his brow with a lavender silk handkerchief. “Who knows? Maybe the thieves have been unable to find a private buyer willing to pay such a price for a stolen art object. Do not forget—the deal would entail great risk on both sides, and the buyer would never be able to display his acquisition.”
    â€œMaybe,” Frank suggested, “the thieves think you’re aiming to collect from the insurance company, then sell the head secretly for much more than a hundred thousand.”
    Zufar shot him a sharp glance. “It is possible,” he admitted grudgingly.
    â€œDo you think it’s likely that the persons who sent the note really have the authentic head?” Joe inquired.
    The dealer threw up his hands in despair. “Alas, I fear so. The head may have been salvaged from the Katawa’s strong room, or stolen or switched