The Bombay Boomerang by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

has no lead to the mercury gang.”
    Mr. Hardy decided that leaving from Bayport for Pittsburgh might be too risky, so he and his sons drove to an airport several miles away. Jack Wayne had flown in to pick them up, and they were soon in the air.
    When the Golden Triangle at the confluence of the Allegheny and the Monongahela showed up in the distance, Jack cut his engines, made a big circle, and came down. for a landing on instructions from the control tower.
    Then he went into the administration building, while the Hardys rented a car. “We’re to rendezvous with our friend at the third motel right down this highway,” Mr. Hardy explained. “Place called Vacation Inn.”
    Frank made the turn at the neon sign. The motel was an oblong structure with rooms along three sides. They parked and went directly to the room where the admiral was waiting. It was in the middle of one section, so the get-together would be as inconspicuous as possible.
    The officer was dressed in civilian clothes when he opened the door. “Another precaution,” he informed the Hardys. “My naval uniform would stick out like a sore thumb in this place.”
    He motioned Frank and Joe to sit down on the sofa, while Mr. Hardy made a quick search for hidden microphones. Then the admiral went right to the heart of the matter.
    â€œThis Bombay Boomerang angle has me stumped. At the Pentagon, we’ve played the tape from Commander Wenn’s office over and over. With regard to that phrase, we literally don’t know anything yet.”
    He glanced at the two boys. “I hear you fellows are experimenting with boomerangs, so maybe you have a theory.”
    Frank shook his head. “Nothing yet, sir.”
    â€œMy secretary did some research, and she said the weapon is native to India as well as Australia. Does that tidbit lead us anywhere?”
    Frank shrugged. “Where it leads—if it leads anywhere—I don’t know. But your secretary is right, Admiral. The Indian boomerang isn’t as famous as the Australian version, but many Indian families cherish their boomerangs as heirlooms and even as sacred relics.”
    â€œOur expert, Chet Morton of Bayport, says that in olden times Bombay was the metropolis of the southern India boomerang country,” Joe put in.
    â€œIndia keeps popping up in this case,” Frank noted. “Remember that Indian desk clerk in Baltimore. He’s been one of our suspects ever since we saw him. And—”
    Mr. Hardy held up a warning hand. “Sh! Someone’s outside the door!”
    A key eased into the keyhole. The individual trying the lock twisted it gently at first, then with greater force as it stuck. He was determined to get into the room.
    Admiral Rodgers strode to the door. Flinging it open, he surprised a man bending over and fumbling with the key.
    â€œWhat do you want?” the admiral barked.
    â€œI want to get into my room. What are you guys doing here? This is number 69, isn’t it?”
    â€œNo, it’s 89!” The admiral’s tone showed his annoyance at the interruption.
    The man was plainly embarrassed. “Sorry,” he stammered apologetically. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” He retreated toward number 69.
    â€œAn honest mistake, I believe,” Rodgers said, rejoining the circle. “But it’s enough to give one the jitters when strangers crash into a conference like this.”
    â€œWe can arrange to keep them away,” Joe declared with a grin. “At least honest ones!” Stepping over to the door, he hung a “Do Not Disturb” sign on the outer knob.
    Mr. Hardy picked up the thread of the conversation. “I believe the vital question concerns the relation between the mercury case and the missing missile. What can they possibly have in common? If we knew that, we’d have the solution.”
    â€œThere’s another mystery that might link the two, although