Read Online Mystery of the Samurai Sword by Franklin W. Dixon - Free Book Online

the guy in our clutches and let him go! He might’ve given us a clue to whatever happened to Mr. Satoya!”
    â€œSorry I decked you,” Joe apologized. “That punch was meant for our attacker.”
    â€œIt wasn’t your fault. He was one tough cookie. At least we’ll be able to identify him if we ever see him again. Did you notice his tattoos?”
    â€œI’ll say I did! Oriental dragons and evil spirits sticking out of both sleeves; they probably run clear up his arms. And did you notice his little fingers?”
    Frank nodded grimly. “You mean what’s left of them. They were both missing the top joints!”
    Back home in Bayport that evening, the boys described the attacker to their father. From Fenton Hardy’s expression, it was clear that he recognized the description at once.
    â€œThe fellow must have been a Yakuza!” he declared.
    â€œWhat’s that?” Joe queried.
    â€œA Japanese gangster. They’re almost a separate caste over there. The crew cut and dark glasses and loud clothes sound typical. So do the tattoos and especially the amputated finger joints.”
    â€œHow come, Dad?”
    â€œIt’s a ritual,” Mr. Hardy explained. “Whenever a gang member does something wrong in the eyes of his leader, he is required to cut off a finger joint. This proves that he is still loyal and shows that he regrets his mistake.”
    The younger Hardy boy shuddered. “Sounds sick to me!”
    â€œI warned you two! You were asking for trouble when you went poking around New York looking for bloodthirsty Oriental criminals!” Gertrude Hardy scolded. She was hovering within hearing distance as she finished setting the dinner table.
    â€œIf you mean the art gallery thieves, Aunt Gertrude, there’s no way of telling whether or not they were Orientals,” Frank pointed out.
    The tall, thin woman sniffed scornfully. “Who else would want to steal a Japanese sword?”
    â€œQuite a few crooks, I imagine, if they knew it was worth twenty-five thousand dollars.”
    â€œDon’t argue with me, young man! Just come to dinner!” Miss Hardy disappeared into the kitchen to bring out the roast, muttering darkly, “Tattooed gangsters! Chopped-off finger joints! Next thing we’ll be getting poisoned fortune cookies in the mail!”
    After dinner, Frank and Joe found time to glance through the evening paper. Joe had the front section, which carried stories about Takashi Satoya’s baffling disappearance, and also the break-in theft of the samurai sword from the Palmer-Glade Auction Galleries.
    â€œHey, get a load of this!” Joe muttered to his brother.
    â€œWhat?” said Frank, scarcely looking up from the comics page.
    â€œRemember that klutz who bumped into us when we went to see Warlord?”
    â€œHumber? Sure, what about him?”
    â€œThere’s an interview with him in the paper.”
    Frank put down the comics page with an expression of interest. “What’s he got to say?”
    â€œHe thinks there may be a connection between Satoya disappearing and the gallery theft—because the stolen sword belonged to the Satoya family!”
    â€œHey! Let’s see that!” Frank exclaimed, springing up from the sofa. Taking the newspaper from his brother, he ran his eyes hastily over the story that Joe was pointing to.
    Apparently Humber had been interviewed as an expert on swords because of his own collection of exotic weapons.
    â€œI would not care to speculate on why the sword was stolen, or who may have engineered the theft,” he was quoted as saying, “but the timing and coincidence are certainly interesting!”
    â€œBoy, Humber’s taking a chance, making a crack like that!” Frank remarked thoughtfully.
    â€œYou said it,” Joe agreed. “Almost sounds as if he’s accusing Satoya. The Satoya Corporation might decide to sue Big