Mystery of the Whale Tattoo by Franklin W. Dixon

Hardy asked.
    â€œYeah. It’s full of dirty shirts.”
    â€œLook,” said the detective. “No sense in dumpin’ ‘em. I’ll keep ’em until ol’ Whitey comes back.”
    The clerk took the duffel and plopped it on the counter. “Help yourself.”
    Mr. Hardy picked up the bag and casually went back up the stairs. The boys followed. Once back inside 2-D, they locked the door and took the durfel over to the bed.
    â€œCross your fingers, boys,” Mr. Hardy said. “If we’re lucky, we might pick up a clue or two.” He spilled the shirts onto the spread. There were a dozen of them, several stained and torn. Mr. Hardy and the boys began going through the pockets.
    â€œHere’s something!” Chet said. He handed an old faded piece of paper to Mr. Hardy.
    The detective studied it and read aloud: “ ‘It’s getting worse every day. Don’t know what will happen to Jonah. The Hong Kong job turned out to be a real flop. I’ll let you know what happens. J. Kane.’ ”
    â€œWow!” said Joe. “We know now that Kane was one of the thieves who stole the Ivory Idol. But we can’t get anything from him. He’s dead.”
    Mr. Hardy was surprised to hear this and continued to search through the rest of the shirts, with negative results. Then, leaving no stone unturned, Frank pulled the duffel bag inside out and examined it. Close to the bottom seam he spotted a line of words in small letters, printed with India ink. “Listen to this!” he said. “‘Society of the Whale Tattoo: Blackright, Beluga, Blue, Bottlenose, and Pygmy.”’
    â€œThat’s great, Frank,” Mr. Hardy said. “From the thumbprint we know that Meldrum is Blackright, but who are the others? Tim Varney? Maybe Boko?”
    â€œAnd is this really a society?” Joe asked. “Or an old gang?”
    Mr. Hardy became silent. After thinking for a while, he said, “Frank and Joe, how would you like to take a fast trip to Los Angeles?”
    â€œSure,” Joe said. “What for?”
    â€œTo nail down this Society of the Whale Tattoo. The Los Angeles Police Department has the most extensive file on tattoos in the world of criminology. They arrest more than two hundred thousand persons each year, and every tattoo they find is recorded. Their file has been indispensable in breaking several difficult cases.”
    â€œOkay,” Frank said. “We can catch a plane tonight and grab some sleep during the flight.”
    â€œWhat about me?” Chet asked.
    â€œIf you don’t mind,” Mr. Hardy said, “I’d like you to stay here and lend me a hand.”
    â€œAll right,” Chet said. “But as long as we have the details settled, what about that food we were going out for?”
    They went to a small Italian restaurant, and after dinner walked back to the Seamen’s Haven.
    While Frank and Joe looked for a taxi, Mr. Hardy conferred briefly with Chet. The chubby boy accompanied the brothers to the parking lot where they had left their car. Next, Frank and Joe dropped Chet and his suitcase off at Seamen’s Haven, then headed for Kennedy Airport.
    They parked and took their luggage from the trunk of the car. “I sure hope we can find some answers,” Joe said as they walked to the terminal.
    â€œSo do I,” Frank answered. “Blackright won’t be wasting much more time on R. R. Dunn. There are a great many wealthy art collectors in this country, and unfortunately, not all of them are as scrupulous as Mr. Dunn. If Blackright contacts one of them, the Ivory Idol may disappear forever!”
    They checked in at the ticket counter and were told that the next flight to Los Angeles did not leave for another hour and a half. Frank bought tickets, had their luggage tagged and put on the conveyor belt, then walked with Joe into the main lobby, where they bought two magazines at a