The Sinister Signpost Page 3

  “Out of luck again,” Joe grumbled.

  Finally Barto led the boys to a small, red-brick apartment house off the main street and entered the building. Frank and Joe waited a few minutes, then dashed into the lobby. They quickly checked the mailboxes and found that Barto lived in apartment 6B.

  “Well, there’s nothing more we can do today.” Frank sighed. “We may as well go home. Maybe we’ll come up with an idea before tomorrow.”

  After supper the young detectives joined their father in his study.

  “Sorry to hear you haven’t had any luck with your investigation today,” Mr. Hardy said. “Neither have I. So far, none of Alden’s employees show up in my criminal files.”

  “Did you check on Barto and his brother?” Frank queried.

  “Yes, I have.”

  Mr. Hardy said that according to their records, the twins had been born in a small Midwest community. When they were still very young, their father had moved the family to Switzerland, where he accepted a job as an engineer. It was there that Vilno attended a university, and Barto had learned the sheet-metal trade.

  “The twins returned to the United States several years ago and started a business called Inventions, Incorporated,” Mr. Hardy continued. “They didn’t do very well and finally closed the shop. After that, it was a matter of job-hopping until they joined the Alden company.”

  “Hm! Not much to go on there,” Frank muttered. “However, I still want to follow through on the fingerprint angle.”

  “Maybe we could get into Barto’s apartment!” Joe suggested.

  “We’d need a court order to do that,” his brother said. “At present we haven’t any reason for justifying such a move.”

  Frank thought for a moment, then suddenly sat bolt upright in his chair. “Wait a minute! I have an idea!” he exclaimed. “Barto has to grab the doorknob to enter his apartment. I can hide in the hallway and wait until he comes home, then simply lift his prints from the knob.”

  “Say! That might work!” Joe agreed.

  “Go to it, boys. But be careful,” Mr. Hardy warned.

  The hours dragged by slowly during the boys’ second day at the plant. At lunch they reviewed their plan. Frank would leave an hour before quitting time and take the bus to Clayton. Joe would drive their car and shadow Barto as they had done the previous day.

  A few minutes before four o’clock Frank hurried from the plant and caught the bus to Clayton. Within half an hour he was climbing the stairs to the sixth floor where Barto’s apartment was located. He found 6B, then stepped out through the exit door at the far end of the hallway. The young detective inched the door open so he could watch for his suspect.

  “I hope Barto doesn’t come home late tonight,” he thought.

  While Frank waited, an elderly woman in work clothes appeared with a vacuum cleaner and a small trash disposal cart. She unlocked Barto’s door and went inside. Shortly she reappeared with a wastebasket and dumped its contents into the cart. Then she went back into the apartment. The whirling sound of a vacuum cleaner could be heard.

  “I wonder what was in the wastebasket,” Frank mused. “Maybe I’ll find a clue.”

  He dashed to the cart and found several pieces of crumpled paper. Frank jammed them into his pocket and returned to his hiding place.

  Eventually the cleaning woman emerged from the room, locked the door, and disappeared down the hallway with her paraphernalia. Frank ran to the door and wiped it clean so that Barto’s prints would be the only ones present.

  Half an hour passed. Then, from his hiding place, Frank spotted Barto walking down the hallway. The stocky man unlocked his door, twisted the knob, and went inside. When the door closed behind him, Frank sprang into action.

  He dusted the knob with a fine, gray powder. Next, he took a strip of sticky tape from a celluloid container and carefully pressed it on the knob. A split second later he lifted off the tape, placed it back in the container, then rushed down the stairs and out of the building. He saw Joe in their car about a block away.

  “Whew!” Frank said, out of breath. “I was afraid Barto was going to open his door any second.”

  “Mission accomplished?” his brother asked half-jokingly.

  Frank held up the celluloid container. “Here are his fingerprints. Let’s take them to Chief Collig and have him check them right away.”

  The boys drove directly to Bayport Police Headquarters. Chief Collig told them that he would send the data to the FBI by teletype and call the Hardys as soon as he received a reply.

  Arriving home, the boys had a leisurely supper, then went to their crime lab located above the garage. There they examined the crumpled pieces of paper Frank had found in the disposal cart. All of them proved to be discarded advertising circulars, except one blank page.

  “This looks like the backing sheet for a typewritten letter,” Joe observed as he carefully flattened it out on a table.

  “Then there must be word impressions on it,” his brother replied. “Let’s put it under the ultraviolet light.”

  The boys treated the blank sheet with a chemical solution and placed it under a special lamp. Gradually, words began to show up clearly. The letter read:6/2

  Dear Eric:

  Forgive me for taking so long to write you, but I’ve been so exhausted from work the last few days that I didn’t feel I could write a coherent sentence. How I wish I had the stamina of two hard-working boys who have taken summer jobs at the plant. Any family would be proud to have sons like that.

  As I already told you, my brother has left the Alden company. It came as a surprise to me because I did not detect anything in his behavior to lead me to believe he was dissatisfied with his job. I hope he manages to survive his own idiosyncracies. His reasons for leaving were extremely unreasonable, and I hope he eventually sees the error of his ways.

  Because of my brother, I feel a bit embarrassed about continuing to work here. I’m sure they’re expecting me to leave also. I must admit I have been investigating other possible jobs, but now I realize it would be foolish of me to quit.

  Hoping that luck will not continue to evade us, I am

  Your friend,

  Barto

  The Hardys wondered to whom the letter had been sent, and if it might contain a coded message. After close examination, they concluded that the letter was quite ordinary. They kept it on file, nevertheless.

  Later Chief Collig telephoned the boys. “I just got a reply on those prints you wanted checked,” he announced. “They belong to a Barto Sigor.”

  The news was shattering. The Hardys no longer had a prime suspect!

  CHAPTER V

  A Close Call

  THE next day and a half at the plant proved disappointing for the boys. Despite their meticulous investigation, they failed to come up with a suspect.

  “I’m ready to tackle this case from another angle,” Frank said. “We may as well give up our undercover work here at the plant. Nothing more we can do.”

  “What do you have in mind?” Joe asked.

  “Looking into the accidents involving Alden’s experimental race cars.”

  “Do you think there’s some connection between the accidents and the stealing of the motor specifications?”

  Frank shrugged. “I don’t know. Each of the cars was equipped with a prototype model of the motor. Yet why would anyone risk destroying the cars if that’s what they were after?”

  “Let’s have a talk with Alden,” Joe suggested.

  In a little while the boys were seated in the president’s office.

  “So you want to investigate the accidents,” Alden said. “That’s okay with me.”

  “We’d like to have a talk with the drivers,” Frank replied.

  “You’ll find them in the garage opposite the research department,” Alden told them. “They’re getting another of my cars ready for a road race competition that’s coming up. Their names are Jim Markus and Speed Johnston.”

  Frank and Joe made their way toward a large, metal-covered building. Inside, a crew of mechanics was busy working on a bright-red experimental race car. Two wiry young men, in their mid-twenties, were watching the proceedings. They turned when the boys called out the names of the drivers.

  “I’m Jim Markus,” one of them said.

  “And my name’s Speed Johnston,” announced the other, extending his hand in greeting. “What can we do for you?”

  Frank and Joe questioned the drivers about their accidents. They told the Hardys that Alden had entered the experimental vehicles in the competitions in order to match their performance against other makes of cars. The explanation of the accidents were the same as Alden had given, except for a couple of interesting facts. First, each of the drivers had experienced a crazing of the windshield immediately after turning a sharp bend in the road. Shortly before it happened, each of them recalled seeing a sign marked DANGER.

  “Would you show us on a map where the accidents took place?” Frank asked.

  “Sure thing,” Johnston replied.

  He took out a road map and spread it on the floor. “Mine happened here,” he said, jabbing a finger at the spot along a winding red line.

  Markus stooped beside his companion. “And my accident took place right here,” he added, marking the location with a pencil.

  The boys thanked the drivers for their help, then left, taking the map with them.

  “The road isn’t far from here,” Frank commented. “Joe, let’s drive there and take a look around.”

  Half an hour later the Hardys were guiding their convertible along a narrow, winding road. They arrived at the sharply curved segment indicated by Johnston and stopped.

  “This is the spot,” Frank remarked. “But I don’t see a sign marked DANGER.”


  The boys got out and walked along the shoulder of the road.

  “Look!” Joe exclaimed, pointing down at the ground. “There’s a little mound of dirt. Someone has filled in a small hole.”

  “You’re right,” his brother agreed. “That’s where the sign must have been. But why was it taken away?”

  Puzzled, the boys returned to their car and drove on to the spot where Markus had said he had his accident. It proved to be another sharply curved segment on the road. The Hardys again examined the shoulder and found a similar mound of dirt.

  “Strange,” Frank muttered. “I think we’re on to something. The only problem is—what?”

  It was getting late, so the boys decided to drive home. When they arrived, Mrs. Hardy rushed out of the house to meet them.

  “Something has happened to your Aunt Gertrude!” she cried out.

  “Where is she?” Frank asked.

  “In the living room!”

  The boys quickly followed their mother inside. There they found Aunt Gertrude slumped in a chair. Mrs. Hardy had placed a wet towel on her forehead.

  “What’s wrong, Aunt Gertrude?” Frank asked.

  Miss Hardy suddenly came to life. “The telegram I just received!” she moaned. “What a dreadful inheritance! Read it!”

  The boys looked down and saw the telegram on the floor beside her chair. Joe picked it up and they read the message. Both tried hard not to laugh.

  “What a dreadful inheritance!” Aunt Gertrude moaned

  “So that’s what this is all about,” Frank said finally. “You’ve inherited a stable of race horses.”

  “A stable of retired race horses, you mean!” she exclaimed. “They’re the worst kind. They’ve already fleeced the public!”

  Mrs. Hardy smiled. “I think it’s wonderful,” she commented. “You might get to like horses. They seem to grow on you in time.”

  “Laura! How can you say such a thing!” Aunt Gertrude rebuked her. She slumped back in her chair. “And to think that this was wished on me by an old friend I forgot even existed. She apparently has no heirs.”

  “Where is the stable located?” Joe queried.

  “In Baltimore,” his aunt replied. “Even that is too close for me.”

  “What do you plan to do with it?” Frank asked.

  “Sell the place!” Aunt Gertrude shot back. “And the quicker the better!”

  “Now calm down,” Mrs. Hardy urged. “Tomorrow we’ll telephone the attorney handling the estate and see what this is all about.”

  Aunt Gertrude remained silent all through supper. Finally a teasing cry of “Giddap!” from Joe sent her storming out of the room.

  The next morning the boys went straight to Alden’s office. They told him about the signs the drivers had mentioned and of their own investigation.

  “Sounds mysterious,” Alden remarked. “But what harm could a sign do?”

  “I can’t answer that at the moment,” Frank admitted. “But I’ve a hunch it has something to do with the accidents.”

  Alden eyed the boys with interest. “How do you plan to follow up your hunch?”

  “The last time we talked,” Frank recalled, “you said that another of your experimental cars was being readied for a road race competition.”

  “That’s right. In fact, the race is scheduled for tomorrow.”

  “Where is it to take place?” Frank asked.

  “On a road not far from the one where the accidents happened. Why?” Alden asked.

  “If you’ll point out the road for us on a map,” Frank explained, “Joe and I will travel the route shortly before the race starts. Maybe we’ll spot one of ose signs. At least it’s worth a try.”

  Alden pulled a map from his desk drawer and indicated the road to be used for the competition. Then the boys returned home and discussed the plan with their father.

  “You might be on to something,” Mr. Hardy said. “I’ll drive the route with you.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” Frank replied. “But we weren’t going to use the car.”

  “You’re not planning to walk all the way?” the detective asked with a look of astonishment. “The race will be over a course of several miles.”

  “We discussed it on the way home, Dad,” Joe put in. “We plan to use our old bicycles. They’re still stored in the garage.”

  Mr. Hardy leaned back in his chair and grinned. “I get it. Bicycles are noiseless. And if there is anything behind this sign theory of yours, you won’t scare off whoever’s setting them up.”

  “Exactly,” Frank replied.

  Before retiring for the night, the boys went to the garage and inspected their bicycles.

  “The tires have to be inflated, and a few drops of oil are needed here and there,” Joe observed. “Otherwise, they’re in good shape.”

  It took only a few minutes to do the job, then they rode their bicycles once around the block for a quick test run.

  “Let’s load the bikes in our car,” Frank suggested, “so we’ll be all set to go first thing in the morning.”

  Frank and Joe got an early start. Mr. Hardy accompanied them to the starting line. There were about twenty stock cars lined up for the race. Each was painted in a different color scheme. Drivers and mechanics were milling around, waiting for the contest to begin. Alden was there and greeted the Hardys.

  “How much time do we have before the race gets under way?” Frank asked him.

  “About thirty minutes. My car will be the first one off. Johnston is the driver.”

  “Then we’d better get going right away,” Frank declared.

  “Be careful,” Mr. Hardy urged.

  The young detectives lifted their bicycles from the trunk, then pedaled down the road.

  After they had covered most of the route, Joe sighed. “I’d forgotten how slow bicycling can be.”

  “Keep going,” his brother said. “The race will be starting any second now, and it won’t take the cars long to travel this far. We should cover as much of the route as we can before they do.”

  As the boys continued, they noticed that the road was becoming treacherous for racing. It was flanked on one side by a rocky wall, and on the other by a sloping embankment with a drop of nearly a hundred feet.

  Eventually Frank and Joe came to a sharp bend in the road. As they rounded it, Frank suddenly locked his brakes. Joe did the same. Just ahead was a large sign marked DANGER!

  “Leaping lizards!” Joe declared in a hushed voice.

  “That sign is exactly like the ones Johnston and Markus described to us,” Frank observed. “Let’s take a look at it.”

  “Maybe we’re being watched.”

  “That’s a chance we’ll have to take.”

  The boys laid their bicycles on the embankment and began walking toward the sign. When they reached it, they stopped and gazed at its face.

  “What do you make of it?” Joe queried.

  “Seems quite ordinary, except for one thing,” Frank answered. “It’s much thicker than most signs.”

  At that instant the young detectives heard a faint, whirring noise.

  “What’s that?” Joe said.

  Frank listened. “I’d say it’s a generator of some kind,” he concluded.

  “It’s coming from a spot a little farther down the road.”

  The boys began to inch their way toward the source of the sound. Suddenly the roar of a motor became distinct. Each second it grew louder.

  “The first of the race cars is coming!” Joe exclaimed.

  The Hardys turned just in time to see Alden’s entry tearing around the sharp curve in the road. Suddenly it began to swerve out of control. The vehicle bounced into the air and hurtled directly toward the boys!

  CHAPTER VI

  Final Warning

  THE racing car plunged toward Frank and Joe like some horrible monster eager to crush its prey. In a desperate move the boys leaped down the embankment and went tumbling head over heels to the bottom. They lay stunned. The next thing they knew, Mr. Hardy and Alden were leaning over them.

  “Are you all right?” their father asked anxiously.

  “I’m—I’m okay,” Frank assured him.

  “Me too,” Joe added, rubbing his head gingerly.

  “One of the other drivers saw that there had been an accident and reported it,” Alden said. “We got here just as fast as we could.”