The Sinister Signpost Page 4

  Frank sprang to his feet. “Your driver Johnston! How is he?”

  “Fine, except for a few bruises,” Alden replied. He grinned. “I build very strong cars. My drivers are well-protected.”

  The boys told the two men what they had seen.

  “And you say there was a signpost marked DANGER?” Mr. Hardy asked curiously. “Where?”

  Frank pointed toward the top of the embankment. “The one right—” His words trailed off.

  “Why—it’s gone!” Joe exclaimed.

  The boys led the way up the embankment. Then they slowly walked along the shoulder of the road. In a minute they discovered a small hole that had been hastily filled in.

  “Here’s the place,” Frank said. “This is where we saw the sign.”

  “I’d call it a sinister signpost,” Mr. Hardy remarked, rubbing his chin dubiously. “It’s here one minute, and gone the next. Obviously someone has carried it off.”

  Joe casually thrust his hands into the pockets of his jacket. A moment later his face showed surprise and he pulled a piece of paper from one of his pockets. On it was a printed message:

  THIS IS A FINAL WARNING!

  HANDS OFF THE ALDEN CASE!

  “This must have been put in my pocket while we were lying at the bottom of the embankment,” Joe said.

  “We can be sure of one thing,” Frank added. “Whoever’s after Mr. Alden’s experimental motor is also responsible for the accidents.”

  A car roared up and screeched to a halt. Its driver, one of Alden’s race car mechanics, leaped out.

  “Mr. Alden!” he shouted excitedly. “We just received a call from one of your watchmen at the plant. The research department is on fire!”

  “We’ll drive you there,” Mr. Hardy offered. “There might be a connection with the accident here.”

  He and his sons hopped into the boys’ convertible with Alden. By the time they arrived at the plant, the flames were completely extinguished. Firemen began to rummage through a charred area that once was Alden’s research shop.

  “This is a terrible blow to my experimental project,” he muttered.

  The Hardys expressed their regret, then went to talk with the fire chief.

  “I can’t say what caused the fire,” the chief told them. “We’ll have to conduct an investigation first.”

  “Approximately when did it start?” Frank asked.

  “We got the alarm about an hour ago.”

  “I’d appreciate knowing the results of your investigation,” Mr. Hardy said as he presented his credentials to the fire chief.

  The man recognized the name immediately. “It sure is a pleasure to meet you, sir. And these two boys must be your sons, Frank and Joe. My name’s Fred Evans.” There was an exchange of handshakes. “You can count on me,” the fire chief continued. “I’ll let you know if we uncover anything.”

  The Hardys thanked him, then rejoined Alden who was picking his way through the rubble of his burned shop.

  “There’s nothing left to salvage,’ he said dejectedly. ”However, I’ll set up a temporary research shop in one of the other buildings.”

  The Hardys expressed their regrets at Alden’s loss and returned home. Aunt Gertrude was still greatly upset over her inheritance of a stable filled with retired race horses.

  “Fenton!” she exclaimed. “You promised to call the attorney who’s handling the estate, and you never did. Please do it right away. I can’t rest thinking about that awful place.”

  Mr. Hardy went to telephone, while the boys had a snack of sandwiches and milk in the kitchen. A few minutes later their father hurried into the room.

  “I still have the attorney on the line,” Mr. Hardy said. “He’d like us to take a look at the stables. However, I have too much work to clean up here, and I’m sure your aunt won’t go. So why don’t you two boys hop down to Maryland?”

  “Sure thing, Dad,” Frank replied.

  Mr. Hardy completed his call, then gave Frank and Joe their instructions.

  “You can catch an early train to Baltimore in the morning,” the detective explained. “The attorney will meet you at the station there. He’ll be waiting in front of the information desk. His name is Steve Benson.”

  Frank and Joe left Bayport aboard the seven-o’ clock train. It was nearly noon when they arrived in Baltimore. The boys went directly to the information desk and noticed a tall, even-featured man standing nearby. He appeared to be in his late fifties, and was impeccably dressed.

  “Mr. Benson?” Frank queried.

  “Yes,” the man answered. “And you must be the Hardys. I’ve heard a lot about you and your father.” He extended his hand in greeting. “My car is just outside. The stable isn’t far from here.”

  The boys enjoyed the drive through the lush, green countryside. During the journey, the attorney discussed Aunt Gertrude’s situation.

  “Your father says that she wants to sell the stable as soon as possible,” Benson remarked. “We shouldn’t have any trouble doing that. In fact, Norman Fowler, the temporary manager out there, would like to buy the place. Unfortunately he doesn’t have the money right now.”

  Nearly an hour passed before Benson guided his car through an arched gateway. Spread across the arch, in gold letters, was the name:SOUTHERN PINES STABLES

  “All told, there are about twenty acres here,” the attorney announced. “It’s not very big, but it’s adequate for the purpose.”

  Ahead, the boys saw a small house and two other wooden structures. All were painted white and appeared to be in excellent condition. The largest of the buildings contained the stalls for the horses. To the left was a large grassy area surrounded by a wooden fence. About a dozen fine-looking horses were lazily grazing there.

  Benson brought the car to a stop near the house and got out. The young detectives followed. Standing on the porch was a bulky, deeply tanned man whom the attorney introduced to the boys as Norman Fowler.

  “The Hardys have come to take a look around,” Benson told him.

  “Glad to be of service,” Fowler said cordially. “As you probably know, all the horses here have seen the last of their racing days. The owners want to provide a comfortable retirement for them. That’s our job.”

  The manager invited his guests into the house to lunch, then took them on a tour of the stables. As the day drew to a close, Fowler suggested that the boys remain overnight and return to Bayport in the morning.

  “All my stable hands are away for the evening at a local affair,” he said, “and the bunkhouse is empty. You can sleep there.”

  Benson announced that he had to leave, but promised to return in the morning to drive the Hardys to the railroad station. After a quick supper prepared by Fowler, Frank and Joe went to the bunkhouse. At ten o’clock they retired for the night. Little more than an hour had passed when the boys were awakened by the muffled sound of men talking.

  “That’s odd,” Frank whispered. “I thought all of Fowler’s stable hands were away for the evening.”

  The boys dressed and crept out of the bunkhouse toward the source of the voices.

  “We want fifty percent of the take,” they heard one man say.

  Joe accidentally stepped on a twig, which snapped with a cracking noise. The boys froze in their tracks and listened. There was only silence.

  “Let’s move ahead and try to get a glimpse of the men,” Frank hissed.

  The young detectives cautiously edged their way through the darkness. They saw no one. Then suddenly a voice boomed out from behind them.

  “Stay where you are!”

  The boys turned to find themselves peering into the muzzle of a rifle.

  “Who are you?” Joe demanded.

  The armed man directed the beam of a flashlight into the faces of the Hardys.

  “Oh, it’s you boys,” he said. “I thought you were asleep.” The man flicked the beam of light onto his own face.

  “Mr. Fowler!” Frank exclaimed.

  “We heard some men talking out here,” Joe explained, “and came to investigate.”

  “Did you see them?” the manager questioned.

  “No,” Frank replied. “We never got close enough.”

  “Well, I heard them too,” Fowler said. “But I’m sure they were workers from the farm just across the way. They often use our area as a short cut when they walk back from town.” He then said good night and went into the house.

  Frank and Joe rose early the next morning. They had just finished breakfast when Benson arrived to take them to the railroad station. The boys thanked Fowler for his hospitality, then hurried off to the train. During the drive, the attorney explained some of the legal points involved in their aunt’s intended sale, and handed them some documents that she was to examine.

  When they arrived in Bayport, the boys wasted no time in telling Aunt Gertrude and their parents what they had seen.

  “It’s too bad you want to sell the stable,” Joe said. “The place is beautiful.”

  “Say no more!” their aunt retorted. “Just give me the documents the lawyer wants me to read, so I can get it over with!”

  “Once your aunt makes up her mind,” Mr. Hardy commented, “there’s no changing it.”

  The following morning Alden telephoned Mr. Hardy. “Come to the Clayton Police Station right away,” he requested. “There’s a thief down here who’s been stealing information on my experimental motor!”

  CHAPTER VII

  The Elusive Stranger

  MR. HARDY and the boys drove to Clayton immediately. Alden met them at the police station.

  “Where is the suspect?” Mr. Hardy asked him.

  “Detective Lieutenant Swaze is questioning him in the interrogation room,” Alden answered. “He said we were to join him
the minute you arrived.”

  Inside, a thin, untidily dressed man was seated in a chair. Lieutenant Swaze, lanky and middle-aged, was pacing the floor in front of him. Alden introduced the detective to the Hardys.

  “This man is charged with burglary,” Swaze announced. “He was caught rifling Mr. Alden’s office safe by one of the watchmen at the plant.”

  “When the police searched him,” Alden interrupted, “they found several hollow-core impeller blades for my experimental motor in his pocket. I always keep a supply of them in the safe until an engine is ready for assembly.”

  Mr. Hardy turned to the suspect. “Whom are you working for?” he demanded.

  “I ain’t workin’ for nobody!” the prisoner shouted. “And I don’t know nothin’ about any experimental motor!”

  “Then why did you take the impeller blades?” Frank asked quickly.

  “Them things were made out o’ shiny metal,” the man replied nervously. “I thought it might be silver and I could get some money for ’em.”

  The interrogation continued for another two hours. The prisoner stuck to his story. Finally the boys and their father left the room with Alden.

  “I’m convinced the suspect is telling the truth,” Mr. Hardy concluded. “He’s obviously just a small-time crook who would steal anything.”

  “Then you don’t think he’s part of a gang trying to get the plans for my motor?” Alden queried.

  “At this point, no,” the detective said. “But let’s see what the police come up with when they check his record.”

  Alden glanced at his watch and announced that he would have to return to the plant. The Hardys walked to their car and started back to Bayport, disappointed that nothing had come of their trip.

  While driving through the center of Clayton, Joe suddenly pointed toward two men standing on a street corner. “Look!” he exclaimed. “There’s Barto talking to someone!”

  “I wonder why he’s not at work,” Frank remarked.

  “Maybe he has the day off,” Joe answered.

  The boys noticed that Barto’s companion had the collar of his jacket turned up high, and his hat pulled low over his eyes.

  “That guy he’s with sure looks suspicious,” Joe commented.

  Frank stopped the car at the next corner. “I’ll walk past Barto and try to get a glimpse of the other man’s face,” he said. “The sidewalk is crowded with pedestrians. Chances are he won’t spot me.”

  Frank made his way toward the two men. When he was within a few feet of them, Barto suddenly gave his companion a hard shove. The man turned and ran down the street. Frank, figuring this was strange, raced off in pursuit.

  “Did you see that?” Joe said to his father.

  “Yes! Come on! Frank might need our help!”

  They leaped out of the car and joined in the chase. Mr. Hardy stopped long enough to fire a question at Barto.

  “Who was that man you were talking to?”

  Barto appeared surprised. “I—I don’t know,” he stammered. “He was looking for a handout. When I refused, he insulted me and I gave him a shove.”

  Mr. Hardy hurried on and found his sons standing at the entrance of an office building.

  “He ran in here,” Frank told his father.

  “Let’s go after him!” Joe urged.

  “I’ll stay outside,” Mr. Hardy said. “In case he gives you the slip, I’ll go after him.”

  The boys ran into the building and discovered that the elevator was out of order. They bounded up the stairs. High above them, the two sleuths heard heavy footsteps.

  “He must be heading for the roof!” Joe whispered.

  Continuing the chase, the boys soon reached the roof. Their quarry was not in sight, but they heard what sounded like a metal door being slammed shut.

  “It came from over there!” Joe said, pointing to the roof of an adjacent building.

  The boys leaped across the narrow gap separating the two structures, and found a door leading inside. Pulling it open, Frank and Joe rushed down the stairs to the ground floor. Their father met them as they dashed outside.

  “Your man came running out of this building,” Mr. Hardy said. “I was too far away to stop him. By the time I realized what had happened, he disappeared in the crowd.”

  “Too bad,” said Frank.

  As the Hardys drove home, the detective told his sons what Barto had said.

  “Do you believe him?” Frank asked.

  “We have no choice but to take his word for it,” Mr. Hardy replied. “Yet Barto doesn’t strike me as the type that goes shoving people around.”

  “And why would a man just asking for a handout run off like a fugitive?” Joe interjected.

  “There’s something fishy about this,” Frank added.

  The Hardys had just finished supper when the telephone rang. Frank answered.

  “This is Mr. Alden,” the caller said. “I have one more completed race car fitted with my experimental engine. Luckily it was in the garage when the research shop burned down. I plan to give it a test run tomorrow.”

  “Another competition?” Frank asked.

  “No, this will be a private test. I have permission from the highway department to use a straight stretch of road near the plant. I’d like you boys and your father to be present. I don’t expect any trouble, but it pays to be safe.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to use the drag strip at your track?” Frank suggested. “You’d be less likely to find intruders there.”

  “The strip is too short for my purpose,” Alden explained. “Shall we say ten o’clock tomorrow morning?”

  “We’ll be there,” Frank assured him.

  The next day the boys and their father drove to the test site. Alden’s experimental race car was unpainted, and its highly polished metal surface gleamed in the sun. Mechanics were giving the vehicle a final inspection.

  “We’ll be ready to start in about twenty minutes,” Alden told the boys. “I intend to drive the first couple of runs myself. They will be acceleration tests.”

  He said that the car was a two-seater designed to carry a mechanic in addition to the driver.

  “Since I won’t be taking a mechanic with me,” Alden said, “how would one of you boys like to go along?”

  He suggested that the boys draw straws to decide which one would accompany him. They did, and Frank won.

  “That’s settled,” Alden remarked, then added, “Joe, would you mind helping us with the tests?”

  “How?”

  “Normally, there’s not any traffic using this road,” Alden replied. “But we can’t be sure. So I’d like to post a man with a walkie-talkie at the far end of the stretch to warn me if anything comes along. I have a radio receiver in the car for that purpose.”

  “I’m your man,” Joe assured him.

  He could not help but feel a bit envious of his brother as he watched Frank climb into the sleek car with Alden. Mr. Hardy drove Joe to his post a couple of miles down the road, which at that point was flanked by heavy woods.

  As the detective drove off, Joe heard a voice crackle from the speaker of his walkie-talkie. “All clear ahead?”

  “All clear!”

  Minutes later, Joe could detect the sound of Alden’s car approaching. Then he spotted it far down the road. It was a shining speck of silver that grew larger and larger each second.

  As Joe watched, he was startled to see a battered automobile emerge from the woods.

  “Stop!” Joe cried frantically. “Mr. Alden, stop!”

  CHAPTER VIII

  Stolen!

  THE dilapidated car turned onto the road, picked up speed, and headed directly for Alden’s car. Joe raced after it, calling out into the walkie-talkie.

  His pleas went unheeded. Joe was horror-stricken at the small gap between the two vehicles. A head-on collision seemed inevitable.

  “Frank! Mr. Alden!” Joe screamed. “Watch out!”

  Suddenly the mystery car swerved out of control. It went hurtling off the road and tumbled over into a ditch. A split second later the vehicle was a mass of flames.

  Alden brought his racer to a screeching halt. He and Frank leaped out and followed Joe toward the disabled vehicle. They managed to get close enough to pull open one of its doors. The three were amazed to find that there was no one inside.

  “Get back!” Alden shouted. “The gas tank may explode any second.”