The Sinister Signpost Page 6

  Soon the plant came into view. As they drove toward the main gate, Alden’s experimental race car suddenly sped out of the driveway.

  “I didn’t give anyone permission to drive that car!” he shouted.

  Frank pressed down on the gas pedal and the convertible shot off in pursuit!

  CHAPTER X

  Suspicious Rendezvous

  “THAT racer is too fast for us!” Joe yelled. “We’ll never catch it.”

  “Turn onto that side road just ahead!” Alden ordered. “We might be able to head him off!”

  Frank followed instructions. It was a wild, bumpy ride and kept the occupants hanging on to their seats. After a couple of miles, the route led them back to the road along which their quarry was traveling.

  “There’s the experimental car!” Mr. Hardy called excitedly as he peered out the rear window. “It’s about quarter of a mile behind us and coming fast!”

  Frank skillfully maneuvered his convertible to prevent the other driver from passing.

  “Hang on!” he cried out. “I’m going to start slowing down!”

  As the Hardy car came to a stop, the other driver was forced to do the same.

  “Good work!” Alden exclaimed, and leaped out of the convertible. The Hardys followed.

  “Roger!” Joe exclaimed as a sandy-haired young man slowly emerged from the experimental dragster.

  Alden was furious. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

  “I—I was just taking your car for a little spin,” his son stammered.

  “Why aren’t you working at the stable?” Alden fumed.

  “I took the afternoon off,” Roger replied.

  Alden glared at his son with a look that would melt ice. “You know my racer is a secret project. How dare you take it for a drive?”

  He turned to the Hardys. “I’ll meet you back at my office. I’m going to ride to the plant with Roger just to make sure he doesn’t get any more wild ideas.”

  The Hardys reached the office just as Alden finished reprimanding his son.

  “Don’t send me away to that lumber camp,” Roger was pleading.

  “I don’t see what else I can do with you,” his father replied. “I’m fed up with your shenanigans!”

  “But I promise to stick with my job at the stable,” Roger replied, “and I won’t go near your experimental car again.”

  Alden rubbed his chin dubiously for a moment. “Well—all right,” he finally agreed. “But step out of line once more and off you go.”

  Roger thanked his father. Then he rushed past the Hardys and out of the office.

  At that instant the telephone rang. Alden picked it up. From his expression the Hardys knew it was another call from the thieves.

  “Yes, I saw the photograph of Topnotch you placed in the book at the library,” Alden informed the stranger.... “Will I pay the ransom you demand? I suppose I’ll have to. But you must give me until Friday. It’ll take me that long to get such a large sum of money.”

  When the telephone conversation ended, Alden glanced at the Hardys. “They’ve agreed to wait till noon on Friday. I’m to receive further instructions then.”

  Frank jumped up. “That gives us two and a half days to find out who stole your horse.”

  “We’ll get to work on it right away,” Mr. Hardy said.

  “I hope you’re successful,” Alden commented. “Fifty thousand dollars is a lot of money. But I’ll pay it if I have to.”

  The Hardys hurried home to Bayport. There the elder detective began going through his criminal files. “I’ll check to see if I have information on anyone whose specialty is horsenapping,” he said.

  Meanwhile, his sons hurried off to their crime lab and studied the photograph of Topnotch.

  “What are we looking for?” Joe inquired.

  “I thought we might find something in the picture that would help us identify the locality,” Frank replied.

  “Slim chance. Other than the horse, there’s nothing but a few bits of shrubbery.”

  “Wait a minute! That’s it! Perhaps a botanist could tell us if the shrubs are indigenous to a particular region.”

  “Let’s call Mr. Scath, curator of the Howard Museum.”

  Frank rushed to the phone and dialed a number. Soon he had the curator on the line.

  “We recently added a botanist to our staff,” Scath said. “His name is Mr. Ronald Clause. I’m sure he can be of help to you.”

  “Would it be possible to see him right away?” Frank asked. “It’s urgent.”

  “Yes,” the curator assured him. “We’re about to close the museum for the day, but Mr. Clause plans to be here for a couple of hours to work on a new exhibit. I’ll tell him you’re coming.”

  The boys hurried to their car and drove to the museum, located in the northwestern section of Bayport. A lanky, scholarly-looking man admitted them.

  “I’m Mr. Clause,” he announced. “Mr. Scath said you wanted to see me.”

  The boys introduced themselves, then stated their business. They handed the botanist the photograph of Topnotch.

  “Hm! The shrubs are a bit out of focus,” Clause muttered, “but I’ll see what I can do.”

  “We realize you’re very busy,” Frank said. “However, we’re racing against time. We’d appreciate it if you could give us an answer as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll get to work on it right away,” the botanist answered. “Might take me a day or so. If I come up with something, I’ll call you.”

  The Hardys thanked him and left. As they drove back home, Frank’s thoughts returned to Alden’s son.

  “I’m still not convinced that Roger had nothing to do with the theft of Topnotch,” he remarked.

  “I’m not either,” Joe added. “Say, why don’t we shadow him tomorrow? If he is in with the crooks, he might try to contact them.”

  “We’ve nothing to lose,” Frank agreed. “But it would be safer to have Roger shadowed by someone he doesn’t know. That eliminates us and Chet.”

  “What about Biff Hooper and Tony Prito?” Joe suggested. “They’ve done a good job of following suspects for us before.”

  “Good idea. Let’s call them when we get home.”

  Like Chet, Biff Hooper and Tony Prito were classmates of the boys at Bayport High. They always welcomed a chance to work with the Hardys on their cases.

  “What’s up?” Biff asked eagerly as he and Tony joined the Hardys in their crime lab. “From your telephone call, I’d say it was important.”

  “It is,” Frank assured him. “And we need your help.”

  Tony Prito, a dark-haired, lively boy, declared, “Count me in!”

  Frank and Joe gave their friends a quick rundown on the case, then furnished them with a description of Roger.

  “We’d like you to shadow him and give us a report on everything he does,” Joe said.

  “You’ll find Roger at the stable in the morning,” Frank added. “Try to be as inconspicuous as possible. We don’t want him to suspect he’s being watched.”

  Biff, a tall, blond, athletic-looking youth, beamed with enthusiasm. “You can depend on us!” he exclaimed.

  The next day the Hardy boys stayed close to the telephone. It was almost one o’clock in the afternoon when a call came. Frank answered.

  The caller was Biff Hooper. “Tony and I followed your suspect to a restaurant in Clayton. He’s inside talking to a couple of suspicious-looking characters.”

  “Are you calling from the restaurant?”

  “No. I’m in a public phone booth across the street from it, on the corner of Stanton and Winthrop streets.”

  “Joe and I will come there right away!” Frank declared. “If Roger leaves in the meantime, stick with him. You can let us know where you are by leaving a message with Mother or Aunt Gertrude. We’ll check with them every fifteen minutes.”

  The boys leaped into their car and headed for Clayton. When they arrived, Biff and Tony were still at their posts across the street from the restaurant.

  “Your suspect hasn’t left yet,” Biff said.

  Frank pointed to a building behind him. “Let’s hide in that doorway, Joe,” he advised. “We don’t want Roger to spot us when he comes out.”

  The Hardys and their companions became impatient as the minutes ticked by. Finally Roger emerged from the restaurant with two rough-looking men. Each of them walked off in a different direction.

  Frank turned to Biff. “You and Tony follow Roger,” he ordered. “Joe and I will split up and trail those two men he was with.”

  Each boy hurried off on his assignment. Frank trailed his quarry for several blocks. Suddenly the man darted into an alley.

  “He must know he’s being followed,” the young detective thought, and cautiously stalked toward the spot. He peered into the alley. There was nothing in it but a pile of discarded wooden crates at the far end.

  “That man must be hiding behind them,” Frank decided.

  As he edged his way forward, the man leaped from back of the crates and flung a small object toward Frank. It hit the ground a few feet from the boy and exploded!

  CHAPTER XI

  A Prize Catch

  A THICK, white cloud of smoke erupted from the spot. Frank felt a burning sensation in his eyes and began to cough uncontrollably.

  “It’s tear gas,” he thought. “I must get out of here!”

  Frank stumbled backward away from the smoke. At that instant he saw the blurred figure of a man running past him. The young detective lashed out with his fist and made contact. Then someone grabbed his left arm. Again Frank lashed out with his fist, but his punch was blocked.

  “Hold it!” came the voice of his brother. “It’s Joe!”

  As the effects of the tear gas wore off, Frank saw a man lying unconscious on the ground. Joe pointed at the prone figure. “Looks as if you got your man,” he said. “Wish I could say the same.”

  “You lost the other guy?” Frank asked.

  “I had to let him go. He led me around the block and down this street past the alley. Then the smoke attracted my attention and I saw you were in trouble. So I ran to help.”

  The man regained consciousness. “Who—who are you guys?” he groaned as he struggled to his feet.

  “Never mind that,” Frank answered. “Suppose you tell us who you are?”

  “My name’s Marty Tempson, if it’s any of your business,” the man growled.

  “Why did you toss that tear-gas bomb at me?”

  “I thought you were some guy out for a heist.”

  “What kind of business did you and your pal have with Roger Alden?” Joe shot at him.

  Tempson glared at the boys. “Roger Alden? I don’t know no guy by that name,” he snarled.

  “You’re lying,” Frank declared. “He’s the young man you and your friend were with in the restaurant.”

  “Never saw him before,” Tempson replied. “The restaurant was crowded and he let us share his table.”

  At that moment a police patrol car arrived on the scene. One of the officers got out and approached the Hardys and Tempson.

  “A shop owner across the street reported seeing smoke in this alley,” the policeman announced. “What’s going on here?”

  The boys gave their names and Frank explained what had happened. When Tempson was unable to produce identification, the policeman searched him and discovered a tear-gas bomb in his pocket.

  “I’m taking you in!” the officer declared.

  Tempson turned pale. “You—you can’t arrest me!” he stammered. “I ain’t done nothing!”

  “That’s what you think,” the policeman retorted. “There happens to be a law against tossing bombs at people.” He glanced at the Hardys. “Will you come to the station and make a statement?”

  “Glad to,” Frank answered. “We’ll pick up our car and meet you there.”

  Tempson was already being fingerprinted when the boys arrived at Clayton Police Station. The desk sergeant took down their statement, then said that a complete check would be made on the prisoner.

  “You boys must be in court when he’s brought up for a preliminary hearing,” the sergeant added. “That’ll be tomorrow morning.”

  “We’ll be here,” Frank assured him.

  He and Joe left the building and returned to their car.

  “What’s our next move?” Joe asked.

  “Let’s find out if Roger went back to the stable,” Frank suggested. “If so, I want to question him.”

  Arriving at their destination, the boys found Roger seated in front of a stall repairing a harness. He was as belligerent as ever and became enraged when Frank declared that they had seen him in Clayton with two men.

  “You lousy snoopers!” Roger yelled. “What right have you to spy on me?”

  “Never mind that,” Joe put in. “Who were the two men you were with?”

  “I don’t know,” snapped the young man. “I went to the restaurant for lunch. The place was crowded and I let them share my table.”

  “Very considerate of you,” Joe said sarcastically. “What made you so friendly all of a sudden?”

  Roger jumped to his feet. “I don’t have to take that from you!” he shouted.

  In the next instant he swung the harness at Joe. The young detective stepped back, caught the end of the gear, then wrapped it tightly around his opponent’s arms.

  “Let me go!” Roger demanded.

  “Not until you calm down!” Joe shot back.

  Frank spoke up. “I don’t think you’re telling us the truth about not knowing those men.”

  “I am!” the young man cried out.

  “Clayton is about ten miles north of here,” Joe said. “Isn’t that a long way to go just to have lunch? I’ve noticed a couple of local restaurants within walking distance.”

  “I like the food in Clayton,” Roger replied mockingly.

  “Why did you three walk off in different directions when you left the restaurant?” Frank questioned.

  “I went my way, and they went theirs. How am I supposed to know where they were going?”

  By now several grooms had collected around the boys. “Hey! Roger’s wisecracking must have finally got him in trouble!” one of them yelled to his companion.

  “Yeah! And he sure looks funny with that harness wrapped around him,” another said, laughing. “I think he should keep it on permanently.”

  Joe felt a bit embarrassed and released Roger, who glared at the faces around him. Then he stormed off.

  The Hardys headed back to Bayport. As they rode along, Joe said, “What do you think about Roger’s story?”

  “At least it jibes with what Tempson told us,” Frank remarked. “But it could have been a prearranged alibi between him and the two men.”

  “If you ask me, there’s something fishy about the whole thing.”

  When the boys got home, they went directly to their father’s study.

  “Glad to see you’re back,” Mr. Hardy said. “Detective Tanner of the Clayton police telephoned a few minutes ago. He wants to talk to you two.”

  “What about?” Joe inquired.

  “Marty Tempson. Tanner told me all about the tear-gas incident,” their father replied. “They checked up on him. Seems his name is not Tempson, but Marty Seegan. He’s wanted in Michigan for robbery.”

  “Then it means that Seegan will be extradited,” Frank remarked, “and we won’t have a chance to talk to him.”

  “Afraid so,” Mr. Hardy commented. “Since the Clayton police are holding Seegan on a lesser charge, the Michigan authorities get first crack at him. I was also asked to tell you,” the detective continued, “that the preliminary hearing scheduled in the morning is off.”

  At that moment the telephone rang. Mr. Hardy answered it. “It’s for you, Frank.”

  “This is Mr. Clause of the Howard Museum,” the caller announced. “I have some information concerning the shrubbery you asked me to identify in the photograph.”

  CHAPTER XII

  A Startling Lead

  “WHAT did you find out?” Frank asked quickly.

  “I’ve identified the shrubs as Rubus Diparitus,” Clause told him. “They’re indigenous to Maryland and parts of Virginia.”

  Frank thanked the botanist for his help. He then informed his brother and Mr. Hardy about Clause’s discovery.

  “Maryland!” Joe exclaimed. “That’s a coincidence. Aunt Gertrude’s stable is located there.”

  “Let’s go see Mr. Fowler, the manager, first thing in the morning,” Frank suggested. “Maybe he can help us find Topnotch. Is it all right if we have Jack Wayne fly us there, Dad?”

  “You have my okay.”

  Jack Wayne, a tanned, lean-faced man, was the pilot of Mr. Hardy’s personal single-engine plane. The boys telephoned him and requested that he be ready for an early departure the next day. Dawn was just breaking as Jack began his take-off roll at the Bayport field.

  “Too bad Dad couldn’t come with us,” Joe remarked as he watched the ground drop away beneath them.

  “Yes,” Frank agreed, “but he wants to be within reach of Mr. Alden if something should come up.”

  It took little more than an hour to reach their destination. Jack landed the plane on a small field located about four miles from Aunt Gertrude’s stable. The airport operator, a genial man, lent the Hardys a car which he kept for the convenience of visitors.

  “We might be gone for several hours,” Frank told the pilot.

  “Don’t worry about me,” Jack said. “I’ll stick around here and do some hangar flying with the fellows.”

  As soon as the boys arrived at Southern Pines Stables, they spotted a short, wiry man standing in front of one of the stalls. His hard features and deep-set eyes gave him a foreboding appearance.

  “We’d like to see Mr. Fowler,” Joe informed him.

  “Whatcha want to see ’im about?” the man asked in a raspy voice.

  “It’s confidential,” Frank said. “We’d appreciate it if you would tell us where we can find him.”

  The man stared coldly at the boys for a moment. Then he pointed toward a knoll in the distance. “You’ll find ’im on the other side of that hill. He’s practice shootin’ with his rifle.”