Read The Sinister Signpost Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
The Sinister Signpost (6 page)
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. “IâI 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.”
His warning came just in time. As Alden and the boys got clear, there was an explosion. A large ball of orange flame rose above the burning car. It quickly transformed into a thick cloud of black smoke.
Minutes later a pickup truck arrived on the scene, carrying a crew of Alden's mechanics. Mr. Hardy was with them. The men scrambled out with fire extinguishers, and directed streams of chemical foam at the burning car. Soon the flames and smoke disappeared.
“You gave us a bad scare,” Mr. Hardy said, turning to Frank and Alden. “We saw the smoke and came running. We thought you'd had an accident with the car.”
“They almost did,” Joe said shakily. He told his father what had happened.
When the car cooled sufficiently to be touched, the Hardys examined it. The heat had turned the vehicle into a charred mass of twisted metal.
Frank, looking underneath, made a startling discovery. To the underside was attached the remains of an elaborate radio-controlled system. Wires ran from it to the throttle and steering mechanism.
“So that's how the car was operated with no driver!” Joe exclaimed. “But why did it go hay-wire all of a sudden?”
Frank had an answer. “When Joe used the walkie-talkie to warn us, the signal must have interfered with the radio frequency used to guide the car.”
Mr. Hardy nodded. “Whoever operated the transmitter would have needed a clear view of the road, and at a point not too far away from this spot.”
Frank looked toward a high hill, the top of which loomed above the treetops. “There's a perfect spot,” he said, pointing to it.
The boys lost no time in climbing to the summit to investigate. The area was covered with thick brush and grass.
“These bushes would provide good cover for anyone watching the road,” Frank stated.
“Look! Over here!” Joe cried out. “Some of the grass has been trampled flat. I'd say it was done recently by two or three men.”
Frank examined the spot. “This is where the transmitter was set up,” he concluded. “From here you get a perfect view of the road.”
A further search revealed no other clues. The boys rejoined their father and Alden. Mr. Hardy stated that he had given the mystery car a thorough going-over, but found nothing that would permit them to trace its owner.
“The vehicle wasn't carrying license plates, and the serial numbers on the engine and chassis had been removed,” he continued. “Also, the fact that it was burned to a crisp doesn't help either.”
Alden decided to carry on with the tests. When he had finished, the Hardys offered to drive him to his office.
As they started off, Alden rested back in the seat. “After all the excitement we've been having lately, I need a little diversion,” he said. “I think I'll spend Saturday giving my race horse a work-out.”
“Race horse?” Joe queried.
“Yes,” Alden answered. “I'm interested in racing of all kinds. I bought the horse several months ago. Great animal! I keep him in a rented stable near the plant.”
“Our aunt would tell you off quick if she knew this,” Frank remarked laughingly. He then told Alden about Gertrude Hardy's recent inheritance.
“A stable for retired race horses? Sounds like a great idea,” Alden said. “I'll keep it in mind. Perhaps someday I'll send my horse down there.”
“Not if Aunt Gertrude has anything to say about it,” Joe muttered with a grin. “Anyway, she will have sold her stable by that time.”
Alden asked the Hardys if they would like to see his horse. The boys' father had to decline because of a business appointment, but Frank and Joe eagerly accepted the invitation.
“And would you mind if we bring our friend Chet?” Frank asked.
“Please do,” Alden replied. “Drop by any time. I'll be at the stable most of the day.”
Chet was not able to go until the afternoon because of Saturday chores to do. The Hardys picked him up at the Morton farm.
“A real race horse, eh?” Chet said with a grin. He pulled three apples from his pockets and offered one to each of his friends. “What I wouldn't give to own one!”
When they arrived at the stables, Alden was leading a beautiful, haltered thoroughbred around the paddock. His owner spotted the boys and led the animal toward them.
“How do you like him?” he called out. “His name is Topnotch.”
“Nice piece of horseflesh,” Chet commented, trying to act like a seasoned equestrian.
The horse was completely chestnut in color, except for small white areas above its two front hoofs. The boys watched in admiration as Alden removed the halter and permitted Topnotch to trot freely around the paddock.
As Joe glanced toward a row of stalls nearby, he noticed a sandy-haired young man pitching hay into one of them.
“Mr. Alden, isn't that your son Roger over there?” Joe asked.
“Yes,” Alden replied in a determined voice. “I arranged to get him a job here so he could help pay for the race car he damaged. It's about time he developed a sense of responsibility. I'd have given him something to do at the plant, but he can't get along with the other workers.”
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