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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

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BOOK: The Mystery of the Spiral Bridge
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“I'm glad to hear that,” Joe said, “because now we come to the heart of the matter.”
The Hardys were silent for a moment as Frank looked from face to face. “Joe and I,” he said, in measured words, “are asking each of you to join us on a dangerous mission.”
Chet's eyebrows arched like the trajectory of a soaring shot. “Dangerous? Where?”
“Kentucky.”
The Hardys' friends exchanged excited glances.
“Yes,” Joe said, “let's go to Kentucky and find out more about that sabotaged bridge and who dry-gulched Dad.”
The Hardys thoroughly briefed the others on their sleuthing so far, including the New York trip. They had just concluded when Tony's dog began barking.
“Something's going on!” said Tony. He dashed to the basement door, opened it, and peered into the darkness.
The big German shepherd was leaping up at the shadowy figure of a man near the basement window!
CHAPTER IX
Fake Names
“DOWN, Axel!” A deep voice came from out of the darkness, followed by a happy whimper from, the German shepherd.
“It's my father!” Tony exclaimed.
A sturdy-looking man, the dog bounding at his heels, stepped into the basement.
“Hello, Mr. Prito.” Joe grinned. “For a minute we thought you were a prowler.
The broad-shouldered contractor's face, ruddy from years of outdoor work, creased in a smile,
“Not guilty. When I saw all those cars parked in the driveway, I thought maybe a political rally was in progress here.”
“Frank Hardy for mayor,” Phil quipped.
Everyone laughed, then sobered as Frank spoke up. “We were having a powwow about your road job, Mr. Prito.”
The group adjourned to the den, where the contractor pulled up a chair and sat down wearily.
“I'm afraid we are licked.”
“Did something else go wrong, Dad?” Tony asked.
“My men started to repair the bridge, and it collapsed again. This time we found an acetylene torch was used to cut through the stress points of the girders. The cuts were covered with a putty filler and painted over to resemble rivets—so of course no one noticed anything wrong until the structure gave way.”
“Was anyone hurt?” Chet put in.
“Fortunately, no—they scrambled to safety in time.” Mr. Prito sighed. “Unless we can find out who is causing the sabotage, and prove it, I may have to give up the whole project.”
“And lose all that money?” Biff said.
Joe spoke up. “Frank and I were just asking the fellows if they could go to Kentucky with us. Our idea is to get jobs on the road crew and maybe then we can solve this mystery.”
“A bold idea. What is the rest of your plan?”
Frank first of all inquired if Mr. Prito had a trusted foreman who could handle the hiring of the boys.
“Yes, John Losi. I sent him down to Kentucky temporarily, because the regular hiring agent, a local man named Bond Deemer, is on a week's leave from the job.”
“What could be sweeter!” said Joe.
Then the Hardys went on to explain their scheme. Each of the boys would get a different job. Tony could be a mechanic for road-building equipment, such as graders and earth-moving ma chines.
“Big Biff here could man a truck,” said Joe, and Frank suggested that Phil sign on as a timekeeper, to see whether anyone stayed away from work for any length of time.
Phil grinned happily. “Great! That'll give me time to sketch.”
“Hey, what about me?” demanded Chet.
“A laborer,” Frank said. “That'll really build up your muscles—while you're picking up gossip from the other workers.”
“Sort of like a spy, eh?”
“That's right,” Tony interjected. “Secret agent 008, with the accent on the a-t-e.”
Chet grinned and accepted his new role. “And what may I ask, are Frank and Joe Hardy going to be? Spy supervisors?”
“Espionage foremen, so to speak,” quipped Tony.
“Not quite, pal.” Frank explained that the Hardys would work with the bridge crew. In that way, they could keep close tabs on the workmen in case one or more might be connected with sabotaging the project.
“But everybody knows the name Hardy,” Mr. Prito said. “The saboteurs would soon catch on that you are Fenton's sons.”
In answer Frank pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket. “We've already worked that out, by each of us keeping his first name and changing only the surname.”
Joe added, “The payroll records can be corrected for the government later, can't they, Mr. Prito?”
“Yes, indeed.”
Frank unfolded the paper and spread it on the table.
“You picked our fake names already?” Biff asked with a grin.
“Sure thing, Listen:
Frank Teller
Joe Jensen
Chet Ball
Biff McGuire
Tony Gonzales
Phil Rubinow.”
“A masterpiece!” Phil declared. “Joe, you're blond like a Scandinavian, and Tony could pass for Spanish.”
“But what about Chet Ball?” asked Biff.
“Oh, I get it,” said Chet. “That metal ball I've been shot-putting.”
The boys began trying out their aliases on one another.
“Biff McGuire,” said Biff. “Not bad, sounds like a real rugged character.”
“And we'll need a few on this trip,” declared Joe.
By now the Hardys had generated such enthusiasm among their friends that Mr. Prito finally acceded to the plan.
“It's a risky one, remember!” the contractor warned. “But good luck. You can reach me here if necessary. I have several other projects going.”
Frank and Joe suggested that the other boys leave Bayport one by one, at varying times, in order to avoid attracting attention.
“We're leaving on the early bus tomorrow morning,” said Frank. “We'll see you all in Kentucky.”
On the way home Joe was jubilant. Now that they had hoodwinked their enemies by their own microphone, he was sure the criminals could be thrown completely off the trail.
Joe laughed. “Maybe we can say we're going fishing in Canada, or something like that.”
“I hope we can fool them, but let's not count our chickens too soon,” Frank said as they drove into the garage.
So exuberant were the two boys that they dashed through the kitchen and raced upstairs to their father's study. Frank closed the door, winked at his brother, and mustered up his most doleful voice.
“Joe,” he said, “this case is too much for us. I think we should quit and let the police handle everything.”
With a mocking expression, Joe jabbed his finger over the back of his shoulder toward the bug on the ceiling. “Right, Frank. We know when we're licked.”
Just then there was a quiet knock at the door. When Joe opened it, Mrs. Hardy beckoned them into the hall and down the stairs. In the living room she whispered, “You two came in so fast, I couldn't tell you.”
“Tell us what?” queried Frank, noting his mother's look of alarm.
“Come, I'll show you.
Aunt Gertrude joined them. She, too, seemed fearful.
“Oh, do be careful, Frank and Joe,” Miss Hardy said in a strained voice.
Joe scratched his head. “What's this all about?”
Mrs. Hardy walked into the kitchen, picked up a flashlight from the table, and led her sons into the side yard. She played the beam up the house. Her sons gasped. A light nylon rope, looped around the chimney top, ran past an attic window to within a foot of the ground.
“Gertrude and I noticed it when we came home from the hospital,” Mrs. Hardy explained.
“Great gophers!” Joe exclaimed. “Somebody climbed up there!” In a moment the boys were bounding through the kitchen, into the hall, up the stairs and into the attic. Frank turned on the switch and the attic was flooded with light. The Hardys took one look and groaned. The radio transmitter was gone!
The trickers had been tricked!
Joe hastened to the window near the chimney and looked out. The nylon rope dangled only inches away from the sill.
“The monkey man!” Frank exclaimed.
The boys looked at each other, sick with fury over the way they had been outmaneuvered. Suddenly there was a crash, followed by a tinkling of glass.
“It's downstairs,” Frank said. “Come on!”
The boys ran to the first floor. They arrived in the living room to find Aunt Gertrude and Mrs. Hardy standing motionless, their faces registering shock.
“What happened? What—”
Joe pointed to the living-room window, which had a large, jagged hole in the center. The boys' gaze traveled to the rug, on which lay a large ball bearing with a paper wrapped loosely around it.
Aunt Gertrude found her voice. “Thieves! Criminals! Murderers!” she cried shrilly.
Frank snatched up the paper, and with hearts pounding, he and Joe read the message:
“Wise guys stay in Bayport.”
It was signed with the three-looped letter M.
CHAPTER X
Monkey on a String
THE latest threat from the Hardys' enemies only served to stiffen the boys' resolve. Frank and Joe quietly left the house and stealthily searched the grounds. But they discovered no clue to the missile hurler.
Frank stopped at the dangling nylon rope and yanked it hard. It was firmly fastened around the chimney.
“The fellow must be great with a lariat,” said Joe. “Wonder why he left it here.”
Frank had a theory. If the intruder had been surprised by Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude, he might have shinned down a drainpipe on the other side of the house.
“Without time to unfasten and take his rope,” Joe added.
“Right.”
The boys had a whispered conference.
“Okay!” Joe said. “Let's try it!”
They confided their reasons for the Kentucky trip to their mother and Aunt Gertrude. The women, although apprehensive, did not oppose the idea.
“We found your father better this evening,” said Mrs. Hardy. “But he's still not fully conscious. I suppose he would want you to take his place.”
Next, Joe phoned Radley, telling him of their plans. Sam approved heartily and wished the boys success.
“I'll keep an eye on your dad and your house,” he promised. “Keep me posted.”
The boys then got out their suitcases, and as they packed, cut off all telltale labels from their clothing.
“Have you got the binoculars?” asked Frank.
“Roger. And our miniature radio transmitter.” They were about to shut their bags when Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude came into the room.
“Do you have your heavy sweaters?” Miss Hardy asked with an air of authority. “Kentucky isn't Miami, you know.”
“But, Aunty, we're not going to the North Pole!” Joe protested. “Besides, it's summer.”
“Never mind. It still gets chilly in the woods at night,” she insisted.
“All right,” Frank agreed. He reached in the closet and pulled out two heavy wool sweaters which he and Joe hurriedly packed.
“And now, Mother,” Frank said, “will you drive us to the bus depot? We can catch the midnight bus.”
After receiving parting admonitions and a hug from their aunt, the boys and Mrs. Hardy got into the car and soon were at the terminal.
“This bus to Kentucky goes via Pittsburgh, Mom,” Frank said. “Good-by and don't worry.”
He and Joe embraced their mother, then swung aboard. A few minutes later, with a roar of its diesel motor, the vehicle swung out onto the main street. But it had gone only four blocks when Frank tapped the driver on the shoulder.
“We'd like to get off here, please.”
“What? We've hardly started,” argued the driver. “This isn't a local, y'know.”
“It's very important,” Joe said solemnly.
“Okay, okay.”
The bus stopped at the next corner and the boys hopped off. They strode rapidly back home, approaching the house cautiously from the rear. Nimbly they hopped a fence into their backyard. Silent as shadows, the Hardys cached their suitcases behind the garage, then crept to a sheltering clump of rhododendrons. Tensely they waited, their eyes fixed on the chimney.
Joe whispered, “Do you really think someone will come back for the rope?”
“Sure.”
Earlier Frank had reasoned that their enemy was watching for his opportunity to return to the Hardy home undetected and retrieve the rope. Therefore, he would be more likely to do so if he thought the brothers had left town.
Half an hour passed. Forty-five minutes. Joe glanced into the starry sky and saw that Orion had moved some distance west in the velvety black sky. The boys' muscles ached.
“Frank, I don't think anybody will—”
Joe's words were cut off by a nudge from his brother. The crouching boys peered through the shrub at a small figure creeping around the side of their house. Joe put his mouth to Frank's ear. “The monkey man!”
“Sh!”
The prowler stopped, listened, then advanced toward the nylon rope. The Hardys were tense with excitement, but dared not move a muscle lest they scare off their enemy. They must capture him at any cost, if their trip to Kentucky were to bring results. Otherwise, the monkey man would be certain to give away the Hardys' identity, and alert those mixed up in the bridge sabotage.
The intruder waited as if to make sure everyone was safely asleep in the darkened house. Then the man sprang to his full height, which was a scant five feet. Like a cat, he glided up to the rope, seized it, and began virtually walking up the side of the Hardy house.
BOOK: The Mystery of the Spiral Bridge
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