The Shore Road Mystery (12 page)

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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

BOOK: The Shore Road Mystery
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CHAPTER XIV
Sea Clues
SAUCER Rock, a broad, flat overhang above a deserted dirt road outside Bayport, was known to most people in the vicinity. Joe reached the spot ten minutes before his appointed meeting with the Dodds.
Parking the motorcycle, he approached the large, sunlit, limestone rock and sat down on a smaller one underneath it. Then, thinking of a possible trap, he got up and walked around.
The surrounding woods were quiet except for the twitter of a few orioles. Joe looked at his watch. It was 12:35.
As Joe neared the overhang, a glittering object nearby caught his eye. Stooping, he picked it up.
“Jack's high school ring!”
At that instant a sound like crackling fire reached Joe's ears. Tensing, he noticed a large moving shadow engulfing hisl He spun around to face Saucer Rock.
Joe raced for safety
A station wagon was toppling off directly toward him!
Darting back, Joe barely escaped the plunging car. Then came a shattering crash. Pieces of broken glass flew by him, as he looked up the slope. The sound of rushing feet along a nearby road stopped with the slam of a car door. The motor roared off into the distance.
The roof of the toppled car, its three remaining wheels still spinning, was completely crushed in. A shudder passed through Joe. “It's the Dodds' station wagon!”
Fortunately, the vehicle was empty. Joe inspected some curious deposits on the fender. “Salt water corrosion! I must report this!”
He ran to his motorcycle. After telephoning Chief Collig from a farmhouse, he drove home.
Frank returned from his trip moments later. He was stunned by his brother's story. “The men must have timed it, knowing we wouldn't have a chance to study the handwriting on the note. I hope Collig's men can nab them.”
“I'll bet it was Slagel's work and now he'll probably lie low and keep away from his ‘job' at Birnham's.”
“What about your trip?” Joe asked. “Any luck?”
“Some. I saw several good used cars. We might buy one.”
Just then the Hardys heard a familiar chugging sound in the driveway, then the heavy plodding of two feet through the kitchen and into the living room.
“Chet, how did it go?” Joe welcomed their friend. “Say, you don't look very happy.”
“Joe, you're home! You're safe!” Chet ex claimed.
He collapsed into the large green armchair. “Whew! Have I got an earful for you fellows!”
Fanning himself with a magazine, Chet told the Hardys of his adventure. They leaned forward when he mentioned the junkyard.
“And when I saw this guy glaring at me, I decided it was now or never. So I landed on him.”
“Landed
on him?”
Chet nodded, pride swelling his chest. “Just took a run, sailed off the end of the truck, and knocked him off balance. Then I dashed to the car. He didn't know who I was, so nobody chased me.”
Joe laughed. “It's a good thing you've been keeping in training on that diet.”
“My—diet?” Chet gulped. “Oh yeah, that.”
At Chet's report of the tire tracks inside the Birnham truck, Frank jumped up. “That proves it! The gang is shipping the hot cars into Bayport in that truck at night. Were there autos in the junk lot, Chet?”
“I never noticed. I did get these.” Standing up, Chet unloaded frayed, discolored greens on the coffee table. Frank was about to groan when Chet's eyes riveted on one of the greens. “Hey, this isn't produce—it's a piece of seaweed!”
“Seaweed?”
Chet checked his pocket-sized algology book. He nodded. “Yes. Not exactly seaweed, but it's a form of marine vegetation.”
Joe recalled the salt-water traces he had detected on the crushed Dodd station wagon. When he related his findings to Frank and Chet, the three boys tried to correlate the two sea clues.
“I wonder—” Joe thought. But when he compared the sea leaf with the Pilgrim drawing, they proved to be dissimilar.
“The stolen car hideout—and maybe the place the Dodds are being held—must be somewhere not far from the ocean!” said Frank. “But where?”
“Probably north along the coast,” Joe suggested. “There are miles of beach, but we've scouted most of it. The police have checked all the buildings, public and private, north of the Barmet beach area.”
“How about the waterfront?” Frank asked.
“It's possible. But where could they hide cars, even repainted, right in the face of Collig's heavy police lookout?”
Again recalling the shipment mentioned in Slagel's telegram to Melliman, the Hardys decided to watch Kitcher's Junkyard that night.
Suddenly Chet remembered the small phonograph record. “Got something else,” he told the others excitedly. He stood up and slipped it out of his T-shirt.
He groaned. The edges of the black vinyl disk had curled up from heat.
“I hope it will still play,” Frank said, going to the record player.
From the speaker came the warped sound of a loud automobile collision!
“The collisions in the woods!” Joe exclaimed. “This must be how Slagel or his pals decoyed the police off the track—by playing this record and making them look for an accident instead of chasing a stolen car.”
“The paint flecks must be part of the same idea!” added Frank.
The brothers poured thanks on Chet for his reconnaissance work. But his pride was being snuffed by the beginnings of a stomach-ache. As he rose to leave, he heard Aunt Gertrude's footsteps coming down the stairs.
“Well, guess I'll be leaving,” he said quickly, almost sprinting to the back door.
But a friendly voice stopped him. “Oh, Chester”—Miss Hardy smiled—“I want to thank you for delivering my little gift to Mrs. Bartlett.”
“Oh, I—Yes, I delivered it. I—I—”
“It was an errand I shouldn't have burdened you with, but she's a lovely woman, as you could see, and I always try to send her one of my chocolate-fudge cakes.
“Before you go,” she continued, holding a second cake up to Chet's nose, “I insist you have a piece of Laura's delicious caramel cake. This silly diet of yours has gone far enough, and I know you like pecans and marshmallow fill—”
“Yes, yes,” the youth muttered, and to the others' surprise rushed from the house.
That night Frank and Joe drove to the waterfront area, parking in a cobblestone alley behind a fish store. Their position afforded a good view of Kitcher's Junkyard.
“If there's any kind of a shipment here tonight, we should be able to spot it,” Joe whispered from behind the wheel.
The air was cold. Damp gusts from the foggy bay, just visible down a small hill, chilled the air. Both boys shivered, having neglected to bring sweaters.
Through the mist a light was visible inside the junk warehouse. Occasionally a gaunt figure appeared in the light and lounged in the doorway.
“That's probably Kitcher,” Frank said. A moment later it began to drizzle lightly.
A black sedan moved slowly down the street and parked in front of the junkyard. The brothers leaned forward as they recognized Slagel emerging from the car, its motor still running.
“Guess he's not staying long,” Frank whispered.
Kitcher and several other men appeared in the light of the doorway and conversed with Slagel. The burly ex-convict shrugged. He held up his hand to the rain which by now was heavy, and shook his head. Then he returned to his car and drove off.
“Looks as if he doesn't plan to come back,” Frank said. “Think we should follow?”
“I'd rather find out what's going on here,” Joe answered. “I'd say Slagel's appearance proves that if there is to be a shipment, it will be to Kitcher's.”
The street became silent, but the lights in the warehouse remained on. During the next hour Kitcher emerged several times to look at the rain. Another hour passed, then two. Except for the periodic drone of a distant foghorn, the only sound was that of gurgling gutters.
Shivering, the boys rolled up the windows, leaving them open a crack. Joe turned on the heater, hoping the engine noise would not give away their presence. After the car warmed up, they listened to the mesmerizing patter of rain-drops on the roof. Soon Joe fell asleep.
Yawning, Frank kept his eyes fixed on the junkyard area, feeling more and more sleepy. He felt a sensation of dizziness when he nudged his brother to take the next shift.
“Come on—I'm falling off. Wake me in—Joe?”
His brother's eyes remained closed. Frank shook him more vigorously. “Joe!”
Feeling his own eyes dimming, Frank tried to rouse Joe. He could not awaken him. Panic seized him. Joe was unconscious and Frank felt himself slumping to the floor!
CHAPTER XV
Double Attack
DESPERATELY shaking his head, Frank pushed open the door and pulled his brother outside into the rain. Leaning against a wall, he breathed in large draughts of air.
Mumbling, Joe revived. “What happened?”
“Don't know, but I have a fair idea.” Frank shut off the car motor and opened all the windows wide. “My guess is carbon monoxide.”
“I don't get it. We left the windows open enough so we shouldn't have had that much CO inside.”
“Somebody may have clogged our exhaust.” Frank investigated but nothing was stuffed into it now.
The warehouse was dark. “I wonder when the men left,” Joe said, disappointed.
The brothers crossed the silent, dark street. The warehouse door was locked, so the Hardys peered over the fence into the lot. The yard was strewn with junk, including numerous heaps of rusted piping and battered automobiles.
“Well, chalk off one wasted night,” Joe said as they returned to the car.
“It wasn't exactly dull.” Frank smiled. “I have a hunch our friends' shipment may come off tomorrow night. Maybe the weather changed Slagel's mind.”
By late the next morning the weather had cleared. After wiring their father, the boys repaired the car exhaust which, they found, had been punctured in several places.
“I wonder when those crooks did this,” said Frank. “Probably before we left here last night.”
After lunch Frank and Joe drove out to the Dodd farm for their appointment with Martin Dodd. Parking near the barn, they got out and waited.
Presently Frank looked at his watch. “The professor should have been here by now.”
Fifteen minutes later the brothers walked to the back of the house. Here the ground was still muddy from the previous night's rain. Frank pointed out a confused jumble of footprints and suddenly Joe stumbled on a hard object in the mud. Looking down, he gasped in alarm.
It was the broken half of a smashed telescope!
“The professor must have been in a scuffle!” he said. Nearby Frank found a dead bat. Both boys recalled the one they had seen on the beach some days before. “I may be crazy,” said Joe, “but I wonder if somebody's leaving these dead bats around on purpose.”
Finding no clues to Martin Dodd's whereabouts, Frank and Joe drove away. “I'm worried, Joe,” said Frank. “If Slagel and his gang have captured the professor, every move we make may endanger the lives of three people.”
“I wonder,” Joe replied, “if the professor came upon a clue to the car hideout.”
“Or the answer to the Pilgrim mystery,” Frank added.
The Hardys stopped at headquarters to report the professor's seeming disappearance. Chief Collig was concerned, and said he would order his men to conduct a search. Back at the house, Frank and Joe found a coded telegram had arrived for them. “It's from Dad!” Joe said.
BOYS—HAVE LEARNED WE ARE WORKING ON THE SAME CASE. MELLIMAN MEMBER OF GANG SMUGGLING GAS, WEAPONS TO HIDDEN ARSENAL SOMEWHERE NEAR BAYPORT. WATCH DOCKS.
 
“The same case!” Joe exclaimed. “Melliman's traffic in gases could explain the liquid gas.”
Frank went for Slagel's telegram to Melliman and read the opening aloud:
“ ‘More nerve now, trying for 8-cylinder stock.'
”
The words seemed to take on a different mean ing and a far graver one.
“Eight cylinders of nerve gas,” Frank said grimly, “probably smuggled and then shipped up the coast to Slagel's gang!”
“That must be why Dad wants us to watch the docks!”
The young sleuths decided to watch both the junkyard and the docks that night. They phoned Chet and asked him to come over. When their stout friend arrived, he entered the crime lab hesitantly.

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