Read The Sinister Signpost Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
The Sinister Signpost (9 page)
“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.”
The muffled sound of rifle shots could be heard in the distance. Frank thanked the man and the boys started off. As they crossed over the crest of the hill, they spotted Fowler at the bottom of a shallow gully. He was firing at a paper target.
“Well, if it isn't the Hardys!” Fowler called out when he saw them approaching. “What brings you to this neck of the woods? Business?”
“Not exactly,” Frank replied. He then told the manager about the theft of Alden's race horse.
“Why are you telling me all this?” Fowler snapped. “I've never heard of Topnotch.”
“We're pretty sure that the horse is being kept somewhere here in Maryland or Virginia,” Joe explained. “You must come in contact with lots of stable owners. We thought you might have heard rumors that ...”
“Sorry! Can't help you,” the manager interrupted. “Maryland and Virginia cover a lot of territory. That horse could be anywhere.” He squeezed off a couple of shots, then turned to the Hardys. “I regret I can't spend more time with you, but I've lots of work to do. I'm sure you understand.”
As the boys followed Fowler out of the gully, Frank picked up one of the spent cartridge cases from the manager's rifle. He quickly stuck it into his pocket.
A few minutes later they were back at the stable. The short, wiry man the boys talked to when they first arrived was nowhere in sight.
“Sorry to cut your visit so short,” Fowler said, shaking hands with the young detectives. “Come again when I'm not tied up.”
The boys walked back to their car.
“Fowler was certainly in a hurry to get rid of us,” Joe commented. “He acted mighty suspicious. Why don't we stick around and see what's going on?”
“No. We're flying back to Bayport right away,” Frank announced. “If my hunch is right, we'll save a lot of time in our investigation.”
“What hunch?”
Frank dipped into his pocket and pulled out the cartridge case he had picked up. “This shell is of the same caliber as the one we found the day the smoke bomb was fired into Dad's study,” he said. “But I can't tell whether it was fired from the same rifle until I make a microscopic comparison.”
“Leaping lizards!” Joe exclaimed. “If they do check out, it would connect Fowler with the gang that's after Alden's experimental motor!”
“And the same gang might have stolen Topnotch,” Frank added.
Soon the boys and their pilot were winging back to Bayport.
Mrs. Hardy greeted her sons when they arrived home. “I didn't expect you so soon. Your father left on an errand a few minutes ago. Then he's going directly to Mr. Alden's home. He told me he can be reached there in about two hours.”
The boys hurried to their crime lab. Frank took the first cartridge case he had found, and placed it with the second in the comparison microscope. He peered into the eyepieces of the apparatus for several minutes.
“What's the verdict?” Joe asked impatiently.
Suddenly Frank leaped to his feet. “My hunch has paid off!” he exclaimed. “Take a look! The markings on the cartridges match exactly!”
“Wait till Dad hears this!”
Frank glanced at his watch. “Let's drive to Alden's home,” he suggested. “Dad should be there by the time we arrive.”
The boys dashed to their car. An hour went by before they pulled into a driveway leading to a large, white house. It was set back from the road on a spacious, tree-covered lawn.
An elderly servant responded to a single press of the doorbell “What can I do for you?” he asked.
“We're Mr. Hardy's sons,” Joe explained. “We must see our father right away.”
“Oh, yes,” the servant answered as he pulled the door open all the way. “He arrived with Mr. Alden a few minutes ago. Please come in.”
The boys were ushered into Alden's study. Mr. Hardy was surprised to see them.
“Back from Maryland already?” he said. “Have any luck.”
“You bet!” Frank replied excitedly.
Their father and Mr. Alden listened with interest as the two boys told them about their startling lead.
The executive sat bolt upright in his chair. “If what you suspect about this man Fowler is true,” he said, “then we must do something right away.”
“I'm going to call Chief Collig,” Mr. Hardy declared. He dialed a number and shortly had the officer on the line.
“Those cartridge cases are strong evidence,” the chief remarked when told about Fowler. “I'll contact the Maryland State Police and have him picked up for questioning. You should hear from me within a couple of hours.”
Alden arranged to have dinner served while they waited. Nearly three hours passed before the phone rang. Mr. Hardy rushed to pick it up.
“This is Chief Collig,” the caller said. “Looks like your suspect flew the coop. The Maryland police went to the stable and found no one around.”
“In that case, will you issue an APB on him?” Mr. Hardy asked. “Frank and Joe can give you a detailed description of Fowler.”
“I'll send it out immediately,” Collig assured him.
Frank got on the phone and furnished the police chief with the necessary information. Then he and his companions mulled over the situation.
“No wonder Fowler was eager to get rid of us,” Joe muttered. “He was planning a getaway. But we still don't know if he had anything to do with the theft of Topnotch.”
Frank was casually gazing at some photographs mounted on the wall of the study. Suddenly his eyes widened in amazement.
“IâI don't believe it!” he shouted.
CHAPTER XIII
No Trespassing!
“WHAT is it?” Joe asked, surprised at Frank's outburst.
Frank pointed to a photograph showing a small group of men. “Take a look at the face of the man standing next to Mr. Alden in this picture,” he urged.
Joe peered at the photograph in astonishment. “Whyâit's Fowler!” he exclaimed.
“The picture you're looking at was taken three years ago during a fishing trip I went on with some friends,” Alden interjected as he gazed at the boys curiously. “That man's name is not Fowler. It's Norman Dodson. He's a distant cousin of mine.”
“I'm sure we're not mistaken,” Frank insisted. “He's the suspect we're after!”
“The idea is utterly ridiculous,” the executive countered. “Why would Norman get mixed up with a gang of crooks? Heâ”
“Think back,” Mr. Hardy interrupted. “Did you and Dodson ever have a falling-out in the past?”
There was a momentary pause.
“As a matter of fact we did,” Alden said finally. “About a year ago.”
“What happened?” Frank asked.
“Norman was once a junior partner in my firm,” the executive explained. “However, he became more interested in the raising of race horses than in automobiles. One day he asked to be bought out so he could purchase a stable. Unfortunately, his venture failed and Norman lost all his money.”
“The pieces are beginning to fit together,” Joe observed.
“Then about a year ago,” Alden continued, “he came to my office and demanded more money. He said that I hadn't paid him enough for his share in the firm. I refused, and we had a bitter argument. I haven't seen him since.”
“No doubt about it!” Frank declared. “Dodson must have masterminded the theft of Topnotch. And his motive is clear. He's out to get more money from you one way or another.”
“I still find it hard to believe.” Alden sighed.
The Hardys returned to Bayport. Aunt Gertrude went into a frenzy when she heard about Topnotch and their suspect. “My stable is not only a haven for retired race horses,” she cried, “but for stolen ones as well!”
“Let's call Mr. Steve Benson, attorney for the estate,” Frank suggested to his father. “He should be able to give us more information on Dodson.”
Frank dialed the number. It took only seconds to reach the lawyer in Maryland. Benson was shocked to hear about the missing stable manager. He stated that Fowler had worked several months for the previous owner before their aunt inherited the business.
“But I only knew him by the name Fowler,” Benson added. “He was the most competent of all the workers there. When I was placed in charge of the estate I made him temporary manager.”
“Is there anything else you can tell us about him?” Frank asked.
“Only that he was interested in buying the stable when he learned it was for sale,” the lawyer said. “However, he was unable to raise the cash. Later he asked if I would help him sell a piece of land that he owned.”
“A piece of land?” Frank blurted. “Where?”
“In northern Vermont,” Benson replied. “He showed me the exact spot on a road map. It consists of about twenty acres and a cabin. But I wasn't really interested in handling the matter.”
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