The Sinister Signpost (5 page)

“You're not planning to walk all the way?” the detective asked with a look of astonishment. “The race will be over a course of several miles.”

“We discussed it on the way home, Dad,” Joe put in. “We plan to use our old bicycles. They're still stored in the garage.”

Mr. Hardy leaned back in his chair and grinned. “I get it. Bicycles are noiseless. And if there is anything behind this sign theory of yours, you won't scare off whoever's setting them up.”

“Exactly,” Frank replied.

Before retiring for the night, the boys went to the garage and inspected their bicycles.

“The tires have to be inflated, and a few drops of oil are needed here and there,” Joe observed. “Otherwise, they're in good shape.”

It took only a few minutes to do the job, then they rode their bicycles once around the block for a quick test run.

“Let's load the bikes in our car,” Frank suggested, “so we'll be all set to go first thing in the morning.”

Frank and Joe got an early start. Mr. Hardy accompanied them to the starting line. There were about twenty stock cars lined up for the race. Each was painted in a different color scheme. Drivers and mechanics were milling around, waiting for the contest to begin. Alden was there and greeted the Hardys.

“How much time do we have before the race gets under way?” Frank asked him.

“About thirty minutes. My car will be the first one off. Johnston is the driver.”

“Then we'd better get going right away,” Frank declared.

“Be careful,” Mr. Hardy urged.

The young detectives lifted their bicycles from the trunk, then pedaled down the road.

After they had covered most of the route, Joe sighed. “I'd forgotten how slow bicycling can be.”

“Keep going,” his brother said. “The race will be starting any second now, and it won't take the cars long to travel this far. We should cover as much of the route as we can before they do.”

As the boys continued, they noticed that the road was becoming treacherous for racing. It was flanked on one side by a rocky wall, and on the other by a sloping embankment with a drop of nearly a hundred feet.

Eventually Frank and Joe came to a sharp bend in the road. As they rounded it, Frank suddenly locked his brakes. Joe did the same. Just ahead was a large sign marked DANGER!

“Leaping lizards!” Joe declared in a hushed voice.

“That sign is exactly like the ones Johnston and Markus described to us,” Frank observed. “Let's take a look at it.”

“Maybe we're being watched.”

“That's a chance we'll have to take.”

The boys laid their bicycles on the embankment and began walking toward the sign. When they reached it, they stopped and gazed at its face.

“What do you make of it?” Joe queried.

“Seems quite ordinary, except for one thing,” Frank answered. “It's much thicker than most signs.”

At that instant the young detectives heard a faint, whirring noise.

“What's that?” Joe said.

Frank listened. “I'd say it's a generator of some kind,” he concluded.

“It's coming from a spot a little farther down the road.”

The boys began to inch their way toward the source of the sound. Suddenly the roar of a motor became distinct. Each second it grew louder.

“The first of the race cars is coming!” Joe exclaimed.

The Hardys turned just in time to see Alden's entry tearing around the sharp curve in the road. Suddenly it began to swerve out of control. The vehicle bounced into the air and hurtled directly toward the boys!

THE racing car plunged toward Frank and Joe like some horrible monster eager to crush its prey. In a desperate move the boys leaped down the embankment and went tumbling head over heels to the bottom. They lay stunned. The next thing they knew, Mr. Hardy and Alden were leaning over them.

“Are you all right?” their father asked anxiously.

“I'm—I'm okay,” Frank assured him.

“Me too,” Joe added, rubbing his head gingerly.

“One of the other drivers saw that there had been an accident and reported it,” Alden said. “We got here just as fast as we could.”

Frank sprang to his feet. “Your driver Johnston! How is he?”

“Fine, except for a few bruises,” Alden replied. He grinned. “I build very strong cars. My drivers are well-protected.”

The boys told the two men what they had seen.

“And you say there was a signpost marked DANGER?” Mr. Hardy asked curiously. “Where?”

Frank pointed toward the top of the embankment. “The one right—” His words trailed off.

“Why—it's gone!” Joe exclaimed.

The boys led the way up the embankment. Then they slowly walked along the shoulder of the road. In a minute they discovered a small hole that had been hastily filled in.

“Here's the place,” Frank said. “This is where we saw the sign.”

“I'd call it a sinister signpost,” Mr. Hardy remarked, rubbing his chin dubiously. “It's here one minute, and gone the next. Obviously someone has carried it off.”

Joe casually thrust his hands into the pockets of his jacket. A moment later his face showed surprise and he pulled a piece of paper from one of his pockets. On it was a printed message:

“This must have been put in my pocket while we were lying at the bottom of the embankment,” Joe said.

“We can be sure of one thing,” Frank added. “Whoever's after Mr. Alden's experimental motor is also responsible for the accidents.”

A car roared up and screeched to a halt. Its driver, one of Alden's race car mechanics, leaped out.

“Mr. Alden!” he shouted excitedly. “We just received a call from one of your watchmen at the plant. The research department is on fire!”

“We'll drive you there,” Mr. Hardy offered. “There might be a connection with the accident here.”

He and his sons hopped into the boys' convertible with Alden. By the time they arrived at the plant, the flames were completely extinguished. Firemen began to rummage through a charred area that once was Alden's research shop.

“This is a terrible blow to my experimental project,” he muttered.

The Hardys expressed their regret, then went to talk with the fire chief.

“I can't say what caused the fire,” the chief told them. “We'll have to conduct an investigation first.”

“Approximately when did it start?” Frank asked.

“We got the alarm about an hour ago.”

“I'd appreciate knowing the results of your investigation,” Mr. Hardy said as he presented his credentials to the fire chief.

The man recognized the name immediately. “It sure is a pleasure to meet you, sir. And these two boys must be your sons, Frank and Joe. My name's Fred Evans.” There was an exchange of handshakes. “You can count on me,” the fire chief continued. “I'll let you know if we uncover anything.”

The Hardys thanked him, then rejoined Alden who was picking his way through the rubble of his burned shop.

“There's nothing left to salvage,' he said dejectedly. ”However, I'll set up a temporary research shop in one of the other buildings.”

The Hardys expressed their regrets at Alden's loss and returned home. Aunt Gertrude was still greatly upset over her inheritance of a stable filled with retired race horses.

“Fenton!” she exclaimed. “You promised to call the attorney who's handling the estate, and you never did. Please do it right away. I can't rest thinking about that awful place.”

Mr. Hardy went to telephone, while the boys had a snack of sandwiches and milk in the kitchen. A few minutes later their father hurried into the room.

“I still have the attorney on the line,” Mr. Hardy said. “He'd like us to take a look at the stables. However, I have too much work to clean up here, and I'm sure your aunt won't go. So why don't you two boys hop down to Maryland?”

“Sure thing, Dad,” Frank replied.

Mr. Hardy completed his call, then gave Frank and Joe their instructions.

“You can catch an early train to Baltimore in the morning,” the detective explained. “The attorney will meet you at the station there. He'll be waiting in front of the information desk. His name is Steve Benson.”

Frank and Joe left Bayport aboard the seven-o' clock train. It was nearly noon when they arrived in Baltimore. The boys went directly to the information desk and noticed a tall, even-featured man standing nearby. He appeared to be in his late fifties, and was impeccably dressed.

“Mr. Benson?” Frank queried.

“Yes,” the man answered. “And you must be the Hardys. I've heard a lot about you and your father.” He extended his hand in greeting. “My car is just outside. The stable isn't far from here.”

The boys enjoyed the drive through the lush, green countryside. During the journey, the attorney discussed Aunt Gertrude's situation.

“Your father says that she wants to sell the stable as soon as possible,” Benson remarked. “We shouldn't have any trouble doing that. In fact, Norman Fowler, the temporary manager out there, would like to buy the place. Unfortunately he doesn't have the money right now.”

Nearly an hour passed before Benson guided his car through an arched gateway. Spread across the arch, in gold letters, was the name:

“All told, there are about twenty acres here,” the attorney announced. “It's not very big, but it's adequate for the purpose.”

Ahead, the boys saw a small house and two other wooden structures. All were painted white and appeared to be in excellent condition. The largest of the buildings contained the stalls for the horses. To the left was a large grassy area surrounded by a wooden fence. About a dozen fine-looking horses were lazily grazing there.

Benson brought the car to a stop near the house and got out. The young detectives followed. Standing on the porch was a bulky, deeply tanned man whom the attorney introduced to the boys as Norman Fowler.

“The Hardys have come to take a look around,” Benson told him.

“Glad to be of service,” Fowler said cordially. “As you probably know, all the horses here have seen the last of their racing days. The owners want to provide a comfortable retirement for them. That's our job.”

The manager invited his guests into the house to lunch, then took them on a tour of the stables. As the day drew to a close, Fowler suggested that the boys remain overnight and return to Bayport in the morning.

“All my stable hands are away for the evening at a local affair,” he said, “and the bunkhouse is empty. You can sleep there.”

Benson announced that he had to leave, but promised to return in the morning to drive the Hardys to the railroad station. After a quick supper prepared by Fowler, Frank and Joe went to the bunkhouse. At ten o'clock they retired for the night. Little more than an hour had passed when the boys were awakened by the muffled sound of men talking.

“That's odd,” Frank whispered. “I thought all of Fowler's stable hands were away for the evening.”

The boys dressed and crept out of the bunkhouse toward the source of the voices.

“We want fifty percent of the take,” they heard one man say.

Joe accidentally stepped on a twig, which snapped with a cracking noise. The boys froze in their tracks and listened. There was only silence.

“Let's move ahead and try to get a glimpse of the men,” Frank hissed.

The young detectives cautiously edged their way through the darkness. They saw no one. Then suddenly a voice boomed out from behind them.

“Stay where you are!”

The boys turned to find themselves peering into the muzzle of a rifle.

“Who are you?” Joe demanded.

The armed man directed the beam of a flashlight into the faces of the Hardys.

“Oh, it's you boys,” he said. “I thought you were asleep.” The man flicked the beam of light onto his own face.

“Mr. Fowler!” Frank exclaimed.

“We heard some men talking out here,” Joe explained, “and came to investigate.”

“Did you see them?” the manager questioned.

“No,” Frank replied. “We never got close enough.”

“Well, I heard them too,” Fowler said. “But I'm sure they were workers from the farm just across the way. They often use our area as a short cut when they walk back from town.” He then said good night and went into the house.

Frank and Joe rose early the next morning. They had just finished breakfast when Benson arrived to take them to the railroad station. The boys thanked Fowler for his hospitality, then hurried off to the train. During the drive, the attorney explained some of the legal points involved in their aunt's intended sale, and handed them some documents that she was to examine.

When they arrived in Bayport, the boys wasted no time in telling Aunt Gertrude and their parents what they had seen.

“It's too bad you want to sell the stable,” Joe said. “The place is beautiful.”

“Say no more!” their aunt retorted. “Just give me the documents the lawyer wants me to read, so I can get it over with!”

“Once your aunt makes up her mind,” Mr. Hardy commented, “there's no changing it.”

The following morning Alden telephoned Mr. Hardy. “Come to the Clayton Police Station right away,” he requested. “There's a thief down here who's been stealing information on my experimental motor!”