Read The Sign of the Crooked Arrow Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
The Sign of the Crooked Arrow (2 page)
Frank and Joe leaped forward. The burly stranger, surprised by their sudden appearance, halted abruptly. Then he whirled about and ran out the side door of the garage.
While Frank bent over Slow Mo, Joe tore after the assailant. He was only a few yards behind his quarry when the man bounded up the steps of the old Pleasantville railroad station. A train was just pulling out.
With a lunge, the man grasped the handrail on the last coach, teetered precariously a moment, then pulled himself aboard. By this time the train was moving fast.
Joe summoned all his strength for a final burst of speed and made a frantic leap!
CHAPTER II
Daylight Robbery
JOE missed the train by inches, however. Breathless and disgusted, he watched as it roared down the tracks.
Dejected, he turned and walked back to the garage. He told Frank, who was bathing Slow Mo's head with cold water, what had happened.
“How is he?” Joe asked anxiously.
“Coming to,” Frank replied.
As the boys watched, Slow Mo's eyelids fluttered open.
“Wh-where am I?” he asked in a daze.
“In your office,” Frank replied. “Take it easy.”
“I remember now,” the man said. “Big guy hit me. Where'd he go? Did he get the car?”
When Frank told him about the stranger's escape, Slow Mo sighed.
“I'm sorry he got away. But I wouldn't want anything to happen to you boys on my account.”
Assured that Slow Mo was well enough to be left alone, the boys drove to police headquarters to report what had happened.
“I'll send out a seven-state alarm,” the police chief said crisply. “Thanks for your help, boys.”
A few minutes later Frank and Joe were headed back to Bayport.
“I don't like the looks of this, Joe,” Frank said, frowning.
His brother agreed. “Do you think that guy was trying to retrieve the car for the people who left it two weeks ago?”
“Could be,” Frank replied. “But why the big rush to leave the garageâunless he wanted to steal it!”
“What I'd like to know,” Joe said, “is
who
took the license plates and filed off the engine number.”
who
took the license plates and filed off the engine number.”
All the way home the boys tried vainly to figure out what was back of the mystery. “Maybe Dad'll come up with something,” Joe said as they pulled into the Hardys' driveway.
They entered their father's study and found him seated in a red-leather chair poring over a dossier of criminal records.
“Hello, boys,” he said. “How did you make out at Slow Mo's?”
“Dad,” Frank began seriously, “there sure is something fishy about that abandoned car.”
Fenton Hardy sat forward in his chair. Frank told about the stranger who had attacked Slow Mo, then showed his father the worn watch strap and the tie clasp.
His father examined the clasp, repeating the words “crooked arrow” over and over.
“What do you make of it?” Joe asked.
“Boys,” replied Mr. Hardy, “I believe you've dug up a clue that may tie in with a baffling case I'm working on.”
“What is it?” Frank asked eagerly.
“You've read about a series of jewelry-store robberies in and around Bayport, haven't you?”
Frank and Joe nodded as the detective went on.
“I found out that similar crime waves broke out in three other cities early this summer, and that the method is almost alike.”
Joe pointed to the papers on his father's desk. “Is that what these are about?”
“Yes,” Mr. Hardy replied. He reached for a folder lying on a low bookshelf behind his desk. “And here are statements from the various victims in the Bayport area.”
Frank glanced over the reports. “Both here and out of state,” he observed, “the victims were alone in jewelry shops when a stranger entered. They became faint and lost consciousness immediately after they had been accosted.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Hardy, “and as you'll see if you read further, the victim always woke up without the slightest idea of what occurred. Then he discovered that his money and valuable jewelry were missing. And no one has been able to describe the thief sufficiently in order to give us a lead.”
“Why do the people faint?” asked Joe.
“That's what I'm trying to find out, especially since there are obviously no unpleasant after-effects,” his father replied. “Also, it seems that as soon as an investigation is started, the crime wave dies out, only to flare up in another city.”
“Boy! These aren't conventional holdups!” Frank exclaimed, shaking his head.
“No. But they do have an oddly conventional aspectâreminds me of the old cops-and-robbers movies. In every case the victim reports that a man has approached him and asked him a question.”
“A question?” Joe put in. “Not the old âGot a match?' routine!”
“Exactly!” said Mr. Hardy. “Or the query may have to do with the time of day or the location of the nearest bus stop.”
“But what makes you think this case ties in with the mystery of the car at Slow Mo's?” Frank spoke up.
Fenton Hardy smiled. “This crooked arrow tie clasp,” he said. “Sam's been checking out a small restaurant on the waterfront called Mike's Place. It's a hangout for shady characters. While he was there, someone used the words âcrooked arrow' in discussing the recent jewelry-store robberies.”
Sam Radley was Mr. Hardy's operative, who assisted him on his cases, and the boys knew him well.
“Crooked arrow?” Joe repeated. “Do you suppose that could be a symbol of the gang?”
Mr. Hardy shrugged. “It's possible.”
Just then a tall, angular woman strode through the doorway of the study.
“Hello, Aunt Gertrude,” said the boys.
“Hello,” she replied, then blurted out, “Shame on you, Fenton Hardy! I just heard you talking about a new case. I suppose now you won't be going out West to visit Cousin Ruth!”
Aunt Gertrude, Mr. Hardy's unmarried sister, lived with the family and often felt it necessary to keep the male members in line, especially when Mrs. Hardy was away on a visit, which she was at present.
“Well, Iâ”
“It's not every day you have an invitation to visit a ranch in New Mexico!” Aunt Gertrude interrupted the detective. “And besides, you need a vacation. I'm worried about you!”
“Now, Gertrude,” Mr. Hardy said soothingly, “I haven't forgotten about Ruthâit's just that I have a few important matters to tend to before I take any trip.”
“Your health is important too,” his sister spluttered. With that she popped out of the room.
Frank and Joe grinned broadly. “Orders from headquarters, Dad!” Joe remarked teasingly.
“She's quite a sergeant, all right.” Mr. Hardy laughed.
He opened a desk drawer and took out an aerial photo of the ranch Ruth Hardy had been running since the recent death of her husband. The boys looked over the picture and listened as the detective described the area.
Secretly Frank and Joe wished they could accompany their father to the sprawling Crowhead Ranch. Though they already had planned a camping trip with their friend Chet Morton, they gladly would have postponed it.
That evening after dinner the boys went to their crime detection lab over the garage and examined the worn watch strap. Careful scrutiny revealed no distinguishable fingerprints.
“I think we should take this strap to a chemist for analysis tomorrow,” Frank suggested.
“Good idea,” Joe agreed. “Maybe we can find out what kind of person wore it.”
After breakfast the next morning Frank and Joe took the strap to Mr. Strand, a chemist in Bayport. He knew the boys well, and promised to have an analysis for them as soon as possible.
As they rode home through a residential area just outside of town a stoplight flashed on, and Frank brought their car to a halt. Near the corner they noticed two men in conversation.
While the boys waited for the light to turn, one of the men walked away. A moment later the other man suddenly slumped to the sidewalk.
“Look, Joe!” Frank exclaimed. “The guy may be ill. We'd better help him.”
They jumped out of the car, walked over to the man, and pulled him to his feet. As they did, he shook himself vigorously.
“Hey, leave me alone!” he ordered. “Why are you holding me?”
“You collapsed,” Frank replied. “How do you feel?”
“Your friend walked away a few seconds before,” Joe put in.
“He wasn't my friend,” the man said irritably. “Just asked me for a light andâ”
Suddenly he felt his hip pocket and looked startled. Then he grabbed Frank and Joe and bellowed:
“Help! Help! I've been robbed! Arrest these boys!”
“Let go!” Frank demanded. “We didn't take anything of yours!”
“Then where's my wallet?” the man shouted. “I just closed my store and had almost nine hundred dollars in it. I was going to take the money to the bank after lunch!”
Suddenly the answer dawned on the boys. They had witnessed one of the mysterious robberies their father had told them about!
“I'll go after the thief, Joe,” Frank volunteered.
In a flash he was in the car, down the street, and out of sight, following the course taken by the suspect. Meanwhile, Joe got the full story from the victim.
“The guy asked me for a light,” the man explained. “I didn't have a match, so he went on. Then I passed out.”
“That's where we came in,” Joe said. “We thought you were ill. Ever see the thief before?”
“No.” The man, now fully recovered, said he was rough-looking and rough-mannered.
Just then Frank pulled up to the curb. He stepped out of the car, followed by a policeman.
“The thief got away,” Frank reported. “I spotted him three blocks from here, because there was nobody in the street, but then he ducked into an alley and I lost him.”
“I saw Frank looking for someone,” the policeman put in, “and he told me what had happened.”
“By the way,” said Joe, addressing the stranger, “Officer Willis can vouch for us.”
“Sure can.” The patrolman smiled. “Every cop in town knows the Hardy boys. Great detectives!”
The policeman said that the boys would be needed as witnesses. They drove to headquarters in the Hardys' car, where Officer Willis made out a report.
Next morning after breakfast the telephone rang. Frank answered, spoke a few words, and hung up.
“It was Mr. Strand,” he said to Joe. “He's completed the watch-strap analysis.”
“Great!” his brother replied. “Let's go!”
Soon the boys arrived at the lab and greeted the chemist, who nodded with a smile.
“Are you boys just back from a Western trip?”
Frank and Joe exchanged puzzled glances. “No,” Frank replied. “Why?”
“Indians,” the chemist said. “I gather from the leather strap you brought in yesterday that you two are at work on a case involving Indians!”
CHAPTER III
Dead-End Clue
“INDIANS!” echoed Frank, completely dumbfounded. “What do you mean?”
The chemist held up the piece of leather. “This probably has been worn by an Indian.”
“How can you tell?” Joe asked curiously.
Mr. Strand explained, “In the first place the tanning agents used are not the commercial variety. The leather was prepared either by an amateur, orâ” He put the strap under a microscope and beckoned to Frank.
The boy adjusted his eyes to the instrument and studied the strap carefully. “I see what you mean. Definitely Indian design. Lightning, the sun, rain, and a thunderbird.”
“Right,” the chemist agreed. “Southwest Indian handicraft work.”
“Maybe bought by a tourist,” Joe suggested.
“I doubt it,” the chemist went on. “Here, smell this.”
The brothers looked at each other as Mr. Strand held up the strap toward their noses. Frank sniffed first. He reported a faint odor of hominy.
“Exactly,” Mr. Strand said. “Indians are said to smell like thatâa different body aroma.”
“Mr. Strand,” Frank said, “this has been interesting. Thanks a lot for your help.”
“Any time,” the chemist replied. “Good luck to you!”
As the two boys got into their car, Joe remarked, “The guy I chased from Slow Mo's didn't look like an Indian.”
“No, but maybe an Indian owns the car.”
“That silver tie clasp you found, Frankâit might have been made by an Indian.”
“Say, I forgot about that,” said his brother, pulling the clasp from his pocket and examining it. “Looks to me like the sort of silver work I've seen in Indian-made jewelry.”
“Where to now?” Joe asked as Frank started the motor.
“Straight to Slow Mo's.”
When they drew up in front of the garage, the proprietor was seated on a chair tilted against the old building.
“Solve the mystery yet?” he inquired with a grin.
“No,” said Frank as he and Joe got out of the car. “We came to ask you some more questions. Did that couple who left the car look like Indians?”
“Indians?” Slow Mo pondered. “Well, the man didn't, but the womanâ” He rolled his eyes. “I never thought of that. She could've been one. Had straight black hair and kinda dark skin.”
“Did you hear anything more from the police?” Joe inquired.
“Jake had no luck with the fingerprints. He'll call if anything new turns up.”
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