Read The Sign of the Crooked Arrow Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
The Sign of the Crooked Arrow (3 page)
The boys thanked Mo and headed back to Bayport. If the garage owner's memory served him correctly, they had a good clue.
“We'll have to be on the lookout for Indians,” Frank mused on the way.
Suddenly Joe exclaimed, “I just had a brain storm! Why don't we look for the watch that went with the band we found? It may still have the other piece of the strap attached to it!”
“Okay by me,” his brother agreed. “But how about some lunch first?”
After a brief stop for hamburgers, the boys began their search. First they went to all the jewelry repair shops in town, where Frank posed the same question:
“Do you have a watch with a broken strap to fit this piece?” The answer was invariably a “no.”
Next, they looked at scores of watches at secondhand shops, but with no results.
“Only one thing left.” Joe sighed. “Pawn-shops!”
“Right. Let's try the one down there.”
The boys gazed into the window of Maxby's dingy store, then entered. Frank tossed the routine question.
“Think I have.”
“May we see it?” Joe asked eagerly.
The pawnbroker went to the back of the store and came out with a man's wrist watch. Part of the leather strap that hopped from it matched the piece Frank held!
“We've found it!” Joe exulted.
Frank said nothing. As the shopkeeper looked on curiously, he examined the watch and uttered a sharp exclamation.
“What's the matter?” Joe asked.
“Look!” Frank cried, pointing.
Across the top, etched into the design around the face of the watch, was a crooked arrow!
In amazement Frank and Joe studied the sweeping S.
“Find an heirloom?” asked the pawnbroker.
“No,” answered Frank, “just an old watch we've been hunting for. Where did you get this?”
“I'll check,” the man answered, thumbing through a worn ledger. “Let's seeâ”
The shopkeeper went back day after day until he stopped at a page bearing the same date as the day the black sedan had been left in Slow Mo's garageâseventeen days previously!
“Here it is,” he said. “This watch was pawned by Annie Groves, 66 Fern Terrace.”
“Did she look like an Indian?” Joe queried.
“She didn't look Indian to me,” replied the man.
“By the way,” he added, “this isn'tâerâa stolen watch, is it?”
Frank told the man he had no idea. Then, after thanking him for his trouble, he and Joe hastily left the store.
“Let's get to 66 Fern Terrace quick!” Frank said. “I'd like to meet this Annie Groves.”
Joe took the wheel and headed for the outskirts of Bayport. Soon he turned into a street bearing the sign
Fern Terrace.
Fern Terrace.
Frank spotted the even numbers on the left side of the road. “Here's 50,” he said. “And 62,” he added as the car inched along. Suddenly he exclaimed, “Joe, there isn't any 66!”
The lot where number 66 would be was vacant. A tangle of weeds covered the ground.
“A phony address,” Frank said in disgust.
Joe turned the car around and went back to the business section. “Let's go to the pawnshop again and ask Maxby some more questions!”
“Not now,” Frank said as they pulled up. “It's six o'clock. He's closed. Besides, Aunt Gertrude will have dinner ready, and we'd better not keep her waiting! We can come back tomorrow.”
Frank and Joe could hardly wait to finish their breakfast the next morning, so eager were they to rush off to Maxby's. Half an hour later they drove up to the pawnshop. The proprietor was surprised to see them again.
“Want to look at another watch?” he asked.
“No,” Frank replied. “We want to find out who Annie Groves is.”
“I gave you her address,” the man said.
“It's a fake,” Joe told him. “There isn't any house number 66!”
“No fault of mine,” the man countered.
“We know that,” Frank replied politely. “But we've got to find this woman. Perhaps you can help by giving us a description.”
“What's wrong? She owe you money?”
“No.” Frank laughed.
The man hesitated a moment. “Well, this Annie is a character.”
“You mean she's rather peculiar?” Joe asked.
“Yeah, kinda. She's always coming around with stuff to pawn.”
Suddenly the shopkeeper grabbed Frank's arm. “Say, look!” he shouted. “There she goes now!”
Frank and Joe wheeled around and caught a fleeting glimpse of a woman passing the shop-window. When the boys rushed out, she was only a few paces down the street. They caught up to her, and Frank, a trifle embarrassed, spoke up.
“Beg your pardon, Miss Groves. There's something we'd like to ask you.”
The startled woman looked at them with wild eyes. Her face was neither young nor old. She wore a tattered dress, and her graying hair was untidy, hanging in wisps over her face.
“What d'you want?” she asked abruptly.
“We'd like to know where you got the wrist watch you pawned a couple of weeks ago at Maxby's,” Frank said.
“What's it to you?”
“Then you did pawn a watch?” Joe queried.
“No.”
“The records show you did,” Frank said quietly. “You'd better tell us the truth.”
“I won't tell nobody nuthin',” the woman said defiantly. “Now go away and don't bother me.”
As Annie Groves started to push past the boys, Frank said:
“Well, the police might like to ask you a few questions if you don't tell us.”
The word “police” worked like magic. “Oh, no, please.” Then Annie Groves added nervously, “I'll tell you where I got the watchâI found it.”
“Where?” Joe asked.
“Right in front of Jenk's Tobacco Shop.”
With that Annie turned on her heels and hurried down the street.
“What do you make of it?” Joe asked.
“She might be mixed up with some of that crooked arrow mob,” Frank ventured, “judging from the way she jumped at the mention of the police.”
“Strike one,” said Joe. “And why did she give Maxby a fake address? Let's take a run over to police headquarters and check on her.”
Shortly afterward, the boys walked into the office of their friend Police Chief Collig. The husky man greeted them cordially.
“What can I do for you?” he asked with a broad grin.
“We'd like to find out something about an Annie Groves,” Frank replied.
“That's easy enough,” the chief replied. “Nothing particularly wrong with Annieâjust a harmless vagrant.”
“Is she mixed up with any gang?” Joe queried.
“No,” the chief said, “not that we know of. She spends most of her time pawning things she finds on the street.”
“Well, that seems to clear Annie,” Joe said as the boys left headquarters.
“But she did add a couple of clues to the case,” Frank remarked.
“That's right,” Joe agreed. “Since she pawned the watch on the same day the mystery car was left in Slow Mo's garage, the owner must have had business in Bayport.”
“Maybe in Jenk's Tobacco Shop,” Frank said, recalling where Annie had found the watch.
“Jenk might be mixed up with the gang,” Joe ventured. “I recall he once had a partner who served time in prison. When that fellow was around, the tobacco store was a meeting place for all kinds of shady characters.”
“Jenk might even own a watch with a crooked arrow on it!” Frank added. “Let's go!”
The boys went to the tawdry little store, located in the waterfront district of Bayport. A few rough-looking characters stood outside.
“Here's where we get tough,” Joe said, grinning.
As they strode into the dimly lighted store, Joe addressed the bald, heavy-set man behind the counter. “You Jenk?”
“Yeah!”
“I'd like a pack of cigarettes.”
Jenk looked at the boys with narrowed eyes. “I don't sell to minors,” he said firmly.
“Have it your way.” Joe shrugged. “We'll go somewhere else.”
“Say, you got the time?” Frank asked suddenly, leaning over the counter toward the man.
Jenk obligingly held out his hand. But the watch revealed no crooked arrow.
“If you can tell time,” Jenk said sarcastically, “you can see it's ten oâclock. Time for fresh kids to scram. Now get goin'!”
Frank and Joe returned to their car and drove home.
Disappointed that nothing had come of their clue, the boys were anxious to discuss the case with their father. Soon Frank parked the car in the garage and they entered the hallway.
“I hope Dad's here,” Joe said, walking instinctively toward the telephone table to check for messages. “Hey, what's this!” he exclaimed. “Mother's writing!”
“She must be back from her trip,” Frank remarked. “What does it say, Joe?”
The boys gazed at the memo pad, then gasped. Written in a hurried hand was a note that stunned them:
Your father in Bayport General Hospital. Shot
.
Come at once
!
.
Come at once
!
CHAPTER IV
Distressing News
“DAD in the hospital!” Joe cried in disbelief.
The boys stared at the terse note. There was no mistaking the news.
“This is Mom's handwriting, all right,” Frank declared. “Aunt Gertrude's not here, either. Come on, Joe. Let's get over there!”
Ten minutes later they entered the hospital and spoke to the receptionist.
“We're Fenton Hardy's sons,” Frank said. “We'd like to see him right away.”
The woman looked in her files, then said, “You may visit him for a few minutes. Room 328.”
Their footsteps echoed hollowly as they approached the door of the room. A screen concealed the patient, and the boys heard low voices behind it. Together they stepped around the partition and stood beside the bed.
On it lay their father, pale and restless. His eyes were closed and he was breathing heavily. Standing beside him were his wife, Aunt Gertrude, a young doctor, and a nurse.
“What happened?” Frank asked in a hoarse whisper.
“Mr. Hardy hasn't wakened from the anesthetic yet,” the doctor said. “Bad wound in his leg. He's lost a lot of blood.”
“Wound?” Joe repeated in a shaky voice. “Is itâserious?”
“Yes,” the doctor replied quietly. “But your father should be all right soon, provided no complications set in.”
Mrs. Hardy took each of her sons by the arm and guided them into the hall.
“Tell us about it,” Frank pleaded.
“How many bullets hit Dad?” Joe put in.
“Oh, he wan't shot by a gun,” their mother replied. “He wasâ”
“Mrs. Hardy.” It was the doctor's voice. “Your husband wants to see you all.” They hurried back into the room.
Fenton Hardy had heard the voices of his boys and had roused sufficiently to call them. Now he was completely awake, and had opened his eyes.
“Dad!” Frank whispered, leaning forward.
Joe pressed dose to Frank. “How are you, Dad?”
“I'm all right,” Mr. Hardy said, forcing a smile. “I'll be up and out of here in no time.”
“Mother says you weren't shot by a gun,” Frank said. “What
did
hit you?”
did
hit you?”
“An arrow.”
The boys' mouths dropped open in amazement.
“It hit him high in the left leg,” the doctor said. “A nasty wound, deep to the bone.”
Aunt Gertrude continued the story. “Your father said he was investigating a vacant house on the outskirts of town. He thought some of the thieves were using it as a hideout.”
“Were they inside?” Joe asked.
“No,” continued their aunt. “The place was empty, but just after your father left the house, he was struck from behind by an arrow.”
Mr. Hardy carried on. “Then I staggered to the road for help.”
“Did you see who shot you?” Joe asked.
“No, son,” he replied. “He must have been hiding in the bushes behind the house.”
The physician interrupted. “That's all for now, please. Mr. Hardy must rest.”
“You boys go along with Aunt Gertrude,” Mrs. Hardy said. “I'm going to stay here.”
The three left quietly. At the hospital entrance they met Sam Radley.
“How is he?” Sam asked worriedly. “I just heard about the accident.”
Frank told the tall, sandy-haired investigator all he knew. Sam's brow furrowed.
“Incredible!” he remarked with deep concern.
“Why would anybody shoot him with an arrow?” Joe wondered aloud.
“Probably,” Sam replied, “to escape detection. An arrow will be harder to trace than a bullet. Where is the arrow?”
“At police headquarters,” Aunt Gertrude said. “Fenton had it sent there immediately.”
“We'd better take a look at it,” Sam said.
He took Aunt Gertrude in his car, and the boys drove to headquarters in their convertible. On the way, Frank said to Joe, “You thinking the same thing I am?”
“I'll say!” Joe replied. “The arrow!”
“That's it,” Frank said. “First Sam picks up the words âcrooked arrow' at Mike's Place, then we find the crooked arrow on the watch and tie clasp. And now Dad is shot with an arrow!”
“It all adds up to a big question mark,” Joe declared. “Only one thing's clear. Someone wants Dad out of his way.”
Other books
Death Sentence by Sheryl Browne
POPism by Andy Warhol, Pat Hackett
Rajmund by D B Reynolds
The Underworld (The Atlas Series Book 3) by Becca C. Smith
A Capital Crime by Laura Wilson
Stripped Down by Tristan Taormino
Venom and Song by Wayne Thomas Batson
Sweeter Than All the World by Rudy Wiebe
The Dread Wyrm (Traitor Son Cycle) by Miles Cameron
Spellbound Falls [5] For the Love of Magic by Janet Chapman