The Sinister Signpost

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Racing cars! Mystery! Adventure! These elements combine to give Frank and Joe Hardy one of the most dangerous and intriguing cases of their careers.

It all starts when their father, Fenton Hardy, is engaged by an experimental race car and motor designer to investigate a series of mysterious accidents. Three of his drivers have crashed because the windshields of their cars were suddenly crazed, thus cutting off forward vision. Frank and Joe uncover one slim clue. Each of the drivers had seen a signpost marked DANGER shortly before his accident. The young detectives investigate, only to discover that the signposts have vanished. What happened to them? And what sinister purpose did they server

The attempted theft of a secret experimental motor and the kidnapping of a famous race horse are part of this thrilling case, which proves to be as sinister as the signposts themselves.

Copyright
©
1996, 1968, 1936 by Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved.

Published by Grosset & Dunlap, Inc., a member of The Putnam &
Grosset Group, New York. Published simultaneously in Canada. S.A.
THE HARDY BOYS® is a registered trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Grosset & Dunlap, Inc.

eISBN : 978-1-101-07629-3

2008 Printing

“Do you see what I see?” Joe Hardy asked his brother.

“It's a dragster,” Frank replied. “They're not supposed to be driven on public roads. At least not in this state.”

The Hardys were driving home from Taylorville along Shore Road in their open convertible. It was a sunny summer afternoon. So far, they had encountered almost no traffic. Now Frank was gaining on the slow-moving, bright-orange racing car. In the driver's seat, situated aft of the car's massive rear wheels, sat a helmeted, black-jacketed figure.

“He's sure traveling at low speed,” Joe remarked. “I wonder why.”

Frank, dark-haired and eighteen, stepped on the gas and attempted to pass the other vehicle. The driver of the dragster increased his own speed and prevented the convertible from going by.

“What's he trying to do? Cause an accident?” Joe said angrily.

Frank was forced to return to his position behind the dragster. As he did, the driver again reduced speed to a snail's pace.

Blond-haired Joe, who was a year younger and more impetuous than Frank, stood up and cupped his hands over his mouth. “Okay!” he shouted at the other driver. “You've had your fun! Now let us by!”

Frank made another attempt to pass. Suddenly the driver of the dragster maneuvered his vehicle in such a way that its left rear wheel slammed up against the right front wheel of the Hardys' car.

“We're out of control!” Joe yelled.

Their car swerved violently as a result of the impact. Frank struggled with the steering wheel and managed to regain control. He quickly came to a stop. The boys watched as the dragster sped down the road out of sight.

“I'd like to get my hands on that clown!” Joe said, fuming.

“So would I,” Frank agreed. “But the dragster had no license plates. We'd have a hard time trying to track down the car.”

The boys inspected the damage to their convertible. The right front fender was crumpled and the rim of the wheel badly bent.

“We'd better replace the wheel with our spare,” Frank suggested.

The Hardys jacked up the car. While they worked, a large, open-panel truck approached on the opposite side of the road. As it flashed by, Joe caught a glimpse of a bright-orange dragster in the rear of the vehicle.

“Look!” he exclaimed. “That must be the same race car that rammed us!”

Frank jumped to his feet and peered in the direction his brother was pointing. By now the speeding truck had vanished around a bend in the road.

“Everything happened so fast,” Joe said disappointedly, “I wasn't able to get the license number of the truck.”

“Too bad,” Frank commented. “It'll be miles away by the time we finish putting on the spare.”

When the job was completed, the boys continued their journey home. Mrs. Hardy, a slim, graceful woman, greeted them when they arrived.

“I'm so glad you're back,” she announced. “Your father wants to see you right away.”

The boys sprinted up the stairs to their father's study on the second floor. Mr. Hardy, a distinguished-looking, middle-aged man, was seated behind his desk.

“Hi, Dad!” Joe greeted him. “Mother said you wanted to see us.”

“Hello, boys,” he replied. “I just accepted a new case that I'd like to discuss with you two.”

Frank and Joe glanced at each other excitedly. Then they took seats near Mr. Hardy's desk. He sat quietly for a moment, studying a myriad of notes he had spread out in front of him.

Fenton Hardy was an extremely meticulous man. Formerly a member of the New York City Police Department, he now worked as a private detective. His exceptional skill in solving baffling crimes had made him famous. In fact, many of his methods were studied and adopted by law-enforcement agencies throughout the world. Frank and Joe had inherited their father's talent, and often assisted him with his cases.

“Yes,” Mr. Hardy said finally as he glanced up from his notes. “I believe we're in for a challenging case.”

“We?” Joe exclaimed. “Did you say—we?”

Their father smiled. Although in his mid-forties, he appeared much younger than his years. “That's right,” he assured his sons. “I'm going to need your help.”

“That's great!” Frank declared. “What kind of case is it?”

Mr. Hardy leaned back in his chair. “Have you ever heard of the Alden Automotive Research and Development Company?”

“Yes,” Joe answered quickly. “It's a firm just a few miles south of Clayton. I believe they experiment with high-speed cars.”

“Correct,” the detective replied. “The company makes components for regular stock automobiles as well. Also—”

“Isn't Keith Alden the president of the company?” Frank interrupted. “I remember reading about him in the newspapers. He was once a famous racing driver.”

“That's right,” Mr. Hardy replied.

He went on to tell his sons Alden had designed an experimental turbine motor for his high-speed race cars.

“The power plant is so revolutionary that the government has shown an interest in it. However,” the detective continued, “despite his efforts to keep the motor a secret, Mr. Alden suspects that someone has learned about it and is trying to steal the plans.”

“Does he have any idea who the person is?” Joe asked.

“None,” his father replied. “And here's something else. Two of his cars, in which the motor was installed, met with accidents of a very mysterious nature.”

Mr. Hardy stated that Alden wanted to put his motor and car designs to a real test by entering them in road race competitions. “It was during test runs that the vehicles were totally destroyed. The drivers barely escaped with their lives.”

“What happened?” Joe asked.

“The windshields of the cars suddenly crazed,” he said, “and cut off the drivers' forward vision. As a result, they went out of control and crashed.”

“Windshields crazed?” Joe muttered.

“Yes,” Mr. Hardy answered. “They turned almost a milky white.”

“But how could that happen?” Frank asked.

“We don't know,” his father admitted. “At first, Alden thought the windshields might have been made of a faulty material. But after a laboratory test, that theory proved to be wrong.”

“What's Frank's and my assignment?” Joe questioned eagerly.

Mr. Hardy rose from his chair and slowly paced the floor. “I'm going to run a check on all of Alden's employees,” he said. “That's just a matter of getting hold of the personnel files at the plant. However, such information seldom reveals the whole story about a man. I'd like to place as many of the workers as possible under close observation, especially the men in the research department.”

“And you want Joe and me for an undercover job!” Frank exclaimed.

Their father grinned. “You're way ahead of me,” he replied. “But you're right. It's exactly what I have in mind.”

“That means we'll have to act as employees ourselves,” Frank said. “The problem is how can we do it without arousing suspicion?”

“I have an idea,” his brother answered. “Bayport High introduced a basic automotive engineering course last term. Suppose we say we want to work at the plant to get some practical experience.”

“That's it,” Frank said. “And the timing is perfect, since our school vacations have just started.”

“Sounds good,” Mr. Hardy agreed. “You'll have a chance to meet Mr. Alden tomorrow. He's permitting an automobile club to use his private race track for a dragster and a stock-car competition. We're invited to be his guests.”

“Great!” Joe exclaimed. “Would it be all right to ask Chet to come along?”

“I don't see why not,” his father replied.

Chet Morton was a school chum of the Hardys. He was a plump, good-natured boy, who lived with his family on a farm near Bayport.

Just then Mrs. Hardy announced that supper was ready. The boys and their father were about to leave the study when an object crashed through one of the windows. It landed in a corner of the room.

“Get down!” Frank yelled.

A split second later there was a muffled explosion!