The Shore Road Mystery Part 1

THE Sh.o.r.e ROAD MYSTERY.

FRANKLIN W. DIXON.

CHAPTER I.

Pursuit!

". . . stolen at Dune Beach. Car is Swiftline cream sedan, believed heading south on Sh.o.r.e Road. Alert all cars! Repeat . . ."

The bulletin had just come over the police band on Frank Hardy's motorcycle radio. He and his brother Joe, side by side on their dark-gray machines, were roaring northward along Sh.o.r.e Road to join school friends for a swim.

"Dune Beach!" Frank shouted, and the boys skidded to a halt on a sand shoulder. The car thief might pa.s.s them at any moment!

"Let's stop him!" Joe proposed.

The boys waited, scanning a deserted fis.h.i.+ng pier on their right. Frank was eighteen, tall and dark-haired.

Joe, a year younger, was blond. Both were excellent amateur detectives.

"Joe, do you realize this makes five car thefts in one week along Sh.o.r.e Road?"

The Hardys steered their motorcycles to the land side of Sh.o.r.e Road and faced them south, ready to move out quickly.

Several cars whizzed by, heading north. Then two police cars screamed past in the other direction.

After five more minutes had gone by, Frank frowned. "It looks as if we're not going to nab any thieves today."

Joe said, "Let's hope the police are on the right track!"

But subsequent bulletins indicated another successful getaway by the car thieves. The Hardys cycled to Dune Beach to learn what they could. Here the boys found several state troopers taking down information from the elderly man whose car had been stolen.

"It was gone when I came up from the beach," he said.

Presently the boys headed south for their swim. "I don't understand this," Joe remarked. "The stolen car couldn't just vanish into thin air!"

"The police seemed just as puzzled," Frank observed. "Unfortunately, there were no witnesses. Did you notice that the tires of two nearby cars had been punctured? The thief must have done that to avoid pursuit."

The brothers eased their motorcycles toward a wooden rack behind Oceanside's bathing pavilion. Joe swung off his vehicle and unstrapped his towel roll. "Maybe a good swim will sharpen our wits."

"Right," said Frank as they headed for the bathhouse.

Being the sons of Bayport's famous detective, Fenton Hardy, the boys were not easily deterred by initial disappointments in pursuing criminals. Although still high school students, they had helped their father on many cases and had used their sleuthing prowess in solving several mysteries. Joe, though impetuous, was quick-witted and dependable. Frank, more serious-minded, was inclined to think out a situation before taking action. They worked well together.

After the Hardys had changed into swimming trunks and Bayport High sweat s.h.i.+rts, they trotted across the hot white sand to the roped-off bathing area.

"Frank! Joe!" called their waiting friends.

Greetings were exchanged as Phil Cohen and Tony Prito, pals of the Hardys, bounded over from behind the lifeguard's green chair. Phil was a quiet, intelligent boy with sandy hair. Tony, olive-complexioned and lively, owned a motorboat and had shared many adventures with the Hardys out on Barmet Bay.

"We're sorry," Frank apologized, "but we were delayed by a car thief." He recounted the story.

"Another one!" Tony shook his head. "Is your dad on the case?"

Joe slipped off his sweat s.h.i.+rt. "No, not yet. He's going out of town today. All the police in the area are, though. Maybe there'll be a break in the mystery soon."

Phil tilted his head. "If you fellows get on the job, there will be." He grinned. "For better or worse."

"Thanks," said Joe, then turned and raced for the water. Frank followed.

"Whoa there!" From behind a pair of sungla.s.ses appeared the tan, smiling face of blond Lifeguard Biff Hooper.

The Hardys greeted Biff and looked around the beach. There were not many bathers in evidence.

"Where is everybody today?" Frank asked.

"I think the car thefts are keeping folks away," Biff answered. "It's been like this for a week."

"Have any of the rest of our crowd been here today?" Joe put in.

"I haven't seen Iola all day," Biff teased.

The others laughed, and Joe joined in. Bashful with girls, he was used to being teased about his attachment to Chet Morton's sister.

"Say, where's Chet?" Frank asked.

"Chet? I haven't seen him here this week," Biff replied. "But I did hear he's been spending some time at the Bayport Museum."

"It must be connected with food." Tony grinned. Their stout friend loved to eat.

Frank and Joe went swimming. An hour later they saw Biff beckoning to them from sh.o.r.e. "Message for you fellows!" he shouted. They swam quickly to the beach.

Biff exclaimed, "A phone message was just brought to me! Jerry finally got his new car! He's at Beach Grove. Why don't you Hardys run over later and take a look at it?"

"Great!"

Jerry Gilroy, a fellow student, had long spoken of buying a handsome car for which he had been saving earnings from summer and after-school jobs.

Before leaving, Frank and Joe decided to stroll along the beach toward a black stone jetty in the distance. Suddenly they came upon a dead bat in the sand.

"Funny," said Joe. "Wonder how that got here."

The boys walked on to the end of the jetty and scanned the horizon. Beyond the bathing area, a black fis.h.i.+ng boat cruised by slowly. Moments later, the Hardys recognized a smaller green-and-white boat which belonged to their friend Jack Dodd.

They waved to him. Jack seemed about to wave back when they saw him lurch forward sharply and drop below in his boat. Then he stood up and signaled frantically.

"Something's wrong!" Joe gasped. "Look! The bow is beginning to list!"

The Hardys dived off the jetty and swam swiftly out to meet the craft as Jack headed it toward the rock promontory. In moments they had climbed into the boat.

"Frank! Joe! Quick! In there!"

Jack pointed to the small forward compartment as he maneuvered the boat closer to the jetty. Below, the Hardys found themselves standing in an inch of churning water!

"Near the left bulkhead!" Jack called down, cutting the motor.

Frank had already spotted a small, bubbling fount and covered it with his foot. Joe ripped a towel off a hook and together they stanched the leak until some wood sealer was found in the paint locker. By the time Joe and Jack were mooring the boat to the jetty, Frank had tightly plugged the leak.

"I guess I owe you fellows my boat." Jack smiled gratefully as the three bailed most of the water out of the compartment.

Jack Dodd was a likable, dark-haired youth. He and his father, a widower and respected Bayport citizen, worked a farm on Sh.o.r.e Road.

"The exercise did us good-and in." Joe laughed and jumped onto the jetty. "How did it happen, Jack?

Did you strike a rock?"

Jack shook his head worriedly. "Some other object struck my boat underneath."

Frank's face showed astonishment.

"It sure seemed that way. I was moving along great until I heard a sc.r.a.ping noise and then the gush of water. I've never hit any rocks around here before."

"But who would deliberately-" Joe was puzzled.

"You've got me." Jack shrugged. "I've run into some cranks along the coast, but never any who seemed likely to do this sort of thing." A gleam came into Jack's eye. "Say, how would you fellows like to help Dad and me solve a mystery?"

"A mystery!"

"Yes," Jack continued, brightening. "My uncle, an astronomy professor at Cheston College, is coming up from Greenville tomorrow to a.s.sist us, but we need a couple of good local detectives." He grinned at the Hardys. "This mystery concerns a geographical puzzle that's been puzzling our family for three centuries!"

The Hardys whistled. "You bet we'll help!"

Jack promised to give them the details the following day. He cast off, waving good-by.

After Frank and Joe had changed into their sport clothes, they returned to the motorcycles and headed north on Sh.o.r.e Road, eager to see Jerry's new car.

As they neared Beach Grove Point, they saw a boy running toward them. "It's Jerry!" Frank exclaimed.

The Hardys screeched to a halt as their wiry, red-cheeked friend flagged them down. His hair was tousled and his eyes wide with worry.

"The car-my new car!" he gasped. "It's just been stolen-sky-blue Cavalier hardtop! Did it pa.s.s you heading south?"

The brothers shook their heads. "Then it must have gone north," Jerry declared.

"We'll chase it," Joe offered.

The Hardys gunned their motors and swept northward. Crouching low, they whipped up an incline beneath a rock overhang.

"There it is!" Frank shouted.

Several hundred yards ahead a light-blue hardtop sped around a long curve in the highway. When the car came into view again, the gap between it and the boys had widened. The Hardys accelerated and streaked ahead through an unbroken stretch of farm country.

"We're gaining on him!" Joe yelled.

He had no sooner said this when Frank saw something that made him exclaim in dismay.

A huge, bright-red produce truck pulled out of a dirt road directly ahead, entirely blocking off the highway! It stood still.

"Joe, look out!" Frank shouted, desperately braking down from top speed.

But it was too late! Tires smoking, the motorcycles screeched into a skid off the road!

CHAPTER II.

Police Tip-off.

SWERVING to avoid a wooden fence, the Hardys windmilled their motorcycles violently. Both boys flew off as the machines came to a stop in a cloud of dust. Dazed, Frank pulled himself up and limped over to Joe.

"You okay?" Frank asked with concern. His brother had a bruised forehead and had skinned his left arm.

Joe seemed stunned but managed a weak smile. "I just hope our cycles came out of it as lucky as we have."

"The radio's banged up," Frank said.

Up ahead, the door of the produce truck slammed. A short, plump man with yellowish-white hair approached the Hardys. From his floppy straw hat, denims, and mud-stained shoes the boys concluded that he was a farmer.

"You fellers all right?" he asked. "Mighty sorry 'bout that spill. Didn't see you comin'. My truck horn don't work noways. Hope you wasn't in no hurry."

"We were after somebody, but it's too late to catch him now," said Frank. "May we use your phone?"

"Ain't got one," the man replied.

As he drove off, the Hardys righted their motorcycles. To their relief, both machines were operable.

"We'd better get back to Beach Grove," said Frank, and the boys chugged off.

They found that Jerry had already phoned the police. There were no noticeable footprints or other clues where he had left his car.