The Shore Road Mystery Part 10

"Certainly not! But I think I'll become an algologist."

"An algologist?"

Chet brandished a green book with a picture of the ocean on its cover. "Algology is the study of marine vegetation-seaweed and stuff."

Joe grinned. "By this time next year you'll be a poor fish?" Chet gave his friend a black look.

At that moment the mail arrived. One letter was addressed to the Hardy Boys. Joe showed the envelope to Chet. "Another Bridgewater postmark." Quickly he tore it open to find a handwritten message: Frank and Joe-Jack and I have escaped criminals. We want to give ourselves up but not before talking with you. Meet us alone beneath Saucer Rock on Pine Road at 12 P.M. today. Please be there!

CHAPTER XIII.

A Hungry Sleuth "Do YOU think the message is another trick?" Chet asked as Joe studied the note.

"Could be. The handwriting's not Jack's, but it could be Mr. Dodd's. What do you think?"

Chet shrugged. "It sounds like Mr. Dodd, but I still think it's suspicious. You're not going to go, are you?"

Joe paced the room. "If only Frank were here!" He looked at his watch. "It's almost noon now! That doesn't give us much time to decide!"

At last he made up his mind to go to the rendezvous. "I can't afford not to go-I wouldn't sleep tonight if I just dismissed the possibility that the Dodds really may have escaped. There isn't time to check the handwriting. Keep your fingers crossed. If you don't hear from me by four, get out to Saucer Rock with Frank as fast as possible! Meanwhile, good luck in town and don't let Birnham's driver see that you're tailing him!"

After seeing Joe off on Frank's motorcycle, Chet was called by Aunt Gertrude to the kitchen. She handed him a wrapped, warm box.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Since you're going into town, you won't mind dropping this cake off at Mrs. Bartlett's house on Kent Street, will you?"

"I'll be glad to."

When Chet reached the business district, he pulled his jalopy over to the curb. "Guess I'll deliver the cake later," he said to himself. Chet felt very empty. "Should've had a bigger lunch."

He squared his shoulders and took out a list of Bayport markets supplied by local farmers. He hoped to pick up the trail of the Birnham's produce truck.

"Guess I'll start with Max's Supermarket." From his pocket he took out some watercress and munched on it.

There was no red truck bearing the name Birnham at the large, block-long store. Chet drove on to the Food Fresh Market three blocks away. Seeing only a blue truck unloading vegetables, he headed farther down the street to a smaller store. He checked vehicles parked at the rear. No luck.

Back in his jalopy, Chet looked longingly at a pork-roll sandwich stand crowded with customers.

"Boy! I could go for a nice, juicy, well-done ..." Quickly he drove out of sight of the stand.

At Castagna's Grocery near the waterfront, Chet obtained the names of stores usually supplied by the Dodds' now jobless truck driver.

"These must be some of the places giving Birnham business now," the youth concluded, stuffing the list into his pocket. In the car again, he spread the paper out on the front seat, moving Aunt Gertrude's cakebox over. For a moment he eyed it hungrily, then drove off.

By two-thirty he had covered five of the nine listed stores without seeing the red truck. He shut off the motor and relaxed. His stomach rumbled. "Should have eaten something at the Hardys'," he thought, and again looked at the cakebox.

Taking out a pencil, Chet crossed out the stores and markets he had already covered. He sighed wearily.

"The vegetable deliveries may be over for today. Wonder what kind of cake Aunt Gertrude made. Four places to go. Wonder . . ."

He lifted the lid of the white box and sniffed. "Chocolate fudge-my favorite!" He sighed, then started the motor and proceeded to Frankel's Market.

"Birnham's truck just left here," the manager told him. "About five to ten minutes ago. I think he goes to a place on the west side of town after us."

"That must be the other Food Fresh store," Chet thought. Getting into the hot car, he again sniffed the cakebox. Slipping the string off, he opened the cover, and beheld the luscious whipped chocolate frosting. His stomach growled as he wiped his forehead. "Maybe a little taste-"

Finding a large gob of frosting that had fallen off he thumbed it. Carefully he picked it up and laid it on his tongue. "Mmm," he murmured.

When Chet reached the Food Fresh Market on Kennedy Street, he learned that the Birnham truck had not yet made its delivery. The man in charge of the produce department told him it was uncertain when the truck would come.

"Guess I'll wait," Chet said, but almost immediately returned to the car. Untying the string again, he took a small dab of frosting.

After half and hour Chet got out, stretched, and paced back and forth in front of a restaurant. Then he got back in. He felt weak with hunger.

The car was very warm. As the cake frosting became stickier in the heat, occasional breezes wafted its fragrance to Chet's nostrils. He opened the box. "Just one more lick."

By now, he had eaten all the uneven gobs of chocolate. Chet sighed. Slowly he ran his finger lightly around the cake in a complete revolution, chuckling. "Mrs. Bartlett won't even notice."

After licking the frosting off his thumb, he studied the cake again. One part of the swath he had made was wider then the rest. With his finger he made another circuit to even the groove, but in his eagerness dug in too deeply at one place.

"Uh-oh, now I've done it!" he moaned.

Glancing out the window, he still saw no sign of the red truck. His eyes returned to the inviting cake.

"Can't just leave it that way, he mused. Then he swallowed. "Morton, get hold of yourself!"

Chet got out and plodded to and fro. No red truck. Sighing, he climbed into the front seat and uncovered the cakebox again.

"If I just cut off that little gouged piece, I can tell Mrs. Bartlett I snitched a tiny bit."

Chet sat back, tucked a handkerchief into his T-s.h.i.+rt, and having no knife, made a small wedge of two pudgy fingers to push down through the thick, melting frosting. A minute later his hands and chin were daubed with chocolate. The hungry boy surveyed the damage.

Several thumbprints surrounded the drooping surface near the small missing segment. Besides, his fingers had cut wider and wider on their paths toward the plate.

"Got to even it off."

Twenty minutes later Chet was still evening up the wedge and making it larger and larger. Suddenly he heard a heavy motor and saw a huge, red truck marked BIRNHAM pull into an alley next to the store.

He climbed out and crossed the street.

Chet leaned heavily against a mailbox. He had a clear view of the back end of the truck as it was unloaded by the driver and two store employees. This appeared to be the truck's final delivery, for its eight or ten remaining vegetable crates were removed and taken into the store.

"That truck's big enough to carry two cars all right," he said to himself.

The tough-looking driver started the motor and began backing out. Chet hastened to his car, his stomach feeling a bit uncomfortable. Behind the wheel, he loosened his belt.

"Wonder where that driver's going," Chet thought.

A block from Barmet Bay he saw the produce van pull into a large, dilapidated, brown-s.h.i.+ngle warehouse surrounded by a vast, junk-filled lot. The faded sign over the door read: KITCHER'S JUNKYARD.

Chet cut his ratchety engine and looked warily up the street toward the building. He heard the truck door slam.

"What could Birnham have to do with a rundown place like this?" he wondered.

Chet decided to take a closer look and shuffled up the street. n.o.body was in sight at the wide entrance.

Swallowing dryly, Chet hitched his trousers up, and after peeking in the warehouse, tiptoed inside.

The faint murmur of voices came to him from behind a closed door to the rear. Next to the parked truck was a black sedan Chet recognized as the one driven by Slagel. He peered in its rear window.

On the floor lay a small, vinyl phonograph record near a small generator. "A clue! I'll give it to Frank and Joe." After glancing toward the office, he reached in and picked up the disk, then slid it inside his T-s.h.i.+rt.

Chet turned to the musty flaps on the back of the truck. His face red with exertion, he clambered up and squeezed through the flap opening, letting some light into the rank-smelling interior.

On the stained, bare floor were scattered splinters of wood and random, rotted greens. "If these vegetables don't prove to be clues," he thought, "I can use them for samples of botanical deterioration."

As he scooped the various greens into his pockets, Chet noticed, on the scratched floor, muddied, ridgelike patterns.

"Tire-tread marks!" he gasped.

Then he heard the voice of an approaching man, calling back to the office. "No, the kids'll fall for the trap. Slagel's waitin' out at Saucer Rock to take care of them!"

"Good night! Joe! Joe's out there!" Chet realized, suddenly feeling sweat on his forehead. His heart thumped wildly. "I must get back!"

Just then the truck flap flew open and light flooded the interior. Glaring in at him, Chet saw the hard face of a stocky, red-haired man!

CHAPTER XIV.

Sea Clues SAUCER Rock, a broad, flat overhang above a deserted dirt road outside Bayport, was known to most people in the vicinity. Joe reached the spot ten minutes before his appointed meeting with the Dodds.

Parking the motorcycle, he approached the large, sunlit, limestone rock and sat down on a smaller one underneath it. Then, thinking of a possible trap, he got up and walked around.

The surrounding woods were quiet except for the twitter of a few orioles. Joe looked at his watch. It was 12:35.

As Joe neared the overhang, a glittering object nearby caught his eye. Stooping, he picked it up.

"Jack's high school ring!"

At that instant a sound like crackling fire reached Joe's ears. Tensing, he noticed a large moving shadow engulfing his! He spun around to face Saucer Rock.

A station wagon was toppling off directly toward him!

Darting back, Joe barely escaped the plunging car. Then came a shattering crash. Pieces of broken gla.s.s flew by him, as he looked up the slope. The sound of rus.h.i.+ng feet along a nearby road stopped with the slam of a car door. The motor roared off into the distance.

The roof of the toppled car, its three remaining wheels still spinning, was completely crushed in. A shudder pa.s.sed through Joe. "It's the Dodds' station wagon!"

Fortunately, the vehicle was empty. Joe inspected some curious deposits on the fender. "Salt.w.a.ter corrosion! I must report this!"

He ran to his motorcycle. After telephoning Chief Collig from a farmhouse, he drove home.

Frank returned from his trip moments later. He was stunned by his brother's story. "The men must have timed it, knowing we wouldn't have a chance to study the handwriting on the note. I hope Collig's men can nab them."

"I'll bet it was Slagel's work and now he'll probably lie low and keep away from his 'job' at Birnham's."

"What about your trip?" Joe asked. "Any luck?"

"Some. I saw several good used cars. We might buy one."

Just then the Hardys heard a familiar chugging sound in the driveway, then the heavy plodding of two feet through the kitchen and into the living room.

"Chet, how did it go?" Joe welcomed their friend. "Say, you don't look very happy."

"Joe, you're home! You're safe!" Chet exclaimed.

He collapsed into the large green armchair. "Whew! Have I got an earful for you fellows!"

Fanning himself with a magazine, Chet told the Hardys of his adventure. They leaned forward when he mentioned the junkyard.

"And when I saw this guy glaring at me, I decided it was now or never. So I landed on him."

"Landed on him?"

Chet nodded, pride swelling his chest. "Just took a run, sailed off the end of the truck, and knocked him off balance. Then I dashed to the car. He didn't know who I was, so n.o.body chased me."

Joe laughed. "It's a good thing you've been keeping in training on that diet."

"My-diet?" Chet gulped. "Oh yeah, that."

At Chet's report of the tire tracks inside the Birnham truck, Frank jumped up. "That proves it! The gang is s.h.i.+pping the hot cars into Bayport in that truck at night. Were there autos in the junk lot, Chet?"

"I never noticed. I did get these." Standing up, Chet unloaded frayed, discolored greens on the coffee table. Frank was about to groan when Chet's eyes riveted on one of the greens. "Hey, this isn't produce-it's a piece of seaweed!"

"Seaweed?"

Chet checked his pocket-sized algology book. He nodded. "Yes. Not exactly seaweed, but it's a form of marine vegetation."