The Sign Of The Crooked Arrow Part 1

THE SIGN OF THE CROOKED ARROW.

By FRANKLIN W. DIXON.

CHAPTER I.

The Mysterious Car.

The Hardy boys' new club coupe, heading for the open country, whizzed past a road sign inscribed Bayport City Limits. Bayport City Limits.

Frank, the elder brother, fingered the wheel lightly. Joe sat beside him, his blond hair whipping in the breeze.

"What's all this business about somebody forgetting a car?" Joe asked.

"A man and his wife left it at Slow Mo's garage in Pleasantville two months ago and never called for it," Frank replied.

The boys' father, Detective Fenton Hardy, had given Frank the details of the case and suggested that his sons follow it up. The garage proprietor had appealed to him to find the owner of the car.

"Why didn't Slow Mo contact the license bureau?" Joe put in.

2 "Dad asked him that. When Slow Mo went to look at the plates, they were gone!"

"Who took 'em off?"

"That's what we're to find out," Frank said. "It seems they were stolen."

"Sounds like a good case." Joe grinned. "One tiling's sure: the car owner wouldn't take them."

"Strike one," Frank agreed. "It sounds as if Slow Mo might be in a jam."

Half an hour later Frank pulled up in front of a rickety building in the sleepy town of Pleasantville.

"That must be Slow Mo," Frank declared, as an Elderly man in overalls shuiBed toward them.

"h.e.l.lo, boys," he said. "What can I do for you?" When he learned who they were, he asked in surprise, "Where's your pop?"

"He's busy on another case," Joe replied. "He sent us to help you."

The old man frowned. "I sure wanted your pop to figure this thing out. He's the best detective in this part of the country."

"You're right there," said Frank. "But I think we can make a start on solving the mystery.

We often work with Dad on cases."

Slow Mo, who had been dubbed Slow Motion in his youth, rubbed his whiskers with a grimy finger. He was a man of medium height, but he looked taller because of a thatch of bristling gray hair which 3 stuck up on top of his head like a paint brush, "Well, I dunno," he said. "But come in my office and I'll tell you what happened, anyway."

"What do the police think?" Frank asked him, as jhey followed.

"Didn't ask the police," Slow Mo said. "Jake, the chief-he's my brother-in-law-ain't solved a case in thirty years. That's why I called your pop."

The old man crossed the floor of the musty-smell~ ing garage and entered a two-by-four room. It was Stacked high with empty oil cans and old tires.

On the wall hung a faded calendar dating back years. It was the only calendar in the place. Slow Mo had kept it, he said, because he liked the fisherman pictured on it.

"Haven't you a calendar for this year?" Frank queried.

Slow Mo gave a sheepish smile. "Never thought of that," he said.

"Where's your office?" Joe asked with a wink at Frank.

"Why, gol hang it, boy," Slow Mo said, "I can see right now you're not the detective your father is. This is the office. He'd of knowed that right off."

"Sorry," Joe replied, keeping a straight face.

"Set down here," the proprietor offered, motioning toward a couple of kegs.

The brothers seated themselves as Slow Mo un 4 folded his story. Most of it they already knew. At one point Joe interrupted to ask for a description of the couple who had left the car.

Slow Mo looked blank for a moment, then said, "Why, they're kinda ordinary-lookin'

folks, middlin' height, dressed like reg'lar people-"

Joe shook his head. Slow Mo's description would apply to a million other strangers!

"Where did the couple go after they left their car?" Frank asked.

"Took a train from here," Slow Mo replied. "Station's right over there," he said, pointing.

Pleasantville's one pride was being the terminal of a railroad spur. It served several towns along its route to Bayport.

"What's the engine number of the car?" Frank quizzed.

"Why, I dunno," Slow Mo answered. "Guess I should 'a' looked at it. Never thought of that."

He led the Hardys to the rear of the garage, where a black sedan stood in a corner.

Frank threw up the hood of the automobile and glanced at the engine.

"Got a flashlight?" he asked Slow Mo.

When the proprietor handed him one, Frank scanned the motor.

"Just as I thought!" he exclaimed. "The engine number has been filed off."

3 "What would anybody do that for?" Slow Mo asked, running his fingers through his bristle top.

"To conceal the ident.i.ty of the car," Frank explained. "This," he added, "is a case for the local police chief, whether you like him or not."

Slow Mo telephoned him. Soon afterward a short, fat man puffed into the garage.

"h.e.l.lo, Jake," Slow Mo said. "These are the Hardy boys. Sons of Fenton Hardy, the detective."

"What have they done?" Jake asked. "Want 'em arrested?"

"No," Frank said, laughing. "We'd like you to arrest the person who filed the number off the engine of this car." He pointed to the mysterious black sedan.

"Besides, the guy that left it here owes me two months' rent," put in Slow Mo.

An eager look spread over Police Chief Jake's face. His nose grew red and his eyes narrowed as he wiped his s.h.i.+ny bald head with a bright bandanna handkerchief.

"I'll arrest him, all right. Where is he?"

"That's what we'd like to find out," Frank said. "Slow Mo said he left here two months ago."

"Got a head start, didn't he?" Jake reasoned. "But I'll get him."

Jake blew his nose three times, like an elephant trumpeting for his mate, then looked inside the car.

6 "Stand back now, boys," he said, "while I look for some clues."

Joe smothered a laugh when the chief pulled a big magnifying gla.s.s from his back pocket. The officer seemed interested only in what lay on the surface of the car. After a five-minute study he said gravely: "I think this car was stolen." Then he added with authority, "I'll send out a seven-state alarm." With that the chief puffed out of the building.

"Guess that does it," Slow Mo said with a shrug.

"Does what?" asked Joe.

"Solves the case," Slow Mo replied. "Just like he solves all the cases in Pleasantville; not at all."

Frank spoke up. "If that's true, suppose Joe and I look for some clues."

"Sure, go ahead," the garage owner said.

Frank started a systematic study of the car's upholstery, while his brother removed the mats from the front and rear floors. Presently, from inside the front compartment, which otherwise was empty, Joe drew out a narrow leather strap. It was worn at one end.

"Looks like part of an old strap from a wrist watch," he commented, showing it to Frank.

"Wonder why anyone would save it."

"It may be a valuable clue," his brother said.

He himself continued to probe the cus.h.i.+ons. He 7 pulled out the back seat and ran his hand behind the upholstery. His reward was a hairpin and a ten-cent piece. Then suddenly his fingers tightened around a strange object.

Tugging carefully, the boy pulled out an ornamental piece of jewelry.

"A tie clasp," Frank announced, holding the object in his palm.

"It's an arrow, but it's crooked," Joe observed.

Slow Mo peered closely at the slightly S-shaped arrow tie clasp. "Probably got bent," he said, "when somebody sat on it."

"I don't think so," Frank replied. "It looks to me as if it were made that way."

Pocketing the piece of strap and the tie clasp, the Hardys said good-bye to Slow Mo and left the garage. Joe got behind the wheel for the trip home and Frank slid in beside him.

Just as Joe was about to press the starter b.u.t.ton, a rough-looking man turned in from the road and walked into the garage.

"I wonder who that guy is?" Joe asked. "Looks like a prize fighter."

Frank and Joe waited a moment. They heard the men's voices from inside, arguing loudly.

"We'd better see what's the matter," Frank said. "Sounds as if Slow Mo's in trouble."

The brothers got out of their car and started inside. As they did, the stranger snarled at Slow Moi 8 "All right, I didn't leave it! And I don't care if the license plates are gone. I'm taking this car!"

With that he gave Slow Mo a wallop. The elderly garage owner staggered backward and fell.

His head struck the concrete floor with a resounding crack and he sprawled unconscious.

CHAPTER II.

Daylight Robbery.

frank and Joe rushed forward. The burly stranger, surprised by their sudden entrance, halted abruptly. Then he whirled about and raced out the side door of the garage.

While Frank bent over Slow Mo, his brother tore after the man, who made a beeline for the railroad station.

Both boys were now certain that they had stumbled onto a real case. The youths, still in high school, had started solving mysteries when one they later called "The Tower Treasure"

had come their way.

Since then they had been doing detective work not only in the Bayport [area where they lived but in other places as well. Recently they had discovered the reason for the mysterious water shortage in town, but only after some narrow escapes, while solving "The Secret of Skull Mountain."

10 Now Joe was running after a man who gave every evidence of being involved in some crooked dealing. The boy was only a few yards behind him as he raced up the wooden steps of the old Pleasantville station, three at a time. At that moment a train was 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 missed his man by inches. In disgust, he returned to the garage and told Frank, who was bathing Slow Mo's head with cold water.