The Sign Of The Crooked Arrow Part 3

The lot where No. 66 should have been was as vacant as the look on the boy's face. A tangle of small trees and sumac grew up through the heavy weeds.

"A phony address," Frank said.

Joe turned the car around and went back to the business section.

"I'm going into that p.a.w.nshop again and ask that guy some more questions," he declared.

29 "Not now," Frank said as they pulled up. "He's closed. Besides, Aunt Gertrude has supper ready, and we'd better not keep her waiting! We'll come back here in the morning."

Joe could hardly wait to finish his breakfast the next day, so eager was he to rush off.

When Aunt Gertrude objected, he said: "But this is a hot tip!"

"Makes no difference," his aunt replied. "First your father races down and eats nothing at all. Then you come along and want to leave this good food. Well, you're not going to. It's highway robbery what the stores charge, and bacon and eggs-Oh!"

Something in the kitchen was burning. Frank and Joe grinned as their aunt flew off.

Scorched toast had ended the tirade!

Half an hour later the brothers drove up to the p.a.w.nshop. The proprietor was surprised to see them.

"Want to look at another watch?" he asked.

"No," said Frank as the man dangled a gold timepiece in front of him. "I want to find out who Annie Smith is."

"I gave you her address," the p.a.w.nbroker said.

"It's a fake," Joe interjected. "There isn't even a house at No. 66."

"No fault of mine," the man said in self-defense.

30 "We know that," Frank replied politely. "But we've got to find this Annie Smith. Perhaps you can help by giving us a description of her."

"What's wrong? She owe you money?"

"No." Frank laughed. "There's another reason. Now tell me. What does Annie Smith look like?"

The man hesitated a moment. Could he be covering up, the boys wondered. Was Annie Smith a pal of his in some crooked deal? As the boys pondered this question, the p.a.w.nbroker began slowly: "Well, this Annie is a-whatcha call it-a character."

"You mean she's sort of queer?" Joe asked.

"Yeah, kinda queer, you might say. She comes around once in a while and p.a.w.ns things."

Suddenly the p.a.w.nbroker grabbed Frank's arm.

"Hey, look!" he shouted. "There she goes now!"

Frank and Joe whirled around to catch a fleeting glimpse of a woman pa.s.sing the dingy shopwindow. When the boys rushed out, she was only a few paces down the street. They caught up to her, and Frank, a trifle embarra.s.sed, said: "Beg your pardon, Miss Smith. There's something we'd like to ask you."

The woman, startled by the boys' sudden approach, looked at them with wild eyes. Her face 31 was neither young nor old. She wore a slovenly dress, and her hair was untidy, hanging in wisps over her face.

"Sorry we frightened you," Joe apologized.

"What d' you want?" she asked.

"We'd like to know where you got the wrist watch you p.a.w.ned a couple of months ago at Maxby's," Frank said.

"Me? I didn't p.a.w.n no watch," the woman replied. "What's it to you, anyway?"

"Then you did p.a.w.n a watch?" Joe queried.

"No."

"The records show you did," Frank said quietly. "You'd better tell us the truth."

"I won't tell anybody nuthin'," the woman said defiantly. "Now go away and don't bother me."

As Annie Smith started to push past the boys, Frank said: "Well, Fenton Hardy might like to ask you a few questions if you don't tell us."

The name worked like magic. "Fenton Hardy?" Annie Smith repeated. "Oh, no. Please.

I don't want to see no detectives!" Then she added nervously, "I'll tell you boys where I got the watch. I found it."

"Where?" Joe asked.

"Right in front of Al's Tobacco Shop."

32 With that Annie turned on her heel and hurried down the street.

"What do you make of it?" Joe asked.

"I think she's telling the truth," Frank said.

"She might be mixed up with some of that crooked arrow mob," Joe ventured. "Did you see how she jumped at the mention of Dad's name?"

"I have an idea," Frank put in. "Let's take a run over to the police station and check on her."

Shortly afterward the brothers walked into the office of Police Chief Collig. The officer pulled himself up in his chair until one of his chins rested comfortably on the other.

"h.e.l.lo, boys," he said with dignity. "What can I do for you this time? Got another holdup to report?"

"We'd like to find out something about Annie Smith," Frank said.

"That's easy," the chief replied. "Nothing particularly wrong with Annie except she's got the wanderl.u.s.t."

"Is she mixed up with any gang?" Joe queried.

"Naw," the chief said with a flourish of his hand. 3t Annie's just a harmless vagrant.

Likes to p.a.w.n things she finds on the street. Once she found a necklace and got a tidy reward when she turned it In. She's harmless."

"Well, that seems to give Annie a clean bill of 33 health," Joe said, as the boys left the station house.

"But she did add a couple of clues to the case," Frank remarked.

"That's right," Joe agreed. "Since she p.a.w.ned the watch on the same day the mystery car was left in Slow Mo's garage, the owner must have had business in Bay port."

"Maybe in Al's Tobacco Shop," Frank said. "Some of the victims of holdups said the men who stopped them asked for lights. Perhaps they trade at Al's."

"Al might even be mixed up with the gang," Joe ventured.

"He might even own another watch with a crooked arrow on it!" Frank added. "It's worth finding out."

The boys went to the tawdry little store, located in the water-front district of Bayport. A couple of rough-looking characters lounged outside.

"Here's where we get tough," Joe said, grinning.

As the boys strode into the dimly lighted store, Frank said to the man behind the counter, "Got any Baby Lu candy bars?"

The man, squat and beady-eyed, with a flattened nose, snorted and said, "Candy bars?

This ain't no candy store. This is a respectable tobacco shop."

"I was just kiddin'," said Joe. "Are you Al?"

"Yeah."

34 "Gimme a pack of b.u.t.ts."

Al looked at the boys suspiciously.

"Hey, what are you kids snoopin' around here for?" he asked gruffly. "I don't sell nuthin'

to minors."

"Okay," Joe said, taking in the layout of the dirty store in swift glances. "We'll go somewhere else."

"Got the time?" Frank asked suddenly, leaning over the counter to glance at the man's wrist watch.

Al obligingly held his hand toward the youth. The watch had a plain face, unadorned by any sort of doodads. There was no arrow, crooked or otherwise, etched on it.

"If you can read," Al said sarcastically, "you can see it's ten o'clock. Time for fresh kids to scram." Then he added menacingly, "Now get goin'!"

Frank and Joe left the place, walked down the street to where their car was parked, and drove toward home.

"I don't like him," Joe said. "I've got a hunch he winks at the law plenty."

"He'll bear watching," Frank agreed.

Disappointed that nothing had come of their clue} the boys decided to try finding their father and discussing the case with him. Frank parked the coupe in front of the Hardy house.

They jumped out and entered the front door.

"I hope Dad's here," Joe said, walking instinc35 lively toward the telephone table, where the Hardys always left notes to other members of the family. "Hey, what's this!" he exclaimed. "Mother's writ-ing."

"She must be back from her trip," Frank said. "What did she say?"

The boys gazed at the memo pad, then gasped. On it, in a hurried hand, was a message that stunned Frank and Joe: "Father in Bayport General Hospital. Shot. Come at once."

CHAPTER V.

Heading Out West.

"dad shot!" Joe exclaimed.

The brothers stared at the note. There was no mistaking the ominous news.

"This is mother's handwriting, all right," Frank declared. "Aunt Gertrude's not here, either. Come on, Joe, we'd better hurry to the hospital!"

They raced outside and sped toward the hospital as fast as the law would permit. The usually ebullient Joe sat in worried silence as his brother stopped for one traffic light after another.

Finally the boys drove up in front of a large building on which the name Bayport General Bayport General Hospital was carved in gleaming marble. They dashed up to the information desk. was carved in gleaming marble. They dashed up to the information desk.

"We're Mr. Fenton Hardy's sons," Frank said to the woman behind the desk. "We'd like to see him right away."

The woman looked in her files, telephoned the third floor of the surgical wing, then said: "You may see him a few moments, Room 328."

Their footsteps echoed hollowly as they approached the door of the room. Joe gripped his brother's arm as they entered. A screen concealed the patient and the boys heard the low tone of conversation behind it. Together they stepped around the screen, and stood beside the bed.

In it lay Fenton Hardy, pale and restless. His eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply. Standing beside him were his wife, Aunt Gertrude, a young doctor, and a nurse.

"What happened?" Frank asked in a hoa.r.s.e whisper. Mrs. Hardy put a finger to her lips and motioned for the boys to come closer.

"Mr. Hardy isn't quite out of the anesthetic yet," the doctor said. "Bad wound in his leg."

The boys could hardly restrain themselves. "Is it s-serious?" Joe asked.

"Serious," replied the doctor quietly, "but not critical. Your father will pull out of it soon, provided no complications set in."

Mrs. Hardy took each of her sons by the arm and guided them into the corridor, where they could talk without disturbing the wounded man.

"Tell us about it," Frank pleaded.