“The warrant's all set,” Mr. Hardy said. “Clayton Police Station is sending a man to meet us at Barto's apartment.”
They were greeted by a jolly, sturdily built policeman. “I got a master key from the superintendent,” he informed them. “Makes it easier.”
The Hardys were not surprised by what they saw when entering the apartment. A chest of drawers had been emptied of its contents and the closets were bare. The general untidiness of the rooms indicated that the tenant had left in a hurry.
“Barto didn't waste any time getting out of here,” Joe commented.
“Dodson's call from Haversville obviously scared him away,” Frank concluded. “He knew the police might check his number.”
“This proves one thing,” Mr. Hardy put in. “Barto must be in with the gang that's after Alden's motor. In fact, he might even be the leader.”
Frank discovered a single fingerprint on the telephone. He lifted the print with his special tape and placed it in a celluloid container. “Must be Barto's,” he remarked. “But I'll ask Chief Collig to check it just to be sure.”
Meanwhile, Joe was rummaging through the wastebasket. He pulled out a crumpled, typewritten letter and two sheets of carbon paper. “I've found something,” he called to his brother and father. They examined the letter together. It read: Dear Barto: I'm sorry to hear that your brother had trouble with his employer and moved on. Perhaps the strain of his labors was too much for him.
I wish you could visit me. I'm still operating my old mansion as a restaurant. One night I had forty customers. They came from miles around. However, I have competition about two miles north of my place. It is called the Claymore. Tonight I intend to go there to see how well they are doing. It is located just off the main highway. I must go now, since it is getting late and I always make a point of retiring by twelve.
Write soon.
“I wonder who Eric is,” Joe mused.
“Too bad we don't have the envelope the letter came in,” Mr. Hardy said. “It would tell us where it was mailed.”
“What's written looks innocent enough,” Frank observed. “Just the same, I want to examine it more carefully, and for luck I'll take these two sheets of carbon paper.”
A further search of the rooms revealed nothing more. The Hardys thanked the Clayton policeman who had been assigned to accompany them and returned to Bayport. Frank stopped to give Chief Collig the fingerprint he had lifted from Barto's phone.
“I'll check it right away,” the officer said.
“Thanks,” Frank responded. “I'll be at home. Please call me there.”
The boys and their father arrived home to find Aunt Gertrude in a jovial mood. “I have wonderful news!” she exclaimed. “Mr. Benson telephoned. He's found a buyer. My stable is as good as sold.”
“Glad to hear it,” Mr. Hardy told her. “That should put your mind at rest.”
“Indeed it will,” Aunt Gertrude agreed. “But I hope the new owner is an expert in caring for horses. I would dislike the thought of those poor animals being neglected.”
“Do I detect a change of heart?” Joe asked with a grin. “How come you're so fond of horses all of a sudden?”
“I always have been,” Aunt Gertrude defended herself. “I just don't think they should be raced around a silly track for people's amusement.”
Joe said, his eyes twinkling, “Someday I'm going to take you to a race!”
After supper the boys went to their crime lab and examined the letter they had found in Barto's apartment.
“Do you think it contains some kind of a code message?” Joe asked his brother.
“Not any more than the first letter I found in Barto's wastebasket the day I took his fingerprints from the doorknob,” Frank replied. “What about the sheets of carbon paper?”
“Haven't had a chance to examine them carefully yet,” Joe said. “So far, it looks quite ordinary.”
At that moment Chet Morton entered the lab. “Hi, masterminds,” he greeted the Hardys. “Got a few minutes to talk?”
“We always have time for you,” Frank assured his friend with a smile. “What's on your mind?”
“It's about my rocket cycle,” Chet announced.
“Oh, no!” Joe exclaimed. “I thought you gave that up as a bad idea.”
“I intended to,” Chet replied. “But then I had a brainstorm.”
Frank winked at his brother. “This ought to be good,” he remarked.
“Okay!” Chet protested. “If you don't want to hear about my invention, just say so.”
“I'm sorry,” Frank said. “Go ahead.”
The chubby youth took a rolled sheet of paper from his hip pocket and spread it out across the table. On it was the rough sketch of a bicycle. “See these tubes underneath the seat?” he -began.
“Yes,” Joe told him. “How could we forget? They're your rockets.”
“Wrong!” Chet declared with a flourish of his hand. “What you see are jet engines. And I won't even have to build them myself. The hobby shop sells these units for model planes and boats. About four of them will produce enough thrust to propel my bike.”
“If you insist on going ahead with the project,” Frank warned, “just make sure that there are plenty of hedges around for you to fall into.”
“Stow the comedy,” Chet retorted. “The bike won't run away with me again. Since the jets are operated with liquid fuel, I'll be able to control the power.”
“When do you plan to unveil this great invention of yours?” Joe inquired skeptically.
“In a couple of days,” Chet announced proudly.
“This calls for a celebration,” Frank said. “Aunt Gertrude baked an apple pie today. What say we go to the kitchen and have some?”
“Lead me to it!” their friend exclaimed.
As the boys were being served, Chief Collig telephoned. “I just got the results on the fingerprint you gave me,” he said to Frank.
“I assume it's Barto's,” Frank commented.
“No,” the chief replied. “The print is from his brother Vilno!”
CHAPTER XVIII
Night Chase
“THAT'S incredible!” Frank declared.
He and Joe rushed to their father's study to tell him the news.
“Then Vilno was in his brother's apartment,” Mr. Hardy concluded. “But why?”
“To help Barto steal the experimental car,” Joe suggested.
“If so,” Frank argued, “why wasn't Vilno with his brother when we spotted the car from the air?”
“Maybe they decided to go their separate ways after the theft,” Mr. Hardy said.
Frank frowned. “I wonder,” he muttered, “if Vilno has been posing as his brother all the time.”
“Impossible!” Joe said. “Those were Barto's fingerprints you lifted off the doorknob the day you followed him to his apartment. And don't forget, Vilno is not a sheet-metal worker. How could he do his brother's job at the plant?”
“Guess you're right,” Frank finally agreed. “But it's an interesting theory.”
Mr. Hardy rubbed his chin dubiously. “I'm going to try getting more background on those two,” he said. “It may lead up a blind alley. Yet I might discover some useful information.”
Their discussion was interrupted by a telephone call from Alden.
“The police have retrieved my experimental car,” the executive told Mr. Hardy. “Unfortunately Barto got away.”
“What happened?” the detective asked.
Alden explained that a state trooper, who was patrolling the road indicated by the boys, had spotted the car traveling at great speed. He gave chase, but found that his motorcycle was not fast enough to close the gap.
“Then Barto blew a tire and spun out of control,” Alden continued. “By the time the officer reached the spot, Barto was gone.”
“Was the car damaged?” Mr. Hardy queried.
“A little,” Alden answered. “But nothing that can't be repaired in a few hours. In fact, I had considered entering it in a road race that's scheduled near here a couple of days from now. However, I don't think I will.”
After hanging up, the detective told his sons what Alden had said.
“I wonder where Barto was taking the car,” Joe mused.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Mr. Hardy admitted.
Frank thought for a moment. “I have an idea,” he said finally. “Let's ask Mr. Alden to enter his car in the road race. Then the night before the event Joe and I will inspect the route. We might spot one of those signposts.”
“It's worth a try,” their father agreed.
The following morning Frank telephoned Alden and told him his plan.
“I'll do anything to help clear up the mystery,” Alden stated. He agreed to the plan, then described the route of the race.
After Frank put down the phone, Joe said, “I hope you don't plan on our using bicycles like the last time. If you do, I'm going to ask Chet to install a couple of his jet engines on mine.”
Frank grinned. “We'll use our car.”
“But if there are members of the gang around, they'll hear us coming,” Joe objected.
“So far, the signposts have been set precisely beyond a sharp curve in the road. There'll be a full moon. We can cruise along with our lights out, and every time we come to a curve we'll stop and inspect it on foot.”
It was clear and cool the night before the event. The boys waited until midnight before starting out for the race site, which was situated a few miles west of Clayton. When they arrived, Frank turned out the headlights and drove slowly along the route described by Alden.
“Maybe we're too early,” Joe warned. “If the gang does intend putting up a signpost, we might finish our search before they get here.”
“We'll keep patrolling the road till dawn,” Frank said. “If they haven't set one up already, they'll have to do it before daylight.”
The boys stared into the darkness. As they approached the first sharp bend in the road, Frank stopped the car. He and his brother edged their way around it on foot.
“Nothing there,” Joe observed.
The Hardys returned to the car and continued on. They had almost covered the entire route when another sharp bend appeared ahead of them. They climbed out of the vehicle and walked forward.
“Hold it!” Joe ordered in a low voice. “Do you hear something?”
Frank listened, then nodded. “Sounds like several men mumbling to one another,” he whispered.
Crouching low, the boys cautiously worked their way around the bend. Then suddenly the Hardys came to a stop. The shadowy images of five men could be seen standing near a pickup truck a short distance down the road. A signpost stood nearby.
“Rotten luck,” one of the men growled in a hushed voice. “This generator we brought doesn't work.”
“We should've checked it out at the lab,” another man added.
“I know those voices,” Frank hissed. “It's Dodson and Barto!”
“I wonder if Vilno is with them,” Joe whispered.
A couple of men lifted a heavy object onto the back of the truck.
“Slade! You and Tadlow go back and get another generator,” Barto ordered. “But be quick about it. Everything has to be set up before it gets light.”
Two men leaped into the truck and started off. The driver executed a U-turn and headed in the direction of the Hardys.
Frank pointed to a clump of brush a few feet away. “Take cover!”
The boys managed to conceal themselves just before the truck flashed by.
“They're bound to spot our car!” Joe said anxiously.
A moment later he and Frank were panic-stricken to hear the truck screech to a halt. Soon one of its occupants came running back to rejoin his companions.
“Barto!” the man exclaimed. “There's a car parked beyond the bend. It wasn't there before!”
“Maybe it's the police!” Dodson sputtered.
“I don't think so,” Barto argued. “They would've driven up and asked us what we're doing here.” He turned to his pals. “Spread out and start searching the area. There must be snoopers around.”
The men took out flashlights and began walking down the road toward the Hardys.
“What'll we do?” Joe said.
“Our only chance is to make a break for it,” Frank decided. “Head for the car. There'll be only one man to get past.”
The boys leaped to their feet and sprinted down the road as fast as they could.
“Look!” Barto yelled as he directed his beam of light toward the fleeing youths. “There go a couple of guys!”
“It's those Hardy kids!” Dodson shouted. “Don't let them get away!”
As Frank and Joe rounded the bend, they saw the driver of the truck standing beside their car. Joe crouched low, shot forward, and buried his right shoulder into the man's midriff. The fellow went crashing to the ground.
Frank leaped behind the steering wheel of the car and started the engine. Joe climbed in beside him just as Barto and his friends bore down on the boys.
“Stop them!” Dodson yelled.
After making a quick U-turn, the boys sped along the road and away from their pursuers. Joe peered out the rear window. “They're coming after us in the truck!”
Frank gave the convertible more power. “Are they gaining on us?”
“No!” Joe answered. “But we're not losing them either!”
After rounding another sharp bend in the road, Frank noticed a trail ahead which struck off to the right and into a wooded area. “Hang on!” he cried. “I'm going to try something!”