023 The Melted Coins by Franklin W. Dixon

Author:Franklin W. Dixon [Dixon, Franklin W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XI

Footsteps in the Dark

“THAT’S a strange kind of warning,” Frank said. “It doesn’t threaten us, just says get out because there’s danger ahead.”

“Sounds more like a friend than an enemy,” Joe had to admit.

“That’s Wallace for you,” Frank went on, glancing about to see if anyone were observing them. “He’s inscrutable. You don’t know if he’s for you or against you.”

As Joe stood fascinated by the twisted countenance of the Indian mask, Frank put his hand on the doorknob and turned it. The hinges squeaked as the door opened an inch or so.

“He doesn’t keep the place locked,” Frank remarked.

“In that case, maybe he’s hiding around here and watching us,” Joe said.

“Could be,” Frank replied. “But we have no time to look for him now.” He glanced at his watch. “We’d better go or we’ll miss the bus.”

Frank closed the door, gave the leering face final glance, then trotted alongside his brother back to the motel. They grabbed their bags and walked to the road in time to see the bus coming in the distance.

When they got aboard the near-empty vehicle, they thrust their luggage on a seat, then sat back to watch the scenery.

“This is the life,” said Joe. He laced his fingers behind his neck, leaned back, and closed his eyes. “No hot-rod hoods, no vandals, no creeps...”

He was jerked out of his reverie by a poke in the ribs. “Forget it,” said Frank. “Look out the window!”

Joe opened his eyes in time to see a sleek Cadillac gliding past at a speed well above the limit. He groaned.

“There goes our boy Elmont,” said Frank. “I wonder where to.”

“He just can’t bear to be away from us,” Joe muttered. “Or maybe he’s on his way to his uncle for another handout.”

Frank had serious thoughts about Chidsee. His car, too, was headed in the direction of Hawk Head. Might trouble be brewing there? Was he on his way to the Rideau house to contact the professors?

Frank’s thoughts drifted away as the humming tires and the passing scenery lolled him into a drowsy mood. He felt his head nod and dozed.

All of a sudden the bus brakes screeched and the Hardys were pitched forward, banging their heads on the seats in front of them.

Joe’s first thought was the Cadillac. Had it deliberately tried to wreck the bus?

The few other passengers, two of them thrown in the aisle, protested with shouts of anger. The Hardys left their seats and walked to the front.

“What happened?” Frank asked the embarrassed driver, who shook his head in disgust. He pointed to the roadside, where a flock of geese were waddling up the slope.

“That’s what!” he replied. “They don’t care if anyone’s coming! I’d have had a fine bill to pay if I had sent their feathers flying.”

Frank and Joe took their seats again and Frank said, “See? Never a dull moment in Indian country.”

“Oh, quit the corn, Frank,” Joe said.

“Well, Chet would have liked it,” Frank said in mock protest.

“Which reminds me,” Joe went on, “he should be arriving at the motel any moment with our car.

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