074-Tic-Tac-Terror by Franklin W. Dixon

Author:Franklin W. Dixon [Dixon, Franklin W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-08-07T15:12:10+00:00

Chapter 12

Emerald Payoff

Brandishing his knife, the park attendant lunged in the direction of the younger Hardy boy.

"Watch yourself, Joe!" Frank cried.

Joe was already dancing and circling back and forth evasively, keeping well out of range of the slashing blade.

Angrily, the young man turned his attention to Frank. But before he could get close enough to be dangerous, Joe threw a stone that hit him in the back and caused him to whirl around again with a bellow of rage.

Keeping him constantly off guard, the Hardys gradually maneuvered their foe so that Joe was able to slip between him and the fence. Meanwhile, Frank snatched up a broken branch from the ground to use as a weapon.

"Keep away from me, you guys! I'm warning you!" the young man yelled. His face was contorted into a wolfish snarl.

But the screechy pitch of his voice gave him away. The Hardys now sensed that he was far more frightened than he was hostile.

"Stop acting like an idiot!" Frank ordered. "We don't want to hurt you!"

"Then what're you chasing me for?"

"Because you're running away from us," Joe retorted. "We just want to ask you some questions, that's all."

"Oh, yeah? Well, I'm not answering any! Just keep away from me, or I'll — "

The scowling park attendant never got a chance to finish his threat. At that moment, Frank saw his chance and lashed out with the broken branch, knocking the knife from the young man's hand. His jaw dropped open and he gaped at the Hardy boys in stunned surprise. He made a half-hearted grab to retrieve his weapon, but stopped short as Frank warned, "Don't try picking that up, or I'll clout you over the head!"

"What do you two want?"

"Back away from that knife, and we'll tell you."

The young man obeyed sullenly.

"You could be arrested for carrying a concealed weapon," Frank told him, dropping the stick and picking up the switchblade.

"I'm still waiting to hear what you want," the young man blustered.

"You know what we want!" Joe snapped, displaying the envelope that had been handed to him inside the funhouse. "If you didn't, you wouldn't have run away from us in the first place. Where did you get this before you slipped it to me in the dark? Now start talking!"

"And make it snappy," Frank added, "or we'll call the cops!"

The young man's shoulders slumped. The fight had gone out of him. "A guy paid me ten bucks to hand that to one of you."

"What guy?"

"How should I know? I never saw him before."

Joe asked, "How were you supposed to recognize us?"

"He told me what you looked like. I spotted you when you first came into the funhouse. I work there part-time."

"What did he look like?" Frank prodded.

"Tough—plenty tough. He had on a motorcycle cap, and his nose looked sort of bent like it had been broken or something."

The Hardys' eyes met in a glance of understanding. It sounded as though Joe's hunch had been right—that he had, indeed, spotted Igor in the amusement park wearing one of his five favorite disguises.

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