139 The Search For The Snow Leopard by Franklin W. Dixon

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

9 The Missing Princess

* * *

Frank followed the splotches of blood down an aisle of coats until the trail led him to the back of the warehouse. There Frank found an overturned rack of furs sprawled on the floor.

Suddenly, one of the furs moved.

“Joe?” Frank called cautiously. Hearing a muffled response, Frank threw several coats out of the way and found his brother lying on the ground.

“Oh, no!” Frank cried in horror. Joe’s face and shirt were covered with blood!

“I’m okay.” Joe groaned, slowly lifting his head. “Really, I am.”

“You’re soaked in blood!” Frank exclaimed.

“It’s not blood,” Joe said, wiping red from his face. “It’s red paint. Latex, fortunately.”

“Wh-wh . . . ” Frank stammered.

“This is a fur-coat warehouse,” Joe said groggily. “The Kellermans, of course, are against animals being killed for furs, so they came here to make a point.” Joe gestured toward a wall, and Frank turned to look.

Emblazoned on the wall, in dripping red paint, were the words “All of these animals were murdered!”

“They brought cans of red paint with them,” Joe said, sitting up. “Janet painted the message while Jeff went around tossing paint on coats. I watched them a few minutes behind a rack, but then I tripped on something and they came after me. I turned my head so they wouldn’t see me, and Jeff threw paint at my face so I wouldn’t see him. Then he shoved a rack at me and I guess it knocked me out for a minute.”

Frank shook his head. “Now we know that the Kellermans really do break the laws of man to serve the laws of Nature.”

Joe nodded, his eyes on the dripping message. “Come on. Let’s go home so I can change into something less . . . bloody.”

The rain had let up as Frank drove the blue van homeward.

“Okay, review time,” Joe said, watching the steady swish of the windshield wipers. “It’s day three on the case, and so far we have three prime suspect groups. The Kellermans; Dr. Godfrey and the chimps; and the boy from Rashipah.”

“We have good motives for two of these groups,” Frank remarked, “and plenty of suspicious action from all of them. The problem is, we don’t have any conclusive proof on any of them.”

“Right,” Joe said. “Plus we have to check into Peters today.”

Frank steered the van into the driveway of the Hardys’ home at 23 Elm Street. The Hardys jumped out and dashed through the rain to the back porch.

“Aunt Gertrude is probably watching TV in the living room,” Frank cautioned. “We’ll sneak into the kitchen so she doesn’t see that paint and pass out.”

“Good point.” Joe gave his brother a thumbs-up. The last thing he wanted was to scare Aunt Gertrude, who lived with the Hardys and tended to fuss over her detective nephews.

Joe opened the back door and stepped inside. Instantly, he heard a bloodcurdling scream!

“Wait!” Joe cried. “I’m all right!”

Aunt Gertrude was standing in the kitchen, dramatically clutching her heart.

“Joseph!” Aunt Gertrude shrieked. “You are certainly not all right!”

“It’s red paint,” Joe assured her.

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