Mystery on the Mayhem Express by Franklin W. Dixon

Author:Franklin W. Dixon [Dixon, Franklin W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aladdin
Published: 2021-06-22T00:00:00+00:00

11 SAFE PASSAGE

FRANK

WE BURST INTO THE LIBRARY car to find it empty. “Ravi’s gone,” I said, trying to catch my breath.

“His satchel, too!” Chet pointed out.

“Well, how do you like that? He couldn’t have gone far. I’ll check the cars back here,” Joe offered. “You check the dressing room car. Maybe he’s hiding in one of the compartments.” With that, Joe vanished through the door toward the rear of the train.

Chet and I hurried back through to the dressing room car, where I stopped short.

There was an unnatural sloshing sound coming from one of the bathrooms. I motioned for Chet to be quiet, and then we leaned against the door, straining to hear.

Someone was inside.

I rapped my knuckles against the wood. “Hello? Ravi? Is that you?”

The sloshing stopped.

Chet’s eyes went wide. “It’s definitely him.”

I grabbed the handle. It twisted, surprisingly unlocked, and the door swung open.

Inside stood Ravi, shoving paper into the toilet.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

With a grunt, Ravi turned back and started cramming the papers farther into the toilet with one hand, while desperately attempting to flush with the other. He jammed the handle so hard, I thought it’d snap clean off. Shouldering him aside, I reached into the nasty toilet bowl.

“Hey, get off!” Ravi yelled.

My fingertips grabbed hold of the sodden edges of the papers as Chet managed to wrestle Ravi off me, and Joe came running in, drawn by the commotion. They held Ravi’s arms behind his back as I stood in the cramped space, peeling apart the dripping pages. They smelled terrible and were yellowed—hopefully from time, and not from…

I took a closer look. Intricate overlapping black lines showed numbered diagrams of the train, complete with precise measurements and labeled figures. Notes were scribbled in the margins about lights and fuel, angles and oil capacity. “Just as I thought.”

“Diagrams of the train,” Joe said, materializing at my side.

“And old ones, from the looks of it.” Chet released Ravi, who staggered to right himself.

Something was clipped to one of the pages. A torn sheet of stationery.

“Who’s S. Mayhem?” I wondered aloud. “I thought the train guy’s first name was Easton. Maybe S. Mayhem was another relative of Trent’s?”

“Dudes, this isn’t what it seems,” Ravi insisted, making a weak attempt to snatch the papers back. Sweat was beading on his brow.

“Then what are you doing with diagrams of the train?” I asked, examining the wet sheets—six in all. Each seemed to feature a detailed sketch of a different train car. Mayhem Express was neatly written across the top of every page. I knew Ravi was part of the Trainsville restoration team, shadowing a professor and all, but why would an intern have train diagrams? And why would he be trying to dispose of them?

Ravi made another attempt to escape, but Joe shifted to block him. “Will you move?” the gift shop clerk snapped.

Joe folded his arms. “Not until you tell us what’s going on.”

“Fine. But can we not talk here?” Ravi had a point. It smelled foul.

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