The Mystery of the Spiral Bridge by Franklin W. Dixon

Author:Franklin W. Dixon [Dixon, Franklin W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Adventure stories, Detective and mystery stories, Juvenile Fiction, Literary Criticism, Mystery and detective stories, Mysteries & Detective Stories, Children's Literature, Boys & Men, Hardy boys (Fictitious characters), Robbers and outlaws
ISBN: 9780448089454
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 1966-04-15T00:03:08+00:00

CHAPTER XII

The Protector

FRANK held his breath as the light flashed about near the entrance to the trailer. Then it went off. The door squeaked open and shut.

A voice from inside said, “Oh, it’s you, Willy. What a layabout! Here, give me the glasses.”

“Arkitnay!” retorted Willy Teeple. Frank heard two heavy boots drop to the floor, then all grew silent. Frank waited, but no further talk came from within, so he quietly returned to his own trailer. Inside he whispered to Joe:

“First we have to prove those ex-cons are doing something crooked here. In that case, maybe the police can help us. But we’re up against a tough assignment, Joe. Come on. Let’s contact Radley again.”

The two boys took flashlights and slipped out of the trailer. Joe retrieved the radio set, then the

Hardys cautiously made their way into the woods bordering the road.

Once out of sight oŁ the work camp, Frank flicked his light on and off just enough to pick their way through the dense forest. Progress was slow.

“Do you think it’s safe to stop now?” asked Joe.

“No. They may have a lookout this close to the trailers.”

Stumbling and groping, Frank and Joe plodded on through a stand of pine trees. Finally they came to a small clearing, where the moonlight illuminated a huge boulder. The Hardys dropped to the ground, their backs against the stone.

“Okay,” said Frank. “Let’s get Radley.”

Joe turned on the transmitter, then put in the call to Bayport. No response.

Joe tried again, without results. “Did you check the batteries?” asked Frank.

“There’s plenty of juice,” his brother replied.

Just then a ham operator came in strong and clear. He asked Joe where he was located.

Joe was polite, but said this was an emergency call and would the ham please sign off.

“As you say. Good luck. Over and out.”

“Whew! I hope the cons aren’t listening in,” said Frank.

“If they are, we’re sunk!” declared Joe. He called Radley again. This time a faint reply reached their ears among interference. Joe tuned out some of the static.

“Sam? … This is Joe. How’s Dad?”

The reply was heartening. Fenton Hardy was improving steadily! “He has intervals of lucidity,” Radley reported, “but his memory is foggy.”

The operative went on to say that X rays had shown the reason for this. “Fenton must have been hit in the back of the neck,” Radley said. “The doctors feel that his memory won’t be clear for at least a week or so.”

“But he will get better!” Joe said tersely.

“Definitely.”

With a sigh of relief, Joe passed the radio to Frank, who told Sam, “I’ve heard more of those jailbird words. For instance, they called me an apple. What’s that?”

“A swindler.” Radley chuckled. “They think you’re a crook, Frank. That’s good!”

“Don’t tell Aunt Gertrude!” Frank grinned.

“Got a pencil and paper?” Radley asked. “I can give you a list of prison slang your father compiled.”

“Roger.”

Joe turned on his flashlight and laid it on the ground. Then, as Sam dictated, he jotted down:

cop a heel - to run

tin star - country

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