Part 7 (2/2)

”Got anything to show?” the man asked.

”Crooked arrow!” Joe said, hoping that might be the pa.s.sword.

”Good enough for me,” came the reply.

With that the man gave the boys two cigarettes, for which they paid twenty dollars. The shopkeeper leaned close to the boys.

”Tell Al those are my last two,” he whispered. ”Have him send Arrow Charlie around with a new lot as soon as he gets back from Mexico.”

Frank and Joe looked as casual as they could, though their pulses were racing.

”Oh, sure,” Frank said. ”Arrow Charlie. Say, did he get that name from selling Arrows or is he a good archer? We never heard.”

The man smiled crookedly. ”You boys ought to know,” he said. ”A fellow in Bayport got shot by an arrow the other day!”

That was enough for the Hardys. They hurried to their car and whizzed back toward the city to report the Green Point tobacconist and turn over the cigarettes for a.n.a.lysis.

As they hummed down the road which ran past 73 the Morton farm, they saw Chet on the porch. When they tooted their horn, he waved frantically. Frank jammed on the brake and Chet puffed up to them, a worried look on his face.

”Your mother phoned here a few minutes ago, wanting to get hold of you,” he panted.

”What's up?” Joe asked. ”Not Dad?”

CHAPTER IX.

Chet, Rope Thrower.

KIs dad worse?” Frank gasped.

”I don't know,” Chet replied. ”All your mother Said was to come to the hospital and hurry.”

”Thanks,” Frank said, starting the motor again. ”We'll let you know if anything's wrong.”

The coupe's speedometer hovered at the speed limit as the boys, fearful of what they might learn at the hospital, raced toward Bayport General Hospital.

When the boys arrived, they did not wait for the elevator, but took the stairs, three steps at a time. The brothers hastened down the corridor into their father's room.

Much to their surprise, they saw the detective propped up with pillows. He greeted them cheerfully.

”h.e.l.lo, boys,” he said. ”Hope I didn't worry you by bringing you here so quickly.”

”To be honest, Dad, you did,” Frank panted. ”It sure is good to see you so chipper, though.”

Joe went to the far side of his father's bed and put his arm around the detective's broad shoulders. ”Gosh, Dad, you look like yourself again. Doesn't he, Mother?”

Mrs. Hardy smiled in agreement. She was pouring water for one of the many bouquets her husband had received.

”I think your splendid detective work has helped your father immensely,” she said. ”He's very proud of you.”

As Frank and Joe exchanged pleased glances, Mr. Hardy spoke up.

”The reason I called you boys,” he said, ”is this.” The detective held up an air-mail letter.

”It's from Cousin Ruth. She wants me to come immediately. Things at the ranch are going from bad to worse. You two had better not delay any longer. Forget the train reservations. I want you to fly out there at once.”

”If those are orders, we'll go today,” Frank said, smiling. ”But Joe and I just got a hot lead on the crooked arrow mystery. We'd like to follow it up.”

Fenton Hardy, knowing that his son was a born sleuth, understood the boy's reluctance to leave Bayport now. But the situation out West was pressing, too.

76 ”I'll put Sam Radley to work on your new lead,” Mr. Hardy said. ”If the Arrow cigarette probe isn't complete by the time you get back, you can take it on again. Now tell me what you've learned.”

Frank told about the Green Point tobacco dealer, then about Arrow Charlie and how he was expected back from Mexico soon. Mr. Hardy did not interrupt. At the end, he said: ”You know, I believe there is some connection between the case here and the one at Cousin Ruth's.”

”How could there be?” Joe asked, amazed.

”Well,” his father replied, ”in the first place, that man who told you about Arrow Charlie may have misspoken. He may have meant that Arrow Charlie was coming here from New New Mexico, instead of Mexico. But what's even more likely, someone may have been sent here from New Mexico to shoot me so I couldn't go out there. It may or it may not have any direct connection with Cousin Ruth's hard luck, but I'm sure now somebody doesn't want me in that vicinity.”

”Well, we'll fool 'em,” Frank said with determination. ”Come on, Joe, we'll see about plane reservations.”

The brothers hastily made their way to the Bay-port airfield. Striding up to the ticket office, Frank 77 and Joe approached the clerk at the window.

”We'd like three reservations to New Mexico as soon as we can get them,” Frank said.

The clerk examined his schedule. ”Sorry,” he said. ”Everything's booked up for a week.”

”A week!” groaned Joe. ”How about a plane to another point and a transfer?”

The clerk shook his head. ”Not a chance,” he said. ”Schedule's full.”

”All right,” Frank said with a sigh. ”Put us on the list for a cancellation.”

As the boys walked out of the building, Joe's eyes suddenly lighted up. ”I've got it. Why don't we charter a private plane, Frank?”

”Good idea,” his brother agreed. ”Let's inquire.”

The boys saw a policeman at the side of the airfield and asked him about private planes. He directed them to a sleek two-engine job, where a man, astride the plane's nose, was tinkering with a motor.

”He might do it,” the policeman said.

As the beys approached, the man climbed down a light metal ladder. ”Something I can do for you?” he asked.

”We'd like to fly to New Mexico,” Frank said. ”Could you take us?”

”Sorry, I'm flying a businessman to South Amer78 ica, but I think maybe a fellow who came in today can help you out.”

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