The Dangerous Transmission Read Free Page A

up with something. Nick’s staying too, to help.”
    â€œYou were in the Palace earlier with these two gentlemen?” One of the firemen was approaching Frank. “Please tell me what you remember,” the fireman said. As he had done with Joe and Jax, he questioned Frank about the time before the fire started and jotted notes in a small black book.
    After forty-five minutes of interrogation the guard escorted the Hardys and Jax to the Tower gate. “There’s the Tube,” Jax said, nodding to a sign. They walked across the street to the TowerHill station for the London subway, called the Underground by the British, and nicknamed the Tube. They each bought a Travelcard, which entitled them to unlimited Underground travel for one week.
    Frank, Joe, and Jax walked down three long flights of steps, then took an escalator down two more. One final flight, and they were at last at the tracks for the London subway system.
    â€œWhen they call this the Underground, they’re not kidding,” Joe said, smiling as he scanned the handy map on the wall.
    â€œA lot of the Underground stations were bomb shelters during World War II,” Jax said. “People needed to be far from the surface.”
    The platform was a large open area, with several tracks for trains on the left and the right. Joe could also see a second set of tracks, which handled trains going in the opposite direction. People waited for those trains on the other side of the tracks.
    On the ride back to Jax’s flat, Jax showed the Hardys his father’s knife.
    â€œYou had a funny look on your face when I found it,” Joe said. “Why?”
    â€œI was surprised that I’d taken it to the Tower,” Jax replied. “I didn’t use it for either the raven or the teeth. Frankly, I didn’t realize it was even in my bag.”
    The Hardys and Jax got off the train at the Knightsbridge station and walked the hundreds of steps back up to the surface. A four-block walk took them to Jax’s winding lane. His neighborhood was very quiet, comprising mainly narrow buildings. Most of them had shops or offices on the street level and flats on the upper floors. Jax’s medical suite and two-bedroom flat were on the second floor of a brown brick building.
    They walked past the two stores beneath Jax’s flat. One was a jeweler’s store, and the other was Jax’s father’s taxidermy shop. The third floor of the building was empty. Jax and the jeweler used it for storage.
    â€œLet’s go into Dad’s shop,” Jax said. “I’ll always think of it as his, even though I own it now.”
    The inside of the store held a fascinating assortment of common and uncommon objects. Dozens of animals, birds, and fish hung on walls, perched on tables, and rested in display cases. Jax described the variety of animal shapes and parts that he was working on.
    â€œHere’s one made from papier mâché,” he pointed out, “and one from burlap and plaster, like the head Nick made of himself. This one’s made from dental compound. And some are formed from acrylic or fiberglass.”
    He pulled out some drawers with trays in them. “You can’t preserve lips, tongues, ears, noses, oreyes,” he said. “So you either make fake ones yourself or buy them ready-made.”
    In the back of the store was his studio. Leaves, branches, moss, rocks, and other objects to help the mounts look real sat on shelves. Tools, wire, brushes, surgical implements, and measuring instruments were scattered on tables.
    Jax walked over to a large cabinet and opened the door to reveal bottles and cans of paints, dyes, and cleaning fluids. “Some of the hides have a lot of fat in them,” he said, “so we use gasoline to dissolve it. Dad used arsenic to kill bugs in the furs, but most of us use borax now.”
    He led the Hardys to a wooden cupboard that was mounted on the wall like a