The Ghost at Skeleton Rock Read Free Page B

on.
    â€œWatch me fool him,” Chet said with a wink at his friends. “Over there, boy!”
    He pointed to a clump of bushes and threw his voice once again:
    â€œHere, Spud! Come on, boy! Got a nice thick juicy steak for you! Come on, fella!”
    Instead of responding, the bull terrier stood still, eyeing his master quizzically.
    Chet lost his temper. “Well, go on, dopey. What’re you waiting for?” The bull terrier merely panted and wagged his tail.
    â€œWow! Did you ever fool him!” Frank gibed. Both he and Joe doubled up with laughter.
    Chet turned beet red and grumpily threw his dog a stick to chase. Then he casually suggested, “Let’s get some lemonade and cookies.”
    On the way back to the house, Joe said thoughtfully, “Some of those Hugos come with Oriental turbans, don’t they, Chet?”
    â€œThe better models do,” replied the stout boy. “Why?”
    â€œOh, just a hunch I had about something.” Turning to his brother, Joe went on, “Do you suppose Dad’s message might have referred to one of those dummies?”
    Frank nodded. “It’s an idea.”
    â€œDon’t tell me you fellows are wrestling with another mystery?” Chet inquired uneasily.
    â€œRight. And you’re just the one to help us solve it,” Joe told Chet, slapping him on the back.
    â€œNot me!” Chet protested with a shudder.
    Getting involved in the Hardys’ crime cases always gave Chet the jitters, although the roly-poly high-school boy had already been through several dangerous adventures with Joe and Frank.
    â€œThis won’t get you into any danger,” Joe assured him. Hastily he explained about the puzzling message which Mr. Hardy had sent from Puerto Rico.
    â€œWhere do I come in?” Chet asked suspiciously.
    â€œWhen you go shopping for a Hugo dummy, just keep your eyes open. Better yet, let us go with you. Maybe we’ll run across some kind of a clue.”
    â€œWe-e-ell ... I guess I can go along that far with you,” Chet agreed grudgingly.
    â€œWhere did you plan on buying your dummy?” Frank asked.
    â€œBiwen’s Novelty Shop. That’s where I’ve been getting all my books on ventriloquism.”
    â€œOkay. Let’s go!”
    After stopping in the house for lemonade with the girls and to pick up Chet’s wallet, the three boys piled into the convertible and drove off. A few minutes later they pulled up in front of the novelty shop on King Street.
    A bell tinkled as they walked in and Mr. Bivven, the squat, baldheaded proprietor, came out of the back room to greet them.
    He beamed at the trio across the counter. “Something you’d like, boys?”
    Chet said he wanted to look over the store’s stock of ventriloquist’s dummies.
    One by one, Mr. Biwen showed his stock, but Chet turned them all down and asked for a Hugo dummy. The proprietor went to his storeroom and emerged presently with a cardboard box. It contained a Hugo dummy, clad in a tuxedo and red turban.
    â€œI just received this today,” Mr. Biwen said. Taking out the dummy, Chet set it on the counter and began putting on an impromptu ventriloquist act.
    Frank watched, chuckling, for a moment. Then he picked up the instruction sheet which was lying in the box and began to read it. The simple directions were printed in three languages—English, French, and Spanish.
    The doorbell tinkled again and two men entered the shop. One was tall and rough-looking, with large ears that stuck out from his head; the other was short and swarthy-complexioned.
    Joe, who was standing alongside Chet and Frank, watched the men out of the corner of his eye. They stopped in front of a trayful of water pistols and began picking them over. It looked as though they were killing time until the proprietor could wait on them.
    â€œOkay. I guess I’ll take this one,” Chet decided finally.
    As he pulled out his