The Mysterious Caravan Read Free Page B

Biff stationed at the corner. When they caught up with him, he said, “Come on. Tony’s down the next street. I think he knows where Phil went.”
    They turned right and passed a number of shops. Then they saw Tony beckoning. “Phil’s onAker’s trail. He’s standing in that doorway. See?”
    The boys turned left this time and walked in single file close to the store fronts. They arrived at the spot where Phil had concealed himself.
    â€œAker met the other two guys,” Phil reported, “and they went into that restaurant two doors down.”
    â€œStribling and his boys are very much interested in us,” Joe said. “Too interested to suit me.”
    â€œI wonder what their game is.” Phil said.
    â€œIf we could eavesdrop, we might find out,” said Frank.
    â€œBut how?” Phil asked.
    â€œYou stay here while Joe and I reconnoiter.”
    Just then a boy about ten years old walked past, and Frank reached out to touch his arm. When he stopped, Frank asked, “Would you like to earn a dollar?”
    â€œYes, sir!”
    Frank took a single from his wallet. “Here’s what you have to do. Walk to that restaurant and look through the window. See if three men are sitting together, and tell me just where their table is located.”
    â€œThat’s easy,” the boy said. He took the money and skipped down the street. He peered into the window, shading his eyes against the reflection of the glass. Then he turned and hurried back. “There are no men that I could see.”
    â€œNone at all?”
    â€œNo. But there are booths in the back,” their young spy went on, “and the waiter was serving somebody. I could not see who it was.”
    â€œWait a minute,” Frank said. “Did the waiter serve the food to the booth closest to the window or farther back?”
    â€œThe first one,” the boy said.
    â€œOkay. You did a good job.”
    The Jamaican smiled brightly and hurried off.
    Biff said, “Now what?”
    Frank mulled his strategy for a moment. “If we walk in the front door and try to listen, they’ll spot us.”
    â€œWhat about the back way?” Joe suggested.
    â€œThat’ll have to be it. But we’d better not all go in. Just one.”
    The Hardys looked at Phil.
    â€œYou mean I’m elected?” the boy asked.
    â€œUnanimously,” Frank said. “You’re good at this kind of thing. Find the back door; then slip into the booth next to Stribling and his crew.”
    â€œWill do, skipper. Where shall we meet?”
    â€œIn the park,” Frank replied.
    Phil started off. He turned into an alley until he reached a narrow lane behind the buildings. He found the back of the eating place easily enough. Garbage cans stood filled to the brim, and, as he passed them, a cat jumped out of one and scampered off.
    Phil entered the kitchen through the screendoor, but a huge black man with a chef’s cap blocked his way. “You can’t come in this way, man! Go around front!”
    Phil looked at him pleadingly and spoke several sentences of gibberish.
    A smile crossed the cook’s face. “You don’t speak English?”
    Phil pointed to his mouth, indicating that he was hungry.
    â€œI never heard any language like that,” the Jamaican said.
    Phil uttered more gibberish, and the man pointed to the swinging door leading into the restaurant.
    Phil went in quietly, staying close to the right wall, and slid into the second booth. He could hear the men talking. Just then a waiter appeared with the menu.
    â€œCook says you don’t speak English,” the man said, and ran his finger down the day’s offering. Phil pointed to chicken soup and grinned. It was brought to him immediately, along with some biscuits.
    Phil remained quiet, listening carefully for tell-tale information. The men spoke in low voices, and the hum of an air conditioner nearly