The Short-Wave Mystery Read Free Page A

school crowd’s favorite eating spot, Chet cleared his throat nervously. “Say, fellows, how are you fixed for lab space at your house?”
    â€œLab space?” Frank raised his eyebrows.
    â€œUh-huh. You see, Mom’s not too happy about me doing this taxidermy at home, and—well, I thought...” Chet’s voice trailed off and he looked at his pals beseechingly.
    The Hardys joined in peals of laughter.
    â€œNow it comes out!” Joe exclaimed. “I knew there was a catch to this free lunch!”
    â€œNot to mention inviting us to that auction!”
    â€œI wouldn’t take up much room—honest!” Chet looked so wistful that the Hardys relented.
    â€œWell, okay, if Aunt Gertrude doesn’t object,” Frank said. “I guess she won’t mind as long as you’re working up in our garage lab.”
    â€œOn second thought,” Joe said with a grin, “maybe we’d better call the game warden from here, where she can’t listen in. Somehow I don’t think she’d care much for a deer’s head.”
    Mr. Dorsey, the warden, readily promised that Chet could pick up the head and pelt at the game preserve later that day. After Joe emerged from the phone booth, the Hardys drove home to Elm Street in their convertible, followed by Chet’s backfiring jalopy.
    Aunt Gertrude peered suspiciously out a back window as the stuffed animals were being unloaded and soon emerged to give advice to the boys.
    â€œHumph! Taxidermy, eh?” she commented. “Very well. I daresay it has some educational value. But don’t let me see any messy stuffing being tracked into the house, or I’ll have three scalps mounted over the door! Understand?”
    â€œYes, ma’am!” Chet gulped.
    Frank and Joe had fitted up the entire second story of the garage as a detective laboratory and clubhouse. Leaving Chet to arrange a working space, the Hardys hurried into the house to their father’s study and checked his criminal files for pictures of the auction thieves.
    â€œNo luck,” Frank said at last. “But let’s keep in touch with Chief Collig on this case, Joe. I have a hunch there may be some interesting angle we don’t know about yet.”
    Chief Collig, a veteran of the Bayport police force, was a long-time friend of the Hardys. The two young sleuths stopped in to see him on their way back from the game preserve with Chet.
    â€œHave you traced the auction thieves’ license number yet?” Joe inquired eagerly.
    The husky officer replied with a quizzical grin, “We tried to, but we got a surprise. No license plates with that number were ever issued. Sure you didn’t read it wrong?”
    â€œPositive! I was using binoculars.”
    Collig rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “Then it sounds as if those hoods were no amateurs—not if their car’s equipped with fake plates.”
    â€œWhat about the radio antenna?” Frank asked.
    â€œNo use. That turned out to be homemade too, as you suspected, so there’s no way to trace it.”
    Frank had an idea. “May we have it?”
    â€œSure, why not?” Collig pulled the antenna from one of his desk drawers and handed it over. “Want to use it on the rig in your convertible?”
    â€œNo, but it’s an odd design,” Frank explained. “If Joe and I mount it on our car, it may attract attention. Someone might even recognize it and give us a lead on the owner.”
    On Sunday, after church, Aunt Gertrude said good-by to her nephews and went off with a ladies’ group to visit sick members of the congregation. The boys were alone in the house when the telephone rang. Frank answered and was delighted to hear his father’s voice.
    â€œDad! What a swell surprise! Where are you?”
    â€œAt Bayport Airport, son. Just landed from Paris this morning and then hopped a plane from New York. Think you and Joe could pick me