The Short-Wave Mystery Read Free Page B

up?”
    â€œYou bet. We’ll be there in a jiffy!”
    Fifteen minutes later the tall, broad-shouldered investigator was embracing his two sons.
    â€œBoy, you look great, Dad!” Joe said. “How’d you make out on your case in Europe?”
    â€œTell you about it later. Right now I could use some of Aunt Gertrude’s home cooking.”
    â€œYou’re out of luck,” Frank said. “She won’t be home until three o’clock.”
    Mr. Hardy chuckled wryly. “In that case I’ll settle for ham and eggs at the nearest diner.”
    After stowing their father’s luggage in the trunk of the convertible, the boys took him to a roadside restaurant just outside Bayport. Soon the three were settled in a comfortable booth, enjoying their meal. “Okay, let’s hear about your case, Dad,” Frank urged.
    Mr. Hardy explained that he had been investigating the theft of secret data from a California aircraft company. Certain features of its latest commercial jet plane had been copied by two European firms. “A clear case of industrial espionage,” the detective went on. “And some of those features are usable on military aircraft.”
    â€œAny clues?” Joe asked.
    â€œJust one, so far. The gang that peddled the data uses ’aardvark’ as a code word.”
    â€œAardvark?” Frank echoed. He glanced at Joe and both laughed. “There’s a funny coincidence! Chet Morton bought a stuffed one yesterday.”
    â€œWhat’s Chet up to now?” Mr. Hardy inquired.
    Before Frank could reply, Joe bolted from his seat with a startled gasp.
    â€œHey! What’s wrong?” Frank asked.
    â€œThat bald auction thief!” Joe exclaimed, pointing out the window. “I just saw him out there on the parking lot!”

CHAPTER III
    Ghost Light
    FRANK sprang up at Joe’s mention of the auction thief, and both boys dashed to the door. A stout couple were entering the restaurant. Joe tried to skid aside, but Frank barged into him and they collided heavily with the man and woman.
    â€œWell, of all the fresh young ruffians!” The woman glared at the two boys as she tried to straighten her hat which had been knocked askew in the impact.
    â€œWe’re terribly sorry, ma’am,” Frank apologized. “My brother just spotted a thief on the parking lot—we were running out to catch him!”
    â€œEr, better stand aside, dear!” the woman’s husband said hastily as he saw tall, husky Fenton Hardy striding to join the two youths.
    â€œPlease excuse my sons,” the detective said.
    As the woman gave a mollified smile, the Hardys squeezed past her. Outside, Joe gazed around, then exclaimed, “There he goes!”
    A thin, baldheaded figure in a flapping tan raincoat was sprinting off the lot.
    A green sedan was waiting at the edge of the highway, engine racing. The baldheaded man leaped into it. Joe, Frank, and Mr. Hardy were still weaving their way among the parked cars when the sedan roared off into the stream of traffic. There was no chance to note its license number.
    â€œRats!” Joe panted. “We lost ’em again!”
    â€œDid you notice that fat-necked thug at the wheel?” Frank said.
    â€œI sure did—he’s the same man who was driving the station wagon yesterday!”
    â€œSuppose you two fill me in,” said Mr. Hardy.
    The boys related their adventure at the auction.
    â€œMaybe we ought to check our convertible,” Frank added.
    â€œJust what I was thinking,” Joe said. “I have a hunch Baldy may have been tampering with it.”
    The Hardys hurried toward their car. Frank exclaimed as they reached it, “Look! The antenna’s gone—that’s what he was after!”
    The thieves’ odd-shaped short-wave antenna, which the boys had mounted on their convertible, was now missing.
    Mr. Hardy frowned. “Rather odd to encounter