The Sinister Signpost Read Free Page A

geyser of dust erupted from the spot.
    Frank and Joe rushed to the scene of the accident. An ambulance sped by them with its siren screaming. They arrived just as two white-coated men were helping Roger move away from the damaged vehicle.
    â€œIs he hurt?” Joe asked quickly.
    â€œNo,” one of the men replied. “He’s lucky. I think he just had the wind knocked out of him. But we’ll take him to the hospital for an examination, anyway.”
    Shortly Roger’s father and Mr. Hardy came running up.
    â€œAre you all right?” Alden asked his son nervously.
    â€œI—I guess so,” Roger gasped, still trying to catch his breath. Then he glared at the Hardys and pointed an accusing finger at them. “You guys are the cause of this!” he screamed. “You reflected sunlight into my eyes with that mirror of yours!”
    â€œYou’re crazy!” Joe retorted.
    A rangy young man appeared and gazed at the wrecked car in disbelief. “My car!” he groaned. “It’s almost totally demolished!”
    â€œAre you the owner?” Alden queried.
    â€œYes, I am.”
    â€œHow is it my son was driving your racer?”
    â€œRoger offered me a hundred bucks if I would let him make the trial run,” the young man explained. “Now all I have is a pile of junk.”
    â€œServes you right,” Alden snapped, “but I’ll pay for the damage.”
    Roger was helped into the ambulance and taken to the hospital. Although his father was greatly upset over the incident, he did not request that the competitions be discontinued. Instead, Alden told the participants to carry on. At the signal, engines began roaring to life. The Hardys and Chet watched the day’s activities and were thrilled by the performance of the skillful drivers.
    After dropping Chet off at the Morton farm, the three detectives headed home. When they arrived, Mrs. Hardy announced that supper was ready to be served. As they ate, the boys discussed the day’s events.
    Aunt Gertrude looked at them scornfully. “Racing of any kind is just dreadful! It should be outlawed!”
    â€œWhen properly organized,” Frank put in, “it’s a fine sport.”
    â€œI call it utter nonsense!” Aunt Gertrude retorted. She hurried out of the room before her nephews could argue the point.
    The next day the boys rose late. After eating a hearty breakfast and attending church services, they settled down to read the voluminous Sunday newspapers. Shortly the telephone rang. Frank scooped up the receiver. The caller was Iola Morton, Chet’s sister.
    â€œChet won’t be able to see you later,” she sobbed. “He’s had an accident!”
    Frank and Joe leaped into their convertible and drove to the Morton farm. They arrived to find the entire family standing on the front porch of the house. Chet was seated on the steps, exclaiming that he was all right. His face was blackened with soot.
    â€œI don’t need a doctor!” the chubby youth insisted.
    â€œWhat happened?” Frank asked worriedly.
    Mr. Morton, a good-looking, normally jolly man, turned to the Hardys. “Chet was experimenting with a highly volatile fuel on the engine of that old car I keep in the barn. He was pouring some into the carburetor when it suddenly blew up.”
    â€œIt seems the racing bug has bitten him,” said Iola, a slim, pretty girl. She was a witty, light-hearted person and was a school chum of the Hardys. Iola was Joe’s favorite date.
    â€œI was afraid something like this would happen,” Frank remarked. “However, I didn’t expect it so soon.”
    Mrs. Morton, an attractive, dark-haired woman, hurried to meet Dr. Mills, a Bayport physician, as he drove up to the house. He examined Chet, then left after saying that fortunately the boy had not been injured.
    â€œYou’d better call off your experiments,” Joe advised his