"Dixon, Franklin W - Hardy Boys 037 - The Ghost At Skeleton Rock (Original)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dixon Franklin W)

"What's this?" Tony asked, unrolling a flag which he had found tucked away on a
shelf of the trailer. On the left was a white circle on a red triangular field,
and five green and white stripes running horizontally.
"A foreign flag!" Frank exclaimed.
"What about this?" Jack asked, pointing to a black cloth skeleton on the lower
right-hand corner.
"Some kind of a Jolly Roger," Joe suggested.
"But why would petty thieves use a pirate flag?" Tony queried.
"Perhaps Hugo and Abdul belong to some rebel group," Frank mused.
Tony remarked, "Maybe they're just a couple of petty fakers."
Frank shook his head thoughtfully. "In that case, why all the rough stuff when
we first saw them, and the rifleshot just now? If you ask me, they're mixed up
in something big—and this skeleton flag may be a clue."
The group headed back to Skyhappy Sal. Jack Wayne removed part of the cowling
and made a quick examination of the damage caused by Abdul's bullet. The shot
had almost severed the slender copper tubing of the fuel line.
"What's the verdict?" Frank inquired.
Jack shrugged, frowning, "I can make a temporary repair with a plastic line—good
enough to get us in the air, anyhow. But I doubt that it would hold as far as
Bayport."
"How about the Eastern City airport?" Tony suggested, "We could install a new
fuel line there."
Jack nodded. "That's what we'll have to do."
He made the repair quickly, then everyone piled in. With Joe at the controls,
the plane headed toward Eastern City. Located less than twenty miles away, this
thriving city was a terminus for half a dozen airlines. Jack explained their
plight to the tower and received permission to land. A mechanic guided him as he
taxied the plane to a repair hangar.
"How long do you figure it'll take to put in the new line?" Joe asked as they
climbed out.
"Oh, not too long, once I get the right size tubing," the pilot replied.
"Fifteen, twenty minutes—if Tony will help me."
"Sure, be glad to!" Tony, an expert with tools, loved to tinker over an engine.
"In that case," said Frank, "Joe and I will find a phone booth and call the
police."
They strode quickly to the terminal building. As they skirted the magazine stand
on their way to the telephone booths, they noticed a man seated alone in a
corner. Olive-skinned, with long, shiny black hair, he looked to be a Latin
American. The man slouched on the bench, chin in hand, listening to music which
apparently was issuing from a small portable radio on his lap.
Joe grinned at the catchy tune. "Boy, I go for that stuff," he said.
"What stuff?" Frank asked.
"Hot calypso!" Joe said.
His reply seemed to electrify the man on the bench. Jumping to his feet, he
darted toward the boy and hissed in his ear, "Where are your gloves, you fool?
You might leave fingerprints."
Joe blinked and stared. The man's next move was even more astounding. He pulled
a pair of gloves from his pocket and stuffed them into Joe's hand!
The boy was taken completely by surprise, but instinct warned him not to betray
his reaction. The stranger watched him closely.