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

Joe swallowed hard and looked at the gloves. They were made of gray fabric with
a small label sewn to the hem of one, reading Made in Tropicale. Acting on a
hunch, Joe pulled them on.
This seemed to please the stranger, who gave a tight smile. "Ah, bueno!" He
produced a small key and slipped it into Joe's gloved hand, adding, "You have
been instructed!"
Without another word the man turned, switched off the music, and strode away.
For the first time, Frank and Joe noticed that what they had thought was a
portable radio was actually a small portable record-player.
"Let's follow him!" Joe said.
"Better not," Frank advised. "I think we've stumbled onto something big. We've
done the right thing so far. Let's not spoil it."
"You're right. 'Hot calypso' must be a password. Let's look at this key."
Joe held it up for examination. The key was inscribed with the number 176.
Frank repeated the number excitedly. "That wadded note we found in the dummy's
eye!" he exclaimed. "It said 'Skeleton Rock 176'!"
"But what does it stand for?" Joe asked.
Frank thought a moment. "I can't answer that, but I'll bet this key opens one of
those public lockers over there."
The boys hurried to the south wall of the air terminal, honeycombed with metal
lockers.
"Here it is," said Frank.
Joe glanced around cautiously. The Latin American was not in sight and no one
else seemed to be looking at the boys. Joe inserted the key in the lock. It
fitted!
He turned the key and the door swung open. The locker contained a black-leather
zippered case.
Joe reached in and pulled out the case. The next instant, both boys jumped in
alarm as a voice behind them barked:
"You're under arrest!"
CHAPTER VII
Twin Clues
As THE Hardys whirled around from the airport lockers, they saw a dark-haired,
hard-jawed man of medium build eyeing them coldly.
He flipped open his coat and flashed a detective's badge. "Now, then, who are
you and what's your game?"
"We're Frank and Joe Hardy," Frank said coolly. "Our father is Fenton Hardy, the
investigator. While we're at it, maybe you wouldn't mind telling us who you
are?"
"Shanley, airport detective!" the man replied crisply. Opening his wallet, he
showed them his detective's license. "You two still haven't told me what you're
up to," he prodded.
"We're not 'up to' anything," Joe said tersely.
Shanley was annoyed. "Let's have a look at that leather case," he demanded.
But Frank interposed. "If you want to see the contents, let's go to police
headquarters."
"Okay," the detective grumbled. "Come on. We'll go in my car."
The Hardys agreed and the trio headed out through the glass doors of the
terminal building, with Joe clutching the brief case.
"Car's over there at the far end of the lot." Shanley pointed.