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

located less than half a mile from the highway intersection.
He braked the car and swung over onto the shoulder of the road. Again the boys
climbed out.
"It's a hundred-to-one shot," Frank admitted, "but Hugo might have turned in
here to throw us off the trail."
"He'll have a tough time hiding that orange trailer," Joe said. "Say look!" He
broke off with a gasp and grabbed Frank's arm. "Over there!"
Frank turned to face the direction in which his brother was staring. An orange
trailer!
Though partly hidden from view by other vehicles, the trailer looked like the
one used by Hugo and Abdul. The boys approached it casually, trying not to
attract any attention.
Their hopes, however, were soon dashed. Frilly lace curtains showed in the
windows of the trailer. In front of it a fat, baldheaded man in Bermuda shorts
lounged in a deck chair. A moment later a woman came out, carrying a baby.
Frank smiled to hide his disappointment. "Okay. So our long shot didn't pay
off."
"Now what?"
Frank considered. "Once Hugo hits the crossroad, there's no telling which way
he'll head. Guess we better notify the police."
Across the highway from the trailer court was a roadside store with a gasoline
pump. The boys hurried over and put through a call to Chief Collig on the
store's pay phone.
"I'll send out a radio alert," the officer promised, after hearing Frank's
story. "Maybe the highway patrol can pick those men up before they cross the
state line."
"Thanks, Chief! We'll keep in touch," said Frank.
Somewhat dejectedly, the boys plodded back to their convertible. "What a
wild-goose chase!" Frank groaned.
On the way back to Bayport, Joe brightened suddenly as a thought struck him.
''Maybe we could spot Hugo's trailer from the air. That bright-orange trailer
ought to stand out on any road!"
Frank agreed. "We can ask Jack Wayne to take us up," he said.
When they reached home, Frank parked the convertible in the driveway and the
boys hurried into the house. Before they were halfway through the kitchen, the
telephone rang.
"Maybe it's Chief Collig with some news!" Joe exclaimed. He reached the hall
first and scooped up the phone. "Hello."
"This is Chet, Joe," came a breathless voice over the wire. "Something's up! I
need help right away—over at my place."
Chet Morton, a chubby pal of the Hardys, attended Bayport High with them.
Good-natured and fond of eating, he was usually slow moving and easy going. But
now his voice throbbed with fearful urgency.
"Chet! What's this all about?" Joe demanded.
"I can't explain over the phone, but get here fast," his friend pleaded. "This
is important!"
"Okay. We'll be there pronto."
"What's wrong?" Frank asked as Joe hung up.
"Search me. Chet seems to be all worked up. Sounds as if he's in real trouble.
He wants us to come out to the farm on the double."