"Dixon, Franklin W - Hardy Boys 044 - The Haunted Fort (b)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dixon Franklin W)

Back at the school, the boys had midday dinner, then strolled across the lawn toward several students at work on their paintings.

Frank said in a low tone, "Let's see who has been using the alizarin red." The trio split up. Each boy had a paper bearing a smear of the paint. They began browsing near easels set up not only on the main lawn, but also in various nooks on the outskirts of the estate.

"Wow!" Chet exclaimed to himself, coming upon a dazzling creation being worked on by a thin, red-haired boy in dungarees. The plump boy tried to make some order out of the reddish-brown swirls and zigzag silver streaks. "Looks like a vegetable cart that's been hit by lightning."

The student paused and greeted Chet. "Like it?" He smiled. "It's a meadow in wintertime."

"Oh-er-very unusual." Chet walked on, muttering, "Guess I'll have to get the hang of this stuff."

He stopped at several other easels, some of which bore landscape scenes, and others, views of the Millwood buildings or of the surrounding lakes.

"Hi!" A round-faced jovial girl peeked out at Chet from behind an easel. "Are you a new student at Millwood?" she asked, wiping some red paint from her hands onto a rag. Chet explained that he was trying to pick up some pointers.

"You'll have to see our exhibit," she said brightly. "I'm just touching up my portrait. One of the other students modeled for it."

"Is that alizarin crimson?"

"Oh, you! You're an old pro to recognize it," the girl said.

Chet gulped. "She's so nice, she couldn't be the thief," he thought, then peered wide-eyed at the bizarre maze of green and yellow triangles, wavy black lines, blobs of thick red shading, and one eye.

"You say another student modeled for you? Is he all right now?"

The girl giggled. "Quit teasing. You know well enough this is an abstract!"

"Oh, yes, of course." Chet smiled and moved on to inspect several other student canvases before meeting the Hardys near the gallery. "Hope you fellows had more luck than I did," he said.

Frank shook his head. "Everybody is using alizarin crimson. We can't narrow down this clue."

The next morning they walked up the shady lake road to the quaint village of Cedartown. Picturesque shops, a small church, and a barnlike playhouse graced the narrow main street. Frank pointed out the Cedar Sport Store on the other side.

"If the shotgun shell was bought any place in the area, there's a good chance it was here," he said. They crossed and entered the dimly lighted shop.

A long, cluttered counter extended along a dusty wall hung with assorted hunting and fishing equipment. Frank rang the counter bell, and a slender hawk-nosed man with a full black beard emerged from a back room.

"Mr. Warren?" Frank inquired.

"Right. What can I do for you?" he asked, smiling. He spread his hands on the counter and looked with interest at the boys.

"Can you tell us whether this was sold here?" Joe asked, handing him the paint-marked cartridge.

The owner pulled a pair of glasses out of his shirt pocket, put them on, and looked closely at the shell. He shook his head and handed it back.

"If it was used in this area, it's probably my stock," Warren affirmed. "But I sell hundreds of this brand to hunters. Although without the red paint," he added, chuckling.

"Then you have no way of pinpointing the customer?" Frank asked.

"I'm afraid not." The man then asked, "You all up here for the fishing? It's great at the north end of the lake."