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

After the director had thanked them for their efforts, they returned to their car, each with the same thought: Had the morning's theft any connection with the art school mystery?

When they reached home, Chet was sitting disconsolately on the porch steps fanning himself with a blue beret.

"Leaping lizards! What a morning you fellows pick for going to a museum," he moaned. "I could have had a second breakfast while I've been waiting for you."

"We're sorry, Chet," Frank apologized, "but it turned out to be a four-lap, dead-end workout."

While the Hardys loaded their bags into Chet's freshly polished yellow jalopy, the Queen, they told him of the museum theft. Chet whistled.

"Do you think the thief's the one who threw that scalp on our lawn?"

"It's likely," Frank replied.

When the jalopy had been loaded up to the back windows, Mrs. Hardy came out and embraced the boys warmly. "Do take care of yourselves." She smiled. "Dad will be home in a few days. I'll tell him about your case, but I feel sure you can solve it by yourselves."

Amid good-bys, Chet backed the car down the driveway, and soon the jalopy was headed north out of Bayport. After following the county road for half an hour, Chet guided the car onto the wide-laned state thruway extending like a white ribbon beneath a light-blue sky.

The boys conversed excitedly about their destination and the mystery to be solved there.

"You really did some tune-up job on the Queen, Chet," Joe commented from the back seat. "One of these days she may be a threat to approaching the speed limit."

Chet smiled good-naturedly at the gibe, then frowned, tugging at his beret to keep it from being blown off by the brisk wind. Finally he gave up. "Alas, what we artists must bear." He sighed and stuffed the cap into the glove compartment.

Frank grinned. "What happened to that coon-skin job you had yesterday?"

"Oh," Chet said airily, "I thought I'd get into the artistic spirit."

As they drove by a gasoline-and-restaurant service area, a black sedan pulled out onto the thru-way from the service area exit. When Chet moved to the middle lane to pass, Joe glanced at the sedan and sat up sharply.

"Frank! The driver of that car, it's the picture thief!"

Immediately Chet slackened speed. Looking over, Frank too recognized the pug-faced man at the wheel an instant before the thief saw the Hardys. Clearly alarmed, the man gunned the engine. The black car shot ahead, but Frank glimpsed in its back seat a large sketch pad!

"Stay with him!" Joe urged, as the gap widened between the two cars. Futilely, Chet floored the Queen's old gas pedal, then noticed a large sign to the right: PAY TOLL-1/2 MILE.

"Quick a quarter!"

Ahead, they could see the black car slow down at the exact-change booth to the right. Chet closed the space quickly before the other car moved ahead, less swiftly this time. Beyond the toll, a parked State Police car was visible.

"Now's our chance to catch him!" Frank exclaimed. Chet pulled up to the same booth and hastily flipped the coin into the collection basket. Without waiting the second for the light to turn green, he gunned the Queen in hot pursuit of the black car.

Ahead, a blast of exhaust smoke told the pursuers that the thief was tromping on the gas. As Chet strained over the wheel trying to gain speed he heard a siren behind him, and the trooper waved the jalopy to the roadside.

"What happened?" Joe asked anxiously as Chet stopped.

The trooper pulled ahead, got out, and ambled over. "It's customary to drop a quarter in the toll basket, young fellow."

"I did."