"Dixon, Franklin W - Hardy Boys 111 - Three-Ring Terror" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dixon Franklin W)

Frank looked at the ball carefully again. This time, he saw a thin seam running around the middle of the ball. "I think I've found something," he told Joe, pointing out the seam.
"Try twisting the ball to see if it opens," Joe suggested.
Frank turned the ball over in his hands. Sure enough, Joe was right. The two halves turned and the ball popped open. A small folded-up piece of paper fell out and fluttered to the ground.
Joe picked up the paper and unfolded it. "Weird," he said, handing the paper to his brother. "Definitely weird."
Frank looked at the paper. On it were three pairs of letters with numbers written on them.
“Are you thinking what I'm thinking?!” Joe asked his brother.
Frank nodded. "It looks like we've just found some kind of coded message!"
Chapter 3
The Human Cannonball
"Well, what do you know," Joe said, looking at the slip of paper. "I get the feeling our juggler friend left us with more of a mystery than we thought."
"I wonder what this code means," Chet said, taking the paper from Joe and reading the figures 1220, 103, and 214. "That's a strange set of numbers," he remarked.
"And look at the letters next to them," Frank said, pointing. "CM, JL, GU. I don't see any patterns, do you?"
Joe thought for a moment, quickly running down a sequence of simple codes he'd learned over the years. "Nope," he said finally. "Frank, if this really is a coded message, that juggler was passing information, whether he knew it or not."
"But why was he passing information to me?" Chet asked.
Joe shook his head. "Who knows? But I think we had better try to find out." He looked around the backstage area. The place was clearing out. Most of the guests had gone, and only a few circus performers remained. "I doubt we'll learn anything here tonight, though," Joe said.
"You're right," Frank agreed. "Let's go home and see if we can crack this code."
"Hey, guys," Chet protested, pointing to the two halves of the gem-studded ball in Frank's hand. "We can't leave here with that. It belongs to the circus, or Circus U., depending on who that juggler was. We have to return it."
Joe reached out for the ball, which Frank had put back together. "We will," he said firmly. "As soon as we find out just who this mystery juggler is and what he's doing passing coded information."
The next morning, Joe woke up bright and early. He got out of bed, showered, and went down to the kitchen, taking the coded message with him.
He read the numbers and letters on the slip of paper: CN—1220, JL—103, GU—214. "There's got to be some way to crack this code," he muttered to himself as he sat at the table and poured himself a bowl of cereal.
Joe was still at it when Frank came down to breakfast half an hour later. "Any luck?" his brother asked, opening the refrigerator and taking out a pitcher of juice.
"Nope," Joe said, shaking his head and staring once more at the arrangement of letters and numbers.
"Where is everyone?" Frank asked, sitting down next to his brother.
"Dad left a note saying he had to go out of town to the police headquarters in Philadelphia to run a check on someone. A new case, I guess."
Frank nodded. The brothers' father, Fenton Hardy, was a private investigator, and his hours often started early and ended late. "What about Mom and Aunt Gertrude?" he asked.
"They left a note saying they'd be gone all day," Joe said, looking up for a second from the coded message. "They're visiting friends in New York."
"We'd better hurry if we're going to pick up Chet," Frank said. He checked his watch. "You shouldn't have let me sleep this late."
Joe stood up, stuffed the paper in the pocket of his jeans, and headed for the kitchen door. "I was busy trying to crack this code and I lost track of time," he said, grabbing his jacket from the coatrack by the door.
After the Hardys had picked up Chet, Frank drove the brothers' black police van toward the Bayport Arena. On the way, the three of them talked about the mystery juggler.
"Do you think he was a spy, passing secret information?" Chet asked. "That would be too much, wouldn't it?"
Joe laughed and twisted around in the front seat to look at Chet. His friend wasn't wearing his clown costume but had his Circus U. tote bag with him. "We shouldn't jump to any conclusions," Joe said. "At least not until we ask around and find out just who this guy is."
Frank steered the van into the arena parking lot. "We still need to find out what the message means," he said. "And why he dropped the ball in your bag."
"The ball!" Joe exclaimed, slapping his forehead with his palm. "We left it at home."
Frank shot his brother a look as he switched off the ignition. "You mean, you left it at home."
"You were the one who rushed me out of the house," Joe protested. "If you hadn't overslept, this wouldn't have happened."
"Hey, guys," Chet said, crawling over the seat to follow Joe out the passenger side of the van. "It's no big deal. You can go home and get it after Dean Turner's speech."
"Who's Dean Turner?" Frank asked.
"He's the dean of Circus U.," Chet answered.
"He's giving a speech this morning about Circus U. for students and guests. And then he's going to perform a trick he used to be famous for."
"Oh, great," Joe said absently. He was still mad at himself for leaving the juggler's ball in his room. He could see it now, sitting on top of his desk where he'd left it the night before.
"Dean Turner's going to be shot out of a cannon," Chet said. "Isn't that neat?"
"Definitely," Frank said. He looked at his brother, who was staring off into space, a glum expression on his face. "Forget about the ball, Joe. We don't really need it to find out who the mystery juggler is."
"I guess you're right," Joe agreed reluctantly. "All we really have to do is describe the ball and see if anyone with the Montero Brothers Circus or Circus U. knows a guy who wears green rhinestone-covered pants and a blue wig and juggles gem-studded balls."
"Exactly," Frank said. "It just means a little more legwork."
"Let's move it," Chet urged, looking at his watch. "We've only got fifteen minutes before Dean Turner's speech."
The Hardys and Chet headed across the parking lot. Chet led them around to the back of the Bayport Arena. It was cold out, but the sun shone brightly, reflecting off the stark white walls of the huge, round, domed building.
"Where are we going?" Joe asked as Chet opened a door marked Private.
"This is the entrance to the arena's offices and multipurpose rooms," Chet explained as they stepped into the building. "I want to give you a quick tour of our classrooms."
Chet turned left and led the Hardys down a hallway that curved past a bank of elevators.
"This is where we learn makeup," Chet said, pointing to a room on their left. He opened the door to the next room. "And here's the prop classroom."