A Figure in Hiding Read Online Free

mind?” Joe teased. “I thought you’d engaged a hammock for the summer.”
    â€œI’m getting in shape,” Chet retorted. Plopping himself down on a boulder, he plucked out a candy bar, peeled off the wrapper, and began munching it hungrily.
    â€œThat chocolate bar will put you in shape,” Frank said with a grin, “like a lead balloon.”
    â€œAw, cut it out! I have to have some quick energy, don’t I?”
    â€œListen, what’s this roadwork all about?” Joe asked. “You’re not doing it for fun.”
    Chet looked smug. “Just wait and see, wise guys. Certain people needed a powerfully built young fellow for an important athletic post, and I was their natural choice.”
    â€œChoice for what?” Joe gibed. “A before-and-after model for one of those diet ads?”
    â€œOkay, pal. Have your laugh.” Chet got up, and this time set off at a brisker pace.
    The Hardys grinned and drove on. They spent the day searching Ocean City and a number of other places but found no trace of Zatta. Finally they returned to Bayport for a late supper.
    Just as they were leaving the table, the telephone rang and Joe answered. The caller was the manager of the Bayview Motel.
    â€œThat fellow Lambert just came back here and left a forwarding address for mail,” the man said. “I thought you boys might want to know.”
    â€œWe sure do!” Joe said eagerly. He copied down the address and was surprised when it turned out to be a street on the outskirts of town. “Thanks a lot.”
    Joe showed the address to Frank. “Let’s go see what Lambert—or Spotty Lemuel—has to say.”
    â€œOkay, but we’d better pass this information along to Chief Collig in case he wants to follow up on what happened to Bill Braxton.”
    Police Chief Collig was an old friend of the Hardys. After leaving a message for him with the police operator, Frank and Joe hurriedly started off in their convertible.
    The address was on Malabar Road, a quiet street of old houses which were set well back from the pavement and screened by big trees and heavy shrubbery. Dusk had fallen as the boys cruised along slowly, aiming their spotlight at the house numbers. The one they sought—25—was visible in brass letters on a tall gate.
    â€œLook!” Joe gasped, and Frank pulled over.
    The spotlight glow revealed a large eye chalked on the gatepost!
    In seconds the boys were out of the car. To their surprise, a FOR SALE sign was posted on the fence. The house looked dark.
    â€œApparently Lemuel hasn’t moved in yet,” Joe murmured. “But what about that eye?”
    As the brothers walked to the gate, a figure moved on the front porch and came down the drive. He was a boy about sixteen—a wiry, cocky-looking youth in tight jeans and motorcycle boots.
    He leaned on the gate and stared up and down at the Hardys with a mocking grin, his jaws chomping on a wad of gum. “Know what that means?” he said, pointing to the chalked eye.
    â€œMaybe,” Frank said evenly. “Who are you?”
    â€œThe checker, stupid. Who d’you suppose?” the boy retorted. “Look, are you guys here for the meeting or just snooping around?”
    Joe glanced at his brother. “We’re here for the meeting.”
    â€œThen let’s see your pass.” As the brothers hesitated, the youth pointed to the eye again and rasped, “Come on, don’t try to con me. Have you got one or haven’t you?”
    On a sudden hunch, Frank took the glass eye from his pocket. The boy nodded. “Okay. Go on around to the back and knock twice.”
    As he spoke, he opened the gate. The Hardys entered and walked up the drive.
    â€œLooks as though we made the grade!” Joe whispered triumphantly.
    The boys’ hearts were thumping as they went to the rear of the house. Here the weed-grown yard was shrouded in gloom. Joe was