The Clue in the Embers Read Online Free Page A

asked as she passed bacon and buns.
    Frank gave an account of the curios, the missile, the chase, and the events at the museum.
    â€œToo bad your father’s out of town,” Mrs. Hardy remarked. “I’m sure he’d be interested in this.” Then, with a note of anxiety in her voice, she added, “Please be careful. Especially of this man who walks around with a blowgun!”
    â€œDon’t worry, Mom,” Frank said. “We’ll be on guard every minute.”
    Breakfast was almost over when the telephone rang.
    â€œMight be Fenton,” Aunt Gertrude suggested.
    â€œOr Mr. Scath,” Frank said.
    â€œI’ll get it,” Joe offered, pushing back his chair. He disappeared and picked up the phone.
    â€œHello.”
    â€œJoe,” replied the excited voice of Tony Prito, “Valez just phoned again.”
    â€œBoy! He doesn’t waste any time, does he? What did he say?”
    â€œHe made threats against Frank and you!”

CHAPTER V
    Missing Valuables
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    â€œVALEZ threatened us?” Joe exclaimed. “Why, Tony?”
    â€œHe says that you’re interfering with my selling him the collection. I told him you had nothing to do with it. I wouldn’t sell it, anyway. Boy, was he mad! Told me in no uncertain terms that if I didn’t give him what he wanted and you guys didn’t keep out of this deal he’d get all of us!”
    â€œWonder how Valez knows that we’re friends,” Joe asked.
    â€œHe must have found out somehow. Called you those Hardy boys.”
    When Frank heard about the threat he began to speculate about what to do next.
    â€œNow listen to me!” Aunt Gertrude interrupted. “You’d better pay attention to that warning. There’s no sense in waiting until danger’s right on top of you.”
    The front doorbell sounded and the lecture ended. A tall, broad-shouldered stranger with red hair was standing on the porch. Several tattoo marks covered his thick bared forearms.
    â€œGood morning,” Frank said politely.
    â€œAre you one of the Hardy boys?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œMy name is Willie Wortman,” the man began in a voice that seemed no less friendly than his handshake. “I’m from New York.”
    â€œDid you arrive here this morning?” Joe asked as they entered the living room. Frank swung a chair around for the caller.
    â€œYes.”
    Wortman explained that he was a seaman on a freighter plying to Central and South America. At the mention of these last words Joe and Frank exchanged glances.
    â€œWell,” Wortman continued, “my ship docked in New York last week. After I was paid off, I went to visit an old shopkeeper friend of mine—a man named Roberto Prito.”
    â€œPrito!” Frank exclaimed.
    â€œYes,” Wortman went on. “But my friend had died and his shop was locked tight. I sure felt bad. He was a good guy.” After a pause the sailor continued. “I was disappointed, too, because I’d hoped to pick up two medallions there—one the size of a half dollar, the other somewhat larger.
    â€œI heard from a neighbor of Roberto that a large shipment of objects from the shop had been sent to Tony Prito here in Bayport. Figuring the medallions might have been in the shipment, I came on out. I went to Tony’s house as soon as I got into town. He says he’s pretty sure they’re not in the collection. Tony had to take the truck out on a rush job for his dad, so he advised me to come here and talk to you about them.”
    â€œDid those two medallions belong to you?” Frank asked.
    â€œYes,” Wortman replied. “I got them from a buddy who has since been killed. A short time ago, when I was broke, I hocked them with Roberto.”
    â€œAnd you’re trying to buy them back?” Frank asked.
    â€œY-yes.” His halting reply puzzled the boys. Wortman went on, “I