The Flickering Torch Mystery Read Online Free

I’m sure Mudd is the cause. But why?”
    â€œIt’s strange, all right,” Joe agreed. “What’s his game?”
    â€œWell, now that I feel better,” said Chet, patting his belt buckle, “I’m ready for any of O. K.’s tricks.”
    â€œAll right,” Frank said with a grin, draining his glass. “Let’s go back and load up the engine.”
    â€œDon’t forget,” Chet reminded him, “I’m here to buy a fuselage. So far you guys have had all the action.”
    â€œWell, select what you want and the truck can take it, too,” Joe said.
    They left the diner and strolled back to the junkyard. Suddenly Frank stopped, grabbed Joe by the elbow, and pointed to the pile of engines.
    Scott’s engine was gone!
    â€œMaybe Mudd had it moved,” Joe said.
    â€œWe’ll soon find out,” Frank answered. “I saw him in his office when we walked by the window. Let’s ask him what gives.”
    Mudd greeted them with an apologetic smile. “Too bad about that engine, boys,” he said. “Another customer came in about an hour ago. He bought it.”
    â€œBut you agreed to sell it to us!” Joe reminded him.
    â€œSure. You were ready to take our check,” Frank protested.
    Mudd smirked. “I never took your check, however. So it was no deal.”
    Frank shrugged helplessly.
    â€œYou see,” the junkyard owner went on in an oily tone, “this customer made a much better offer than you did. And paid cash.”
    Joe winced.
    â€œDon’t worry,” Mudd went on. “I have lots of other engines, better ones, too.”
    â€œAll right,” Frank muttered. “We’ll look around.”
    â€œAnd I want a fuselage,” Chet said.
    The boys left the office.
    â€œJoe, while Chet’s checking out fuselages, let’s see if we can’t find the engine from Martin Weiss’s plane,” Frank suggested.
    The Hardys split up and met again half an hour later. Neither had spotted anything.
    â€œWhat do you make of this whole thing?” Joe asked his brother.
    â€œWell, this much is pretty obvious,” Frank said. “Mudd removed the engine because he didn’t want us to have it. In order to delay us, he had our car wrecked.”
    Joe nodded. “Questions: Did he know it was Jack Scott’s engine? Did he know it was radioactive? Did he see our Geiger counter and realize we knew it, too?”
    â€œI wish we had the answers,” Frank replied. “Maybe we’ll find them if we find the engine.”
    Just then Chet returned, bursting with enthusiasm. “I got me a fuselage. Made a deal with Mr. Mudd. I’ll pay him in installments. Makes it easier on the Chet Morton pocketbook.”
    Their hired pickup swung through the gate and the boys explained that the cargo for Bayport would be a fuselage instead of an engine.
    The crane lifted Chet’s purchase into the back of the truck, where Chet decided to ride. Frank and Joe sat in the cab.
    The driver took it slow and easy at first, edging around corners and through traffic until he made the turn onto the highway. Then he shifted into high.
    Nothing was said for a while. Frank, acting on a hunch, broke the silence.
    â€œWas the job Mudd had for you this morning a tough one?” he asked.
    The driver gave him a shifty-eyed glance. “Oh, not too bad.”
    â€œNo big cargo to move?”
    â€œWell, it wasn’t a jet plane,” the driver joked without further explanation.
    Noting his evasiveness, Frank decided to spring a trap on him. The Hardys’ detective training had taught them that an unexpected question often did the trick with a suspect.
    â€œWasn’t it funny about that engine?” Frank asked suddenly, looking hard at the driver.
    The man became tense, his hands gripping the wheel. He caught his breath and stared down the highway as if hypnotized.
    â€œWhy would anyone want