“B-but I was just swatting a fly!” Chet stammered.
“That’s right,” Frank said. “That’s all he did.”
An argument started, with Korbo insisting that Chet pay up while the Hardys insisted that the auctioneer had made a mistake. At last the boys convinced Korbo, who disgustedly ordered them to step away from the platform while he got on with the auction.
Relieved that the argument was over, the boys walked toward the back of the tent. Chet mopped his brow. “Thanks for the assist, fellows.”
“That’s okay,” Frank said with a grin. “We only sprung you because we might need you!” As he spoke, he noticed a shadow cast on the wall of the tent by the bright sunlight. Someone was moving along outside, cautiously avoiding the guy ropes attached to the pegs. Frank watched the shadow until it turned the corner and a man appeared in the entrance.
He was a small, wizened figure dressed in the overalls of a farmhand. He sat down near the boys and peered intently at Frank and Joe. Chet had gone ahead and disappeared into the crowd.
Frank nudged Joe. “That guy who just came in seems to be watching us!”
Joe looked at the man out of the corner of his eye. “Why should he? We don’t know him from Adam.”
Frank shrugged. “I have no idea.”
Chet interrupted them by calling out from the back of the tent, where he was standing amid an array of chairs, china, mirrors, rugs, athletic equipment, and other objects. “Boy, we could use this stuff for the Bayport baseball team,” he marveled as he pawed through a pile of gloves, masks, and spiked shoes.
The Hardys joined him, forgetting the stranger for a moment. Joe noticed something that caught his attention. Shifting a small table to one side, he lifted the object and examined it. Then he held it up for Frank and Chet to see.
“Look at this!” he exclaimed excitedly.
He was holding a weather vane shaped in the form of a man on horseback. On the base was the descriptive title: Galloping Rider.
“It’s the stolen weather vane!” Joe surmised.
“Sure looks like it,” Frank stated. “What’ll we do now?”
“Let’s bid for it,” Joe proposed.
“Not me!” Chet retorted. “I’m not bidding for anything. Not even a hot dog.”
Before they could work out a strategy, they heard footsteps coming in their direction. They turned and saw the stranger in overalls, who had bounded out of his chair and was plunging toward them in a headlong attack!
The man barreled into Joe, wrenching the weather vane from his hands and knocking him over backward. The Hardy boy fell against his brother and both went down in a heap. Chet got a bear hug on their assailant, but the latter twisted around, hit him on the head with the weather vane, and made him see stars.
Breaking loose, the man bolted up the aisle carrying the weather vane. He elbowed his way through the crowd and hastened toward the exit.
“Stop thief!” Joe yelled. “Don’t let him get away!”
Realizing that no one could make out what was happening, the Hardys leaped to their feet and dashed after the fugitive, with Chet close behind them. Frantically they tried to push their way through the bidders in the aisle.
Striving to get around one group, Chet stumbled and crashed into the tent pole, knocking it loose. The tent swayed crazily for a moment, then started to collapse!
4
Vanishing Weather Vanes
Cries went up from the crowd as the tent fell down like a cloud, enveloping everyone in its folds.
“Let me out!” a woman screamed.
“We’ll be smothered!” someone else yelled over the excited shouts of other people.
Frank pushed up the limp cloth over his head and looked around for Joe and Chet. They were right next to him.
“Come on, let’s try to crawl out of here,” he urged and began to scramble forward on his hands and knees. The other two followed. Reaching the side of the tent, they wriggled underneath, loosened a guy rope by releasing it from its peg, and lifted the canvas above their heads.
“This way, everybody!” Frank shouted.
Those trapped in the tent struggled clear, aided by the boys from Bayport.
“Good thinking!” one man complimented them.
“I believe no one was hurt thanks to you,” said another.
Korbo, who had been on the auctioneer’s platform when the tent collapsed, was the last to escape. He railed furiously at Chet’s clumsiness in barging into the pole.
“What Chet did wasn’t as bad as auctioning stolen property!” Frank interjected.
“Everything that I handle is legitimate!” Korbo snapped.
“What about that weather vane called the Galloping Rider?”
“There were no weather vanes at this auction. Look for yourself.” Korbo took a list from his pocket and handed it to Frank, who checked the “W” entries.
“Wagon, warming pan, washing machine, wheel-barrow, writing desk,” Frank read. “No weather vane. I guess we owe you an apology, Mr. Korbo.”
“But the weather vane was in the tent!” Joe protested. He explained how he had found it and how the stranger had snatched it away from him.
“I don’t know anything about a weather vane or that man you’re talking about,” Korbo said, “but I do know who knocked the tent down.” He pointed an accusing finger at Chet, who turned red with embarrassment.
“We’ll put it up again,” Frank offered. Korbo accepted the suggestion with a curt nod, and the boys set to work.
Wriggling back under the canvas, they reached the center of the tent, where they found the pole tilted at an angle but still attached to the roof. They took hold of the support, straining to get enough leverage, then gradually eased it into an upright position and wedged the base against the ground where it had been. Then, with the help of some other young people, they righted the chairs and tightened the guy ropes outside.
The auction resumed while the Bayporters drove on toward the Hammerley farm.
“Maybe that guy stole the weather vane and hid it in the tent for some reason,” Joe observed. “He might have come back to pick it up on the sly, but we got there first.”
“That would explain why it was stashed behind the table,” Frank agreed.
A sign loomed ahead of them in the distance:HAMMERLEY HOMESTEAD
Frank turned a few feet beyond it and drove toward the big house. A barn with a tall silo attached to it stood behind the place, and moving in the wind atop the barn was the copper-colored figure of an eagle perched on an arrow.
“The Flashing Arrow!” Joe pointed.
Frank nodded. “And it’s up to us to see it stays where it is.” He parked in front of the house and the three went up to the front door. Chet punched the bell. Hammerley appeared and smiled happily when he saw his callers. Frank introduced Chet as the friend who would be on the case with them.
Hammerley was pleased. “An extra member always strengthens the team,” he said. He was surprised when Joe told him about the Galloping Rider. “You mean the thieves were about to auction it off?” the farmer thundered.
“Mr. Korbo didn’t even have it on his list,” Frank explained. “He didn’t know how it got there or who took it.”
Hammerley sighed. “Too bad you couldn’t catch the man who ran off with it. Well, let’s go over to the barn and I’ll show you my prized possession on the roof.”
He led the way through the yard. The boys saw hired hands dumping corn from a truck onto a conveyor belt leading into the silo. Some distance away, a line of horses looking out from their stalls indicated the building where the livestock were kept. Chickens clucked in a coop nearby, and a hawk wheeled in the sky overhead.
Hammerley stopped in front of the barn. “This is where I keep the hay, feed, and farm implements,” he informed his visitors.
Looking up, the boys saw a hex sign over the front door. It was a bright red pentagram in a white square, which was inside a black circle.
“The original owner put t
he hex sign there to protect the barn,” Hammerley explained.
“Wouldn’t it also protect the Flashing Arrow?” Frank queried.
Hammerley scowled. “Maybe, but some hexes are stronger than others, and I’m not taking any chances. The thieves might be using the pentagram hex too. Now follow me.”
He led them around the barn, explaining that, because of its height, anyone climbing up to the roof would have to use a fireman’s ladder. “There’s a staircase inside. It leads to that skylight above the gutter, which is the only exit from the loft to the roof.”
The boys craned their necks to see where he was pointing. They noticed a man glaring down at them from the skylight with a sinister expression. He pulled back when he saw them looking at him.
“I wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley,” Chet muttered.
“Cheer up,” Joe encouraged their rotund friend. “No alleys on the farm.”
“Very funny!” Chet growled.
The group circled the barn and arrived back at the front door. “You can see how the other weather vanes vanished,” Hammerley noted. “They were left unprotected. Here, as long as somebody is in the loft, the Flashing Arrow is safe. My foreman has been sleeping in the barn for the past few nights, as I told you in Bayport.”
Just then the man they had seen at the skylight came out of the door. Hammerley introduced him as Crow Morven, the foreman of the farm.
“I was in the loft all night,” Morven reported to Hammerley. “Nothing happened. I guess the crooks aren’t thinking of stealing your weather vane.”
“Could be a setup,” Chet said. “Make you forget the Flashing Arrow’s in danger, and one night—whammo—it’ll be gone.”
“You got it figured out, haven’t you, wise guy?” Morven scoffed. “The Flashing Arrow is safe as long as I’m foreman. You can bet on it.”
“Nobody’s betting against you, Crow,” Hammerley soothed his employee. “Now, suppose you take our visitors up to the roof and let them inspect the weather vane.”
The farmer went back to the house, while Morven led the way into the barn. They climbed the stairs past two landings into the loft, which was a broad room with a low ceiling. A pile of hay filled one corner. The skylight window admitted the rays of the sun.
Morven pushed open the skylight, allowing the boys to see how the roof dropped away at a steep angle toward the gutter. There was nothing beneath it but a long fall down to the ground.
The foreman gave the boys an evil grin. “Want to follow me out there?” he challenged them.
“Sure,” said Frank and Joe.
Chet poked his head out the skylight, blanched at the height, and quickly pulled back. “I think I’ll pass,” he gasped. “I’ll check out the loft instead.”
Frank and Joe climbed through the skylight after the unfriendly foreman, pressing their feet against the gutter to get a toehold. Then, doubled over and clutching the wooden shingles with their fingers as they went, they worked their way up the steep incline of the roof.
Although Morven was used to the barn, he fell behind Frank and Joe in the climb to the apex, where the other side of the roof dropped away in the opposite direction. Joe was in the lead. Halfway up, a shingle snapped in his hand, but he managed to steady himself.
When they reached the apex, they stood up. They could see the surrounding area. A stream meandered through a woods, and a row of small hills rose beyond it.
“Time to go back,” Morven said after they had taken in the view. “I haven’t got all day!”
“We’d like to inspect the weather vane first,” Frank replied. “Mr. Hammerley said we should.”
“Is there some reason you don’t want us near it?” Joe asked suspiciously.
“Of course not,” Morven snarled. “Come on.”
The Hardys were used to heights. They had done some mountaineering, and many of their cases had forced them into death-defying feats high above the ground. But both felt rather uneasy on the roof of Hammerley’s barn.
To reach the weather vane, they had to crouch on their hands and knees, then edge their way along the apex, with disaster on either side should they slip. Finally the trio reached the middle of the roof, and the Hardys had a close-up view of the Flashing Arrow.
A Pennsylvania Dutch craftsman had beaten flat copper into the likeness of an eagle with its head back in a defiant gesture, its beak open as if to attack, and its wings spread for flight. The eagle’s talons gripped the arrow on which it perched. One end of the arrow was pointed, while the other end expanded into simulated feathers. A bar through the center of the arrow held the weather vane in place on the roof.
Frank and Joe edged their way around Morven and sat on opposite sides of the Flashing Arrow so that they could inspect it together. They were struck by the beauty of the workmanship.
“Look, it’s loose,” Frank said, lifting the weather vane from its bar. “How come?”
Morven shrugged. “Beats me. It had a collar that held it on the bar.”
“Where’s the collar now?”
“Search me,” Morven said. “Maybe the workmen who fixed the roof took it.”
Frank replaced the weather vane on the bar, noting that it could still turn in the wind without falling off. Joe swung it around until the arrow pointed in his direction. He wiggled to sit next to Morven, with his legs dangling down one side of the roof, and explored the pointed end with his fingertips.
“Say, this arrowhead isn’t welded on,” he said. “It’s screwed on.” Grasping the arrowhead between his thumb and forefinger, he gave it a sharp twist that caused it to move.
“Let’s see,” Morven said. He rose and leaned toward Joe. Just then his foot seemed to slip and he fell heavily against the young detective. With a cry of surprise, he righted himself with his hand, but Joe was knocked off balance and toppled from the apex of the roof.
While Frank stared in horror, his brother slid down the steep slope and plunged over the side of the barn!
5
Joe’s Close Call
Without hesitating, Frank skidded down the roof to a point where he could brace his feet against the gutter. Joe was hanging onto the gutter by his fingertips! The force of his fall had swung one foot against the wall, where the sole of his shoe had come to rest on a fastening that held a drainpipe against the side of the barn.
Quickly Frank grabbed his brother’s wrists. Joe swung one knee over the gutter and with Frank’s help hauled himself back onto the roof. He lay there for a moment, breathing heavily after his near-fatal accident.
“That was some ride you took,” Frank said, his voice still tense.
“I’m glad I didn’t finish it,” Joe puffed. Catching his breath, he followed Frank back to the apex of the roof where Morven was waiting.
“I’m sorry about your fall,” the foreman said apologetically. “My foot slipped. Are you all right?”
“Don’t worry, I do this all the time,” Joe said coldly. He suspected that it had not been an accident. Carefully wedging himself next to the weather vane, he resumed unscrewing the arrowhead and noticed that the arrow formed a hollow tube.
“That makes it light enough to turn with the wind,” he reasoned. After peering in and finding the tube empty, he screwed the arrowhead back on.
Deciding that they had seen enough, Frank and Joe descended the roof with Morven, dropped through the skylight, and rejoined Chet in the loft. Their roly-poly friend, who had watched Joe’s close call, was pale, and his hands trembled slightly.
“You sure know how to scare a guy,” he said to Joe, trying not to show how upset he was.
“Sorry about that,” Joe said. “I didn’t know you were watching. What’d you find in the loft?”
“Nothing but a telephone,” Chet replied and pointed to the instrument that was mounted on the wall. “I checked it out. Connects with the house. Matter of fact, Mr. Hammerley wants you to call him up.”
Frank lifted the phone and heard it ring at the other end. Hammerl
ey answered.
“Did you find anything?” he inquired.
“Yes. The Flashing Arrow is loose. I lifted it clear off its rod. Why is that?”
Hammerley was puzzled. “I don’t know. It always had a collar holding it in place. I’ll talk to Crow about it. Tell him to come to the house with you.”
The group entered through the front door and Hammerley ushered them into the living room. He ordered Morven to put a new collar on the weather vane, and the foreman promised to take care of it in the morning.
“What’s our next move?” Harmmerley asked the boys.
“Tomorrow we’d like to talk to the people whose weather vanes have been stolen,” Frank said. “Meanwhile, perhaps we could sleep in the barn tonight. I’m sure Mr. Morven wouldn’t mind having some time off.”
Hammerley liked the idea, and Morven gave no indication that he objected in any way. He took a flashlight from a shelf on the wall, stuffed it into his pocket, and said he would see about the cows in the pasture. As he was leaving, he turned to the boys with a smirk and added, “Pleasant dreams!”
Hammerley showed his guests around the house, then entertained them with tales of the Pennsylvania Dutch and the plain ways of the Amish. He was interested to hear that they had seen Amish couples in their carriages on their way.
“We also met Mad Maggie,” Frank said but did not mention the woman’s warning.
“Oh, she’s a harmless old crone,” Hammerley told the boys. “No one takes her seriously.”
Frank decided not to press the subject any further, when Chet suddenly sat bolt upright. His eyes became wide, and his nose quivered.
“What’s the matter, Chet?” Frank asked.
“Food!” Chet exclaimed. “I smell it! And I just remembered that we haven’t eaten in a long time!”
The familiar aroma of roast beef wafted in from the kitchen, and the Hardys grinned.
“Mr. Hammerley, please excuse Chet,” Frank said. “He has this thing about food—”
“I can tell.” Hammerley chuckled. “And I assure you he’ll enjoy tonight’s meal.”
An hour later their host served onion soup from a large green tureen at the head of the table. The roast beef came next, with vegetables and potatoes, and finally Mrs. Smith, the housekeeper, brought in homemade ice cream. Chet took a double portion of everything.
The Pentagon Spy Page 3
