Free The Flickering Torch Mystery by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

way back.
    The girls were let off at their homes with quick good-nights, then Frank and Joe continued on to Elm Street. The first floor of their home was well lighted.
    Joe put the car away and the boys entered through the back door. They were faced immediately by their mother and Aunt Gertrude, who had waited up for them.
    â€œWherever in the world have you been?” Mrs. Hardy inquired with a worried look.
    â€œA body can’t get any sleep any more!” Aunt Gertrude complained. “Do you know what time it is?”
    â€œOf course we do,” Joe said, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. “We were mixed up in a new development in our case. We just couldn’t help being late.”
    â€œLooks as if you were mixed up in a mud bath,” Mrs. Hardy said, the comers of her mouth relaxing.
    â€œYou’re not kidding!” Frank kicked off his dirty shoes and set them beside the kitchen door. Joe followed suit.
    â€œAunt Gertrude, we’re lucky to be back at all,” Joe said. “We got chased, shot at, and—”
    Aunt Gertrude wrung her hands, and an agonizing look crossed her face. “You’re involved with gangsters again!” she wailed and turned to Mrs. Hardy. “Laura, it’s too dangerous for these boys to play detective!”
    â€œIt wasn’t any play, I can tell you that!” Frank observed as he stripped off his mud-spattered sport shirt.
    â€œHere, give me those dirty things,” Mrs. Hardy said. “I don’t want you to trail mud into your room.”
    â€œThanks, Mother.” Joe grinned.
    Gertrude Hardy clucked disapprovingly. “Well,” she said, “at least we can all go to bed now. Frank, Joe, mind you’re up in time for breakfast and church!”
    The next day was Sunday. Early afternoon Sam Radley dropped in and discussed the latest turn of events. After the Hardys had told him everything that had transpired the day before, Frank concluded, “That assistant at the airport, Bill Zinn, is a prime suspect.”
    â€œSo are Mudd and Nettleton,” Radley added. “They should be investigated.”
    â€œThat’s where you could help us,” Joe put in. “Could you start checking on Zinn? You know what I mean—his background and all that?”
    â€œBe glad to.”
    â€œGreat,” Frank said. “Meanwhile, we’ll go back to Mudd’s place and do some further sleuthing there.”
    After Radley had left, Joe said, “What do you have in mind about the airplane junkyard, Frank?”
    â€œWe need to follow up that tailpost clue. Remember Chet’s fuselage? The tailpost was missing.”
    â€œNow I get it,” said Joe, snapping his fingers. “Last night Nettleton was working on the tailpost of that plane. Maybe something was hidden there!”
    Frank nodded and Joe went on, “What’s your strategy?”
    â€œI really don’t have any yet,” Frank replied. “We could ask Chet—Wow! That gives me an idea. Come on!” Frank went to the telephone and dialed the Morton farm.
    Chet answered. “Hello, Frank. You’re lucky to find me in. I was just practicing loops.”
    â€œOh, good,” Frank said. “Are you ready for an Immelmann yet?”
    â€œHa, you can’t stump me,” Chet said. “Isn’t that the outside loop invented by that German ace?”
    â€œLet’s get back down to earth,” Frank said. “There’s something I’d like you to do for us.”
    â€œListen,” Chet said, “my pilot’s training can’t be interrupted by—”
    â€œCome on,” Frank urged. “All we want you to do is ask Mudd for a tailpost.”
    Silence for a moment, as Chet mused. “Come to think of it, I could use one, too. And maybe some other parts. Okay, it’s a deal. When do we go back to Beemerville?”
    â€œTomorrow. And listen, Chet. We want you