Free Mystery of the Whale Tattoo by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

block.”
    Chet raised his hands in mock horror, and Frank added, “Okay. If we run into any trouble, we’ll come back and get you. Otherwise plan on meeting us here in an hour.”
    Frank and Joe left the drugstore and continued their search. Darkness was falling and the moon was visible only as a dim, thin crescent above a layer of black wind-driven clouds.
    â€œDo you think Tim Varney has gone into hiding?” Joe asked.
    â€œIt’s a possibility. I—Wait a minute! Over there by the grocery store, Joe!”
    Joe squinted against the blackness, focusing his eyes on the figure that was moving furtively along the other side of the street. “That’s our man, all right.”
    â€œInto this doorway, quick,” Frank said. “Give him a chance to get a bit of a lead, then we’ll follow him.”
    Varney glanced nervously around, as if to make sure that he was not being followed. After a moment he shrugged and hurried on. When he was half a block away, Frank and Joe stepped out of the doorway. They tailed the man through a labyrinth of twisting streets until he arrived at a clapboard shack close to the waterfront. Varney paused, looked around him, then pulled open the door and went inside.
    Frank and Joe pressed against the side of a warehouse, watching. “What do you think we should do now?” Joe asked.
    â€œWell,” Frank said, “there was no light when he entered, and he still hasn’t turned one on. It’s my guess that he’s waiting for somebody. I think we should stick tight and see what happens.”
    â€œOkay.”
    After fifteen minutes Joe grew restless and began to fidget, when Frank suddenly whispered, “Something’s moving off to the side of the shack.”
    Joe looked. Two dark forms—one of them much larger than the other—were approaching the ramshackle structure. They made their way to the door, then rapped on it with four sharp knocks. The door opened and they stepped inside. Moments later a weak light appeared behind the covered windows.
    The boys crouched low and covered the distance between the shack and the warehouse at a half-run. A thin wedge of light knifed through a crack on the side of the door. The Hardys each pressed an eye to the opening.
    Inside, three men were pacing about. One of them strode close to the door. Instantly Frank and Joe recognized him as the hulking man who had been in the red coupé with Varney and the blonde.
    â€œHey, Mug!” came Varney’s voice.
    The big man turned. “What?”
    The boys could not make out Varney’s next sentence. A higher voice said, “Wish we could get this job finished.” Frank and Joe strained for a look at the speaker. Moments later they succeeded, when a youth about their own age, slightly built and with sandy hair, stomped angrily past the door, snarling the name “Hardy.”
    â€œThere’s nothin’ you can do, Baby Face!”
    â€œWell, I don’t like sittin’ around, Mug,” replied the blond youth hotly. “There’s no sense talkin’ any more. Let’s get out of this hole.”
    He strode toward the door, barely giving Frank and Joe time to scoot around the corner of the shack. The light went out, the door slammed shut, and the three vanished into the darkness.
    Frank peered around the corner in time to see two headlights wink on, a motor start, and a car pull away.
    â€œNuts, we can’t follow them,” he muttered.
    Joe grabbed his arm. “Remember that night I saw someone lurking near the phone booth at the carnival?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWell, that fellow Baby Face is the one I saw hanging around there.”
    Frank raised his eyebrows. “This gets more interesting—and complicated—every moment.”
    â€œThere’s no doubt that Varney was trying to split your skull on the whaler,” Joe said. “But just what do you think is this job