Free A Figure in Hiding by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

muttered, pointing to a cheval-de-frise of broken glass strewn along the top.
    Dropping down inside, they walked toward the house, which could be glimpsed beyond the trees. Suddenly the Hardys were chilled by ferocious snarls. They whirled, then froze in terror. Four sleek, fierce-eyed Doberman pinscher guard dogs were racing toward them!
    â€œThey’re killers!” Frank cried out.

CHAPTER XI
    A Midnight Deal
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    THE Hardys looked around wildly. There was no chance of getting back to the gate—the dogs were already cutting off their line of escape.
    â€œThat tree!” Frank yelled, pointing to a nearby copper beech with low-hanging branches.
    The boys sprinted madly. Each grabbed a limb and swung himself off the ground.
    The Dobermans came on like demons. Although lean and long-legged, they were powerful, deep-chested brutes. The dogs hurled themselves at the lower branches, baying and straining every muscle to reach their prey.
    â€œSufferin’ catfish!” Joe quaked. “Those babies mean business!”
    â€œIf we fell out of this tree,” Frank agreed uneasily, “we’d be hamburger in two minutes!”
    â€œJust don’t let go, that’s all,” Joe advised.
    â€œGreat. But what do we do for food and water?”
    Both boys were perspiring as they stared around for signs of help.
    â€œAh! Thank goodness! Here comes someone!” Joe said.
    A man—evidently a servant, wearing a house-boy’s white jacket—was striding toward them. He was carrying a braided whip which Frank and Joe assumed was to use on the dogs in case they got out of hand.
    â€œHeel!” he called sharply.
    The Dobermans stopped barking and slunk close to his side. Then he glared up at the boys.
    â€œWhat’re you two doing up that tree?”
    â€œBoy, there’s a foolish question if I ever heard one!” Joe muttered. Out loud he retorted, “What does it look like?”
    â€œGet down out of there and beat it before I call the cops!” the houseman ordered.
    â€œWait a minute—we’re not burglars,” Frank said. “We rang the bell at the gate but no one answered, so we had to climb over. We came here to see Mr. Izmir—on important business.”
    The servant studied the boys suspiciously. “That’s out of the question,” he said. “Mr. Izmir can see no one. He has suffered a nervous breakdown. He’s living in complete seclusion under a doctor’s care.”
    Frank thought fast. “What we have to see Mr. Izmir about is very important,” he said. “It has to do with a glass eye.”
    The servant’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped open. He wet his lips slowly, then said in a more respectful voice, “Your names, please?”
    â€œFrank and Joe Hardy.”
    â€œI’ll inquire inside. Wait right there.”
    He turned and walked toward the house, leaving the dogs behind. The four Dobermans sat watching the boys in eager silence, tongues lolling.
    â€œWait right here, he says,” Joe echoed resentfully. “What does he think we’re going to do—climb down and play tag again with those four-legged meat grinders?”
    In a few minutes the servant returned. “Mr. Izmir will see you,” he announced. Turning to the dogs, he said simply, “Guard!”
    Frank and Joe climbed down warily, keeping an eye on the Dobermans. The servant accompanied the boys to the house and led them inside to a richly furnished drawing room. There was a white, thick-piled carpet on the floor and modernistic paintings on the walls.
    A man who was pacing back and forth restlessly turned abruptly to face the boys. He was of medium height, with a thick neck and bulging froglike eyes.
    â€œMr. Izmir?”
    â€œYes.” He gave them each a quick handshake and waved them to a sofa. “Sit down, boys!”
    Frank and Joe obeyed while mentally sizing up their host.