Free The Crisscross Crime by Franklin W. Dixon

man’s shoes start to move the other way, he peeked up, hoping to memorize something about the robber that would help in capturing him later.
    The man spun around suddenly. “Keep that head down!” he yelled. Then he spoke to everyone in the bank. “You all stay nice and quiet,” he said. “This will all be over in a few minutes.”
    At that moment Frank heard a terrific crash. He looked up to see Joe stagger in, covered with round pellets of glass.
    Startled, the crook held the gun out in two hands, pointed right at Joe. Then Frank saw him turn to the front door. There was Biff!
    Biff held the bat ready to swing and took a step toward the robber.
    â€œBiff! He’s got a gun!” Frank shouted.
    Biff froze.
    Frank heard the gun go off. An awful orange flash lit up the bank.
    The bullet ripped through the barrel of Biff’s bat, exploding it into a confetti of wood chips. For a split second, Biff stood holding just the handle of the bat, then he dove for cover behind a desk.
    Joe saw his chance. He blitzed the thug, swinging his bat at the guy’s wrists. He hit the gun, and it went skittering across the tile floor.
    The redheaded man started to go for the gun, but Frank was already up, blocking his path to the weapon.
    â€œCome and get it,” Frank said, beckoning the man with a wave of his hand.
    After a second’s hesitation the crook turned and fled through the rear emergency exit. The Hardys pursued him into the parking lot.
    Running at full speed, Joe swung the bat, hitting the man on the side of his leg. The crook tripped and tumbled forward.
    Joe went in to finish him off, but the thug was up in a flash, ready to fight.
    Frank circled to the man’s right, while Joe took a step to his left.
    â€œYou’d better give it up,” Joe warned, holding the bat out menacingly. “I don’t want to have to hurt you.”
    The thug grinned. He reached into the lining of his suit coat and withdrew a steel crowbar. “Now it’s your turn to bring it on,” he said.
    Unfazed, Joe took a swing. The man held out the crowbar. There was a loud thock! as wood and steel collided. Joe’s hands rung with pain.
    Frank took a chance. While the man’s back was turned, he stepped in, planning to bring the guy down with a side kick to the back of his knee.
    The thug was too quick.
    As Frank’s leg shot out, the man spun and nailed him right in the shin with the crowbar.
    Frank yowled and crumpled to the ground.
    The thug turned and ran toward the alley. Joe rushed to his brother’s side.
    â€œI’m okay,” Frank said through gritted teeth. “Go after him, Joe!”
    Joe sprinted to the mouth of the alley. It was completely empty. He ran to where it opened up on State Street, across from the sub shop. He looked right and left. No sign of the redheaded man.
    A white-haired woman stood waiting at the bus stop a few yards away.
    â€œDid you see a guy running out here a few seconds ago?” Joe asked.
    The woman looked at Joe, then at his baseball bat. “No,” she said. Then she began scolding Joe. “You shouldn’t be playing baseball back in that parking lot,” she said. “There are parks for that kind of thing, you know.”
    Joe sighed. “I know,” he said. “Thanks.”
    He headed back through the alley. Stopping in the middle, he looked up. No fire escapes, no way to climb up to the roof, he thought. The guy had just vanished, inside an alley.
    He tapped the barrel of the bat along the pavement as he headed back to Frank. He noticed that the sound had changed pitch. Looking down, he saw that he’d struck a manhole cover a lot like the one he’d tripped over in the junkyard. Well, he thought, at least I didn’t take a tumble over this one. Then he had an idea. Reaching down, he tried to get his fingers under the rim of the lid to lift it up.
    â€œNo way,” he muttered, almost