Free The Firebird Rocket by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

saying that he was taken to Alice Springs!” Frank said.
    Joe jumped up from his chair. “This is a hot clue, Frank! We’ll have to go to Alice Springs!”
    â€œThat’s the way I see it. We’d better get out there in a hurry.”
    Ponsley left his table and joined them. “Who was that fellow and what did he say?”
    Frank told him and repeated the conversation.
    â€œWhere is Alice Springs?” Ponsley asked.
    â€œLet’s find out,” Frank suggested and pulled a map of Sydney from his pocket that showed all of Australia on the reverse side. He spread it flat on the table, running a fingertip from Sydney west across New South Wales into South Australia, and then up into the Northern Territory. His finger stopped almost exactly in the center of the continent, where the words “Alice Springs” were printed in black letters.
    They could tell from the relief coloring that the town nestled in the foothills of the Macdonnell Ranges, at a point where a number of streams converged. The illustrations indicated that all around Alice Springs there were homesteads, mines, and cattle ranches.
    Ponsley was aghast. “Impossible!” he cried, thumping the table with his fist until the ruby on his finger seemed to be a streak of red in the air. “That town is over a thousand miles from here!”
    â€œA long trip,” Joe agreed.
    â€œToo long!” Ponsley snapped. “You have to stay in Sydney and continue the search for Mike Moran!”
    Frank shook his head. “Mike will have to wait,” he said firmly. “Jenson comes first. Besides, Mike said he was leaving town. Chances are he’s not in Sydney anyway.”
    Ponsley groused and grumbled, but finally gave in. “I’ll go with you,” he decided. “I’m not the detective around here. I need you boys to solve my mystery. I’d better stay with you so I can be sure you start looking for Mike the minute you find Jenson.”
    â€œFair enough,” Frank said and paid the bill. He asked the waitress about the nearest travel bureau, which happened to be around the corner.
    The boys were unable to book a scheduled flight for the next day, but the clerk referred them to the pilot of a small private plane, who had just come in to pick up possible fares.
    â€œI belong to the Royal Flying Doctor Service,” the pilot told them. “The RFDS flies doctors, nurses, and medicine over the Outback wherever someone is ill or injured. Planes are the only way to get around quickly in that area.”
    â€œYou must be like the bush pilots in Alaska,” Joe surmised. “They cover a lot of territory.”
    â€œQuite similar,” the pilot agreed. “Well, I operate out of Alice Springs and will be flying back there tomorrow morning. I’ll be glad to take you.”
    â€œWe’ll need four seats,” Frank said. “A friend of ours is coming, too.”
    â€œThat’s okay. I have enough room.”
    The boys thanked the man and left the travel agency. “What say we call Chet to tell him the latest news, and then see a few more of the sights on the way back to the hotel?” Frank suggested.
    â€œGood idea,” Joe and Ponsley agreed. They called from a public phone booth, then strolled along the Elizabeth Street shopping area, glancing at items in store windows and enjoying the bustle of the city. They paused at a fishmonger’s barrow.
    â€œAnything on the menu from the Great Barrier Reef?” Frank inquired.
    â€œToo far away, mate,” the man laughed. “My fish come from Ulladulla, down south of here. How about some tasty snapper or John Dory? Blimey, you’ll find ’em delicious!”
    â€œOkay, you’ve convinced us.” Joe chuckled.
    They all bought fish sandwiches and munched them hungrily. Then they deposited their paper napkins in a trash bin and walked on.
    Suddenly Frank spotted someone watching them from