Free The Clue of the Broken Blade by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

mysteries,” Frank suggested. “He put on a pretty good act outside.”
    â€œYou fellows just don’t appreciate real talent,” Chet said in a patronizing tone.
    Spotting an ashtray in the shape of a skull on a nearby end table, he rose to his feet and picked it up. He stared down at it with a sad expression and intoned, “Alas, poor Yorick. I knew him well.”
    Mrs. Steele laughed along with the Hardys.
    Joe said, “Maybe you knew poor Yorick, Chet, but you don’t know your lines. ”It goes, ‘I knew him, Horatio,’ not ‘I knew him well.’ Don’t you remember our English teacher saying that was one of the most commonly misquoted lines in all literature?”
    â€œI was out sick the day we studied Hamlet,” Chet said.
    He set down the skull-like ashtray, returned to his seat, and took another cookie.
    â€œAre you expecting your husband soon?” Frank asked Mrs. Steele.
    â€œHe won’t be home tonight at all,” she said. “He’s away doing research for a script. Actually the script was all finished and the film is already being shot on location, but the director wanted Vincent to rewrite part of it.”
    She looked at the boys curiously. “Why did you come here? Did you want to speak to Vincent about something?”
    Before Frank could answer, a car horn started to blow in front of the house. When it continued steadily, Frank stood up and walked over to the window. “Hey, that’s our horn!” he exclaimed.
    â€œIs somebody signaling for us?” Joe asked, moving to his brother’s side.
    â€œNobody’s out there!” Frank replied.
    â€œExcuse us please, Mrs. Steele,” Chet said. “We’d better go stop that awful noise.”
    When the woman nodded, Joe said, “We’ll be right back.”
    The three hastened outside. By now it was beginning to turn dark. Frank reached the car first. He opened the door at the driver’s side and banged the horn. It still continued to blow.
    â€œThere must be a short in it somewhere,” Chet said.
    Joe had already lifted the hood, and Frank got a screwdriver and a flashlight from the glove compartment. He handed them to Joe, who examined the wiring.
    Meanwhile people appeared in the windows of several houses across the street, and one man came out to his front steps. “Stop that confounded noise, will you?” he shouted impatiently.
    â€œWe’re trying to, sir,” Chet replied.
    Finally Joe said, “Look, this is no accidental short. Somebody attached a wire bridge across the connection.” He removed the wire quickly and the horn stopped blowing.
    Frank slammed the hood down as Joe returned the flashlight and the screwdriver to the glove compartment.
    â€œNow who do you suppose did that?” asked Chet.
    â€œThere must be a practical joker living in this neighborhood,” Joe said.
    â€œProbably some kids,” Frank declared.
    Chet gingerly opened the gate and they started up the walk toward the front door of the Steele home.
    Suddenly it dawned upon Frank that the drapes had been drawn tight over the front windows. Not even a crack of light could be seen from the interior.
    Frank put his hand on the doorknob and tried to turn it. The door was locked. He pushed the bell, and heard it ring loud and clear, but there was no answer.
    Impatiently Joe pressed the bell a couple of more times but to no avail.
    â€œMaybe she’s on the phone,” Chet said.
    â€œCould be,” Frank agreed.
    They waited a few more minutes, then Chet put his ear against the door. “I don’t hear anything,” he reported.
    Frank wore a worried frown. “You know, fellows,” he said, “I think we were deliberately faked out of the house by the guy who shorted our horn.”
    â€œBut for what reason?” Chet asked.
    â€œMaybe he wanted to duck in the back way as we went out the front,” Frank