Free The Shore Road Mystery by Franklin W. Dixon

headlights.
    â€œHe’s heading in our direction!” Frank gasped.
    He could feel Chet shaking violently alongside him. “Quick!” said Frank. “Keep low and roll to the right!”
    Chet struggled to obey, but his eyes bulged with desperation. “I can’t—the zipper on my sleeping bag is stuck!”
    Frank yanked wildly at the zipper, but it was no use!

CHAPTER X
    Strange Roadblock
    MUFFLING Chet’s yell, Frank rolled him violently over and landed quickly on top of him. The tractor and its whirling blades missed them by inches!
    The vehicle’s sound grew fainter as Birnham continued ahead. As Frank looked up he noticed a large truck passing slowly on the road going in the direction of Bayport.
    â€œIt’s okay, pal,” he said, patting Chet. “But let’s get to the road before Birnham starts back on this row!”
    Chet finally freed himself from the sleeping bag. Trailing it behind him, the heavy youth followed Frank across the field, running in a low crouch. Once beneath the fence, the boys paused to catch their breath, and saw Birnham turn.
    â€œI’ve had it,” Chet moaned softly. “Let’s get out of here!”
    â€œShhh!”
    Puzzled by the farmer’s strange activity, they watched his tractor, still without lights, churn earth at a rise near the highway. After twenty minutes, the vehicle stopped. Birnham cut the motor, jumped down, and returned to his house. In a few moments the building was dark.
    â€œWhat was that all about?” Chet asked. “Did Birnham know we were here and do that just to scare us?”
    â€œIf not, why this night work without lights?” said Frank.
    Chet grimaced. “Nuttiest thing I’ve ever seen!”
    Exhausted, the two boys took shifts for the remainder of the night. When nothing more had transpired by sunrise, they drove north and rejoined Joe and Biff.
    They had had an uneventful night at Pembroke Road but were excited by Frank and Chet’s adventure, and agreed that Birnham’s actions were indeed suspicious.
    Frank asked, “Did you pick up anything on the radio?”
    â€œNothing new,” Biff said.
    He climbed into Chet’s jalopy and they roared off. The brothers soon passed them on the motorcycles. The Hardys were just entering Bayport when report of a theft came over the police band.
    â€œ... the car, reported missing at Lucas Street in Bridgewater was later recovered, abandoned on the other side of town. Owner, while sitting in his parked car, was gassed. No clues ...”
    â€œIn Bridgewater!” Joe exclaimed. “That’s not only the first theft someplace besides Shore Road, but the first time the thieves have failed! Apparently they were frightened off before they could get out of town.”
    â€œSo it was the car thieves who gassed Scratch and us,” said Frank. Another idea struck him. “Bridgewater’s at the end of Pembroke Road, Joe—also, remember it’s the postmark on that phony typed note from Jack!”
    â€œCome on! Let’s check on Slagel at the Excelsior!”
    The Hardys cycled to the waterfront hotel, and Joe went in to inquire. When he emerged from the run-down doorway, his expression was not happy. “Slagel—or ‘James Wright’—checked out early this morning!”
    The boys decided to sacrifice their treasure hunt for the day and check the hotels in Bridgewater for Slagel. First they stopped at a diner and had a quick breakfast. Afterward, they hurried to their motorcycles and started up. Just then a middle-aged man strode over to them.
    â€œYou’re the Hardy boys, aren’t you?” he demanded.
    They nodded. “My car was stolen a week ago!” he shouted. “You and your father had a nerve giving bail money to car thieves and allowing them to escape! What are you doing to help? If my car is not recovered, I’ll hold you personally responsible!” The