Free The Shore Road Mystery by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

man stormed away.
    Frank was depressed. “This feeling in town worries me, Joe—not because of the ridicule or threats, but because so many people seem to be convinced that the Dodds are guilty.”
    As the Hardys coasted to the corner, Joe groaned. Approaching them with a broad smirk was the dumpy figure of would-be detective Oscar Smuff.
    â€œWhat ho, it’s our two young sleuths!” he sang out flatly. “Any sign of your Dodd friends, the car thieves?”
    Frank was too accustomed to Smuff’s ways to be incensed. “We think the Dodds are innocent,” he responded.
    â€œIf you boys were smart,” Smuff went on, “you’d memorize features of all the stolen cars, like I do. I’m watching the streets.”
    â€œFor the Dodds too?” Joe asked.
    Smuff nodded smugly. “Or accomplices. I think a woman is involved in the racket somewhere, and if my deductions are correct, she’s got blond hair.”
    He whipped out a note pad and glanced at a scribbled list. Then the “detective” looked up at a sedan stopping for a red light. Suddenly his eyes widened. “There’s one of the stolen cars now!”
    Frank recognized the blond woman driver as Chief Collig’s wife and tried to restrain Smuff. But the self-appointed detective excitedly darted into the street and up to the sedan. Poking his head in the window, he started to accuse the woman loudly. She turned to face him indignantly.
    The next moment Smuff stepped back, open-mouthed and flaming with embarrassment as he realized his mistake. By this time the light had changed and horns were blasting impatiently. Stuttering apologies, Smuff retreated rapidly, wiping his forehead. Mrs. Collig drove off and the deflated detective hastily returned to the sidewalk. He passed the grinning Hardys with a sheepish look and disappeared around a corner.
    Still chuckling, Frank and Joe rode off. They passed the Birnham farm and turned down Pembroke Road on the way to Bridgewater.
    â€œEverything seems to narrow down to this road—and now to Bridgewater,” Frank remarked. “And according to the map—some of Birnham’s property touches Pembroke.”
    As the brothers passed an open field, they noticed a man ahead leaning comfortably on a fence. He held a walking stick in one hand.
    â€œSlagel!” Joe exclaimed.
    â€œIt’s time we had a word with him!” Frank declared.
    The Hardys rolled to a stop, hopped off, and hurried toward Slagel. He turned as if to walk away, but the boys confronted him.
    â€œMr. Wright—?” Frank began.
    The broad-nosed, bald man wiped his sleeve across his face, drumming a cane on the fence. “What of it?” he drawled.
    â€œWe understand you worked for a Mr. Dodd—that is, when your name was Slagel.”
    The man’s lips tightened. “It’s none of your business what I dol”
    â€œMaybe not,” Frank said. “We just thought you might be able to give us a clue to where the Dodds might be.” He noticed Slagel’s expression change to a supercilious smile.
    â€œâ€™Fraid I can’t help you there,” said Slagel, leaning back. “Besides, why should I bother spendin’ my time here with car-thief bailers. Any way, I’m doin’ work for Birnham now.”
    â€œLike stealing cars?” Joe interjected.
    Slagel’s face flushed. He leaned down and swung the end off his cane. A long silver blade pointed at Joe’s face!
    â€œBeat it!” Slagel rasped viciously. “You’re trespassin’ on private propertyl”
    More surprised than awed by the lethal sword, Joe looked at Frank. At his brother’s signal, they walked back to their motorcycles. Slagel was still glaring lividly at them as they rode off in the direction of Bridgewater.
    â€œAt least we shook him up a bit.” Frank smiled. “Even if we can’t find out where he’s staying, we know