Free The Sinister Signpost by Franklin W. Dixon

a report on everything he does,” Joe said.
    â€œYou’ll find Roger at the stable in the morning,” Frank added. “Try to be as inconspicuous as possible. We don’t want him to suspect he’s being watched.”
    Biff, a tall, blond, athletic-looking youth, beamed with enthusiasm. “You can depend on us!” he exclaimed.
    The next day the Hardy boys stayed close to the telephone. It was almost one o’clock in the afternoon when a call came. Frank answered.
    The caller was Biff Hooper. “Tony and I followed your suspect to a restaurant in Clayton. He’s inside talking to a couple of suspicious-looking characters.”
    â€œAre you calling from the restaurant?”
    â€œNo. I’m in a public phone booth across the street from it, on the corner of Stanton and Winthrop streets.”
    â€œJoe and I will come there right away!” Frank declared. “If Roger leaves in the meantime, stick with him. You can let us know where you are by leaving a message with Mother or Aunt Gertrude. We’ll check with them every fifteen minutes.”
    The boys leaped into their car and headed for Clayton. When they arrived, Biff and Tony were still at their posts across the street from the restaurant.
    â€œYour suspect hasn’t left yet,” Biff said.
    Frank pointed to a building behind him. “Let’s hide in that doorway, Joe,” he advised. “We don’t want Roger to spot us when he comes out.”
    The Hardys and their companions became impatient as the minutes ticked by. Finally Roger emerged from the restaurant with two rough-looking men. Each of them walked off in a different direction.
    Frank turned to Biff. “You and Tony follow Roger,” he ordered. “Joe and I will split up and trail those two men he was with.”
    Each boy hurried off on his assignment. Frank trailed his quarry for several blocks. Suddenly the man darted into an alley.
    â€œHe must know he’s being followed,” the young detective thought, and cautiously stalked toward the spot. He peered into the alley. There was nothing in it but a pile of discarded wooden crates at the far end.
    â€œThat man must be hiding behind them,” Frank decided.
    As he edged his way forward, the man leaped from back of the crates and flung a small object toward Frank. It hit the ground a few feet from the boy and exploded!

CHAPTER XI
    A Prize Catch
    A THICK, white cloud of smoke erupted from the spot. Frank felt a burning sensation in his eyes and began to cough uncontrollably.
    â€œIt’s tear gas,” he thought. “I must get out of here!”
    Frank stumbled backward away from the smoke. At that instant he saw the blurred figure of a man running past him. The young detective lashed out with his fist and made contact. Then someone grabbed his left arm. Again Frank lashed out with his fist, but his punch was blocked.
    â€œHold it!” came the voice of his brother. “It’s Joe!”
    As the effects of the tear gas wore off, Frank saw a man lying unconscious on the ground. Joe pointed at the prone figure. “Looks as if you got your man,” he said. “Wish I could say the same.”
    â€œYou lost the other guy?” Frank asked.
    â€œI had to let him go. He led me around the block and down this street past the alley. Then the smoke attracted my attention and I saw you were in trouble. So I ran to help.”
    The man regained consciousness. “Who—who are you guys?” he groaned as he struggled to his feet.
    â€œNever mind that,” Frank answered. “Suppose you tell us who you are?”
    â€œMy name’s Marty Tempson, if it’s any of your business,” the man growled.
    â€œWhy did you toss that tear-gas bomb at me?”
    â€œI thought you were some guy out for a heist.”
    â€œWhat kind of business did you and your pal have with Roger Alden?” Joe shot at him.
    Tempson glared at the boys.