Free The Pentagon Spy by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

over the cage, she urged the owl. “All right, my pretty one. What do you say to these boys from Bayport who have come to the Pennsylvania Dutch country?”
    The owl fluttered its wings and hooted.
    Chet felt an eerie sensation, as if a clammy hand gripped his shoulder. He gulped as the sound grated on his ears. “Wh-what did your friend say?” he asked.
    â€œIt said the hex is working. Ye should have gone home when Mad Maggie warned ye.”
    Chet glanced at Joe. “I wish he’d start the car and get us out of here before she rides off on a broom-stick!” he thought to himself.
    The owl gave another low hoot that choked off suddenly.
    â€œDo ye know what that means?” Mad Maggie demanded. “It means—when the weather is stormy, your search is in vain!”
    Joe was dumbfounded. Could the words weather and vain be a code referring to the weather vane mystery?
    â€œThe rider gallops, the arrow flashes!” Mad Maggie went on.
    Frank stared at her. “Are you talking about the Galloping Rider and the Flashing Arrow?” he inquired.
    â€œJa, that I do. They have flown away from here. My owl says so.”
    â€œWhere have they flown to? Can your owl tell us?”
    Maggie leaned over and whispered something in the owl’s ear, all the while keeping her eyes fixed on the boys. This time the bird made no sound. It closed its eyes and appeared to be asleep.
    â€œThe place is secret!” Mad Maggie hissed. With that, she pulled the reins of her horse and drove off.
    Joe headed in the opposite direction. “You think she really knows something?” he asked.
    Frank shrugged. “Apparently she’s heard of the thefts. But so has everybody in the county.”
    â€œShe could be the squeaky voice you heard over the phone,” Chet suggested.
    â€œIt’s possible,” Frank conceded. “The crooks might have hired her to scare us away.”
    â€œShe succeeded, as far as I’m concerned,” Chet declared. “I’m glad we’re getting out of here!”
    They came to the place where they had seen the auction. A couple of men were folding the tent and stacking the pegs. A third was loading unsold objects into a truck.
    Joshua Korbo was showing his auctioneer’s license to a county official who towered a good three inches over him.
    â€œHow was business?” Joe greeted Korbo after pulling up alongside the two men.
    The auctioneer pushed his steel-rimmed glasses from his nose up onto his forehead. “Very good,” he snapped, “in spite of what your fat friend did to my tent!”
    Insulted, Chet was about to snap back when Frank spoke up. “Have you found any sign of the weather vane, the Galloping Rider?”
    â€œNone. I doubt it was ever here.”
    â€œWe saw it!” Chet insisted.
    â€œThat’s what you say.” Korbo shrugged, then turned to talk to one of his assistants.
    â€œI get the feeling he doesn’t want to tell us anything,” Joe said and drove on.
    Frank chuckled. “He’s still mad at Chet for knocking over his tent.”
    They continued in silence for a while. Then a big black car zoomed past them. The driver was a man in a black beard and dark glasses. He fitted the description of the individual who had hired the helicopter that snatched the Flashing Arrow!
    â€œThis could be our suspect!” Frank cried out. “Don’t lose him, Joe!”
    His brother trod hard on the accelerator, and the speedometer rose to the legal limit as they sped after him. Seeing he was being followed, the black-bearded man suddenly turned onto a side road. Joe reacted just in time to make the turn himself. He had to grip the steering wheel firmly to keep it from being torn from his grasp as he jounced over rocks and potholes.
    The wild pursuit led far out into the country, where the man ahead tried to shake the boys by driving down country lanes and across open fields. He