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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
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scrape my truck." ·
"Who'd notice one more dent on that wreck?"
After a moment the van lurched forward. There was a twisting, ripping sound.
"You got his fender," said Washburn.
"Did I now, mate? Ain't that a shame."
Joe didn't get much of a look at Crosscut. The van drove through the small, silent town and up a hill at its edge. It climbed a wide gravel driveway and stopped.
"Fetch our CARE package, will you, Washburn?"
"You mean the kid?"
"That's what I mean, mate. Sometimes your brilliance astounds me. Truly it does."
"You don't have to make fun of me all the time."
"I know I don't, but it helps liven up the lonely hours." Leon got out of the parked van. "Now bring him along like a good lad."
Washburn headed for the back of the van, opened the door, and went inside. "Shouldn't have hit you so hard," he said, picking Joe up and carrying him outside. "Doc won't like that either."
"What are you babbling about?"
"Nothing, Leon. Just talking to myself."
"Because if that chap's awake, maybe I ought to give him another little tap on the head."
"Nan, he's still out cold."
Joe chanced a quick peek through slitted eyes.
They were on a low hill. Below, in Crosscut, dim lights shone in the gathering darkness. The house they'd come to was large and old-fashioned, made of wood and decorated with lots of intricate gingerbread wooden trim. A cold wind blew across the grounds from the woods beyond.
Joe felt himself carried up a flight of wooden steps. Then a door grated open.
The old house smelled of dust and furniture polish, but there were newer smells, too — medicinal odors and the scent of strong disinfectant.
Another door creaked open.
"Where should I put him?"
"The floor will do nicely."
Washburn set Joe on a rug. Then they left the room, shut the door, and locked it.
Joe opened his eyes.
There was a Tiffany lamp on a small marble-topped table next to the sofa he was sprawled in front of. Under other circumstances the room might have seemed cozy. There was even a small flame dancing in the stone fireplace.
Joe tried to pull his wrists farther apart, to make it easier for him to work on the knots. But the cord was tied too tightly for that.
Maybe he could use one of the metal clawfoot legs on the table to cut the cord.
Using his elbows, Joe slithered closer to the table. The wind was blowing stronger outside, starting to rattle the shutters.
Joe made it to the table, rolled himself halfway onto his side, and began trying to hook his bound wrists over a projecting piece of metal.
Just then a key rasped in the lock, and the parlor door opened to reveal Dr. Winter. No surprises. His overcoat was wrapped around him, and his curly hair windblown. "Ah, I'm pleased to find you conscious, Mr. Hardy."
Since he was gagged, Joe didn't respond.
The plump doctor knelt on one knee beside Joe. "Let's have a look at you." Using his thumb and forefinger, he pried Joe's eyes wide open. He nodded, murmuring to himself. Next he felt and poked at Joe's head. "You're in fine shape, young man, I'm happy to report." He wiped his chubby fingers together and stood up and away from Joe.
"You see, my boy, I'm almost certain I've found a cure for this unfortunate little plague. But there are certain risks involved in testing it." He nodded, smiling to himself. "I'd hate to have one of the local citizens die, just in case I've miscalculated. Therefore I need a guinea pig, someone whose life isn't all that important."
Winter's smile grew wider. "Someone just like you, as a matter of fact."
Chapter 11
JENNY TURNED AWAY from watching the dark forest roll by. "We have some things in common," she said.
"I know," Frank answered simply. "We both believe in our fathers."
"Yes." Jenny folded her hands in her lap, lowering her head. "I want to make certain his reputation doesn't get tarnished. It's important to me. And I want to see that whoever is responsible for killing him gets caught."
"I'm hoping my father and brother are both
"Who'd notice one more dent on that wreck?"
After a moment the van lurched forward. There was a twisting, ripping sound.
"You got his fender," said Washburn.
"Did I now, mate? Ain't that a shame."
Joe didn't get much of a look at Crosscut. The van drove through the small, silent town and up a hill at its edge. It climbed a wide gravel driveway and stopped.
"Fetch our CARE package, will you, Washburn?"
"You mean the kid?"
"That's what I mean, mate. Sometimes your brilliance astounds me. Truly it does."
"You don't have to make fun of me all the time."
"I know I don't, but it helps liven up the lonely hours." Leon got out of the parked van. "Now bring him along like a good lad."
Washburn headed for the back of the van, opened the door, and went inside. "Shouldn't have hit you so hard," he said, picking Joe up and carrying him outside. "Doc won't like that either."
"What are you babbling about?"
"Nothing, Leon. Just talking to myself."
"Because if that chap's awake, maybe I ought to give him another little tap on the head."
"Nan, he's still out cold."
Joe chanced a quick peek through slitted eyes.
They were on a low hill. Below, in Crosscut, dim lights shone in the gathering darkness. The house they'd come to was large and old-fashioned, made of wood and decorated with lots of intricate gingerbread wooden trim. A cold wind blew across the grounds from the woods beyond.
Joe felt himself carried up a flight of wooden steps. Then a door grated open.
The old house smelled of dust and furniture polish, but there were newer smells, too — medicinal odors and the scent of strong disinfectant.
Another door creaked open.
"Where should I put him?"
"The floor will do nicely."
Washburn set Joe on a rug. Then they left the room, shut the door, and locked it.
Joe opened his eyes.
There was a Tiffany lamp on a small marble-topped table next to the sofa he was sprawled in front of. Under other circumstances the room might have seemed cozy. There was even a small flame dancing in the stone fireplace.
Joe tried to pull his wrists farther apart, to make it easier for him to work on the knots. But the cord was tied too tightly for that.
Maybe he could use one of the metal clawfoot legs on the table to cut the cord.
Using his elbows, Joe slithered closer to the table. The wind was blowing stronger outside, starting to rattle the shutters.
Joe made it to the table, rolled himself halfway onto his side, and began trying to hook his bound wrists over a projecting piece of metal.
Just then a key rasped in the lock, and the parlor door opened to reveal Dr. Winter. No surprises. His overcoat was wrapped around him, and his curly hair windblown. "Ah, I'm pleased to find you conscious, Mr. Hardy."
Since he was gagged, Joe didn't respond.
The plump doctor knelt on one knee beside Joe. "Let's have a look at you." Using his thumb and forefinger, he pried Joe's eyes wide open. He nodded, murmuring to himself. Next he felt and poked at Joe's head. "You're in fine shape, young man, I'm happy to report." He wiped his chubby fingers together and stood up and away from Joe.
"You see, my boy, I'm almost certain I've found a cure for this unfortunate little plague. But there are certain risks involved in testing it." He nodded, smiling to himself. "I'd hate to have one of the local citizens die, just in case I've miscalculated. Therefore I need a guinea pig, someone whose life isn't all that important."
Winter's smile grew wider. "Someone just like you, as a matter of fact."
Chapter 11
JENNY TURNED AWAY from watching the dark forest roll by. "We have some things in common," she said.
"I know," Frank answered simply. "We both believe in our fathers."
"Yes." Jenny folded her hands in her lap, lowering her head. "I want to make certain his reputation doesn't get tarnished. It's important to me. And I want to see that whoever is responsible for killing him gets caught."
"I'm hoping my father and brother are both
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