Read Online Mystery of the Flying Express by Franklin W. Dixon - Free Book Online

strode up the beach, smiling. They wore skivvies and dungarees, like fishermen out on a holiday.
    â€œPerfect timing, gentlemen,” Chassen saluted them. “We’ve had an accident. Could you help us get back to Providence?”
    One of their rescuers made a quick move and the Hardys gasped.
    They were staring into the muzzle of a revolver!

CHAPTER IX
    A Buddy Lost
    â€œOKAY, reach!” snarled the man with the gun. The smiles had vanished. “And no tricks!” His confederates frisked Frank, Joe, and Chassen.
    â€œAll clean, no rods on them,” one reported.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” Frank demanded. “Is this a holdup?”
    â€œThey think they’re on TV,” Joe said.
    â€œReal pop-offs, ain’t you?” rasped the gunman. “How’d you like a taste of this?” He moved as if to pistol-whip Joe.
    â€œDon’t lose your cool, Spike!” the tallest man warned him. “We got nothing to gain from messing them up until later.”
    Frank, Joe, and Chassen were tied up, blindfolded, and carried aboard the speedboat, then it purred away from the shore.
    Side by side on the floor of the cabin the trio discussed their predicament in low whispers.
    â€œWhat are they going to do with us?” the photographer murmured.
    Frank moved his wrists to get relief from the chafing caused by the rope. “Who are they? That’s the question.”
    Joe shifted a cramped shoulder and managed a grin. “Our predicament lies squarely with Saturn!”
    â€œHow’s that again?” Chassen asked.
    â€œA friend of ours dabbles in the signs of the Zodiac,” Frank said. “He warned us not to fly today.”
    â€œWhat are we going to do?” Chassen whimpered.
    â€œPlay it by ear, that’s all we can do right now,” Frank said.
    After what seemed like a very long ride, two of the men removed the ropes and blindfolds and herded the captives on deck. It was growing dark. The speedboat pulled alongside a weather-beaten dock on the rocky coast.
    â€œOut!” the leader commanded and pushed the boys toward a shabby boathouse.
    Frank tried to get his bearings. High above the boathouse on the side that faced the road, he saw what seemed to be the glow of a red neon sign. The next instant he was shoved inside. The building was filled with dust and cobwebs. Joe started to sneeze.
    â€œOkay, into the cabinet,” ordered the leader, and the boys were quickly marched toward a large closet.
    The door swung shut with a clang. The lock grated into place. They were left in darkness. Moments later they heard the speedboat roar off.
    â€œNot much air in here,” Joe stated grimly as he felt his way around.
    â€œWe’d better get out quickly,” Frank warned. “We’ll suffocate if we don‘t!”
    Henry Chassen was terrified. “You have any ideas?” he asked, his voice shaking.
    â€œNot yet,” Joe replied. “Let’s find out what’s in here besides us.” He crouched down and began a minute examination of their prison with his hands. Frank followed his example.
    â€œThere’s something under my heel,” Chassen said. “Wait a minute—Oh, a book of matches!”
    â€œGreat,” Frank said. “Light one, Henry!”
    Chassen struck a match and held it up so that it threw a flickering light over the interior. Peering around, Frank and Joe spotted a pair of dirt-stained license plates nailed to the door.
    â€œReal antiques,” Joe remarked.
    Frank read the year of issue on the plates. “Twenty years old.”
    True to their training in detection, the boys memorized the numbers on the plates.
    â€œOuch!” Chassen dropped the burnt match-stick as the flame licked his fingertips. Frank lit another one.
    Chassen fumbled around the shelves lining the sides of the closet. “This might be useful,” he suggested. “A blowtorch!”
    â€œNice