Read Online Secret of the Red Arrow by Franklin W. Dixon - Free Book Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
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What is it?”
He didn’t answer for a few seconds. I could see that his expression was grave, his mouth pulled into a tight line. “I will drop you back off at the bus station,” he said quietly.
“What? Why?” asked Frank.
Silence. The woods whizzed by.
“Professor Al-Hejin, please talk to us,” I begged as we drew closer to town.
More silence. I looked at Frank, and he looked as confused as I felt. What was going on?
“Professor Al-Hejin,” said Frank, “if we insulted you, we didn’t mean to. We’re just trying to figure out what this symbol means.”
“We have no idea,” I added.
Professor Al-Hejin remained silent. After a few seconds, though, he pulled over to the side of the road. He sat still for a moment before catching my eye in the rearview mirror.
“Where did you see this symbol?”
I leaned forward. “Over the doorway to our friend’s bedroom,” I replied.
He looked stung, like that was terrible news. He shook his head, reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a handkerchief, and wiped his forehead.
Frank and I were quiet for a while, wanting to give him whatever time he needed.
Finally he cleared his throat. “This is a bad symbol,” he said simply.
“But what does it mean?” Frank asked.
The prof just shook his head. “Bad men,” he said.
“What bad men?” I asked.
Professor Al-Hejin sighed loudly and took his foot off the brake. Within seconds we were back on the road to town.
“Professor,” I pleaded as we sailed past factories and warehouses, “whatever you know, you can tell us. Whatever you’re afraid of, we don’t know anything about.”
“We’re just hoping to find out what the symbol means,” Frank added, “so we can help our friend.”
Professor Al-Hejin seemed to think that over. After a minute or so, he looked in the rearview mirror again. “Do you know what it means,” he said quietly, “to be marked?”
“Marked, like, for punishment?” I asked. “For death or—I don’t know—”
“Your friend is marked,” the professor said, just as quietly. “You had best steer clear of him.”
I met Frank’s eye: What?
“How do you know about being marked?” Frank asked. “Were you marked?”
The cab jerked as Professor Al-Hejin suddenly pulled into a gas station. He pulled up to the convenience store and hit the brakes.
“You get out here,” he said simply.
I looked at Frank. I had never seen the professor like this. He usually answered all our questions without hesitation. He knew us.
But now I didn’t even think it was worth arguing. I’d never seen the professor so spooked.
“Okay,” said Frank. He dug a few of Aunt Trudy’s famous homemade health bars—these were cranberry with cashews and sesame seeds—out of a pocket in his backpack and handed them through the divider. The prof never let us pay him for the ride. But we liked to give him something for his time and trouble.
Now he hesitated, looking at the bars, then out the window. Frank pushed them forward again, as if to say, Take them .
“Please,” Frank said. “I’m sorry if we made you uncomfortable.”
Professor Al-Hejin slowly took the bars, then caught Frank’s eye in the mirror and nodded.
“Bye, Prof,” I said, opening my door and scooting out.
The professor nodded again and bit into one of the healthbars. As soon as Frank got out and shut the door behind him, the cab pulled off.
“I guess we’re walking back to the station,” I said, watching the cab disappear.
“I guess so,” said Frank. “Good thing we’re only a mile or two away.”
I nodded. Slowly we made our way out of the gas station and started walking down the street in the direction of downtown.
“So what do you think?” I asked after a few minutes. We’d both been silent, lost in our own thoughts.
“I think,” Frank said, looking serious, “that whatever this is, it’s a lot bigger and more dangerous than what happened to Neanderthal.”
THE DARK SIDE
9
FRANK
M Y
He didn’t answer for a few seconds. I could see that his expression was grave, his mouth pulled into a tight line. “I will drop you back off at the bus station,” he said quietly.
“What? Why?” asked Frank.
Silence. The woods whizzed by.
“Professor Al-Hejin, please talk to us,” I begged as we drew closer to town.
More silence. I looked at Frank, and he looked as confused as I felt. What was going on?
“Professor Al-Hejin,” said Frank, “if we insulted you, we didn’t mean to. We’re just trying to figure out what this symbol means.”
“We have no idea,” I added.
Professor Al-Hejin remained silent. After a few seconds, though, he pulled over to the side of the road. He sat still for a moment before catching my eye in the rearview mirror.
“Where did you see this symbol?”
I leaned forward. “Over the doorway to our friend’s bedroom,” I replied.
He looked stung, like that was terrible news. He shook his head, reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a handkerchief, and wiped his forehead.
Frank and I were quiet for a while, wanting to give him whatever time he needed.
Finally he cleared his throat. “This is a bad symbol,” he said simply.
“But what does it mean?” Frank asked.
The prof just shook his head. “Bad men,” he said.
“What bad men?” I asked.
Professor Al-Hejin sighed loudly and took his foot off the brake. Within seconds we were back on the road to town.
“Professor,” I pleaded as we sailed past factories and warehouses, “whatever you know, you can tell us. Whatever you’re afraid of, we don’t know anything about.”
“We’re just hoping to find out what the symbol means,” Frank added, “so we can help our friend.”
Professor Al-Hejin seemed to think that over. After a minute or so, he looked in the rearview mirror again. “Do you know what it means,” he said quietly, “to be marked?”
“Marked, like, for punishment?” I asked. “For death or—I don’t know—”
“Your friend is marked,” the professor said, just as quietly. “You had best steer clear of him.”
I met Frank’s eye: What?
“How do you know about being marked?” Frank asked. “Were you marked?”
The cab jerked as Professor Al-Hejin suddenly pulled into a gas station. He pulled up to the convenience store and hit the brakes.
“You get out here,” he said simply.
I looked at Frank. I had never seen the professor like this. He usually answered all our questions without hesitation. He knew us.
But now I didn’t even think it was worth arguing. I’d never seen the professor so spooked.
“Okay,” said Frank. He dug a few of Aunt Trudy’s famous homemade health bars—these were cranberry with cashews and sesame seeds—out of a pocket in his backpack and handed them through the divider. The prof never let us pay him for the ride. But we liked to give him something for his time and trouble.
Now he hesitated, looking at the bars, then out the window. Frank pushed them forward again, as if to say, Take them .
“Please,” Frank said. “I’m sorry if we made you uncomfortable.”
Professor Al-Hejin slowly took the bars, then caught Frank’s eye in the mirror and nodded.
“Bye, Prof,” I said, opening my door and scooting out.
The professor nodded again and bit into one of the healthbars. As soon as Frank got out and shut the door behind him, the cab pulled off.
“I guess we’re walking back to the station,” I said, watching the cab disappear.
“I guess so,” said Frank. “Good thing we’re only a mile or two away.”
I nodded. Slowly we made our way out of the gas station and started walking down the street in the direction of downtown.
“So what do you think?” I asked after a few minutes. We’d both been silent, lost in our own thoughts.
“I think,” Frank said, looking serious, “that whatever this is, it’s a lot bigger and more dangerous than what happened to Neanderthal.”
THE DARK SIDE
9
FRANK
M Y
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