Read Online The Mysterious Caravan by Franklin W. Dixon - Free Book Online

thought the man had gone crazy!
    Mrs. Hardy emitted a cry and Aunt Gertrude screamed, knocking over the half-empty teapot. The liquid spilled on Mr. Hardy’s trousers. The impostor leaped up, grabbed his stylish leather coat, and tried to struggle into it while dashing for the door.
    â€œGet him!” Mr. Hardy cried out. Frank lunged and so did Joe. The leather slipped through their fingers and Kenleigh Scott dashed down the front steps, still struggling to get into his coat.
    Joe leaped from the top step, grasped the dangling sleeve, and hung on with bulldog tenacity. Scott whirled around. He struggled free of the garment and ran into the waiting car, the back door of which was open. Wheels skidded in the soft snow for a second; then the vehicle took off like a rocket.
    Frank made a mental note of the license number. Then he groaned. “Where are the police? Why didn’t they come in time?”
    â€œFrank, will you tell me what this is all about?” Joe asked. “Why did Abrams flip his lid?”
    â€œHis name isn’t Abrams,” Frank said, as they returned, shivering, into the house. “That was Kenleigh Scott. We were just about to catch him when I blew it!”
    Still shaking from the ordeal, Mrs. Hardy and her sister-in-law were busy cleaning up the mess on the living room floor. They were dazed by their guest’s explosive departure, and when Mr. Hardy explained what had happened, Aunt Gertrude sank onto the sofa.
    â€œA criminal! In our house!” she said weakly. “And we served him tea! Oh, dear, he might have murdered us all!”
    Frank and Joe pitched in with the cleanup job until a squad car arrived. After the patrolmen were given a description of the getaway car, one of them immediately radioed headquarters. The other units would be on the lookout for it.

    The impostor leaped up!
    Shortly afterwards headquarters called back. It had been a rental car, signed out by an A. E. Dingo.
    â€œHey, Frank!” Joe exclaimed. “Dingo is the name in the Swahili wordbook! He’s the one that William thought was dangerous!”
    â€œWell, he got away this time,” Frank said. He turned to his father. “I’m sorry, Dad. If we had caught Scott, you might have wound up your case quickly.”
    â€œDon’t worry about it, son,” Mr. Hardy replied. “It doesn’t always work out that easily.”
    â€œHave you tried to figure out the double role of Kenleigh Scott in the ticket-mask mysteries?” asked Joe.
    â€œThat has me up a tree,” the detective ruefully admitted. “But if there’s an answer, we’ll find it!”
    Now the Hardy family was settled again after the frightening experience, and Mr. Hardy said, “Gertrude, don’t wash these dishes.”
    â€œGoodness sakes! Why not? I’ll use double-hot water on that cutthroat’s cup!”
    â€œWait a minute. We need fingerprints,” her brother replied. He assigned Frank to lift prints from the cup handle, the edge of the saucer, and the spoon. Then he examined the fine leather coat that now lay on the sofa.
    â€œLook at the label, boys,” he said. “It’s from Paris.”
    â€œExpensive, no doubt,” Joe said, as he felt thematerial. “Kenleigh Scott must have lots of money from his ticket racket.”
    â€œI think it’s kidskin,” the detective went on, jotting down the name of the company. “We’ll send them a cable asking for a list of possible dealers in the United States.”
    â€œI guess it’s a long shot, Dad, but it’s worth trying,” Joe said.
    Frank, meanwhile, had lifted two sets of prints from the cup and saucer. One was Aunt Gertrude’s. The second, they felt sure, belonged to the impostor.
    â€œLet’s take them to Chief Collig,” Joe suggested.
    â€œHow about sending a copy to Interpol?” Frank said. “If this airline-ticket racket is spread all