Motocross Madness by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

box office. “You think that guy with her issecurity?” Joe asked. “That’s an odd outfit for a guard.”
    â€œMaybe it’s part of the show,” Frank said, “to make the guards look like race participants or something.”
    The woman and man walked across a deserted space between the front gate and the office. Frank and Joe were the only people with a clear look at the pair. Buildings blocked everyone else’s view of people leaving the track.
    It was a good thing the Hardys could see—because suddenly, without warning, the helmeted man pulled a blackjack from his pocket and hit the woman carrying the cashbox over the back of the head.

7 Thousands to One
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    The weighted leather sack came down heavily on the woman’s skull. She grunted and fell to the ground. The heavy gray cashbox spilled from her arms and landed in the dirt.
    The helmeted man stooped down to pick it up.
    â€œHey, you! Stop!” Frank shouted. He and Joe, still several hundred yards away from the scene, dashed toward the leather-dressed assailant.
    The man noticed the brothers, but focused his efforts on the box. He tried to pry the lid open with his black-gloved hands, but it wouldn’t give. As the Hardys sprinted closer, he put away his blackjack and fished a knife out of his pocket.
    The bandit jabbed at the cashbox lock with the point of the blade. It did no good. As the brothersclosed in on him, he hefted the box, turned, and ran.
    â€œI’ll get him,” Frank said as Joe skidded to a halt beside the injured woman.
    The younger Hardy knelt at the woman’s side as his brother continued running. “She’s knocked out,” Joe shouted to Frank. “I’ll stay here and get her some medical attention.”
    The older Hardy didn’t bother to reply. He knew Joe would do everything he could for the woman.
    Frank and the thief ran across the unmowed lawn between the office area and the back row of metal garages. The culprit seemed about as tall as Frank, and nearly as fast. But the awkward weight of the big, metal cashbox slowed him down.
    Frank smiled slightly.
    Suddenly, the thief turned and threw the cash-box at the elder Hardy.
    A gasp of air escaped Frank’s lips as the big, metal container hit him in the gut. The box, still not open, landed on the ground between Frank and the bandit. Frank fell to his knees, clutching his stomach. The thief kept running.
    Frank got up. He didn’t dare leave the cashbox behind, though he knew carrying it would slow him down. He hefted the metal container and took off after the culprit once more.
    The helmeted man ducked between two garages and into the pits beside the track. Mechanics andracers tending to their bikes filled the pit areas. No one even looked up as the helmeted man dashed through the crowd.
    â€œStop that guy!” Frank yelled as he entered the pits.
    By then, though, the bandit had passed through the row of competitors and onto the track’s main concourse. The race featuring Jules Kendallson, Elizabeth Navarro, and Marissa Hayday had just finished. A throng of spectators heading for their cars crowded the thoroughfare.
    Corrine Fernandez’s happy voice boomed over the loudspeaker: “Thanks for coming to the benefit today! We at the Fernandez Cycle Track hope you’ll join us again tomorrow, for the motocross phase of this exciting challenge series!”
    Frank shouted again for help, but no one heard him over the noise of the PA system.
    The audience milling about blocked Frank from catching his quarry—and the big, heavy cashbox made navigation through them impossible. Frank spotted the culprit one last time near the far. edge of the concourse, then lost sight of him in the crowd. By the time the elder Hardy pushed through the mob, the would-be robber had disappeared.
    Frustrated, Frank headed back to where he’d left Joe. He found both an ambulance and Pops Fernandez waiting when he