The Clue of the Broken Blade by Franklin W. Dixon

few yards ahead of him.
    He strode up behind her and called, “Hey, wait a minute!”
    Halting, the girl turned around, smiled, and said, “Yes?”
    She was just as pretty as June, but Frank had never seen her before in his life!
    â€œSorry,” he stammered. “I thought you were someone else.”
    â€œI am someone else,” the girl replied, still smiling. “I’m Holly Brewer.”
    Frank smiled back. “My name is Frank Hardy. Can you tell me where the administration building is?”
    â€œI’ll show you. I work there. I’m the faculty records clerk.”
    â€œOh?” Frank said. “Then you are the one I’m looking for. Where will I find Professor Von Stolk?”
    Holly looked puzzled. “We have no one by that name.”
    â€œAre you sure?”
    â€œPositive. We have a hundred and twenty-three instructors, and I keep the records of all of them.”
    Frank described the man, but Holly could think of no one on the faculty that fitted the description. When Frank explained that he had seen the professor in the library, the girl suggested that perhaps he was from another college or university, and merely had been doing research here.
    After thanking her, Frank decided to return to the motel. There was a bus stop across the street from the campus.
    Frank stood at the curb waiting and idly watching traffic, when a motorcycle approached at high speed on his side of the street.
    Just before it reached the corner, someone butted Frank hard in the back. He stumbled to hands and knees, directly into the path of the oncoming cycle!
    It swerved in time, missing Frank by inches, and roared on across the intersection.
    Leaping to his feet, the boy spun to see a broad-shouldered, thin-hipped man with red hair running down a side street. Frank raced after him.
    The fleeing man leaped a fence and dashed across a yard. As Frank cleared the fence right behind him, out of the comer of his eye he saw a cruising police car pulling to the curb. Two officers got out to investigate what was going on.
    The redhead vaulted another fence with Frank close at his heels. Halfway across the second yard the boy made a flying tackle and brought the man down with a crash.
    He was sitting astride his assailant’s back, twisting his arms behind him, when the two policemen approached. Each grasped one of Frank’s arms and lifted him erect.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” the older officer inquired.
    Then the redhead pushed himself to his knees and glanced over his shoulder. When the policemen saw his face, they released Frank and collared his prisoner.
    â€œRed Bowes!” the younger officer exclaimed, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. He turned to Frank. “You caught yourself a prize. This guy’s wanted for a half-dozen bank robberies.”
    â€œI’m not surprised,” Frank said. “He’s one of a gang that robbed the Bayport Bank and Trust Company. He tried to push me in front of a motorcycle just now!”
    Frank explained who he was and why he was in California. Then he turned to Bowes. “You were listening outside the window when we talked to old Jimenez yesterday, weren’t you?”
    â€œWhat if I was?” the bank robber asked sullenly. “That’s no crime.”
    â€œWhy did you follow us?”
    â€œThat’s for me to know and for you to find out,” Red Bowes snarled.
    The younger policeman said, “Who was with you on the Bayport job, Red?”
    â€œNone of your business!”
    â€œAnd who was your buddy in Somerville when you tried to rob the Voiceprint Lab?” Frank put in.
    â€œYou can’t tie me to that.”
    â€œThe Somerville police can,” Frank assured him. “You left your hat at the scene. A red hair was in it.”
    Bowes stared at the boy, fear in his eyes. Then he said defiantly, “I’m not the only guy with red hair.” But Frank knew that Bowes realized