The Clue of the Broken Blade by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

hurry?” Joe asked, anger rising in him at the man’s attitude.
    â€œThis is Harry Madsen, the bulldozer operator,” Emory said soothingly, and gave the boys’ names.
    Madsen made no effort to acknowledge the introduction. Instead he said, “I have another job later this afternoon. So that building comes down at one o’clock whether you’re out of it or not.”
    Looking at his watch, Frank said, “Let’s get busy then, fellows. We only have a little over a half-hour.”
    On the first floor of the wine storage building there was nothing but some moldering, empty wine casks. They found a narrow stone stairway leading to the cellar. Joe went to the car and came back with a flashlight before they descended the stairs.
    The cellar had vaulted ceilings and high, slitted windows which let in only dim light. Cobwebs hung everywhere. Most of the rooms were empty, but a couple contained rotting wooden racks and a few ancient, empty bottles.
    The boys searched thoroughly. Finally Chet said, “Nothing here.”
    â€œThere’s one more room we haven’t checked,” Joe reminded him. They walked through a doorway and noticed a small wooden chest with rusty hinges just ahead of them.
    â€œLet’s have a look in there,” Joe said, beaming his flashlight on the chest while Frank lifted the lid.
    At first it appeared to be empty, but then they saw that the dirt in the bottom covered a single sheet of ancient brown parchment paper. Chet took the paper out and blew the dust off it. Then he held it for Joe to shine the light on.
    â€œIt’s a map of the island!” Frank exclaimed.
    â€œYou’re right. It shows Giovanni Russo’s home, a barn, and some other structures,” Joe said.
    â€œThis is the place we’re in now,” Chet remarked, pointing. “And there are two similar buildings, one on the northern part of the island, the other on the eastern edge.”
    â€œThat means originally there were three wine storage cellars here,” Frank declared. “I wonder if the other two are still in existence.”
    At that moment they heard a heavy engine starting outside. Joe turned the light on his watch.
    â€œIt’s one o’clock,” he said. “We’d better get out of here. Our pal means business!”
    They heard the bulldozer back a few feet. The motor began to race, and suddenly exhaust fumes poured through one of the slitted windows.
    Choking and coughing, the boys ran for the stairs. When they got outside, the bulldozer engine was still running, but Harry Madsen was out of the cab, standing next to it. He threw them a nasty grin.
    â€œYou did that on purpose!” Chet said angrily. “You deliberately backed up so exhaust fumes would go through that window!”
    â€œSo what, Fatty?” the blond man asked contemptuously. “Want to make something of it?”
    Chet took a step toward him. Harry Madsen reached into the cab of the bulldozer and whipped out the foil he had been practicing with. He slashed it at Chet, who leaped back out of the way just in time to avoid getting it across the shoulders.
    The foreman, who had come from the contractor’s hut, said sharply, “That’s enough, Harry!”
    Ignoring him, Madsen looked from Frank to Joe. “Either of you want trouble?” he challenged.
    â€œHand me a foil and I’ll give you all the trouble you can handle,” Joe said heatedly.
    â€œYou think so?” Madsen sneered. “I’ll meet you any time you say.”
    â€œRight now!” Joe suggested.
    â€œI only brought one foil with me. After I finish work I’ll go home and get another one. Gloves and masks, too. Then I’ll meet you here about four-thirty.”
    â€œThat’s fine with me,” Joe told him.
    Jim Emory was dubious. “You’re letting yourself in for something, young fellow. Harry takes lessons!”
    â€œSo do I,” Joe