The Disappearing Floor by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

later they emerged at the opposite end of the small canyon, their faces registering disappointment. Chet and the girls ran to meet them.
    â€œDid you find him?” Chet asked.
    Frank shook his head. “No, but there are signs he was there.”
    â€œWe spotted a trail of broken brush where someone climbed out of the ravine,” Joe added.
    Chet’s moonface sagged. “Rats! I thought sure we could nab him!”
    â€œI’ll bet he guessed that Iola went for help,” Callie put in, “so he decided he’d better not stay around.”
    The Hardys drove home, eager to tackle their investigation of Aden Darrow. Mrs. Hardy informed them that Jack Wayne had telephoned from the airport. Frank called him back.
    â€œStrang landed about an hour ago,” Jack reported. “I tried to reach you, but couldn’t.”
    â€œAnyone with him?” Frank inquired eagerly.
    â€œJust the pilot, Al Hirff. That black sports car didn’t show up, but another car did. A tough-looking guy met them and drove off with Strang.”
    â€œWhat about Hirff?”
    â€œStill here at the airport. I tried to strike up a conversation with him, but no luck.”
    â€œGood work, Jack,” Frank said. “Keep trying.”
    Frank passed the news to Joe. The boys ate a quick lunch of sandwiches and lemon pie, and then prepared to place a long-distance call to Western State University. Before they could do so, the telephone rang. Joe answered.
    â€œThis is Mr. Filmer at the gem shop,” said the voice at the other end.
    â€œOh, yes, Mr. Filmer. Is anything up?”
    â€œWell, a man came into my shop a while ago with three stones that he wanted me to appraise. I don’t know what sort of mystery you boys are working on, but I thought you might want to know—the stones were amethystsl”

CHAPTER IX
    Secret Cruiser
    JOE’S pulse quickened when he heard of this promising new lead. “We’ll be right over to talk to you, Mr. Filmer!” he exclaimed.
    Hanging up, he told Frank what the gem-shop proprietor had said.
    â€œMaybe we’re onto something,” Frank agreed.
    Aunt Gertrude paused in the midst of trimming a pie crust as they rushed out through the kitchen door. “Land sakes! Where are you boys off to now?” she scolded. “Don’t you realize you’ll ruin your digestions?”
    â€œOn your cooking? Why, Aunty!” Joe grinned and ducked out before she could retort.
    The boys hopped into their convertible and drove to the shop on Bay Street. Although Mr. Filmer again looked somewhat nervous, and obviously had no desire to become involved in a criminal case, he seemed eager to be helpful.
    â€œThis man who brought the stones—had you ever seen him before?” Frank inquired.
    â€œNo, and he gave no name,” Mr. Filmer replied. “The amethysts were uncut stones—quite large.”
    â€œGenuine?”
    â€œOh, yes, indeed.”
    â€œDid you ask where he got them?” Joe put in.
    â€œWell, I tried to find out where they came from, but he was very evasive. And he wouldn’t leave the stones for cutting and polishing, although I offered to do it very reasonably.”
    â€œWhat did this fellow look like?” Frank asked.
    â€œOh, he was big and husky.” The proprietor’s Adam’s apple bobbed as if the thought made him uneasy. “And he was dressed rather sportily. His hair was bushy and he had on a plaid sport coat.”
    Frank darted a surprised glance at Joe. The description clicked!
    â€œSounds like Duke Makin,” Joe muttered. Hoping for a further lead, he asked Mr. Filmer, “Did you see what kind of car he was driving?”
    â€œI don’t think he came in a car,” the proprietor replied, “although someone may have dropped him off, I suppose. But I watched when he left and I saw him get into a taxi at that stand across the street.”
    â€œHow long ago was