The Sinister Signpost by Franklin W. Dixon

plates, and the serial numbers on the engine and chassis had been removed,” he continued. “Also, the fact that it was burned to a crisp doesn’t help either.”
    Alden decided to carry on with the tests. When he had finished, the Hardys offered to drive him to his office.
    As they started off, Alden rested back in the seat. “After all the excitement we’ve been having lately, I need a little diversion,” he said. “I think I’ll spend Saturday giving my race horse a work-out.”
    â€œRace horse?” Joe queried.
    â€œYes,” Alden answered. “I’m interested in racing of all kinds. I bought the horse several months ago. Great animal! I keep him in a rented stable near the plant.”
    â€œOur aunt would tell you off quick if she knew this,” Frank remarked laughingly. He then told Alden about Gertrude Hardy’s recent inheritance.
    â€œA stable for retired race horses? Sounds like a great idea,” Alden said. “I’ll keep it in mind. Perhaps someday I’ll send my horse down there.”
    â€œNot if Aunt Gertrude has anything to say about it,” Joe muttered with a grin. “Anyway, she will have sold her stable by that time.”
    Alden asked the Hardys if they would like to see his horse. The boys’ father had to decline because of a business appointment, but Frank and Joe eagerly accepted the invitation.
    â€œAnd would you mind if we bring our friend Chet?” Frank asked.
    â€œPlease do,” Alden replied. “Drop by any time. I’ll be at the stable most of the day.”
    Chet was not able to go until the afternoon because of Saturday chores to do. The Hardys picked him up at the Morton farm.
    â€œA real race horse, eh?” Chet said with a grin. He pulled three apples from his pockets and offered one to each of his friends. “What I wouldn’t give to own one!”
    When they arrived at the stables, Alden was leading a beautiful, haltered thoroughbred around the paddock. His owner spotted the boys and led the animal toward them.
    â€œHow do you like him?” he called out. “His name is Topnotch.”
    â€œNice piece of horseflesh,” Chet commented, trying to act like a seasoned equestrian.
    The horse was completely chestnut in color, except for small white areas above its two front hoofs. The boys watched in admiration as Alden removed the halter and permitted Topnotch to trot freely around the paddock.
    As Joe glanced toward a row of stalls nearby, he noticed a sandy-haired young man pitching hay into one of them.
    â€œMr. Alden, isn’t that your son Roger over there?” Joe asked.
    â€œYes,” Alden replied in a determined voice. “I arranged to get him a job here so he could help pay for the race car he damaged. It’s about time he developed a sense of responsibility. I’d have given him something to do at the plant, but he can’t get along with the other workers.”
    Chet followed the Hardys to the stall.
    â€œHello, Roger,” Frank said in a friendly voice.
    The young man looked surprised. Then his eyes narrowed as he glared at the boys.
    â€œOh, it’s you guys again!” he snapped. “You keep popping up like bad dreams.”
    â€œSo you’re still carrying a chip on your shoulder,” Joe retorted.
    â€œYou bet I am,” Roger shot back angrily. “I’ve got to work in this lousy place to pay for that stock-race car I had an accident in. You Hardys were the cause of it all!”
    Frank kept his temper, but said, “Don’t tell us you’re sticking to that fairy tale of yours. You know we didn’t reflect sunlight into your eyes while you were driving.”
    â€œIt’s my word against yours,” Roger snarled. “But what chance do I stand? Because you’re the Hardy boys you think you can get away with anything.”
    Joe’s face flushed with anger. However, he managed to