The Sting of the Scorpion by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

knocked over two of the drums with a sweep of his arm and sent them rolling toward the boys.
    â€œLook out, Joe!” Frank yelled.
    The younger Hardy tried to sidestep hastily, lost his balance, and fell, sprawling headlong on the wharf! Frank himself had to dodge the rolling drums, and by the time the boys resumed the chase, the fugitive was out of sight.
    â€œCome on. We’ve got to catch him!” Frank urged.
    As they ran around the side of the warehouse, they suddenly saw the intruder.
    â€œThere he goes!” Joe yelled.
    The mustached man sprinted across a parking lot and then an open field, heading for a street that ran parallel to the waterfront.
    Just then a bus came into view, filled with workers on their way to early-morning jobs in Bayport. The man turned toward a bus stop straight ahead.
    â€œOh, no!” Joe groaned as the boys redoubled their speed.
    The bus rolled to a halt and the man leaped aboard.
    â€œStop, thief!” Frank shouted at the top of his lungs.
    But apparently his words failed to carry. The bus doors swung shut, and despite the Hardys’ frantic waving, the vehicle sped off toward town.
    The Hardys skidded to an angry halt. “Of all the luck!” Joe fumed, socking his fist into his open palm. “Think there’s any sense getting out our car and trying to follow the bus?”
    Frank shook his head in disgust. “It’s already out of sight, and our car is way over at the marina. By the time we catch up, if we ever do, the bus will be unloading downtown. And for all we know, that guy might jump off at the first stop.”
    Glumly the young sleuths rejoined their two chums, loaded their sleeping bags and other items into their car, and drove home.
    Aunt Gertrude, as usual, was up bright and early, and so was their slender, attractive mother. Both women listened attentively while the boys recounted their night’s adventure.
    â€œWhat about that explosive whatchamacallit the crooks were hiding in the sand?” Aunt Gertrude inquired.
    â€œWe dropped it overboard in the deep water on the way back to Bayport,” Joe informed her.
    Miss Hardy nodded approvingly, then pursed her lips. “Those criminals may strike again.”
    â€œYou’re right,” Frank agreed. “That’s why we’ve got to nail them. If we can identify any fingerprints on this stuff we brought back from the cave, at least the police will know whom to look for.”
    â€œSmart work,” Mrs. Hardy said. “I’ll make breakfast now. Then you two had better get some sleep.”
    â€œI could sure go for bacon and eggs,” said Joe. “But I don’t feel like turning in just now. Guess I’m too keyed up.”
    â€œSame here,” Frank said. “We have to go to New York this morning to see Eustace Jarman, the business tycoon. We can doze on the bus.”
    Both brothers wolfed down a hearty breakfast, then set to work in their basement lab, dusting the objects from the cave with powder. Much to their surprise and disappointment, there were no fingerprints on any of them.
    â€œThat guy must’ve wiped everything he touched,” Joe grumbled.
    Frank nodded. “He was playing it safe and taking no chances in case anyone discovered his hideout.”
    â€œWhich means that he must be a pro.”
    â€œI’d say there’s no doubt about it.”
    The boys showered, changed their clothes, and started out for New York City. It was only a few minutes after eleven o’clock when their bus rolled into the Port Authority Terminal, which gave them ample time to keep their eleven thirty appointment at Jarman’s midtown office. The weather was bright and sunny.
    â€œLet’s walk,” Frank suggested.
    â€œGood idea.”
    The sidewalks were filled with the usual bustling crowds. Noting the bumper-to-bumper cross-town traffic, Joe chuckled. “We’re probably making better time on foot than we