Cult of Crime by Franklin W. Dixon Read Free Book Online Page B

he wrapped his hands around a cup of coffee and drowsily listened to the younger man.
    The second man looked barely older than Frank, and unlike the older man, he wore a strictly regulation uniform. Even his badge looked freshly polished. He was waving his hands and talking excitedly, though he was making a point of keeping his voice down.
    Frank sauntered-over to the booth, but he froze as he heard what the younger policeman was saying: “… murder at the hippie camp up there, Sheriff. Couple of fellows burst in with this black van and grabbed a girl. Shot one of their high muckamucks on the way out. S’posed to be heading this way.”
    “I don’t guess you got any names to go with all these stories?” Keller asked. He looked tired and impatient with the younger man, but Frank could tell from his tone of voice that he was getting interested in the case.
    The younger man pulled a sheaf of notepaper from his pocket and thumbed through it. “Yeah, it was … Joe something or other. “He searched the last sheet of paper without luck. “I must’ve left it back at the station.”
    He rose from the booth and ran out the door. Frank breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the policeman heading away from the filling station and the van parked there. He was about to leave the bar himself when Keller glanced at him and barked, “You’re a little young to be in here, aren’t you? Let’s see a card.” “I just came in for information,” Frank said.
    “Card!” Keller barked, and held out his hand. Frank dug his identification from his wallet and dropped it in Keller’s palm. “Frank Hardy, huh? Had some private dick named Hardy nosing around here a couple weeks ago. He just wanted information, too. Know him?”
    “Nope,” Frank lied. He stepped around the booth so he could look out the door of the bar at the gas station. Joe was just pulling the van away. “Just a coincidence, I guess.”
    “Uh-huh,” the policeman said, and gave Frank’s identification back. “Just what kind of information do you want?”
    “Some friends of mine told me there was a shortcut to Albany around here, but I got lost. Do you have any idea where I’d pick it up?”
    Keller cracked his knuckles. “Quickest way to Albany is the Interstate. You’re quite a ways off the track.” “I guess they were pulling my leg,” Frank said.
    “I guess they were,” Keller sneered. “By the way, you wouldn’t happen to have seen a black van in your travels, would you?”
    Frank chewed on his lip as if he were deep in thought. After a couple of seconds, he replied, “Nope. Sorry.” The policeman just stared at him and tried to crack his knuckles again, but no sound came.
    “Well, I’d better be going,” Frank said. The policeman nodded solemnly. “Thanks for your help,” Frank called back as he reached the door of the bar. Keller still watched and absentmindedly picked up the coffee cup again.
    The black van was parked outside, and Joe stood alongside it, leaning against the driver’s door. When he saw Frank, he called, “So where’s the help?”
    Frank clamped a hand over his brother’s mouth. “Keep your voice down,” he said. “You’re in a lot of trouble.”
    Joe stared in amazement as Frank pulled his hand away. “Me? What did I do?” he whispered.
    “Someone got killed at the commune tonight,” Frank growled. “The Rajah must have called the cops, because they’re looking for a guy named Joe who’s driving a black van.”
    “By now, every cop in the state will be looking for us. We’ve got to dump the van.”
    “I’ll wake Holly,” Joe said. “You heard what she said. If it wasn’t for you, she’d be back with the Rajah right now. We can’t get caught before we get her home.”
    Behind them, there was the sharp click of a revolver being cocked. The Hardys turned slowly to see Keller leveling a gun at them.
    “Consider yourselves caught, boys,” the policeman said. “Justice may be blind, but I