Danger on Vampire Trail by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

headpiece. “Where were you?”
    â€œIn Snowcap.”
    â€œOh,” Joe said. “Were you hobnobbing with American aristocracy?”
    â€œNo, none of that,” Prince Cuthbert replied testily. “I was trying to sell some gems to a jeweler.”
    Frank asked quickly, “Are they sapphires?”
    â€œYes. How did you know?”
    â€œJust a guess. Did you sell them?”
    â€œMy venture ended in complete failure,” the prince replied. “The jeweler said he had plenty of sapphires.”
    â€œWhat a pity,” said Joe, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “My mother wants a sapphire for her birthday. Let’s see what you have to offer.”
    Cuthbert took a pouch from his pocket and dropped several stones into the palm of his hand. They were uncut, the kind that Fingers had in his guitar.
    Joe studied them carefully, then looked the prince straight in the eye and asked, “Where did you get these?”
    â€œI bought them at a bargain.”
    â€œFrom whom?” Joe pressed.
    â€œThree lads I met here at the park,” Cuthbert answered. “They were an odd assortment.” The eccentric went on to describe the Terrible Trio perfectly.
    Joe rolled his eyes. “So they’re here, too!”
    â€œThey just won’t give up,” Biff said.
    â€œYou know them?” the prince asked.
    â€œWe’re acquainted,” Frank said. He had an idea and asked Biff to get Sherlock. The tall boy stepped outside to bring in the dog.
    One of the sapphire peddlers, Cuthbert said, had sat in the overstuffed chair in a comer of the trailer. Biff let Sherlock sniff the cushion. Then the boys thanked the prince for his information and left.
    â€œOkay, Sherlock,” Biff said. “Get busy!”
    The dog’s ears flapped as he zigzagged about, sniffing one scent, then another. Finally he found the trail of the person who had sat in the chair.
    Sherlock strained at the leash, and the boys followed him across the campground. The dog led them out of the area and into a wooded section.
    â€œIt’s getting late,” Chet declared. “I hope we find those guys soon. I’m getting hungry.”
    Tire marks were evident on a path which led deeper into a pine woods. Frank and Joe studied the ground, finally locating the spot where a vehicle had turned off the trail.
    Sherlock made the turn. “They can’t be very far ahead,” Biff said. “We’d better be quiet.”
    It was decided that Frank and Joe would go on ahead, while Chet and Biff remained behind with Sherlock. If the dog should bark, he would give away their position.
    Moving from tree to tree, the Hardys finally spied the trailer. “Ha, we found the culprits,” Joe whispered.
    They crept as close as possible to the trailer without risking being seen. Voices came from inside. One belonged to Fingers. He said, “Listen, Pick! Let us work for you again. We won’t steal anything this time!”
    A deep voice replied, “I can’t trust you. You take too many of the stones.”
    Juice retorted, “Suppose we tell the cops about this thing?”
    Pick replied coldly, “That would be your death warrant. Now scram out of this territory!”
    â€œWe will,” Fingers said, “if you give us a few more stones. We’re broke.”
    â€œOkay. Here,” came the reply.
    Then a door slammed and the Hardys ducked for cover. A short, stocky man left the trailer and vanished into the woods in the opposite direction from which the boys had come. He moved so fast that Frank and Joe could not get a look at his face.
    Seconds later there came the sound of a motorbike, but it was too far away for the Hardys to follow.
    They hastened back to where they had left Chet, Biff, and Sherlock. “Fingers and his pals are definitely involved in a crooked deal,” Joe said and told what they had overheard.
    â€œI wonder what they’re up