your uncle's plan," Joe said.
''Exactly," agreed Callie. ''And it has my uncle's mark all over it. A perfect compromise that makes everyone happy."
"Everyone except Bo Johnson," Frank pointed out.
"Right." Callie leaned forward between the two front seats. "Johnson obviously got hold of a copy of the plan somehow—"
"Freddy Zackarias," Joe said quickly. "He was fired for going through Owens's office, and today we saw him hanging around Johnson's mill."
"Johnson must have realized that if Owens won that contract, he would be forced out of business," Frank interjected. "He couldn't let that happen and he killed Owens."
"It's more likely that he paid Collins to do the actual dirty work for him, though. Where to now?" Joe asked.
"The Crosscut Guardian's offices," Frank said. "We need proof. I'd like to make prints
THE HARDY BOYS CA5EFILES
from the photos I took near the bulldozer yesterday and compare them with the prints from around Buster's truck."
"Step on it, Frank," CaUie said. "I smell a solution coming."
Frank glanced, amused, at his passenger. **Yes, boss," he said, and pressed down on the accelerator. "After the detective work you did, your wish is our command."
"There you are!" Ronnie Croft said when the Hardys and Callie trooped into her office through the back door fifteen minutes later. "1 was wondering what happened to you. The town's loaded with reporters, all demanding that I produce Stan Shaw for nonstop interviews."
"We saw a couple outside here," CalHe said. "That's why we came in the back way. Last night they were all outside Uncle Stan's house. Fortunately, we were able to give them the slip when we left his house this morning."
"Now—don't tell me—you want to use my darkroom," Ronnie said.
"Actually, yes," Frank replied. "We need to make some more prints in a hurry. We think we might be near a solution to the case."
"In that case, help yourselves," Ronnie said eagerly. "But on one condition."
Frank hesitated on his way to the darkroom. "What's that?"
"If you do solve this case, and Stan Shaw's no longer a suspect, and every reporter in this
Deadfall
town wants to interview you and Callie and
Joe—''
''Yes?" Callie asked, grinning.
"You have to give me an exclusive interview."
"It's a deal," Frank said with a laugh.
In the dim amber light Joe and Callie peered at the row of photographs Frank had just printed. "Do you see anything yet?" Callie asked Frank.
"I'm not sure." Frank finished focusing the negative, turned the enlarger off, and slipped an eight-by-ten sheet of photographic paper over the enlarger's base. Then he turned on the en-larger light for a number of seconds, switched it off, and transferred the paper to the first vat of chemicals.
"This one seems promising," he said as he moved the photograph into the tray of fixer. "As soon as you hang it up we'll turn on the lights and take a closer look."
Five minutes later, Frank was standing on a stool in the now brightly lit room, peering at the photographs through a magnifying glass. Ronnie, Callie, and Joe were flanking him, trying to make out details in the prints.
"I still don't get it," Ronnie said impatiently. "What exactly are we looking for?"
"Something unusual in one of the bootprints," Joe explained. "If he finds a unique pattern in a print from near the bulldozer and can match it with a print from beside Owens's car, then that
THE HARDY BOYS CASEFILES
means the same person was in both places. And that means—"
''Once you match the bootprint to someone's boot, you have a good chance of being able to name the murderer." Ronnie tossed her hair back over her shoulder.
"I hope you find something," Callie said anxiously. 'There's only one more day till that arson report comes back. And since it seems pretty certain that that dynamite is from the same batch that was planted on Uncle Stan, he'll probably be arrested immediately."
"Joe, look at this," Frank said suddenly, pulling back from one of the
''Exactly," agreed Callie. ''And it has my uncle's mark all over it. A perfect compromise that makes everyone happy."
"Everyone except Bo Johnson," Frank pointed out.
"Right." Callie leaned forward between the two front seats. "Johnson obviously got hold of a copy of the plan somehow—"
"Freddy Zackarias," Joe said quickly. "He was fired for going through Owens's office, and today we saw him hanging around Johnson's mill."
"Johnson must have realized that if Owens won that contract, he would be forced out of business," Frank interjected. "He couldn't let that happen and he killed Owens."
"It's more likely that he paid Collins to do the actual dirty work for him, though. Where to now?" Joe asked.
"The Crosscut Guardian's offices," Frank said. "We need proof. I'd like to make prints
THE HARDY BOYS CA5EFILES
from the photos I took near the bulldozer yesterday and compare them with the prints from around Buster's truck."
"Step on it, Frank," CaUie said. "I smell a solution coming."
Frank glanced, amused, at his passenger. **Yes, boss," he said, and pressed down on the accelerator. "After the detective work you did, your wish is our command."
"There you are!" Ronnie Croft said when the Hardys and Callie trooped into her office through the back door fifteen minutes later. "1 was wondering what happened to you. The town's loaded with reporters, all demanding that I produce Stan Shaw for nonstop interviews."
"We saw a couple outside here," CalHe said. "That's why we came in the back way. Last night they were all outside Uncle Stan's house. Fortunately, we were able to give them the slip when we left his house this morning."
"Now—don't tell me—you want to use my darkroom," Ronnie said.
"Actually, yes," Frank replied. "We need to make some more prints in a hurry. We think we might be near a solution to the case."
"In that case, help yourselves," Ronnie said eagerly. "But on one condition."
Frank hesitated on his way to the darkroom. "What's that?"
"If you do solve this case, and Stan Shaw's no longer a suspect, and every reporter in this
Deadfall
town wants to interview you and Callie and
Joe—''
''Yes?" Callie asked, grinning.
"You have to give me an exclusive interview."
"It's a deal," Frank said with a laugh.
In the dim amber light Joe and Callie peered at the row of photographs Frank had just printed. "Do you see anything yet?" Callie asked Frank.
"I'm not sure." Frank finished focusing the negative, turned the enlarger off, and slipped an eight-by-ten sheet of photographic paper over the enlarger's base. Then he turned on the en-larger light for a number of seconds, switched it off, and transferred the paper to the first vat of chemicals.
"This one seems promising," he said as he moved the photograph into the tray of fixer. "As soon as you hang it up we'll turn on the lights and take a closer look."
Five minutes later, Frank was standing on a stool in the now brightly lit room, peering at the photographs through a magnifying glass. Ronnie, Callie, and Joe were flanking him, trying to make out details in the prints.
"I still don't get it," Ronnie said impatiently. "What exactly are we looking for?"
"Something unusual in one of the bootprints," Joe explained. "If he finds a unique pattern in a print from near the bulldozer and can match it with a print from beside Owens's car, then that
THE HARDY BOYS CASEFILES
means the same person was in both places. And that means—"
''Once you match the bootprint to someone's boot, you have a good chance of being able to name the murderer." Ronnie tossed her hair back over her shoulder.
"I hope you find something," Callie said anxiously. 'There's only one more day till that arson report comes back. And since it seems pretty certain that that dynamite is from the same batch that was planted on Uncle Stan, he'll probably be arrested immediately."
"Joe, look at this," Frank said suddenly, pulling back from one of the
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