The Firebird Rocket by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

muttered.
    â€œWell, they can’t come out here to tonight,” the seedy man went on. “I called the car rental agency and they were all out of transportation. But the Hardys just might show up here in a day or two and snoop around.”
    â€œBy that time we’ll be rid of Jenson,” Stiller assured him. “And we’ll destroy any incriminating evidence before tomorrow morning. I agree. We can’t be careful enough. These guys are pretty smart. I still don’t know how they got out of the Australian Arms Hotel without our seeing them!”
    â€œAnd what gave them the idea to come to Alice Springs?” Bruno asked. “I know Jenson had no chance to leave word when Jim and I took him out of that fleabag hotel on Wallaby Drive. He was so doped he couldn’t have written his own name, even if he had had a piece of paper.”
    â€œMaybe they just guessed,” Bruno suggested.
    â€œI don’t know,” Cutler said. “I have a bad feeling about this. Stiller, you’d better burn the lists of clients. The stuff about our previous kidnap-pings and the smuggling job could send us all up for life. Also, for as long as we’re still here, we’ll post a guard down at the road.”
    The Hardys listened outside the window with bated breath. Chet felt a cramp in one of his legs. He turned to place his weight on the other leg, stepped on a twig, and made a slight rustling noise.
    Those inside looked in the direction of the sound. “What’s going on?” Cutler snarled.
    â€œMaybe someone’s outside the window!” Mrs. Cutler cried. “Somebody might be spying on us!”
    She rushed across the room to the window, while the boys ducked around the corner in the nick of time. Mrs. Cutler lifted the lamp and thrust it through the opening. Leaning out, she surveyed the area for a minute or two. Finally she pulled her head in, put the lamp down, and said, “Nobody’s there. It must have been the wind blowing through the bushes.”
    The boys tiptoed back to the window as Cutler turned toward the gang. “What about our new man—the one guarding Jenson?”
    â€œHe’s okay,” Bruno declared. “I recruited him myself.”
    The boys felt their hearts pounding with fear as they listened to the criminals. Frank plucked Joe’s and Chet’s sleeves and motioned to them to move back from the window. They stopped near the fence where they had sneaked in.
    â€œWe’ve got to help Dr. Jenson!” Frank urged.
    â€œHow?” Chet queried. “We don’t know where they’re holding him. Could be anywhere in the farmhouse from the basement to the attic.”
    â€œWe’ll have to climb into the house and search it,” Joe suggested.
    Frank agreed. “Let’s case the place and see if there’s a way in. I tell you what. I’ll scout the fence and see if there’s an escape route. You two circle the ranch house in opposite directions and check the windows and doors. We’ll meet here in a few minutes and compare notes.”
    â€œRight,” Joe said. “Come on, Chet.”
    The pair went off into the darkness while Frank walked up to the fence and began following the strands of wire to guide himself around the perimeter of the yard. About every twenty-five feet he came to a post, but there was no break in the fence until he reached the gate in front. It was fastened by a chain and a padlock, but no guard was at the gate as yet.
    â€œThey must think no one but the gang will ever get out here,” he thought. He continued around the fence to the place where they had sneaked in.
    Joe, meanwhile, had gone to the left of the house. His path took him to a cellar door, a sloping wooden oblong obviously covering a small flight of stairs to the basement. Taking hold of the metal handle, Joe strove to lift the door. It was locked!
    Farther on he passed a pickup truck and a station