The Pentagon Spy by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

away with it because the tent collapsed,” Joe noted. “Otherwise we’d have collared you and returned the Galloping Rider to its owner. What have you done with it?”
    â€œYou can’t prove a thing!” Bryle jeered. “Now let me go!”
    Realizing he was right, the Hardys shrugged and Bryle smirked as he ambled down the dock.
    â€œToo bad we can’t blow the whistle on him,” Frank said. “But we can always find him at the marina if we get any evidence against him that’ll stand up.”
    The boys wandered around some more, then decided to take a boat out into the bay. Retracing their steps to the marina, they rented an outboard from Herb Chelski. They questioned him about Ed Bryle, and he said that Bryle was responsible for cleaning boats that had been rented and returned.
    â€œEd also brings boats to the dock when they’re called for. He left one outboard tied to the dock. You can have it. Here are the keys.”
    Joe took the tiller as he and Frank chugged away from the dock and gained speed into Chesapeake Bay. Both were experienced sailors. They had their own motorboat back in Bayport called the Sleuth, which they cruised on Barmet Bay.
    When they reached open water, they heard a roaring sound in the distance. The sound grew louder as it approached. A line of boats raced past, circled around a buoy, and zoomed up the other side.
    â€œIt’s a race!” Frank shouted over the roar of the motors. “I wish we had the Sleuth here to participate.”
    The last boat in the competition cut out too wide from the course and headed directly at them. Its propellers were low in the water, and its hull slapped the waves as it came. A youth about their age clung to the tiller, struggling to keep his boat on course. A couple of girls were perched on the seat watching him.
    â€œI hope he has his boat under control!” said Joe.
    â€œHe doesn‘t,” Frank warned. “Get ready for a maneuver to port!”
    The other craft was almost upon them. Joe threw his weight against the tiller in a violent swing to the right. His outboard barely cleared the other boat as the girls giggled and waved at the Hardys. Spray deluged Frank and Joe, who heard the boy yell, “Sorry!” as he careened past them toward the buoy.
    â€œWhy don’t you learn how to handle a boat!” Frank muttered, wiping the water from his eyes.
    As dusk was falling, the brothers returned their boat to the marina and went back to their motel cabin. Half an hour later they heard a series of soft taps on the door. Frank positioned himself next to it against the wall, while Joe reluctantly turned the lock.
    A man in ragged clothing, a scraggly beard, and bright red hair pushed past him into the room!

14
    The Time Bomb
    Frank grabbed the strange intruder around the shoulders as Joe kicked the door shut.
    â€œHold it!” said a familiar voice. “No need to be physical. But you could offer me a chair instead!”
    â€œDad!” the boys exclaimed in unison.
    â€œSh! Keep your voices down.”
    Frank looked puzzled. “You said you’d be here tomorrow.”
    â€œI had to say that in case the phone in this cabin is tapped. If someone listened in, he’ll try to trap me tomorrow, and by that time I’ll be gone.”
    â€œWhat’s up?” Joe inquired.
    â€œJoseph Wickerson relayed a warning from the FBI that foreign agents are on my trail. That’s why I’m using this disguise and barged in on you without warning. Now fill me in on the Hammerley weather vane case.”
    The boys described their experiences at the farm, at Juniper Field, and in the town. They mentioned the weird, squeaky voice that threatened them over the phone, and told about encountering Ed Bryle, first at the auction, then in Chesapeake Crossing.
    Frank concluded, “We haven’t found a clue to connect Chesapeake Crossing and the paper with the Hammerley hex