With Cohen trailing behind, Frank and Joe dashed out the front door and down the long tree-lined driveway to the street. When they reached the end, they found Chet under the hood of his yellow jalopy. Two other boys, Biff Hooper and Tony Prito, were also there.
“Chet! Is all that noise coming your car?” Frank asked breathlessly.
“Of course!” Chet said with a smile. “Biff and Tony were on their way through town and they met a man that sold them this carburetor. I've been reading up on ways to soup up the old jalopy and it was an easy switch. It sounds just like a racecar now doesn't it?”
As the boys listened to the sound from Chet's jalopy reverberate through the woods, Mr. Cohen finally made his way to the end of the long driveway. He peered under the hood and a shocked look appeared on his face.
“Boys, where did you get that?” he asked, pointing to the new carburetor that sat atop the jalopy's engine.
“We stopped for some chow just outside of town and a stranger saw us decked out in our racing garb and struck up a conversation with us,” Biff said. “We told him we were headed to the races this weekend. We made some small talk and mentioned that one of our friends, you Chet, had taken up shade-tree mechanics as a hobby. We told him what kind of car you have and he asked if we'd be interested in buying a carburetor to give the car some more horsepower. It wasn't a lot of money so we bought it from him.”
Mr. Cohen looked dismayed.
“Just as I feared. Boys, that carburetor is yours to keep. Consider it part of my fee. But that came from the trailer that was stolen from me earlier today. It seems like a ring of thieves has stolen my racecar and equipment and is selling it for money.”
Chet looked as though he had seen a ghost. His cheeks, normally red with color, were as white as a sheet.
“We had no idea,” he said. “We thought it was just too good to be true. Unfortunately it was.”
Frank and Joe stepped back from the car.
“Biff, do you remember anything about the man who sold you this carburetor?” Joe asked.
“Well sure,” Biff said. “He wasn't very tall, but very heavy set. He had a thin moustache and wore dark sunglasses. He had on a dark shirt and blue jeans. We thought it was a little odd because he even wore those sunglasses when he was indoors.”
“Interesting,” Joe said pensively. “It seems like whoever sold you Mr. Cohen's carburetor doesn't want anyone to get a good look at him.”
Meanwhile, Chet looked to Mr. Cohen apologetically.
“I'm mighty sorry we caused so much fuss. We had no idea. Honest. All we wanted to do was give the old girl a little more pep in her step.”
“No harm done, at least not by you boys,” Mr. Cohen said. “But I am afraid it just means we have to find whoever did this quickly, otherwise whatever was in that trailer will be sold on the black market.”
Reassured, Chet, Biff and Tony went back under the raised hood of the yellow jalopy and finished tuning up the engine. Mr. Cohen walked back to the front porch of the lake house with the Hardys.
“It's just as I feared boys. If the right buyers are found, everything in that trailer could be sold within days and I would be out of business.”
The Hardys were amazed. “We didn't realize there was a market for race equipment other than for actual race cars. We never would have guessed a racing carburetor could be used on an old jalopy like Chet's.”
“Oh yes, there are many people who use racing equipment on their cars,” Mr. Cohen said. “Many find their parts and pieces from legitimate sources, but there is a growing segment that has moved underground. There has been a ring of thieves that has stolen hundreds of thousands of dollars of racing equipment that has never been recovered. I fear that we won't be able to find it and my time in racing will be over. I am a man of some means, if you can solve this case before the race this weekend I will make it worth your while.”
“We don't charge for our sleuthing services,” Joe said.
Mr. Cohen was astonished. “You solve your cases for nothing?”
“If we are able to help you find your racecar, it will be on that basis,” Frank said reassuringly.
“Wow, no one in racing does anything for nothing. How refreshing. Boys, somehow I will make this worth your while.”
He again explained the urgency, then told the boys he was staying at the Seneca Lodge just down the state highway from Hardy lake house, and he could be reached there if anything should develop.
Mr. Cohen then excused himself and made his way back to his vehicle, eventually disappearing from sight down the long wooded driveway. Frank and Joe went inside and immediately called Chief Collig to see if he had any additional details on the case. Chief Collig often assisted them on their cases, and listened intently as Frank described being run off the road by the out-of-control pickup truck.
“This sounds serious, boys,” Chief Collig said. “I'll notify the state police to keep an eye out for a black dually pickup like you described. I doubt he would be driving around with the trailer still attached so I will have them keep an eye open for pickups with and without.”
The boys thanked Chief Collig and hung up. As they walked back onto the front porch of the lake house they saw Chet, Biff and Tony still tinkering under the hood of the yellow jalopy and the sound of horsepower rumbling through the woods.
“Looks like we are back in business,” Joe said. “Let's take on the case.”
Frank looked worried.
“This isn't just any ring of thieves,” he said. “Otherwise, why run us off the road and into the ditch? We could have been seriously injured, or worse. I am afraid we're going to have to be extra careful on this one. We could be dealing with some real desperadoes.”
“It would be fun to find a racecar and help him get into the race this weekend,” Joe said. “Time is of the essence.”
The boys went into the house, and wandered into the kitchen. There they were greeted by their petite mother and their tall, angular Aunt Gertrude. She was Mr. Hardy's sister, who lived with the Hardys. When she heard of the Mr. Cohen's offer and the boys being forced off the road and into a ditch, she exclaimed:
“Another case and more danger! There's always something underhanded about these cases! This one sounds too dangerous! Mark my words!”
Mrs. Hardy also had a look of worry on her face.
“I wish your father was here instead of in Mexico,” she said.
“Dad!” Frank exclaimed. “We could have dad look up any known criminal activity in the racing world!”
Mrs. Hardy reminded the boys that their father was on a big case in Mexico and would only be able to be contacted via e-mail but because cellphone service was very spotty.
“We might not get a response for several days,” Joe said. “We don't have a lot of time to wait. Let's send dad the details we know and get started. We may have to go it alone without him on this one. But maybe he can get back to us and offer us some guidance.”
“I'll call Cohen and let him know,” Frank said. He dialed the Seneca Lodge. Cohen was not in so he left a message with the desk clerk.
“Let's get online and start checking to see if we can find some websites that have used racing equipment for sale,” Joe said.
“Maybe Aunt Gertrude can help us,” Joe said. “She sells her pies all over the country through some of these websites. She can definitely help us with which ones are legit and which ones are a waste of time.”
Aunt Gertrude spoke with the boys and gave them the name of several websites to look at. After nearly an hour of browsing, the boys found a lead. A new listing for a used racecar caught their eye. And it was listed in nearby Elmira.
The boys called the contact number. A gruff voice answered and set a time to meet in just over an hour. That gave the boys enough time to make the drive to see the racecar.
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