Double Exposure Read Online Free Page A
Author: Franklin W. Dixon
deliver the keynote address at a special Harvard symposium on Saturday. Janosik, whose vigorous opposition to the repressive policies of the Czech government has made him a hero here and in Europe, has recently been accused of accepting money from the CIA in exchange for his anti-Czech speeches. Exclusive sources have promised to provide this reporter with proof of Janosik's guilt before he addresses the symposium on Saturday."
The waitress looked up. "Sorry, hon, I didn't see you there. Did you want something?"
"Never mind," Frank said, bolting out the door.
He found Joe talking to a tall, pretty, dark-haired girl outside the hamburger shop.
"I don't get up here too often," Joe was saying, "but maybe if you give me your number, we could — "
The girl laughed.
"Excuse me," Frank said. He grabbed Joe by the arm. "We're leaving."
"Hey, wait a minute," Joe said, trying to plant his feet. "What's the big rush?"
"Duty calls," Frank said.
"You'll have to excuse my brother," Joe said. "But look, if you're ever in Bayport — "
"I'll know who to avoid," she said, turning around and flouncing off.
Joe watched her walk off and sighed heavily. "You're ruining my life, Frank."
Frank ignored Joe's comment and told him what he'd just read.
"But Chris promised us that Janosik was being framed." Joe shook his head. "Where is this reporter going to get proof of his guilt? From Liehm and Krc?"
"Maybe," Frank said. "What we need right now is information. Let's try Chris first. Come on."
"Smith Street," Joe said, turning off the main road onto a quiet, residential block. The houses lining the street were old and small, but they looked well kept. Children were playing in one of the front yards.
"A nice enough neighborhood," Frank said. "There's number one-twelve." He pointed to a brick house with a postage-stamp garden about halfway down the block on the right side.
They drove past it slowly. "That's the one," Frank said. "The mailbox says C. Hardy."
"Our first lucky break," said Joe, parking the van. "Let's see if he's home."
They crossed the lawn to the front door, and Joe rang the bell. Frank peered in through the front window. "I don't see anyone," he said.
"And nobody's answering the bell." Joe pushed the buzzer again and then pressed his ear against the door. "I can't hear anything, either. It must be broken." He knocked heavily on the front door—and it swung open.
Frank knelt down beside the door and examined it. "The lock's been smashed."
Joe stepped past him into the house. He groped around for a light switch, found one, and flipped it on. Frank heard him breathe in sharply. "That's not all that's been smashed around here. Take a look at this!"
Frank followed him in. They stood in a small entranceway. Directly ahead of them was a staircase. To their right was the living room, which now looked like a disaster area.
Furniture had been overturned and thrown around the room, papers and books strewn across the floor, and the carpet had been ripped up from the floor in several spots.
"Wow," Joe said quietly. "Someone wanted something pretty bad."
"Here's something they didn't want — something that proves this is Chris's place, anyway," Frank whispered, picking a picture up off the floor and showing it to Joe. It was the same photo Chris had shown them last night, the picture of himself and their parents. Joe tapped Frank on the shoulder and pointed down the hall under the staircase. A light shone from beneath a door at the end of the hallway. "I think somebody's in there!" he mouthed.
They tiptoed down the hall runner, and Frank put an ear to the door.
"Someone's in there, all right," he said directly into Joe's ear. "I can hear papers rustling."
"What are we waiting for, then?" Joe whispered back. "Maybe it's Chris."
"It's probably whoever wrecked the house," Frank replied. "Let's do this carefully. We'll go in one at a time."
Joe nodded. Without waiting for Frank, he burst into the room.
Someone was
The waitress looked up. "Sorry, hon, I didn't see you there. Did you want something?"
"Never mind," Frank said, bolting out the door.
He found Joe talking to a tall, pretty, dark-haired girl outside the hamburger shop.
"I don't get up here too often," Joe was saying, "but maybe if you give me your number, we could — "
The girl laughed.
"Excuse me," Frank said. He grabbed Joe by the arm. "We're leaving."
"Hey, wait a minute," Joe said, trying to plant his feet. "What's the big rush?"
"Duty calls," Frank said.
"You'll have to excuse my brother," Joe said. "But look, if you're ever in Bayport — "
"I'll know who to avoid," she said, turning around and flouncing off.
Joe watched her walk off and sighed heavily. "You're ruining my life, Frank."
Frank ignored Joe's comment and told him what he'd just read.
"But Chris promised us that Janosik was being framed." Joe shook his head. "Where is this reporter going to get proof of his guilt? From Liehm and Krc?"
"Maybe," Frank said. "What we need right now is information. Let's try Chris first. Come on."
"Smith Street," Joe said, turning off the main road onto a quiet, residential block. The houses lining the street were old and small, but they looked well kept. Children were playing in one of the front yards.
"A nice enough neighborhood," Frank said. "There's number one-twelve." He pointed to a brick house with a postage-stamp garden about halfway down the block on the right side.
They drove past it slowly. "That's the one," Frank said. "The mailbox says C. Hardy."
"Our first lucky break," said Joe, parking the van. "Let's see if he's home."
They crossed the lawn to the front door, and Joe rang the bell. Frank peered in through the front window. "I don't see anyone," he said.
"And nobody's answering the bell." Joe pushed the buzzer again and then pressed his ear against the door. "I can't hear anything, either. It must be broken." He knocked heavily on the front door—and it swung open.
Frank knelt down beside the door and examined it. "The lock's been smashed."
Joe stepped past him into the house. He groped around for a light switch, found one, and flipped it on. Frank heard him breathe in sharply. "That's not all that's been smashed around here. Take a look at this!"
Frank followed him in. They stood in a small entranceway. Directly ahead of them was a staircase. To their right was the living room, which now looked like a disaster area.
Furniture had been overturned and thrown around the room, papers and books strewn across the floor, and the carpet had been ripped up from the floor in several spots.
"Wow," Joe said quietly. "Someone wanted something pretty bad."
"Here's something they didn't want — something that proves this is Chris's place, anyway," Frank whispered, picking a picture up off the floor and showing it to Joe. It was the same photo Chris had shown them last night, the picture of himself and their parents. Joe tapped Frank on the shoulder and pointed down the hall under the staircase. A light shone from beneath a door at the end of the hallway. "I think somebody's in there!" he mouthed.
They tiptoed down the hall runner, and Frank put an ear to the door.
"Someone's in there, all right," he said directly into Joe's ear. "I can hear papers rustling."
"What are we waiting for, then?" Joe whispered back. "Maybe it's Chris."
"It's probably whoever wrecked the house," Frank replied. "Let's do this carefully. We'll go in one at a time."
Joe nodded. Without waiting for Frank, he burst into the room.
Someone was
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