A Figure in Hiding by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

Shore Road was evidently coming from a bull’s-eye lantern. It was aimed to illuminate the captive peddler. Zatta was lying bound and gagged.
    â€œIt looks as if he’s unconscious!” Joe muttered. “His eyes are closed!”
    â€œDon’t worry—he’s alive,” the masked man said.
    â€œHe’d better be,” Frank said. “You’ll get the glass eye when we have him in the car and we’re sure he’s all right. Not before.”
    â€œAnd you two had better not try pulling any fast ones,” the masked man retorted. “Wait right here till I get down the hill. Then drive your car there. You can load Zatta aboard and hand over the glass eye. After that, clear out and don’t look back. Get me?”
    Frank nodded. “Check.”
    The gangster strode off into the darkness, picking his way down the incline.
    â€œI wonder if Sam got here,” Joe whispered.
    â€œI sure hope so,” Frank replied. “Goggle Eyes could be pulling us right into a trap!” He added, “We’d better go through with it, though, for Zatta’s sake. He must have stuck his neck out, giving Dad that tip.”
    Crickets chirped in the stillness. The eerie call of a night bird sounded somewhere overhead. Presently the light on Shore Road went out.
    â€œThat must be the signal,” Frank murmured. “Let’s go!”
    The boys hurried back to their convertible and climbed in. The engine roared to life. Frank swung out from the curb, then turned right into the long, steep drive leading to Shore Road. Beyond was nothing but a gleam of water as the cliff sheered abruptly into the bay.
    The car headlights revealed Zatta’s motionless figure still lying across the foot of the drive. The masked man and whoever had come with him were nowhere in sight.
    Joe glanced over at the grassy hillside. In the distance his eye caught a darting figure.
    â€œSam Radley!” Joe guessed.
    Frank toed the brake pedal as he turned to look. The pedal caught for an instant—then sank to the floorboard without slowing the car!
    Horrified, Frank pumped the pedal. No response! He yanked the hand brake and it gave easily without the slightest effect!
    â€œJoe! Something’s happened to our brakes!”
    The convertible was gathering speed—hurtling straight down toward the helpless peddler!
    â€œYou’ll go right over him!” Joe gasped.
    â€œAnd off the cliff!”
    The boys were paralyzed with fear. With no way to slow the car, it would be impossible to negotiate a turn onto Shore Road.
    Frank shifted into low gear. The car bucked and lost a little speed. Noticing that the narrow drive was high-banked on either side, Frank swung right, scraping the convertible’s side against the grassy slope.
    Zatta lay less than fifty feet ahead!
    As the bank flattened, Frank spun the wheel hard right. The car leaped from the drive onto the grass, bumping and jolting over the uneven ground. It shot across the corner of the hillside, slowing bit by bit. Then it slewed out across Shore Road.
    Frank kept it parallel to the pavement, but suddenly there was a hard jolt as the left rear wheel went over the edge of the cliff. With a shudder, the convertible came to a dead halt—its body quivering on its springs!
    The two boys sat still, white-faced and gasping. Then Frank slumped over the wheel.
    â€œWhew!” he breathed. “I thought sure we’d had it!”
    â€œWe would have,” Joe said, “if you hadn’t downshifted and grazed that bank! Man, that was fast thinking!”
    Frank shook his head dazedly. “I wouldn’t even have known the brakes were gone if you hadn’t called out about Sam!”
    A streak of light shot up from the hillside, exploding into a starburst of red fire!
    â€œIt’s Sam firing a Very pistol!” Joe cried out.
    Gingerly the boys crawled out of the car, fearful of dislodging it from its poised