The Crisscross Crime by Franklin W. Dixon

“Always.”
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    Outside, the Hardys ran into Bayport Savings’ president, Alex Stendahl.
    â€œHold up. Hey, Jim Harper, just the person I wanted to talk to,” he said as he hurried over to Joe. He looked over at Frank. “Are you a reporter for the Globe, too?”
    â€œAh, not exactly,” Frank said. “Sometimes I help Jim with his . . . investigations.”
    â€œGood,” Stendahl said. “Listen. The police won’t tell me what happened. Was it the same guy as at Bayport Savings? Did they catch him?”
    â€œNo, he got away,” Joe said.
    Stendahl self-consciously touched the bandage over his eye. “Hmm. That’s bad,” he said.“They’re going to arrest Miss van Loveren, though, right? I mean, I saw her come out of the bank during the robbery. I know she was there.”
    â€œYou saw her?” Frank asked.
    â€œSure.” Stendahl pointed diagonally across the street. “I was sitting in my office. She came out the front door here. A few minutes later police were all over the place. That’s how I knew there’d been another robbery.”
    â€œDid you see which way she went?” Joe asked.
    â€œI certainly did. She ran down the street in that direction.” Stendahl pointed up the street in the general direction of Sylvia’s neighborhood. “Then she kind of disappeared.”
    Frank and Joe looked at each other. “Thanks,” Joe said. “I’ll get all this into the article I write, okay?”
    â€œGreat, great,” Stendahl said. Then he lowered his voice. “Can I ask a favor?”
    Joe shrugged. “It depends.”
    â€œI think I have a right to know what’s happening,” he whispered. He touched the bandage on his forehead again. “After all, the thief could’ve killed me. If you could just let me know how the police are doing. You know, if they’re close to arresting anyone. It would really ease my mind.”
    â€œI’ll think about it,” Joe replied.
    â€œFine,” Stendahl said. “That’s all I ask.” He turned and strode briskly back toward Bayport Savings.
    â€œI wonder if that busybody thinks he’s being helpful?” Frank asked.
    â€œWho knows.” Joe led the way down the street to where the van was parked.
    â€œWe’ve got two choices,” Joe said, getting into the driver’s seat. “Pay Sylvia another visit, or follow up this Earl Galatin lead.”
    Frank reached over his shoulder for his seat-belt strap. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw something move in the back of the van. He tried to stay cool. He wanted to catch the stowaway by surprise.
    As Joe pulled out into traffic, Frank signaled to his brother by tilting his head slightly toward the back.
    Joe understood immediately. He kept driving. “I don’t know what we should do,” he said in a normal voice. “Maybe go home and go over all the evidence in detail.”
    â€œThat sounds good,” Frank said. At that moment he signaled Joe again.
    In perfect synchronization, Joe slammed on the brakes while Frank twisted and jumped from his seat, ready to deck whoever was hiding in back.
    The sudden change in momentum caused the person to fly forward. Frank held out his forearm. The person slammed into it, then bounced backward onto the floor of the van with a loud oomph!
    Joe slammed the van into Park. “You get ’em, Frank?”
    â€œYeah,” Frank said. He watched the person roll around on the floor, gasping for breath. “It’s Sylvia,” he said.
    Frank helped her to get up and sit on a big soda cooler. “Sorry,” he said. “You all right?”
    Sylvia spoke in a halting voice. “Got . . . the . . . wind . . . knocked . . . out,” she said.
    â€œNow it’s our turn to ask why you broke into our