The Ring of Fire IN seconds Frank and Joe had started their motorcycles, the headlights cutting the darkness of the woods. Racing along, the boys could see the red taillights of the speeding sedan ahead.

"Anything come over the police band?" Joe shouted back to Chet.

"Nothing about a theft."

The gap diminished, and the boys realized the car was slowing down.

"Maybe he thinks we're the police," Frank called out.

But the sedan cut speed still more and began to make a U-turn. "He's coming back. Let's keep with him!" Frank urged.

The driver appeared to take no notice of their pursuit. The boys followed him back to the turn-off and then down Sh.o.r.e Road.

Joe called to Frank, "He's heading for Bay-port!"

Dropping back, the boys trailed the car through the quiet city streets until it drew up before the Excelsior Hotel in the waterfront area. The Hardys swung behind a parked truck.

Frank motioned for the binoculars. When Chet handed them over, Frank focused on the sedan's driver, a bald thick-set man. He still did not seem to notice the boys as he crossed the street and entered the hotel.

Frank flashed an excited look at the others. "I think we've finally found our man!"

"Slagel?" Joe guessed hopefully.

"That's right."

Chet spoke up. "No wonder no hotel day clerks recognized his picture-he works-or steals-at night!"

"I don't get it," Joe said. "If Slagel stole that car, would he park it right in Bayport? And why the U-turn back on Route 7?"

"Or why speed up suddenly when he made the turn off Sh.o.r.e Road?" Chet interrupted.

"I don't know," Frank said, "but I'm going in the hotel for a second. Joe, take down the license and description of the car."

Frank came out of the hotel a few minutes later and rejoined the boys.

"The night clerk knows Slagel under the alias of James Wright," he reported. "Apparently Slagel has kept these late hours since checking in two weeks ago."

"That's about when the Sh.o.r.e Road thefts began!" Chet exclaimed.

The Hardys felt they should go to police headquarters and report the episode.

While Joe watched the motorcycles, Frank and Chet ran up the steps to headquarters. But when they reappeared, they looked disappointed.

"A car was stolen all right, but not the one driven by Slagel."

"Crumb!" Joe muttered. "It looks as if we'll have to stick with the Route 7 turnoff. Still, do you think Slagel is connected with the theft in some way?"

Frank shrugged. "What gets me is the stolen car. The thief may have used Pembroke Road, but it's also possible we missed him in chasing Slagel."

The three boys rode back to the turnoff for their gear before dropping Chet at home and returning to their own house. They spent a quiet Sunday, their only detective work being to call headquarters, but there was no news about the Dodds or the car thieves.

After breakfast Monday morning the Hardys phoned Chet and promised to meet him and the girls later in the day for a swim off the Sleuth, the Hardys' sleek motorboat.

Then they rode into town, parked, and posted themselves in sight of the Excelsior Hotel. They did not have long to wait. Slagel, dressed in Army surplus trousers, boots, and a summer jacket emerged. He was carrying a cane in his left hand.

"He doesn't limp," Frank remarked. "Wonder why he carries a cane."

Slagel jumped into the black sedan and pulled out. The Hardys followed on their motorcycles, and saw him come to a halt two blocks away before a paint store. He entered and soon emerged with cans of paint in either hand. After several trips, he had loaded some twenty gallons into the trunk. He had just slammed the trunk shut when he glanced back at the watching boys.

A chill went down Joe's back. "Think he knows we've been tailing him?"

"He sure doesn't act like it," said Frank.

Slagel went to a telephone booth on the curb, dialed, and spoke briefly. Presently he returned to his car and moved into the Bayport traffic.

"It looks like Sh.o.r.e Road again," Frank noted, as Slagel rounded Barmet Bay a little later.

Farther north, where the road curved inland and had pastureland on both sides, the traffic thinned. Slagel increased speed, but the Hardys kept him in sight. Suddenly a moving ma.s.s of brown and white appeared just ahead of them.

"Cattle!" Frank exclaimed.

He and Joe were forced to slow down as the cows were driven across the road toward a wide meadow on their left.

"We're really blocked," Joe shouted.

Fortunately, no fence separated the highway from the meadow, and the boys were able to steer off the road. But by the time the cattle had crossed, Slagel's car had disappeared around a curve.

Then Frank saw the farmer who had driven the cattle across the road. He was the same short, white-haired man who had caused their spill a week before with his stalled truck.

Parking their vehicles, the Hardys approached him, but he spoke first. "What do you kids think yer doin?

If yer gonna ride wild, jest keep off my land-you mighta killed one o' my prize critters!"

Frank's eyes blazed. "This isn't an authorized cattle crossing-you should know better than to drive your herd across a major road without giving some kind of warning!"

Seeing no point in futher heated words, Frank turned from the irate farmer and the boys rode off.

On the way home they discussed their unsuccessful pursuit of Slagel. "At least," said Frank, "we know where he's staying. Maybe next time we'll have better luck."

Back home for lunch, the boys spoke to their mother and Aunt Gertrude about the farmer.

"A farm just south of Pembroke Road?" their aunt asked. "Laura, wouldn't that be George Birnham?"

Yes," said Mrs. Hardy. "He has lived here a number of years."

"Do you know anything else about him?" Frank said.

"An odd man," Aunt Gertrude replied. "I believe his grandfather was given the land by a member of the Dodd family, though Birnham has never done very well with it. I gave him an order over the phone once.

He sold me some half-rotten tomatoes, and I told him a thing or two!"

Out of curiosity Joe consulted the new telephone directory. "Frank! Birnham's name is in here-which means he lied about having no phone! Why?" Joe's eyes narrowed. "He's blocked us off two times. What if it wasn't coincidence-that there's some tie-in between him and Slagel?"

"Let's pay a visit to his farm tonight," Frank answered. "If Biff will team up with us, we can still watch Route 7 too. Have you the same hunch about Slagel's paint that I do?"

"If you mean it's for repainting stolen cars-yes," Joe replied. "And that does make the hide-out north of here."

Suddenly Frank remembered the flecks of paint they had found near the car tracks in the woods. He phoned Chief Collig to learn the test results. The police were convinced they were from the stolen car and the tire prints also. "My men have rechecked the area where you boys found the paint chips but couldn't come up with anything more."

"How about the collision noises, Chief?"

"The police have heard them too-once when a patrol was on the tail of a stolen car. But that's not all. Do you know who the first victim of the auto thefts was?"

Frank tried to recall the papers two weeks back. "Wasn't it a farmer somewhere out on Sh.o.r.e-"

"A farmer named George Birnham!"

"Birnham!" Frank exclaimed. In view of the boys' latest suspicions, this seemed a strange twist.

That afternoon Frank and Joe took the Pilgrim clue with them and combed another patch of woods in the vicinity of Willow River.

It was three o'clock when they came upon a granite rock formation near a wooded slope. Nearby were several black willow trees.

"It looks as if somebody else has been sleuthing around here," Frank said. He pointed to traces of footprints and digging. "These were all made by one person."

The stone looked as if it had been there a long time. But it was too small to have afforded shelter for a whole family even three hundred years ago. Joe looked without success for traces of a gold vein.

"Let's take a look at Birnham's farm by daylight," Frank suggested, and they rode off.

After parking at some distance, the two cautiously made their way along the dirt road turning off to the farm. The road was just beyond the rise at which they had lost sight of Slagel's car that morning. At a distance they could see Birnham working in a field. But there was no sign of Slagel's car. The brothers returned to their motorcycles.

Frank, gazing ahead, suddenly cried out. Above the tips of a thick birch forest a couple of miles ahead, a circular formation of black smoke could be seen rising. "That looks like the start of a forest fire! We'd better find out and then report it!"

Swiftly the boys shot north toward the column of smoke. When they braked to a halt at the forest edge, a crackling sound reached their ears.

"It's a fire all right, and there may be a house and people in there!" Joe exclaimed.

The Hardys hopped off and ran into the woods.

Soon billows of choking smoke swirled their way. Tying handkerchiefs over their noses, the boys hurried forward. A minute later they reached a clearing, circled by flames.

In the middle of the ring of fire a man lay unconscious!

"It's Scratch!" Joe cried out.

Instantly he and Frank leaped over singeing flames toward the helpless man!

CHAPTER IX.

The Spider's Net BY the time Frank and Joe dived through the last patch of searing flame, licks of fire had almost reached Scratch's p.r.o.ne figure.

Joe tied his shirt over the drifter's face and pulled him up into a fireman's carry. With Frank holding the man's legs, the boys dashed back through the flames, not stopping until they were a hundred yards from the spreading conflagration.

To the Hardys' relief, fire fighters were arriving, and the woods echoed with heavy vehicles, sirens, and shouts.

The Hardys coughed violently for several minutes while slapping their smoking trousers. Scratch was just reviving as three state policemen approached.

"How did it happen?" one of them asked.

"We don't know," said Frank, and explained what they had seen.

Scratch sat up, blinking, and thanked the boys for his rescue. The officer turned to him. "Scratch, have you been careless with one of your camp-fires?"

"No, sir," he said. "I heard a car in the woods hereabouts, and come to take a look. Next thing I knew, somebody put a funny-smellin' rag in front o' my face. After that, I don't remember."

The officer looked skeptically at Scratch, but the Hardys were startled. Liquid gas again! "This fire could have been planned," said Frank. "It was arranged in a perfect circle."

"I guess you're right," the officer conceded.

After the fire was out and the police completed a fruitless search for clues to the arsonist, the officers and firemen left. Forest rangers continued inspecting the scene.

Scratch drew the boys aside. "I owe you fellers my life." He smiled. "Least I kin do is tell you about the tre-men-dous spider I seen."

"Spider?"

"Yep, last night, leastwise, it looked like one." The drifter shivered. "Big enough to be a man, but it sure didn't move like one!"

"Sounds weird!" Joe said.

"Where did you see it, Scratch?" Frank asked.

"On a rock ledge down the road a piece. I was strollin' towards my camp when he crawled out o' sight. I never seen a human spider in a web!"

The Hardys, knowing that Scratch was apt to exaggerate, did not take his story seriously. They did not want to hurt his feelings, so they pretended to be impressed.

"We've got to get going," said Joe. "Take care, Scratch."

When the boys came out to the highway, Joe glanced at his watch. "Jeepers! We promised to meet Chet and the girls for a swim half an hour ago!"

They whizzed off. At the dock where the Sleuth was berthed, they were met with reproving glances. Not only were they late, but disheveled.