“If he didn’t, he’s stayin’ well hid,” Wixman growled. “I ain’t seen hide nor hair o’ Whaley since he took my wad.”
“Any idea where he might have gone?”
The brawny stevedore shook his head gloomily. “Naw. Just wish I did! I tried askin’ around, but I couldn’t find out much. Whaley told some guys at the freight yard he was goin* far away-maybe to the moon!”
THE EAVESDROPPER 117
Moose looked disgusted, but his expression changed to bewilderment when Bud said dryly, “He might have been telling the truth at that!”
The boys departed without offering to explain further, leaving Moose more perplexed than ever. He was still staring after them with his mouth open as Bud shut the door.
Once outside, the copilot chuckled. “I guess that beefeater back there is just a big, simple dope.”
Tom nodded. “But that freight-yard lead is worth following up, Bud. What say we check down there right now?”
“Okay.”
The boys hurried back to the spot where Bud had parked his red convertible, then drove to the Shopton freight yard, located in a factory and warehouse district.
The yard was closed off from the street by a high wire fence. Floodlights, mounted at intervals on high steel masts, shed a ghostly brillance over the tracks and freight cars inside. But much of the yard was still shrouded in darkness.
Tom parked near an open gateway and the boys walked through. As they paused to get their bearings, Tom pointed to the switch tower on the hump, off to the right, its windows aglow with light.
“Must be someone on duty over there, Bud. Maybe he can help us.”