What Happened at Midnight (9 page)

He immediately dialed the Hardy house. Aunt Gertrude answered. “My, you boys certainly take off fast! You ought to be right here taking care of the secret radio mystery.”

“What do you mean, Aunty?”

“I mean that I can't understand your father. He sent a telegram saying, ‘Inventor will phone. Do as directed.' Well, the inventor called and said we should leave the radio on the front steps at ten o‘clock tonight.”

Joe was astounded. After a moment's thought he said, “I think the telegram was a hoax. Dad would never do such a thing. Somebody may be listening in on this call, but I'll take a chance. Put a package on the steps but not the radio. Then ask the police to shadow the house and pick up this fake inventor. I have to say good-by now. Frank and I have one of the gang almost nabbed. Give my love to Mother. Tell her we're sorry we couldn't call before this.”

Joe returned to the restaurant and in whispers repeated his whole conversation. Frank nodded, then pointed to Chris's table.

“I heard that thin guy call him Chris, so we know for sure we're on the right track.”

The smuggler and his companion were busily engaged with pencil and paper. Chris seemed to be explaining something that did not please the other man, for he shook his head doubtfully and crossed out what Chris had already jotted down.

“I'd give anything to know what those two are talking about,” Frank said in a low tone.

“So would I,” Joe replied and started to eat.

At that instant the boys' attention was diverted to a stocky man who had just entered the restaurant. He glanced in their direction, then made his way toward them. He planted himself in front of their table and glared at the Hardys.

“What's the idea of sittin' at my table?” he demanded.

“Your
table?” Frank asked in surprise.

“Yes. This is my table you're sittin' at. You'd better clear out!”

“There are lots of other tables,” Frank retorted in a low voice.

“Sure. And you can have any one of ‘em you want.”

Frank decided that nothing would be gained by arguing with the stranger. Both boys returned quietly to their meal and did not look up.

“Well,” the man roared, “are you gonna move?”

“As soon as we've finished our lunch,” Joe snapped.

“You'll move now! This is my table you're sittin' at, and I mean to have it!”

The young sleuths were infuriated by the intrusion. Unknowingly the man was putting them in a difficult position. If they stood up to walk to another table, Chris would surely spot them and might escape before the police arrived! If they remained where they were, they probably would be discovered, since the incident was beginning to attract attention.

Frank signaled a waiter standing nearby.

“What's the trouble, Mr. Melvin?” he asked.

“These kids are sittin' at my table,” Melvin protested. “Make‘em move!”

The waiter looked uneasy. “I can't ask these young men to move, Mr. Melvin. They were here first.”

“Ain‘tIagood customer of this restaurant?”

“Yes, indeed. But there are plenty of other tables, sir. If you don't mind—”

“I do mind. These boys can get outta here or I won't come back to this restaurant again!” Melvin shouted.

Frank saw that Chris and his friend had turned and were looking in the Hardys' direction. At once Chris spoke to the sharp-featured man, who nodded. Then both darted toward the kitchen door and disappeared through it.

Joe said to the waiter, “We're not afraid of this fellow, but we'll leave just to save trouble.”

The boys got up. Melvin, breathing defiance and declaring that no person could sit at his table and get away with it, promptly sat down in the seat Frank had just vacated.

Joe dashed to the back of the restaurant and whirled into the kitchen. Chris and his friend were not in sight, but a back door was open and Joe assumed the men had ducked outside and up a delivery alley to the street. He hurried back into the restaurant.

Frank had hastened to the cashier's desk and paid the boys' check. Then he ran up the front steps and into the street. The police had not arrived.

Joe joined his brother. “Chris left by the back door,” he said. “He should be coming up that alley.” When the two men did not put in an appearance, he added, “You stay here, Frank. I'll run down.”

Joe returned in a short time. “Come on!” he cried, and explained that the alley joined another one that led to the busy street beyond. They followed it to the sidewalk, which was teeming with pedestrians. Chris was not in sight.

“We've really lost him this time,” Joe commented in disgust.

“I have an idea,” Frank said. “Let's walk along this street in opposite directions for about ten or twelve blocks. I'll head downtown, you uptown. There's a slight chance one of us might spot Chris.”

“But he might have gone cross town,” Joe argued.

“You're right. But what have we to lose?”

“Okay, Frank, I'm game. But there's just one hitch. If I should see Chris, how do I let you know and vice versa?”

Frank looked around and pointed to a public-telephone booth. He walked over and jotted down the number.

Rejoining his brother, he said, “We'll meet back here in half an hour. However, if one of us gets back and the other isn't here, I say stay by the phone and wait for a call.” He handed Joe a copy of the number and took one himself.

“Here's hoping!” Joe declared with a grin as the boys went their separate ways.

Frank walked along slowly, dividing his attention between weaving among pedestrians and searching for his quarry. When he had covered nearly fifteen blocks, Frank decided to work his way back on the opposite side of the street.

He stopped for a moment at an amusement arcade to watch the people playing the various coin-operated machines.

As Frank was about to continue walking, his eyes widened in surprise. Toward the rear of the arcade a big fair-haired man was engaged in conversation with three ominous-looking characters. Frank carefully edged his way inside the arcade for a better look. He was certain now.

The man was Chris!

CHAPTER XII

FRANK mingled with the crowd in the arcade and cautiously worked his way toward the spot where Chris and his companions were standing. He kept glancing toward the street, hoping a policeman would come along. Soon the young sleuth was close enough to overhear the men's conversation.

“Sounds like you got in with a gang that's going places,” declared one of Chris's companions. “How about talkin' to your boss and gettin' us in on the action?”

“Sorry, but I can't help you guys,” the fair-haired man answered. “The big boss has all the men he needs.”

“Keep us in mind if anything comes up,” one of the trio chimed in.

Just then a man who had been playing one of the game machines alongside Frank shouted, “Whee! I've won ten in a row. I musta broke some kind o' record!”

The outburst caused Chris and his friends to look in the man's direction—and therefore right at Frank. The boy turned quickly and gazed into one of the coin-operated machines. In its highly polished surface he could see Chris's reflection.

“He must have recognized me!” Frank thought, noting a look of surprise on the smuggler's face.

Frank watched while the fair-haired man whispered something to his friends, then turned to go back to the street.

Determined not to let the big man out of his sight, and to contact the first police officer he met, the young detective started off in pursuit. To his dismay, he was intercepted at the entrance by Chris's three companions.

“Where d‘you think you're goin', kid?” one of them growled.

Another said, “We don't like the idea of our pal being shadowed.”

“Get out of my way!” Frank demanded.

One man stepped behind the youth. The other two each grabbed an arm and led him out of the arcade.

“We're goin' for a little walk,” one of them snarled, “and if you make one sound, it'll be curtains for you!”

Frank was forced to walk about half a block, then he was led into a dark, narrow alley.

“You need to be taught a lesson, kid,” the man behind Frank said. “We don't like snoopers.”

Frank was in a desperate situation, but he did not panic. With catlike speed he thrust out his leg and tripped the man on his right, then flung him down so hard the grasp on the youth's right arm was broken. With his free arm Frank jabbed an elbow into the midriff of the man behind him.

“Ouch!” his opponent grunted loudly.

The third man, who still had a firm grip on Frank's left arm, was unable to dodge the boy's blow. It caught him on the chin and he crumpled to the ground.

Frank had only a second to collect his wits. One of his stunned opponents had recovered quickly, scrambled to his feet, and lunged at him. Just as Frank dealt the man a staggering blow, he heard a noise behind him. Before Frank could turn, he was struck on the head with a hard object.

Several minutes passed before Frank regained consciousness. He slowly got to his feet and looked around. The three men were gone. Frank grimaced as he felt a large swelling on the back of his head. Then he noticed that his wrist watch and wallet were missing.

“Chris has some rough playmates,” he thought. “And they're petty thieves to boot.”

Still a bit unsteady on his legs, Frank finally started uptown to rendezvous with his brother. Frank's body ached, but a light rain which was falling seemed cool and refreshing to him.

When Joe saw Frank's condition, he exclaimed, “Leaping hyenas! You look as if yuu'd fallen into a cement mixer!”

“Not quite,” Frank replied. “I ran into some of Chris's pals.”

“What! You mean you caught up with the smuggler?”

“Yes, but lost him again. I'll tell you all about it later. But first let's find some shelter from this rain. I'm cold.”

They ducked into a doorway. Frank straightened his tie and brushed off his clothes in an effort to look more presentable.

“My wallet was stolen,” he said. “How much money do you have left?”

Joe dug into his pockets. “Exactly six dollars and thirty-seven cents.”

“I'm starved,” Frank announced. “And we'll need most of that to get a good meal. Anyway, it's not enough for our fare back home. Let's find a restaurant and a phone. We can call Mother collect and let her know what has happened so far. Hope she can wire us some money.”

The rain lessened and the boys hurried along the street in search of an eating place. They examined the menus posted in the windows of several restaurants, hoping to find one that would not exceed their budget.

“Here's a possibility,” Joe said. “The menu looks good and the prices are reasonable.”

The boys entered the restaurant and sat down. Shortly a waiter walked over to them. He eyed Frank's rumpled clothes and the man's manner became abrupt. The Hardys had already selected a dinner listed on the window menu and ordered immediately.

“I have a feeling he's in a hurry to get rid of us.” Joe grinned as the waiter walked off.

“Did you see the way he stared at me when he came over?” Frank laughed. “I admit I look a little shabby. He probably thinks we're not going to pay our bill.”

After finishing dessert, Frank rose. “Give me some change and I'll place a call home,” he told Joe. “Meanwhile, you take care of the check.”

Locating a phone booth at the rear of the restaurant, the young detective deposited the coin and dialed the operator.

“I'm sorry,” said a feminine voice when Frank tried to make a collect call to Bayport. “Violent storms up there have temporarily affected the service. I suggest you try again in about an hour.”

Disappointed, Frank returned to the table. To his surprise, Joe was involved in an argument with their waiter.

“What's wrong?” Frank asked.

“There seems to be a misunderstanding about our check,” Joe declared. “It's almost double the amount listed on the menu we saw in the window.”

“I already told you,” the waiter growled. “Those prices are good only up to three o‘clock. After that, you pay more.”

“I'll say you do,” Joe retorted. “But how were we supposed to know?”

The waiter picked up a copy of the menu the boys had seen in the window and thrust it at them “Can't you read?” He pointed to a line of fine print at the bottom of the menu:

“Wow! You almost need a magnifying glass to read it!” Joe snapped.

“Don't try to squirm out of this,” the waiter said harshly. “I had you kids sized up the minute you walked in here. I'm going to get the manager!”

The waiter reappeared shortly with a short, stocky man wearing a dark suit and a bow tie.

“I hear you boys can't pay your check,” he said.

Joe started to explain. “We can pay you half of it now and ...”

“We don't sell meals on the installment plan,” the manager stated tersely.

“Give us a little time,” Frank pleaded. “Just as soon as we can get a call through to our home, we'll have some money wired.”

“A lot of good that will do me,” the manager answered. Suddenly his expression changed. His face broke into a wide grin. “Tell you what! I'm in need of a couple of dishwashers right now. Each of you work for three hours and I'll call it square. You keep your money.”