What Happened at Midnight (10 page)

The Hardys were reluctant, but being short on funds, with no place to go, and unable to get through to Mrs. Hardy yet, they agreed.

After working a while Joe said in disgust, “A couple of private detectives end up in New York as kitchen police!”

“I wouldn't complain too much,” Frank said, grinning. “What if we had to wash these dishes by hand!”

“Why do we have to do them at all?” Joe complained. “Dad has several friends here in the city. They'd be willing to help us out with some money.”

“I know! But I think we should go to them only as a last resort.”

Frank waited nearly four hours before getting a call through to Bayport. Finally the lines were repaired, and a long-distance operator connected him with Mrs. Hardy.

“Your Aunt Gertrude and I have been worried sick about you and Joe,” she said. “There's been a bad storm here. Where
are
you?”

“Still in New York. But guess what? Joe and I are washing dishes to pay for our dinner.”

Mrs. Hardy laughed and promised to wire them money right away.

“Send it to the telegraph office at Grand Central Terminal,” Frank requested. “And don't worry about us. We're fine, and we'll probably be home tomorrow. Now tell me, did that fake inventor show up?”

“No. I guess the storm was too bad. The detectives stationed here were needed elsewhere and had to leave. The box on the steps is soaked. We turned the lights off and have been watching from the window. Maybe we can catch a glimpse of whoever comes.”

“Good. ‘Bye now. I hope nobody tapped this call.”

When Frank and Joe finished their work, they hurried from the restaurant. It was still raining when they stepped onto the street. “It's almost midnight. What now?” Joe asked.

“Let's take the subway to Times Square,” Frank said. “Then we can get the cross-town shuttle to Grand Central. At least we can keep dry there until our money arrives.”

There were only a few people waiting for the shuttle train when the boys arrived at Times Square. Several minutes passed, then suddenly Frank clutched his brother's arm.

“What's the matter?” Joe asked.

“That man behind the post!” Frank whispered. “He's one of Chris's friends!”

Just as Joe glanced up, the man brushed against one of the strolling passengers on the platform. The young detectives' keen eyes saw him lift a wallet from his victim's pocket.

“Hey! You!” Frank shouted, rushing toward the pickpocket with Joe close behind him.

Startled at Frank's outcry, the thief quickly removed the money and dropped the wallet. He leaped off the platform onto the tracks and disappeared into the dark tunnel. The boys took off in pursuit.

“Watch that side rail!” Frank warned his brother. “It's charged with high-voltage electricity!”

The young detectives had run a considerable distance into the yawning tunnel when they halted abruptly.

“What's that rumbling noise?” Joe asked.

“It's the shuttle train!” Frank screamed. “And it's coming our way!”

Seconds later the fast-moving train loomed from around the bend. Would the Hardys escape in time?

CHAPTER XIII

“RUN for it!” Joe yelled.

The boys whirled and dashed through the tunnel. As the train rapidly gained on them, its headlight illuminated the walls. Stretching along one side was a power line encased in metal piping. Frank spotted it.

“That's a conduit line!” he shouted. “Grab it and flatten yourself against the wall!”

They made a desperate leap, caught hold of the narrow piping, and stiffened themselves hard against the wall. Seconds later the train sped past them. The roar was deafening and the mass of air that was pulled along lashed the Hardys like a gale. The sides of the cars were barely inches away as the lighted windows passed by in a blur.

Soon the last car disappeared around a bend. The youths jumped onto the tracks and made their way back to the Times Square station plat form. Both were trembling.

“What do you think happened to the man we were chasing?” Joe asked finally.

“Probably he's used this tunnel before as a means of escape,” Frank replied, “and knows the layout well. I'm sure he's heading for Grand Central station.”

Arriving at the platform, the boys spotted the man Chris's pal had tried to rob. He was talking to a police officer.

“These are the two boys who chased the pickpocket into the tunnel,” the man told the policeman as the brothers walked toward them.

The officer turned to Frank and Joe. “This man claims someone stole his wallet.”

“That's right,” Frank said, “and he's probably the same one who lifted mine this afternoon. We chased him but he got away.”

“By now he has no doubt reached Grand Central,” Joe added.

“I've alerted a couple of the men on duty there,” the policeman said. “They'll be on the lookout for him.” He stared at the boys curiously. “Say, that was a risky job for you fellows to take on!”

The boys introduced themselves to the officer and showed him their credentials.

“So you're the Hardys,” the policeman remarked.

“I'm Reilly. Your father's name is something of a legend around the department.”

“Dad is a great detective,” Joe said proudly.

At the officer's request, the boys gave him a description of the pickpocket. Reilly then took the name and address of the man who had been robbed.

Shortly the next train arrived and the Hardys stepped aboard. When they got off at Grand Central station, Frank and Joe noticed a commotion at the far end of the platform. A group of spectators had assembled.

“Let's see what's going on,” Frank suggested.

As the boys walked forward, Joe's eyes widened. “Hey, look!” he yelled. “There's the pickpocket we chased!”

“He's being questioned by two policemen,” Frank observed. “That was quick work. They must've nabbed him coming out of the tunnel.”

The boys pressed their way among the spectators.

“I ain't done nothin‘,” they heard the pickpocket snarl.

“That's not true!” Joe declared. “He tried to steal a man's wallet. My brother and I saw the whole thing!”

“And I suspect he took mine and is a pal of some smugglers,” Frank added.

“Who are you?” one of the policemen asked.

The boys identified themselves once more, then related the incident at the Times Square station.

One of the officers nodded. “We were alerted to be on the lookout for this guy.”

“We know all about him,” the second policeman said. “His name is Torchy Murks. Has two convictions for petty larceny. We had reports of a pickpocket that looks like him working the subways recently.”

“You're crazy!” Murks growled. “I'm being railroaded!”

“We'll see about that.”

The officers requested the boys to accompany them. At the precinct Murks was marched off to the interrogation room.

A few minutes later a tall, muscular, square-jawed man emerged from the squad room. He walked directly to the Hardys and extended his hand in greeting.

“One of the officers just told me you're the sons of Fenton Hardy,” he said.

“That's right.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Detective Lieutenant Danson. I joined the force as a rookie just before your father left the department. A great detective. Come into my office.”

The youths were ushered into a small but comfortable office, where Danson offered them chairs and seated himself behind his desk.

“I hear you fellows had a scrap with Torchy Murks,” he said. “Slippery character. Well, tell me, what brings the famous Hardys to New York City?”

The boys related their experiences of the past two weeks, ending with an account of how they had trailed the smuggler-kidnapper Chris to New York.

Lieutenant Danson sat thoughtful for several moments. “That's strange,” he mumbled to himself.

“What is?” Joe inquired curiously.

“It might be just a coincidence,” Danson muttered. “Then again ...”

The boys watched with interest as the lieutenant thumbed through his private list of telephone numbers. “An FBI agent I know, named Emery Keith, dropped into my office a couple of days ago and told me about two suspects his office wants for questioning. From his description of the men, one of them sounds like this big blond fellow Chris. Of course our men have been on the lookout, but I'd like Keith to hear your story.”

Twenty minutes later two neatly dressed men arrived at the lieutenant's office.

“I'm Agent Keith,” the tall, light-haired one said to the Hardys. Then he introduced his shorter, dark-haired companion. “And this is my assistant, George Mallett. I've heard a lot about your father. Some of our agents have worked with him.”

After the formalities, they all sat down to discuss the case. Frank and Joe told their story about the kidnapping and smuggling.

“Hmm!” Keith muttered. “Interesting lead!” The agent eyed the Hardys for a moment before speaking again. “Does the name Taffy Marr ring a bell with you fellows?” he asked.

“I'm afraid not,” Frank replied.

“Taffy Marr,” Keith said, “is one of the slickest crooks in the country. He's the leader of the smuggling ring and I suspect is the boss of Shorty, Chris, and their pals. Marr is young—the innocent-looking type—but as clever and cold-blooded a crook as you'll ever come up against.”

“What else can you tell us about his looks?” Frank asked.

“Not much. Taffy is slender, of average height, and uses a lot of disguises, so we're not exactly sure what he does look like. One of our men did spot a triangular scar on Marr's left forearm. No doubt he's self-conscious about this identification and he usually wears long sleeves.

“Taffy came from the West Coast a few months ago and organized a gang,” Keith went on. “The group's been flooding the country with smuggled diamonds. It's so bad that the Jewelers Association is offering a sizable reward to anyone who can trip up Marr. As for me, I'd give a year's salary to put him in prison.”

Joe volunteered the information that the gang also smuggled electronic equipment, and added, “Have you any leads on Marr's whereabouts?”

“The last report shows he was here in New York,” the agent answered. “Before that, it was Florida, then Virginia, Connecticut, New Jersey, and the Carolinas.”

“He certainly gets around,” Frank commented.

“Apparently he's confining his operations now to the East Coast,” Keith said. “But the problem is where. He has dropped out of sight completely.”

“How long do you two plan to be in New York?” Keith asked the Hardys.

“Not much longer,” Joe said. We called home for money, and it should be at the Grand Central telegraph office by now. We plan to take the first train back to Bayport.“

“Tell you what,” Keith said. “Why not let us put you up at a hotel tonight at our expense? Then you can catch the morning train. I'd like to have breakfast with you fellows and discuss the possibility of your working with us. But I'll have to talk with my chief first.”

Frank and Joe were excited at this prospect and quickly consented. Lieutenant Danson drove them to Grand Central, where they found their money waiting, then they went to a nearby hotel. Completely exhausted, Frank and Joe were sound asleep within minutes.

Early the next morning they met Keith in the hotel restaurant and enjoyed a breakfast of sausage, wheat cakes, and fruit. Then the agent reviewed the facts on Marr and his gang.

“I realize our information is sketchy,” the agent said. “But you've given us some good leads and maybe you can dig up a few more.”

“We'll certainly try,” Frank said.

“I'd like you fellows to be on the lookout for Marr in the Bayport area. The same goes for Chris. He may turn up there again—perhaps to meet Marr, if they're in the same racket.”

“You can count on us!” Joe said eagerly.

Keith reached into his pocket and took out a small business card. On the back he jotted down a series of digits.

“I suggest you memorize this telephone number,” he said. “You'll be able to get in touch with me or my assistant Mallett at any time.”

“Right!” The Hardys repeated the digits several times until both were sure they would not forget them.

Frank telephoned to check the trains and learned that one would depart for Bayport within half an hour. Keith drove them to the station and shook hands.

“Good luck, and good hunting,” he said with a smile. “I can assure you that the entire Bureau will be grateful for whatever help you can give it.”

When the boys arrived home, Joe jokingly stuck out his chest and said to Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude, “Meet a couple of Federal men!”

“Whatever do you mean?” his mother asked.

Frank told of Keith's request and the women smiled. “It's a big assignment,” Mrs. Hardy remarked, and Aunt Gertrude added, “You'd better watch your step. This Marr fellow sounds pretty dangerous for you to tackle.”

“Now tell us,” Joe requested, changing the subject, “about that fake inventor. Did the mysterious caller ever come for the box with the secret radio in it?”

“Yes,” their mother replied.

“Was he caught?” Frank asked eagerly.

CHAPTER XIV

AUNT Gertrude answered Frank's question. “Of course that crook was caught. The police came back and nabbed him. Inventor, nothing.”