The London Deception (3 page)

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Frank, Joe, and Chris exited the theater through the main doors. “He walks in this direction,” Chris said, pointing to his right.

“But the subway station is that way,” Joe countered, pointing to the left.

“We call it the
tube,
Joe,” Chris corrected, dryly joking. “Or the underground.”

“Tube, underground—it's still a subway,” Joe joked back.

“Argue about it in English class,” Frank said, slapping the other two on the shoulders and setting them moving in the direction Chris had pointed.

As they jogged, Frank checked his watch. It was eleven-fifteen at night. Other than some construction workers renovating a building across from the theater, the streets were nearly deserted.

“If this were New York City, the streets would still be buzzing with people,” Frank noted.

“It's not like we're in Piccadilly Circus,” Chris explained. “Quill Garden isn't a big tourist hot spot.”

The boys reached a main intersection and stopped. Frank looked in all directions. There was no sign of Neville Shah.

“Sorry, mates,” Chris said. “Don't know which way to go now.”

Joe saw a pay phone across the street. “Do you have information here?”

“What sort of information?” Chris asked, confused.

“Directory assistance,” Joe clarified.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Chris replied.

Joe looked to his left. He saw no cars coming so he stepped off the curb.

“Look out!” Frank shouted, yanking Joe back by the collar of his shirt. A taxi sped by, honking its horn.

“Remember, Joe,” Frank reminded him, “in London, you have to look right first.”

Joe nodded. “I keep forgetting they drive on the wrong side of the road here.”

“We
drive on the wrong side of the road?” Chris piped in, ready to argue.

“Guys? Let's stick to finding Neville Shah,” Frank reminded them. After looking right then left, they crossed the street.

“Anyone have a quarter?” Joe asked, quickly adding to Chris. “Twenty pence, I mean?”

Chris told Joe the number for information and Joe dialed. “Yes, could I please have the address for Neville Shah?”

“Shah is a very common East Indian name,” Chris warned Frank and Joe. “We must hope there's only one Neville.”

“One-seventeen Hayworth Place,” Joe repeated the operator's information. “Thank you.”

“Hayworth Place,” Chris said thoughtfully, then nodded to the right. “I should think he would take this route.”

“There's a bus stop,” Joe pointed out.

Chris shook his head. “His home is just across the park. Most probably, he's on foot.”

The boys set off running and soon reached the corner of a vast, wooded park that stretched as far as they could see in both directions.

“When you said park, you meant
forest,”
Joe said.

“Yes, Victoria Park is quite large,” Chris agreed.

“Do you think he would cut through the park this late at night?” Frank asked.

“I'm certain of it,” Chris said.

“Why?” Joe asked.

“Because there he is,” Chris replied, pointing toward a man near a statue at the entrance to the park.

“Neville!” Joe called.

Shah glanced back at them, then hurried into the shadows.

The Hardys and Chris hurried after him. Inside the park, Frank saw the silhouette of someone cutting off onto a side path lined with huge trees. “Come on!” Frank shouted.

Street lamps shed light along the path, but Neville
Shah was nowhere to be seen. “He couldn't have moved that fast,” Joe said quietly. “He must be hiding.”

“I'll go down the path, you two split up and go along each side,” Frank instructed.

Frank walked briskly, scanning for any movement. Joe and Chris did the same, walking parallel to Frank outside the lines of trees. They checked out the bushes and behind every tree, but could find no sign of him.

“How did he get away?” Joe wondered. “This area is well lit, and we should have seen him.”

“I'd like to know why he ran when you called him,” Frank added.

“Maybe he does know something about the lights being sabotaged,” Joe suggested.

Suddenly Neville Shah dropped to the ground behind them.

“Neville,” Chris gasped, startled, “you'll give me a heart attack that way.”

“Forgive me,” Shah replied. “Thugs sometimes roam the park at night, so I climbed into a tree for safety.”

Joe looked at the cast on Shah's arm and then up at the tree from which he had dropped. “How did you get up there?”

“I am a good climber,” Shah replied. “Now, what did you mean by ‘the lights being sabotaged'?”

Frank hesitated. Now that Shah knew what information they were after, it would be difficult to get him to slip up and admit anything. “Jennifer thought you might have seen something. We found traces of greasepaint on the blown lamps.”

“Why would I want to do such a thing?” Shah reasoned. “I needed this job.”

“Then why did you quit so quickly?” Joe asked.

“The ghost,” Shah replied.

“The ghost is just a legend,” Chris said.

“I saw her last night, floating near the lighting grid on the ceiling,” Shah countered. “Now I know what she was doing.”

“The ghost of Lady Quill coated the lights with greasepaint?” Joe asked skeptically.

“If you do not believe in ghosts, then I suggest you look to the actors,” Shah said. “They are the ones who have use for greasepaint.”

“Well, if you need the job,” Chris said, “I know we need your lighting talents—if you change your mind.”

“No, thank you. I have another part-time job to support me. Now good night, and good luck,” Shah said as he walked off into the darkness.

As Chris and the Hardys headed back to the theater, they discussed the odd events of the evening.

“I've heard of one or two people claiming to see a ghost, but just about everyone who's stepped into the Quill Garden Theatre has seen this one,” Joe said.

“I haven't seen it,” Chris replied, “nor has my father.”

“I saw someone or something in that lighting booth,” Frank admitted, “but there are other possibilities I'd investigate before jumping to the conclusion it was a ghost.”

“Like what?” Joe wondered.

“I would like to see exactly what's behind that locked
door in the booth,” Frank answered. “Then I'll know more.”

Back at Quill Garden, the Hardys and Chris ran into Jennifer Mulhall as she was about to lock up.

“Before you go, do you think you could just unlock the lighting booth for us?” Joe asked, smiling and nodding toward the chain of keys hooked to her belt.

“What are you boys up to, eh?” Jennifer wondered.

“We're looking for a ghost,” Frank replied.

“Right. I'll just lend you the key,” Jennifer said, thumbing through the dozen or more keys she carried. She hesitated.

Frank saw the concern wash across her face. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” Jennifer said. “I'm just all in. Here's your key.”

She unlatched the fastener, pulled a key off her chain, then refastened it. “Just leave the booth open and the key by the dimmer board. I'll get it in the morning.”

“What about the main doors?” Chris asked.

“They're set to lock automatically from the outside,” Jennifer explained. “So once you're out, you won't be able to get back in.”

“Thank you, Jennifer,” Joe said, smiling again.

“Cheers,” she said, giving Joe a wink before leaving the theater.

Joe switched the red work light on in the booth. “Is that enough light?”

Frank nodded as he put the key into the dead-bolt
lock on the back door. After turning the key, he pushed on the door. It opened onto an old wooden staircase with dank, cracking cement walls.

“Not quite the crushed velvet and sweeping banisters they have in the theater lobby,” Chris joked.

The stairs were dimly lit by bare lightbulbs. Walking down one flight, they came to a landing with another door.

“Wonder what these stairs are here for?” Joe asked.

“Dad said they renovated the balcony after a fire about thirty years ago,” Chris replied.

“Maybe this used to be the only way to get to the lighting booth?” Frank guessed as he tried to fit his key into the dead-bolt lock on the landing door. “Sorry, no luck.”

The boys continued down another flight that led them into a long hallway with a low ceiling. At the end of the hallway Chris stopped outside a door across from a short set of steps.

“We're beside the stage,” Chris whispered, pointing to the steps. “That door leads to the stage left wing.”

“Wing?” Joe asked.

“Where the actors wait to make entrances,” Chris explained. “And where we store scenery.”

“Where's the equipment room that Neville Shah said he was in when the accident occurred?” Frank asked.

Chris pointed to the door in front of them. Frank opened the door and saw a storage room filled with broad, deep shelves. Theater lights, some of which looked decades old, lined the shelves.

“I would say about thirty seconds passed from the time the sabotaged lights were turned on to the time Chris spotted Neville Shah coming from the stage left wing,” Frank said.

“Yes?” Chris said, not following Frank's thinking.

“You're wondering whether Shah could have been the person you spotted in the booth and still have had time to appear on stage when Corey Lista saw him,” Joe said, continuing his brother's thought.

Frank nodded. “Joe, you head up to the lighting booth. Chris, wait at the bottom of the stairway,” the older Hardy instructed. “When I give the signal, Chris will yell for you to start—”

“And I burn rubber down here,” Joe jumped in.

“I'll time you,” Frank added as Chris and Joe headed back down the long hallway to the back staircase.

Frank yawned and stretched as he waited for the other two to reach their positions. It had been a long day—and night, he thought. Frank froze in mid-yawn when he saw someone's shadow on the wall of the stairwell leading to the stage. “Chris?” Frank called, turning his head.

“Yes?” Chris's voice echoed from down the hallway.

Frank turned back, but the shadow was no longer there. “Uh, nothing,” Frank said.

“Joe has just started up the back steps,” Chris called again.

“Okay. I'm going to check something out,” Frank replied, pushing the bar to open the metal fire door leading to the stage.

One bare light bulb on a stand was the only illumination
onstage. Frank heard a sound, something like a latch on a door closing. Across the stage he saw another metal fire door in the other wing.

He moved toward the door and opened it. Walking down some steps, Frank found himself in a hallway with many doors.

In the first room on the left, he flipped on the light switch and saw three chairs at a low counter. Mirrors above the counter were framed by light bulbs. Across the room stood a rolling coat rack hung with men's clothing. Frank recognized one of the costumes that Chris wore in
Innocent Victim.

“A dressing room,” Frank surmised. His nostrils flared as the smell of smoke reached him. He hurried down the hall and threw open the door to another dressing room. On another rolling rack a woman's dress was ablaze. A red candle and candleholder lay on the floor at the base of the costume rack.

Frank grabbed a pitcher of water and a handkerchief from the makeup table. Covering his mouth, he rushed toward the fire and tossed the water on it.

The fire sizzled but had spread too far to be extinguished. Within seconds the whole rack of costumes was burning and smoke had filled the room. As Frank turned to run for help, the door to the dressing room slammed shut.

Frank tried the doorknob and pulled, but the door didn't budge. Another dead-bolt lock, Frank realized, and someone with a key must have locked it from the outside.

“Help!” Frank shouted at the top of his lungs. “Joe, Chris!”

Frank backed up and threw his weight against the door, but it held fast. Coughing, Frank sank to the floor, breathing in what little good air was left in the room through the handkerchief. His eyes fluttered as he began to lose consciousness and the fire continued to burn out of control.

Frank barely felt the spray of water against his face as the sprinkler system in the ceiling came on. The door suddenly bumped against his head.

“Move, Frank, you're blocking the door!” Joe shouted, but Frank was too dazed to respond.

Joe reached around, using his muscular arm to push his brother out of the way. When he had the door fully open, he dragged Frank to safety.

“What happened?” Chris asked.

“Someone locked me in,” Frank replied, still coughing from the smoke he had inhaled.

Joe peered into the still smoky dressing room, where the emergency sprinkler system had extinguished the fire. A single key stuck out of the dead-bolt lock.

“You two must have seen whoever it was,” Frank
continued. “He would have had to pass right by you.”

“We didn't see anyone,” Chris replied.

“Unless there's a back way out of here,” Joe added, helping Frank to his feet.

“There is an emergency exit,” Chris told them.

“Then let's go,” Frank said.

Joe stopped to jiggle the key from the lock of the dressing room, pocketed it, then followed Chris and Frank toward the back of the building. A red warning label on the door at the end of the hall read Emergency Exit—Alarm Will Sound if Opened.

As Chris pushed through the door, a shrill siren erupted in the hallway. Although Joe closed the door tightly once he was through it, the siren continued to sound.