Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

The Vanishing Thieves (6 page)

BOOK: The Vanishing Thieves

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“How?” Vern asked.

“The president of the bank where your uncle had his safe-deposit box can explain that,” Charles Avery said. “Let me phone Mr. Barton Laing of the Bunker Bank to make an appointment for you.”

The lawyer called and was able to arrange an immediate meeting between Mr. Laing and the boys.

The bank was only two blocks from the Nichols Building, so they left their car where they had parked it and walked. Barton Laing, a tall, slightly stooped man with gray hair, shook hands with the boys and invited them into his office. When all three were seated, he leaned back in his desk chair and began folding and unfolding his hands.

“This is quite embarrassing to the bank, Mr. Nelson,” he said to Vern nervously. “Of course, we have no legal responsibility for the missing coin. The only evidence that it was ever in your uncle's safe-deposit box is a statement in his will that on a particular date he placed it there. Nobody saw him do it, because what customers put in or take out of their boxes is their private business.”

“Why would he say he put it there if he didn't?” Vern asked.

“I can't imagine.”

Joe spoke up. “Could he have taken it out again and not changed his will?”

The banker shook his head. “He never opened the box after the day he deposited it.”

“How can you be sure of that?” Vern asked.

“Our records show every visit. Whenever a customer uses his safe-deposit box, he must sign a card giving not only the date, but the exact time of day. Our files show no such visits after the date specified in his will.”

“Could a bank employee have gotten into the box?” Joe asked.

Mr. Laing frowned. “Impossible. No one but the boxholder possesses a key. A boxholder's key, that is. There is, of course, the bank's master key.”

“Master key?” Vern repeated.

“Let me explain the procedure. It takes two keys to open a box, the customer's and the bank's. The bank key fits all boxes. But it can't open a box by itself. The customer's key must be used along with it. ”

Vern said, “Then when Uncle Gregg put the coin in the box, somebody saw him do it.”

“Not necessarily. Usual procedure is for the customer to carry his box into one of the curtained alcoves in the vault room, where he can transact his business in privacy. When he's ready to return the box, he calls the vault clerk, who uses both keys to lock it up again.”

Joe spoke up. “But if Mr. Nelson had chosen not to use a private alcove, he could have put the coin into his box right in front of the vault clerk, couldn't he?”

“Oh yes, but there would be no record of whether or not he did that.”

“Would there be a record of who the vault clerk was that day?”

“Of course. She signs the card.”

“Has she been asked whether or not she saw Mr. Nelson put the coin into the box?”

Barton Laing gave Joe an indulgent smile. “It's hardly likely an employee would recall anything about a transaction that took place so many years ago. The person on vault duty may usher as many as fifty people to their safe-deposit boxes in a single day. ”

“Is the clerk still employed here?”

“I have no idea,” Mr. Laing said. “But I'll find out. ”

Picking up his desk phone, he asked for the safe-deposit-box records to be brought to his office. A few minutes later, a young man delivered a metal file-card holder.

“Want me to wait?” he asked.

The bank president shook his head. “You can pick it up later.”

As the clerk left, Mr. Laing began thumbing through the cards. Finally, he pulled one out.

“Here it is,” he said. “Yes, she's still working here. ”

“Let's ask her if she remembers Mr. Nelson using his box that day,” Joe suggested.

Shrugging, the banker again picked up his phone. “I doubt that she'll remember, but we'll try.” Into the phone he said, “Send in the vault clerk, please.”

After a few moments' wait, there was a knock on the office door.

“Come in,” Barton Laing called.

The door opened and the boys gaped. Cylvia Nash stepped into the room!

8 Trapped!

“Why, hello, boys,” Cylvia said in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“You know these two?” Barton Laing asked.

“They were on the plane with me,” she explained. “In fact Joe was the one who nearly captured the hijacker.”

“They want to talk to you about Gregg Nelson's missing coin,” the bank president said.

“Oh, are you the nephew?” Cylvia asked Vern. “âThat never occurred to me when we met.”

Vern grinned. “It's a common name.”

“Miss Nash,” Barton Laing said, “You're registered as the one who admitted Mr. Nelson to the vault eight years ago when, according to his will, he put the coin in his safe-deposit box. Do you remember that day?”

“So long ago?” She shook her head.

“No recollection at all of seeing the coin?” Joe asked.

“I don't even remember signing Mr. Nelson in.”

Mr. Laing shrugged. “I guess that settles that,” he said. “Sorry.”

“It's not your fault,” Vern smiled wryly. “And after all, it's only a hundred thousand dollars.”

As the boys walked back to the car, Joe said, “I might believe Miss Nash if we hadn't seen who met her at the airport. But people who associate with crooks are usually crooked too. For all we know, she was the one who stole your uncle's coin!”

“I don't see any way to find out,” Vern said.

“Don't give up so easily,” Joe advised. “We know where she lives. Maybe there's some evidence at her apartment.”

“Well, we can't just break in!”

“Of course not. But I have a plan. Let's buy some coveralls.”

Joe drove to a department store, where each bought a suit of work clothes. Next, they went to a hardware store and bought tool belts resembling those worn by telephone repairmen. They returned to the hotel long enough to change into their outfits and then drove to Cylvia's home.

They parked in front of the building, went inside, and rang the apartment manager's bell.

An elderly woman answered the door. Joe smiled. “Telephone company, maâam. The tenant in 2B reported her phone out of order.”

“She isn't at home days,” the woman said. “I'll have to let you in.”

Leading the way up to the second floor, the manager opened the door of 2B with a passkey.

“Set the lock when you come out,” she told them.

“Yes, maâam,” Joe promised.

At the warehouse, meanwhile, Chet was getting tired of peering through the small clean spot in the dirt-encrusted window. He was also getting hungry, thinking about hot dogs, hamburgers, and pizza.

Just then, he saw a small Chinese boy about four years old meander by, clutching a dollar bill in his hand. A few minutes later the child came back, working a yo-yo with his right hand and licking an ice-cream bar on a stick in his left. Chet could not stand it any longer. He ran out the door and after the boy.

“Hey, kid,” he called out.

The child stopped to regard him with large eyes.

Chet took out a dollar bill. “Do me a favor and I'll give you a quarter. Go back to where you got the ice cream and get me one, too.”

“Eh?” the child said.

When Chet repeated himself, the little boy answered in a stream of Cantonese.

“Don't speak English, huh?” Chet said. He pointed at the bar, then down the alley in the direction of a delicatessen he'd seen earlier.

Smiling, the child held his ice cream up toward Chet's mouth.

“No, I don't want a lick,” Chet said. “I want a whole one.” Again gesturing in the direction of the delicatessen, he held out the dollar bill.

The little boy suddenly looked as though he understood. Smiling broadly and nodding his head, he accepted the bill.

He turned around and retraced his way toward the store while Chet slipped into the shed again and put his eye back to the peephole.

When he spotted the little boy on his way back, he hurried out into the alley. With a big smile, the child handed him a yo-yo and a quarter in change, spouted a friendly stream of Cantonese, and walked away. Chet stared after him darkly, his stomach rumbling.

Out in front, Frank was getting just as tired of sitting in the refrigerator carton. His interest perked up when the warehouse door opened and Red Sluice came out with Anton Jivaro. The red sports car was parked only a few feet from Frank's box, and he could hear their conversation clearly as they walked toward it.

“You should have told me right away the Hardy boys were on that plane, instead of waiting until now,” Red complained to his cousin.

“How'd I know that Fenton Hardy was investigating you too?” Jivaro asked. “Anyway, didn't your girlfriend just tell you over the phone that their being here has nothing to do with the car operation?”

The two climbed into the sports car.

“Yeah, she did,” Red admitted. “When I called to bawl her out for not mentioning they were on the plane, she told me they're in town to check on some missing coin that one of their friends inherited. We'll get the details when we meet her at her apartment. ”

“Will she be able to get away from the bank?”

“She says she can make it on her lunch hour. The key's under a flowerpot, so we can get in.”

Red started the engine, but did not immediately drive off because Jivaro said, “Wait a minute. You think I ought to go with you?”

“Why not?”

“She was on the plane. She's going to recognize me as the hijacker.”

“She's not going to squeal on any friend of mine,” Red told him. “Don't worry about it.” With that, they took off in a cloud of dust.

At the apartment, Joe and Vern had searched everywhere except in the bedroom without finding anything of interest. Now, while going through a dresser drawer, Joe saw a bankbook under a pile of stockings. Opening it, he let out a whistle.

“What's the matter?” Vern asked.

“This is a savings account in Cylvia Nash's name, opened ten years ago. It shows regular deposits of twenty dollars every month, up to last monthâexcept for one!”

Vern shrugged. “So she's a frugal woman. You can't blame her for missing one deposit in ten years. ”

“I didn't mean she missed one. She made a larger one. On April 12, eight years ago, she put in fifty thousand dollars!”

Vern took the book from his friend's hand to look at it. “Now there's a coincidence! Uncle Gregg put that coin in his safe-deposit box on March 22, just two weeks prior to her big deposit.”

Suddenly, they heard a key turn in the front door. Joe hurriedly replaced the bankbook beneath the stockings where he had found it and closed the dresser drawer. Then he and Vern flattened themselves against the wall at either side of the bedroom door.

A male voice that sounded vaguely familiar to Joe said, “We may as well relax. She won't be along for at least fifteen minutes.”

Another man grunted an unintelligible reply. The boys were relieved that it wasn't Cylvia who had entered. They would never have been able to pass themselves off as telephone repairmen to her!

Joe signaled to Vern and tiptoed toward the bathroom. When they were both inside, he closed the door as quickly as he could, and went over to the window. He raised it carefully and looked out. They were on the second floor, and the drop to the concrete courtyard was too great to risk.

“Guess we'll have to walk out the front way,” the young detective grumbled. “I hope it isn't anybody that knows us. That one voice sounded familiar!”

“Not to me,” Vern said. “But do you think we'll get away with it even if they don't know us?”

“Sure. We'll just have to brazen it out,” Joe said with determination. “Just say the phone is okay now. If they ask how we got in, we'll tell the truth. The manager let us in.”

“Maybe we better wait in here until they leave,” Vern suggested.

Joe shook his head. “They're expecting somebody along in fifteen minutes, and it's a woman. Probably Cylvia Nash. If she sees us, it's all over.”

Vern nodded. “Okay. Let's try it.”

Joe eased open the bathroom door. Deliberately rattling some tools on his belt, he said in a loud voice, “The phone's working all right now. What's our next stop?”

Vern mumbled an address, as they walked into the front room.

“Your phoneâsâ” Joe started to say, but came to an abrupt halt when he saw Red Sluice and Anton Jivaro seated in chairs.

Sluice jumped to his feet instantly. “Those thieves again!” he shouted.

The boys raced for the door, but Sluice got there ahead of them and, with his back firmly planted against it, pulled out a knife!

9 The Bomb

Anton Jivaro followed the group. “Thieves?” he said. “What do you mean by that?”

Red pointed his knife at Joe. “That's one of the kids who tried to break into my house last night. Then we caught him in the machine shop at the warehouse this morning. I don't know who the other one is.”

“I'll tell you! First of all, they're not thieves!” the hijacker exclaimed. “That's Joe Hardy, and the one with him is named Vern Nelson.”

Joe whispered to Vern, “You take the little guy and I'll handle Red.”

“You'll handle who?” Red said, raising his knife threateningly.

BOOK: The Vanishing Thieves

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