Read What Happened at Midnight Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
What Happened at Midnight (11 page)
“Hurrah!” Joe shouted. “Who is he?”
“He won't talk and he had no identification on him. But I'll bet he belongs to Chris's gang,” Miss Hardy said.
“You're probably right,” Frank agreed. “And they may all belong to Marr's racket.” After a few moments' thought, he added, “I think I know a way to find out.”
“How?” Joe asked.
Frank grinned. “I'll pretend I'm a fellow gang member and go talk to him.”
The young detective telephoned Chief Collig, who gave his consent to the plan.
“What can you tell me about this man?” Frank asked.
Hearing that the prisoner was very short and strong, Frank instantly thought of the man the burglars at the Wright home had mentioned.
“Sounds like Shorty,” he said. After hanging up, he asked Mrs. Hardy, “Have you an unmounted diamond?”
“Yes. One that fell out of a ring. Why?”
“I'd like to borrow one as a sort of identification with the gang.”
“Swell idea,” said Joe. “I'll help you get fixed up.” The boys went upstairs and rummaged through their father's supply of disguises.
When Frank emerged from the house, his best friends would not have recognized him. He wore a long cut wig and beard, tight-fitting slacks, and a turtleneck sweater. He roared off on his motorry cle, and on purpose went past the cell block.
As prearranged Chief Collig met him at the entrance to headquarters and escorted Frank to the prisoner, who looked idly through the bars.
“Friend of yours to see you,” said the chief. “Maybe he can persuade you to unbutton your lips.”
Frank gazed through the bars. “Like nuttin' I will,” he whispered to the prisoner in a tough voice as soon as Collig had moved off. “Hi, Shorty! I'm sorry the dicks got yuh. But yuh didn't tell âem nuttin', did yuh?”
“Naw.”
Frank was jubilant. He had scored one point The man's nickname was Shorty.
“Did yuh hear my new motorcycle?” he asked.
“Yeah, I heard it,” Shorty answered. “Whad daya pay for it with?”
Frank pulled the diamond from his pocket. “With some o' dese.”
Shorty seemed impressed. “Say, what's yer name?”
Frank assumed an air of annoyance. “Ain't Taffy told yuh âbout me yet?”
“Naw.”
The young sleuth's heart was thumping with excitement as he said, “Name's Youngster. I got a bonus on the last haul. Just joined up with Marr-when
smacko!â
I run into
the
toughest setup.”
smacko!â
I run into
the
toughest setup.”
Shorty, apparently convinced by Frank's story, said, “I was lookin' fer some chips, too. But Marr'll probably have me rubbed out for gettin' in here.”
“Did the dicks take the Hardys' package from yuh?” Frank asked.
“Yeah. Before I could open it.”
“How'd yuh like me to lift it? I could do it easy,” Frank boasted.
“From the dicks?” Shorty asked, astonished.
“Naw. The Hardys. The chief'll give it back to âem.”
Shorty's thin lips broke into a smile. “Then Taffy'll think I didn't bungle after all?“ His face clouded again, however. ”Lessen yuh double-cross me,“ he added.
“Name's Youngster,” Frank told the prisoner
“I won't squeal,” Frank said. “I'll tell Marr yuh give it to me to deliver. Say, where's he holin' up now? I seen him in New York an' he told me to come here an' wait till I heard from him.”
“Guess he's still at Bickfordâs,” Shorty answered, and added with a smirk, “Best place to hide out with a wad o' rocks.”
At that moment a voice called, “Time's up for visitors.” A guard came in Frank's direction.
“Okay, but don't rush me,” the elated boy said in a tough voice.
He swaggered out of the police station and walked toward his motorcycle. What should he do now? Divulge the information to Collig at once and have the police pick up Taffy Marr?
“I'll call him, anyway,” Frank decided, “and he can notify Keith.”
Collig said he would stake plainclothesmen at the shop. “I'll let you know what happens.”
When Frank reached home, Aunt Gertrude met him at the door. “I'm glad you've come,” she said excitedly. “We must do something at once about that young clerk at Bickford's.”
“We are going to,” her nephew assured her. “That is, the police are.”
“Well, I can tell them something,” Aunt Gertrude said. “I was going to tell you what I remembered about him.”
“You know something about him?” Frank asked.
“I'll say I do. You recall the tall, fair-haired man who bumped into me at the Gresham railroad station and called me an old whaler? Well, it suddenly came to me that one of the men he was talking to was the very same young man who's working at Bickfordâs!”
“What!” Frank exclaimed. “You're sure?”
“Now listen here,” his aunt said sharply. “When I'm sure, I'm sure.”
“Aunty, this is great news!” Frank exclaimed.
Her announcement changed the whole scheme of attack. “Does Joe know about this and where is he?” Frank asked.
“He hasn't heard my story because I just remembered. Joe wentâHere he comes now.”
As Joe came in, he asked, “Frank, how did you make out?”
“Great! Listen ! Taffy Marr is working at Bickfordâs!”
“No kidding?”
“It's straight. I got the tip from Shorty, the prisoner,” Frank answered. “And listen to this. Aunt Gertrude saw Marr with Chris in Gresham! While I remove my disguise, will you call Chief Collig and tell him this?”
“Okay, and let's go down and watch the fun when Marr is arrested,” Joe urged.
It took Frank only five minutes to take off his costume and makeup. Since Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude planned to leave the house, Joe put Mr. Wright's invention in the tire well of the boys' car. Then he and Frank rode downtown in the convertible. When they reached Bickfordâs, there was a good-sized crowd in front of the jewelry store.
“What's going on?” Joe asked a bystander.
“Don't know. An attempted holdup, I guess. Police arrived and circled the building. We've been waiting for them to bring somebody out.”
A siren began to wail and seconds later an ambulance raced up the street. It stopped in front of the jewelry store. A hush fell over the crowd as they waited for the victim to be brought out. Would it be Taffy Marr, or a policeman who had gone in to arrest him or would it be the shop owner?
A stretcher was carried in and a little later it was brought out bearing a man. His eyes were closed and his face ghostly white.
“It's Mr. Bickford!” Joe exclaimed.
Instantly the boys pushed through the crowd and rushed up to an officer just emerging from the store. He knew the Hardys and beckoned to them.
“We were just a little too late arriving to catch Marr,” he said. “Marr must have attacked Mr. Bickford and cleaned the place out before he skipped.”
“A complete haul, you mean?” Joe asked.
“Took everything.”
“How bad off is Mr. Bickford?” Frank inquired.
The officer shrugged. “He's unconscious and his pulse is weak.”
Joe spluttered angrily, “If I get my hands on Marr, IâllâI'llâ”
“It's going to be rough tracking him down,” Frank predicted. “I'll bet by this time he's wearing a disguise and has already left town.”
Joe snapped his fingers. “If he owns a suitcase full of disguises, he probably went back to wherever he's living to pick them up. Officer, have you any idea where he's living?”
“No, but our men are questioning people in the neighborhood.”
As the ambulance pulled away, the boys asked permission to check out the jewelry shop for a clue to Marr's address.
The officer smiled. “Go ahead. You fellows may manage to pick up a lead before the police check. I'm to stay on duty outside so take all the time you want.”
Frank told his brother he was sure Mr. Bickford had some kind of records concerning his assistant. No doubt they were under an assumed name. “Let's have a look.”
The boys found a drawer full of papers. Under them was an account book. They read each name listed in the book and at last came to one with recent, regular notations of payments.
“This might be his new clerk,” Frank observed. “Ray Stokeley, 49 New Street.”
“It's worth following,” Joe said.
Frank and Joe briefly told the officer on duty they might have a lead and dashed off to their car. They soon reached New Street, where most of the old-fashioned houses had “Rooms for Rent” signs in windows. Number 49 was a large run-down mansion, set far back from the street.
Frank and Joe climbed the high steps and rang the bell. A neatly dressed, middle-aged woman opened the door.
“Is Mr. Stokeley at home?” Frank inquired.
“No, he has left-moved out, not ten minutes ago.”
The woman started to close the door, but Frank, smiling at her, said, “We think he's the man we're looking for, but we're not sure. Would you mind describing Mr. Stokeley for us?”
Her description fitted Marr. Frank nodded. “He's our man. Do you know where he went?”
There was no answer for a few seconds, then the woman said, “Who are you? Boy detectives?”
“Yes,” Joe replied promptly, “and Mr. Stokeley is wanted by the FBI and police. You'd be doing them a great favor if you tell us all you know.”
“Oh!” she gasped. “I know very little about Mr. Stokeley. But I did hear part of a phone call he made early this morning. He said, âThen to the airport.' Does that help you?”
“Yes indeed. Thanks,” Frank answered as he and Joe raced down the steps.
They arrived at the airport in record time. As they rushed through the terminal lobby, the boys glimpsed the pilot, Cole Weber, looking at the antique craft and waved.
“If Marr's wearing a disguise, how can we spot him?” Frank said.
Joe was staring at a man with gray hair, mustache, and a beard. He stood near a counter, talking to a red-haired fellow.
“Frank, look! That guy the gray-haired man's talking to looks like one of the kidnappers!”
“Sure?”
“Positive! And I'll bet Gray Beard is Taffy Marr!”
The men turned and went out to the field. Frank and Joe followed. The suspects started running toward a small white single-engine plane that was ready for take-off. They climbed aboard quickly.
“Now what'll we do?” Frank asked.
“Only one thing we can do,” Joe replied. “Follow them!”
CHAPTER XV
Pursuit
“BUT how can we follow Marr?” Frank asked. “If only Dad's plane were here, we could do it easily.”
He was referring to the sleek, six-place aircraft owned by their father. However, Mr. Hardy and his pilot Jack Wayne had flown it to California with Mr. Wright.
“Keep an eye on that white bird,” Joe ordered. “I'll run into the administration building and telephone Agent Keith. Then I'll go to Manson's Charter Service and see if we can rent a plane.”
“You'd better make it quick!” Frank warned.
Joe rushed to a phone booth inside the administration building and dialed Keith's code number. It took only seconds to make the connection.
“Agent Mallett speaking!” crackled a deep, firm voice.
“This is Joe Hardy. Is Agent Keith there?”
“No, but he should be back in a few minutes.”
“Can't wait!” Frank declared. “Tell him my brother and I are trailing a man we're sure is Taffy Marr. We're at Bayport field. The suspect and another man are about to take off in a white single-engine job. We'll try to follow them. I'll keep you posted!”
“Good work!” Mallett said. “Try to get the registration number of their plane so we can trace its owner.”
“Right!”
Joe hung up quickly and went directly to one of the terminal's counters. Behind it stood a plump ish, pleasant-faced man. On the wall hung a sign which read:
MANSON'S CHARTER SERVICE
“Well, if it isn't Joe Hardy!” the man declared.
“Hello, Mr. Manson.”
“Where have you been keeping yourself? Haven't seen you around the airport lately.”
“We've been sleuthing,” Joe answered with a wink. “I'd like to charter one of your planes right away!”
“Gosh, Joe, I'm sorry, but all my aircraft are out on flights,” Manson said apologetically. “Haven't had such a busy day in months.”
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