The Prime-Time Crime

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Frank began rummaging through a pile of boxes. “Come on,” he said. “We’ve got to track down the source of that noise. Clarence must be in here somewhere.”

  “It came from over here,” Joe said, pointing into the center of a pile of junk.

  “No,” Frank said. “I think it was over here.” He pointed to a pile of half-crushed boxes stacked in a corner of the room.

  The whimpering began again, louder this time.

  “We’re both wrong,” Joe said. “It came from right here.” He hurried over to a long black trunk lying on the floor. A thick gray padlock attached to one side of the lid held the trunk securely closed.

  “There’s somebody in the trunk,” Frank said, kneeling down. “But it’s locked.”

  “We’ll break the lock,” Joe said, picking up a large hammer from a shelf full of tools and handing the lamp to Frank. “It looks pretty old. I bet I can shatter it with this hammer. Get out of the way.”

  Joe swung the hammer at the lock and hit it so hard that the trunk shuddered. The muffled sound from inside became even louder, but the lock remained stubbornly in place.

  “Hold on, Clarence!” Joe shouted urgently. “We’ll get you out of there as fast as we can.”

  Joe swung the hammer again, striking the lock even harder than before. The lock shook wildly, but did not break. The voice inside the trunk yelled something unintelligible.

  “Old Clarence is going to have quite a headache when this is over,” Frank said.

  “I’m sure he’d rather have a headache than be stuck inside that trunk,” Joe replied.

  He smashed the hammer against the lock one more time. With a crumpling sound, the core dropped out of the lock and it sprung open with a snap. Joe dropped the hammer and removed the remains of the lock from the trunk.

  “Help me open it,” he said, wrestling the trunk away from the surrounding boxes so that he could get a good grip on the lid. Frank set the lamp down on a box and moved to the other end of the trunk.

  With a sharp yank from Frank and Joe, the lid popped open. Inside was a familiar black-haired figure tied up in thick rope with a rolled-up handkerchief in her mouth.

  Joe and Frank looked down at the figure in astonishment.

  “Debbie!” Joe shouted. “What are you doing in there?”

  “Mmmphh!” declared Debbie through the handkerchief.

  “Right,” Frank said, kneeling down beside the trunk. “Let’s get her untied.”

  “Maybe we can leave the gag in her mouth,” Joe suggested.

  Frank gave Joe a sharp look.

  “Okay, okay, I was only kidding,” Joe said, helping to remove the ropes that bound Debbie’s arms. Frank pulled the rolled-up handkerchief out of her mouth.

  “What were you trying to do?” Debbie shrieked angrily. “Kill me? I feel like I’ve been rolling around inside a cement mixer.”

  “I had to break the lock on the trunk,” Joe said defensively. “You did want to get out, didn’t you?”

  Debbie combed her hair back with her fingers, then pulled herself out of the trunk with the Hardys’ help. “Well, I guess so,” she said, as she brushed the dust off her jacket and jeans. “But you could have at least given me a warning.”

  “What happened?” Frank asked. “How did you end up in there?”

  “Steve and I were looking around the basement, trying to find Clarence, when the lights suddenly went out,” Debbie explained. “We looked for the light switch, but we couldn’t find it.”

  “How long ago was that?” Frank asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Debbie said, glancing at her watch. “I guess about twenty minutes ago.”

  “What happened then?” Joe asked.

  “Somebody must have hit me over the head,” Debbie said, “because the next thing I remember was finding myself tied up inside that trunk. I tried to call out, but I couldn’t because I had the gag in my mouth. Then you started pounding really hard right next to my head.”

  “Where’s Steve?” Frank asked.

  “How would I know?” Debbie said with a shrug. “And why should I care? Maybe he’s the one who hit me over the head.”

  “Oh, great,” Joe said. “Now we’ve got two missing persons, Steve and Clarence.”

  A muffled voice suddenly came from another trunk.

  “Well, I think we just found one of them,” Frank said.

  “I vote for Clarence,” Joe said, picking up the hammer. “Here we go again.”

  Joe whacked the lock on the side of the trunk until it popped apart. Then he and Frank pried the lid open.

  Steve was inside, tied up and gagged just as Debbie had been. Joe untied the ropes while Frank removed the gag from Steve’s mouth.

  “Where’ve you guys been?” Steve said as soon as he caught his breath. “If you’re such great detectives, why didn’t you get me out of that trunk sooner?”

  “We’re detectives, not magicians,” Frank said.

  “We can always tie you up again and find out how long it takes next time,” Joe suggested.

  “Could take a month,” Frank said. “Assuming we get around to it at all.”

  “That’s too soon for me,” Debbie said, glaring down at Steve. “Some help you were when the lights went out. You couldn’t even find the way back upstairs.”

  “That’s because I was following you,” Steve said. “You couldn’t find your way out of a phone booth if you tried.”

  “Knock it off, you two,” Joe said. “We still have to find our way out of this place, you know.”

  “What?” Steve exclaimed. “I thought you were here to rescue us.”

  “We’ve, ah, managed to get ourselves locked in,” Frank said.

  “Oh, that’s terrific,” Steve said. “Now we’re all trapped down here.”

  “Don’t worry,” Joe said with more confidence than he felt. “We’ll think of some way out.”

  “By the way,” Frank said, “we heard that you two had a little conversation with Ted Whalen this morning. Would you mind telling us what happened?”

  “I thought it would be a good idea to talk to the manager of the station about Clarence’s disappearance,” Steve said.

  “Exactly what did you say to Whalen?” Joe asked. “He was pretty angry by the time we got here.”

  “We hardly got a chance to say anything at all,” Debbie replied. “He chased us out of his office almost immediately.”

  “Obviously he was trying to cover something up,” Steve said. “And we told him that, too. Why else wouldn’t he talk to us?”

  “Maybe he’s got better things to do,” Joe suggested. “And maybe you were being kind of pushy.”

  “Well, maybe Debbie did come on a bit strong,” Steve said, “but I’m convinced that Whalen is involved with Clarence’s disappearance somehow. The only problem is how to prove it.”

  “I think we should follow Ted Whalen until he leads us to Clarence,” Debbie suggested.

  “I think you two had better stay about five miles away from Ted Whalen,” Frank said. “If he so much as sees you in the station, he’s going to throw us all out for good.”

  “That’s not our problem,” Steve said. “Our problem is finding Clarence. And getting—”

  “Do you smell smoke?” Debbie asked, looking alarmed.

  “Sure I smell smoke,” Steve said. “It’s coming from the oil lamp.”

  “No, it doesn’t smell like that kind of smoke,” Debbie said. “It smells completely different.”

  “I think maybe you should put your nose in the shop for repairs,” Steve said. “I don’t smell any smoke at all.”

  “I do,” Frank said.

  “Yeah,” Joe said. “So do I.”

  Frank picked up the oil lamp and held it over his head. “Look around. Can you see any smoke?”

  “Yes!” Joe declared. “Over there.”

  He pointed at a vent placed high in the wall over a stack of boxes. A thick cloud of black smoke poured out of the vent.

 
“Now we’ve got an even bigger problem than finding Clarence,” Frank said.

  “Right,” Joe said. “If that smoke keeps pouring out of there like that, none of us is going to be able to breathe!”

  7 Hot on the Trail

  * * *

  “Where’s it coming from?” Debbie cried, looking at the thick black cloud near the vent.

  “It looks like somebody’s pumping it directly into the ventilation system, maybe from right outside the basement,” Frank said. “Somebody apparently wants to make sure we stop our investigation.”

  “Everybody get down on the floor,” Joe said. “Smoke rises to the ceiling, so we’ll be able to breathe longer near the ground.”

  “We’ve got to think fast,” Frank said as he dropped to the floor with the others. “How can we get out of this basement?”

  “Oh,” Debbie said. “Actually, that’s no problem.” She held up a small key with a tag on it marked Basement. “I took this from the receptionist’s desk while she wasn’t looking. I thought it might come in handy down here.”

  “Why didn’t you show us that key before?” Frank asked, exasperated.

  “I just forgot I had it,” Debbie said.

  “Forgot?” Joe said, as he took the key from Debbie. “We were all trapped down here. How could you forget that you had the key?”

  “I was tied up unconscious in a trunk for twenty minutes,” Debbie retorted. “I don’t do my best thinking under those conditions.”

  “Okay, okay. I apologize,” Joe said.

  “Let’s get moving,” Frank said. “Cover your faces so you don’t breathe any smoke. You two can use those handkerchiefs you were gagged with.”

  Steve and Debbie buried their faces in the handkerchiefs while Frank and Joe pulled their shirts up over their noses. With Joe leading the way and Frank holding the lamp, the four teenagers hurried across the basement and up the stairs.

  Joe plunged the key into the lock and rattled the doorknob. The door popped open.

  “Thank goodness!” Debbie cried as she stumbled into the hallway. “That smoke made my eyes sting.”

  “It would have done more damage than that if we’d been down there any longer,” Joe said, pocketing the key.

  “Look at this,” Frank said, pointing at a closet door to his right. It was closed, but wisps of smoke were coming out from underneath it. He pulled the door open. Inside the closet was a metal trash can. The can was covered tightly, and a wide rubber tube ran from a hole in the lid to an air vent set low in the closet wall.

  Joe touched the side of the lid and immediately jerked back his hand. “It’s hot! There’s got to be a fire in there.”

  Frank looked desperately up and down the hallway. Finally he spotted an emergency fire case about ten feet away. He broke the glass and pulled out the ax inside. A fire alarm began to ring.

  “Somebody get the extinguisher!” he cried, rushing to the trash can and knocking the lid off with a clean swipe of the ax. Thick greasy smoke and bright tongues of flame leaped out of the can.

  With the fire extinguisher in hand, Joe ran to the trash can and sprayed it until the flames began to sputter. After a few minutes the fire was out, but the hallway was filled with smoke.

  A pair of guards had rushed down the hall in response to the fire alarm. The Hardys explained what had happened, and the guards inspected the trash can.

  “Well, that’s obviously where the smoke in the basement came from,” Frank said. “Now if we only knew who started it.”

  Steve began to cough. “I need fresh air,” he gasped. He rushed to the end of the hallway and pushed open the door that led out to the parking lot. Then he stepped back inside and motioned to the others.

  “Come here,” he said. “Quick.”

  Debbie hurried to the door and peered outside. “What is it?”

  Steve pointed at a black limousine and said, “There’s Ted Whalen.”

  Joe joined the pair and looked out the door, craning to see over the top of Steve’s red head. Ted Whalen stood next to the large car. Two heavyset men in dark suits stood beside him. One was short and muscular, the other was tall and broad-shouldered.

  “I don’t like the looks of those guys,” Debbie said in a low voice. “I bet they were the ones who grabbed Clarence. Let’s go ask them a few questions.”

  Joe grabbed Debbie’s arm as she started out the door. “If Ted Whalen sees you out there, he’ll call the police.”

  “No way,” Steve said. “Criminals don’t call the police. They’re afraid of the police.”

  “From the looks of those big guys he’s got with him, he may not need to call the police,” Frank observed.

  “He could have one of those gorillas sit on you until you’re too old to be a problem,” Joe said to Steve.

  “And I’d like to point out that being in the company of people who look like thugs isn’t necessarily evidence of a crime,” Frank said. “Maybe they’re relatives or friends.”

  “Want to bet?” Steve challenged, and then pointed out the door. “Look at that.”

  As Ted Whalen slid into the passenger seat of the black car, the short, stocky man reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a gun. He checked to see if it was loaded, then put it back in his coat pocket and slid into the rear seat next to the tall man. The chauffeur, who had been sitting in the car all along, revved the engine and began to drive away.

  “A gun!” Debbie cried. “You can’t say that doesn’t look suspicious.”

  “They’re getting away!” Steve shouted. “We’ve got to follow them.”

  “Come on,” Debbie said. “We’ll use my car.”

  “No,” Steve said. “We’ll use my car.”

  “We’ll use our van,” Frank said. “I don’t like the idea of you guys following Ted Whalen through the streets of Bayport on your own.”

  The Hardys, Steve, and Debbie slipped into the parking lot as Ted Whalen’s limousine turned onto the street. As Frank opened the door of the Hardy van and climbed into the driver’s seat, the other three simultaneously went to open the passenger door.

  “Hey,” Frank said, settling down behind the steering wheel. “There isn’t room up front for four people.”

  “I’ll share the seat with Joe,” Debbie said, as she climbed into the van and perched herself on the inside edge of the seat. “There’s room for both of us.”

  “Look, Debbie,” Joe said with a sigh, “you can have the whole seat, okay? I’ll ride in the back with Steve.”

  When his three passengers were settled, Frank pulled out of the parking lot and bolted in the direction Ted Whalen’s limousine had vanished. As Frank steered the van, he spotted the limo at the next traffic light. A moment later the light turned green, and Whalen’s chauffeur stepped on the gas. Frank did the same.

  “Maybe he’ll lead us to Clarence,” Debbie said. “I’ll bet that’s where they’re heading now.”

  “Nah,” Steve said. “Clarence is probably back at the TV station. Whalen will lead us to the rest of the gang that kidnapped Clarence.”

  Joe stared at Steve. “Gang? What gang?”

  “You don’t think Ted Whalen is in this alone, do you?” Steve asked.

  “I don’t know if Ted Whalen is in this at all,” Joe retorted. “So far, nothing that he’s done proves he’s behind Clarence’s disappearance.”

  “If Whalen doesn’t have a gang,” Steve said, “who trapped us in the basement and tried to kill us?”

  “We don’t know if Whalen is behind it in the first place,” Joe reminded him.

  Steve continued as if he hadn’t heard Joe. “Guys like Whalen don’t like to get their hands dirty. That’s what he’s got those thugs for. I bet they’re the ones who bopped me and Debbie over the head.”

  Whalen’s car veered onto a side street. As the limo turned at an angle to the Hardy’s van, Frank saw the tall man in the backseat roll down his window and look out at them.

  “Oh, no,” Frank said, following th
e limousine onto the tree-lined street. “They’ve spotted us.”

  “And they’ve got guns!” Debbie cried. “They’ll probably start shooting at us.”

  “In broad daylight, in the middle of a residential neighborhood?” Joe asked. “From a clearly marked car belonging to a prominent local businessman? Get real!”

  “These are desperate characters,” Steve said seriously. “You never know what they’ll do.”

  “True,” Frank joked. “After that scene with Whalen this morning, he’s probably given his men orders to shoot you and Debbie on sight.”

  Suddenly the limousine accelerated and pulled rapidly away from the Hardy van.

  “Speed up,” Steve said. “You can’t let them get away.”

  “Haven’t you ever heard of speed limits?” Frank asked. “It’s dangerous, not to mention illegal, to drive fast through a neighborhood like this. People live around here.”

  “Nobody told that to Whalen’s driver,” Steve pointed out. “He just floored the accelerator.”

  “They’re getting away!” Debbie cried.

  Far ahead, the limousine turned onto a side street and vanished from sight.

  “They’re gone,” Steve said. “What do we do now?”

  “Keep looking for them,” Frank said. “They can’t be too far.”

  “Turn that way,” Joe said, pointing in the direction the limousine had gone. “Maybe we can still pick up the trail.”

  Frank steered around the corner, but there was no sign of Whalen’s car. He made a few more turns without sighting the limousine.

  “I’ve got an idea,” Joe said suddenly. “Marcy told us that Whalen came from an old, rich family. Ten to one he lives in Bayside Estates, where all the most expensive houses are.”

  “Right,” Frank said. “And Bayside Estates is up here.” He turned the van down a street lined with trees and huge lawns.

  “There sure are some awfully big houses around here,” Debbie said as they passed several mansions.

  “There,” Joe said, pointing toward the driveway of a mansion on the left. “Isn’t that the limo Ted Whalen was in?”

  A black limousine like the one Frank had been following was parked in the driveway. The drive curved in front of a large house that had white columns in front of its redbrick facade.