What Happened at Midnight

by Franklin W. Dixon

  The intruder ran from behind the car and disappeared into the darkness. Joe dashed after him.

  “Keep your distance or you’ll get hurt!” the man shouted. But Joe went on.

  Iola screamed for help. Frank, Chet, and their classmates, Biff Hooper and Jerry Gilroy, raced from the barn.

  “What’s wrong?” Frank asked.

  “We saw a man lurking behind your car,” Iola answered in a trembling voice. “Joe ran after him through the woods but was warned away.”

  At once Frank and his companions rushed in that direction. The boys had not gone far when they heard a muffled cry for help, followed by the roar of a car speeding off.

  Coming to a halt, Frank signaled to his friends for silence. The sounds of the car faded away. Everything was still, except the big grandfather clock in the hall of the Morton home. It began to strike. Midnight! Frank thought of what had happened just twenty-four hours earlier.

  “Joe!” he shouted. “Joe! Where are you?”

  His call went unanswered. The young detective stood frozen in his tracks. Had his brother become the victim of the gang?

  By this time everyone at the party had raced outside to learn what had happened. They joined in a frantic search but without success.

  “I’m afraid he was kidnapped,” Frank said grimly.

  “In the car we heard roar off?” Biff Hooper asked.

  “Yes.”

  Jerry Gilroy chimed in, “But by whom? And for what reason?”

  “I don’t know,” Frank said. He turned and rushed back to the convertible. Seeing the trunk open, he immediately looked in the tire well. The secret radio was still there.

  “Joe must have blocked an attempted theft and been taken away so he couldn’t identify the man,” Frank thought.

  He slammed the trunk shut, asked his friends to guard the car, and ran to the house. He scooped up the telephone and dialed the home number of Chief Collig.

  “What!” the officer exclaimed when Frank told him about Joe’s probable kidnapping. “I’ll call the FBI and also get some of my own men out there right away! And I’ll come myself.”

  He and three officers arrived shortly and were given a briefing. The place was carefully examined, but searchlights picked up little.

  There was such a profusion of tire tracks on the main road that those of the mystery car could not be detected. Iola, the only one except Joe who had seen the suspect, could give little information other than that he was tall, heavy set, and wore gloves.

  “Then we won’t find any fingerprints on your car,” the chief said to Frank.

  Frank nodded. “He could be the man who ran from Joe and me at the airport.” Frank told the police about him and gave a fuller description.

  “We’ll be on the lookout for him, as well as for Joe,” Collig said. “There’s nothing more we can do here, but I’ll leave two of my men.”

  Solemnly the group left the barn dance and each guest expressed a hope for Joe’s speedy return. The Mortons tried to comfort Frank and discussed whether or not they should call Mrs. Hardy and tell her the disturbing news.

  “I don’t see that anything can be gained by that,” Chet’s mother said. “Let’s wait.”

  She insisted Frank try to get some sleep, but he lay wide awake, hoping the phone would ring with good news from Collig. But none came. Chet, in the same room, was restless.

  Finally at five o‘clock he said, “Where do we go from here?”

  “I’m not sure.” Frank sighed. “We’ve absolutely no clue. In fact, we don’t even have a description of the car we heard drive off last night.”

  “Joe could be miles from here by now,” his chum remarked.

  Frank thought for a moment. “Let’s drive down the road and make some inquiries at the farm-houses along the way. There’s a slim chance someone may have spotted the kidnap car.”

  The boys left the house quietly and jumped into the Hardys’ convertible. They waved to the patrolling police guards. Frank drove along the narrow, tree-lined road. As they feared, all their inquiries were fruitless. Most of the farmers they questioned had retired long before midnight, and had neither seen nor heard anything.

  “Guess we may as well go home,” Chet suggested.

  But Frank was not ready to give up. “Let’s drive on a little farther,” he said.

  About six-thirty the boys spotted a farmer cutting weeds by the roadside and stopped to question him. He rubbed his chin dubiously while listening to their story.

  “Quite a few cars go past my place every night,” he said. “Now you come to mention it, there was an automobile come whizzin’ along and stopped here right after midnight. It woke me up, what with two men in it shoutin’ at each other.”

  “Did you see the car?” Frank asked.

  “No. I didn’t get up. Course my home is right beside the road, and I couldn’t help but hear some o’ what the men were sayin‘. The car come along at a mighty lively clip, but when it got in front of the house, the driver slammed on the brakes and stopped.

  “There was an argument. I heard him tellin’ somebody they must have gone past the crossroads in the dark. The other man started jawin’ at him and they had quite a row. Finally they turned the car around and went back.”

  “To the crossroads?” said Chet.

  “Yes. That’s about two miles back.”

  “I remember. One road goes to Gresham, the other heads up through the truck farms.”

  Frank and Chet returned to the crossroads. But which way should they go? Right to the farms, left to Gresham?

  “The kidnappers might have hidden Joe on one of the truck farms,” Chet suggested.

  “Yes, except that all those farms are close together and everybody knows everybody else’s business,” said Frank. “I’d rather tackle the road to Gresham. If we don’t find Joe, we can come back and try the other road.” He took the turn to the left.

  As they sped along, the boys spotted the wreckage of a black car in a roadside ditch. Afraid this was the kidnap car, Frank pulled up.

  “Some accident!” Chet observed.

  The license plates had already been removed from the badly smashed-up car.

  “If anybody was hurt,” Frank said, “they’ll know it in Gresham. We’ll ask the police there.”

  Suddenly a black sedan swung out of a lane some distance ahead and roared off toward the town. Frank stared fixedly at the rear seat.

  “Look!” he exclaimed, gripping Chet’s arm. “Do you see what I see?”

  “What?”

  “A hand. Isn’t that someone signaling?”

  Chet gazed ahead and saw a hand wave frantically for a moment at the rear window, then suddenly withdraw.

  “You’re right!” Chet snapped. “Joe!”

  Frank started the convertible and sped off in pursuit.

  The other car had a good lead and was increasing speed. It was almost obscured by a cloud of dust, but Frank memorized the out-of-state license number.

  “We’re gaining on them!” Chet declared.

  Frank nodded. Inch by inch the intervening distance lessened. Trees, farms, and hedges flashed by. At times the boys could hardly see the sedan through the swirling clouds of dust.

  Suddenly the steady hum of the convertible’s engine changed its rhythm. The motor sputtered.

  Chet groaned. “Now what?” he muttered as the car slowed down.

  The boys’ hearts sank when the engine quit completely. They looked dismally at the other car as it disappeared around a distant bend in the road.

  CHAPTER V

  The Hunt

  FRANTICALLY Frank flung open the hood and examined the engine. In a few minutes he discovered the trouble.

  “Fuel pump,” he announced.

  “Oh—oh!” Chet sighed. “And we’re miles from a service garage.”

  “We’re not stranded,” Frank assured him. “I suspected the pump was going so I put a spare in the trunk. But it’s going to take fifteen or twenty minutes to cha
nge the pump, and—”

  “And by that time the kidnap car will be far away,” Chet finished.

  “I’d better notify Bayport Police Headquarters.” Frank turned on the car’s two-way radio to the proper frequency and gave the license number of the suspect’s car.

  “We’ll get busy on it right away,” came the answer. “Incidentally, FBI men have been here and out to the Morton farm. I’ll contact them. There’s no news so far.”

  Frank replaced the mike. He and Chet worked feverishly to install the new fuel pump and soon had the engine running.

  “No chance of our catching up with the sedan now,” Chet remarked as the boys once again got under way. “It has nearly a half hour’s head start.”

  “I’ll bet that the kidnappers won’t stop at Gresham, now that they’ve learned we’re after them.”

  Ten minutes later Frank stopped the car. He backed into a side road, pulled out again, then turned to retrace his route. “I want to go up that lane the kidnap car came out of and see what we can find.”

  Reaching it, Frank turned in. The ground was stony and full of holes. Progress was slow.

  Half a mile farther on, an old inn, apparently closed, came into view. It was a long, low white building with a wide veranda. The boys got out of the car and Frank knocked several times, hoping someone might be inside. There was no response.

  “Nobody’s home,” Chet mumbled.

  Just then the sound of heavy footsteps could be heard. The door sprang open and a surly-faced man confronted them.

  “What is it?” he growled.

  “Sorry to bother you, sir,” Frank said, “but have you seen a black four-door sedan within the past hour?”

  “You’ve got nerve waking me up to ask such a stupid question!” the man snapped. “I don’t know anything about a sedan!”

  “Have you had any visitors recently?” Frank persisted. “There’s a wrecked car lying in a ditch close to the spot where your lane leads in from the road. Did anyone come here for help?”

  The man looked at the boys suspiciously. “Get out of here before I kick you off the porch!”

  “Have it your way!” Frank retorted. “I’m certain there were kidnappers in that sedan I asked you about. If you know anything, you’d better tell me, or be held as an accessory!”

  “Kidnappers?” the man cried out. “Okay! So there were some guys walked in here late last night.”

  “How many were there?” Frank demanded.

  “Three. One said they’d had an accident, and asked if they could stay at my place for a while. They paid me real good, so I let ‘em come in.”

  “Please describe these men.”

  “One was tall, one short,” the proprietor replied nervously. “The big guy said they’re brothers named Wagner. They were carrying the third guy—he was wrapped in a blanket ‘cause he got knocked out. I couldn’t see his face. The big guy made a telephone call to Gresham. A car picked ’em up about an hour and a half ago. I can’t tell you any more!”

  He stepped back inside the house and slammed the door in the boys’ faces.

  “Sociable guy,” Chet commented as the boys drove off.

  “He did give us one lead,” Frank said. “The wreck was theirs and the pickup car came from the direction of Gresham. Chet, I’m afraid Joe was hurt. We’re going to Gresham. I’ll call Collig and tell him what we just heard.” He tuned in Bayport headquarters and left the message.

  On reaching Gresham, Frank cruised up and down the side streets flanking the main boulevard, hoping to spot the sedan but had no luck. He then headed for the local police headquarters. “Dad introduced me to Police Chief Stanton when we were passing through this town several months ago,” he said.

  The boys entered the neat, red-brick building and Frank introduced himself and Chet to the desk sergeant on duty. They were ushered into the office of the chief.

  “Frank Hardy, how are you?” Stanton said, extending his hand in greeting. “Sit down.”

  “Has Chief Collig in Bayport been in touch with you?” Frank asked.

  “Yes. So far we have no word on the sedan or the men traveling in it, one of them injured. You’re sure your brother was kidnapped?”

  “Get out of here!” the man growled

  “Without a doubt!”

  “Hmm!” Stanton muttered. “The sedan’s probably miles away by now with a different license plate. But our men will keep on the lookout.”

  Realizing they could do no more here, Frank and Chet decided to return to Bayport.

  “What’s our next move?” Chet asked.

  “Whoever kidnapped Joe might ask for ransom, Chet. I’d better stick close to the phone at home in case someone tries to establish contact.”

  Then Frank’s heart sank as he thought of having to tell his mother and father and aunt that Joe was missing! When he pulled into the Hardy garage some time later, Frank shut off the ignition and sat quiet for several seconds. Then he took a deep breath and climbed out of the car.

  He had no sooner entered the house when Mrs. Hardy rushed to meet him. “What happened to Joe?” she cried.

  Frank was startled by her question. Before answering, he hugged his mother and led her into the living room.

  “I just got home, and decided to telephone the Morton farm. I spoke to Iola,” Mrs. Hardy explained. “She seemed terribly upset and started to tell me something about Joe, then stopped. She said you were on your way here and would explain.”

  Frank related the whole story of Joe’s disappearance. Mrs. Hardy was stunned by the news and tears filled her eyes.

  “I would have told you sooner,” Frank said “but I was hoping to find Joe before this.”

  Although Mrs. Hardy worried about the dangers involved in her family’s sleuthing activities, she rarely displayed her concern openly. But now she could not hide her anxiety. She began to tremble.

  “We must do something!” she pleaded. “Have you notified the police?”

  “Yes,” Frank answered. “And the FBI.”

  “Your father! He should be told about this at once!”

  “But we can’t reach him,” Frank reminded her.

  The hours dragged on into early evening. Mrs. Hardy continually walked the floor, saying over and over, “This is dreadful, dreadful!”

  Frank paced around nervously, mulling over in his mind the events that had taken place during the past two days. The telephone rang. Was it the kidnapper calling? Frank rushed to answer the call.

  “Frank, this is Chief Collig!”

  “Yes, Chief! Any news?”

  “Not much. The police managed to detect the scratched-off serial number on the engine block of the car lying in the ditch. It was traced through the State Bureau of Motor Vehicles. The car was stolen yesterday evening from a man in Lewiston. No one saw the thief.”

  “Well, we’re right back where we started,” Frank said.

  After a light late supper, Frank settled himself into a wing chair within reach of the telephone. The hours ticked by with no word from Joe or his abductors. Finally, through sheer exhaustion, Frank dozed off.

  When he awoke, the sun was already sending bright, warm rays into the room. Frank got up and began to pace back and forth. He and his mother ate a sketchy breakfast. They grew more uneasy when the morning passed without any news of Joe.

  Shortly after noontime a taxi stopped in front of the Hardy home. A tall, angular woman, carrying a small suitcase, got out of the cab and hurried toward the house.

  “It’s Aunt Gertrude,” Frank announced to his mother.

  “I’m glad to be home!” Miss Hardy exclaimed as she entered the house like a rush of wind.

  She glanced at Mrs. Hardy and immediately sensed that something was troubling her. “Laura! You look exhausted. Haven’t you been getting enough sleep? What’s wrong?”

  “We have something to tell you,” Frank declared. “You’d better sit down.”

  He broke the news about Joe’s disappearance as gently as h
e could. His story, however, sent Aunt Gertrude springing from her chair.

  “That’s terrible! Poor Joe! Call the police!” she cried. “Call the FBI! Do something!”

  “Try to be calm,” Frank pleaded. “The police and the FBI have already been notified.”

  “I felt it in my bones!” Aunt Gertrude exclaimed. “Something like this was bound to happen.”

  “Now, Gertrude, please,” Mrs. Hardy interrupted.

  Aunt Gertrude continued to rattle on. “You can’t be too careful these days. The world is full of rude and nasty people. Now you take this morning, for example, when I was walking on the platform at Gresham. Suddenly this big fair-haired man stepped right in front of me, carrying a bulging brief case. Part of its zipper was torn and some of the papers inside were sticking through.

  “Well, this clumsy ox gave me a hard bang on my arm with that dirty, beat-up brief case. I was about to give him a piece of my mind, when he deliberately pushed me aside!”

  Her words had seized Frank’s attention. The man sounded like the one that Chet had stepped on in the airport terminal and Frank and Joe had chased later. He might be one of the kidnappers! The suspects’ car had gone toward Gresham!

  “Then came the crowning insult,” she went on. “He called me—he called me—an old whaler! Can you imagine? I never fished for a whale in my life! Next, this big fair-haired lummox walked over to two other men and handed them the brief case,” Aunt Gertrude continued. “I was so furious, I decided to demand an apology. I went up to the big man and tapped him on the shoulder. He must know me because just then he said ‘Hardy.’ Well, he turned and glared at me, then hurried off with his friends. The nerve, indeed!”

  Frank had already jumped to his feet. He was obviously excited. “Did you see what was written on the papers in the brief case?”

  “I wasn’t close enough to read them. But one had red and blue stripes on it.”

  “He’s one of the men we suspect!” Frank cried out. “Aunty, did you hear any more of the men’s conversation? Anything at all?”

  “No, not really,” she answered, somewhat puzzled by her nephew’s questioning. “I only caught a word or two. The fair-haired man said something about caves. Yes, that’s it—caves! I remember because it struck me at the time that with his bad manners, he should be living in one.”