What Happened at Midnight

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Frank walked along slowly, dividing his attention between weaving among pedestrians and searching for his quarry. When he had covered nearly fifteen blocks, Frank decided to work his way back on the opposite side of the street.

  He stopped for a moment at an amusement arcade to watch the people playing the various coin-operated machines.

  As Frank was about to continue walking, his eyes widened in surprise. Toward the rear of the arcade a big fair-haired man was engaged in conversation with three ominous-looking characters. Frank carefully edged his way inside the arcade for a better look. He was certain now.

  The man was Chris!

  CHAPTER XII

  Tunnel Scare

  FRANK mingled with the crowd in the arcade and cautiously worked his way toward the spot where Chris and his companions were standing. He kept glancing toward the street, hoping a policeman would come along. Soon the young sleuth was close enough to overhear the men’s conversation.

  “Sounds like you got in with a gang that’s going places,” declared one of Chris’s companions. “How about talkin’ to your boss and gettin’ us in on the action?”

  “Sorry, but I can’t help you guys,” the fair-haired man answered. “The big boss has all the men he needs.”

  “Keep us in mind if anything comes up,” one of the trio chimed in.

  Just then a man who had been playing one of the game machines alongside Frank shouted, “Whee! I’ve won ten in a row. I musta broke some kind o’ record!”

  The outburst caused Chris and his friends to look in the man’s direction—and therefore right at Frank. The boy turned quickly and gazed into one of the coin-operated machines. In its highly polished surface he could see Chris’s reflection.

  “He must have recognized me!” Frank thought, noting a look of surprise on the smuggler’s face.

  Frank watched while the fair-haired man whispered something to his friends, then turned to go back to the street.

  Determined not to let the big man out of his sight, and to contact the first police officer he met, the young detective started off in pursuit. To his dismay, he was intercepted at the entrance by Chris’s three companions.

  “Where d‘you think you’re goin’, kid?” one of them growled.

  Another said, “We don’t like the idea of our pal being shadowed.”

  “Get out of my way!” Frank demanded.

  One man stepped behind the youth. The other two each grabbed an arm and led him out of the arcade.

  “We’re goin’ for a little walk,” one of them snarled, “and if you make one sound, it’ll be curtains for you!”

  Frank was forced to walk about half a block, then he was led into a dark, narrow alley.

  “You need to be taught a lesson, kid,” the man behind Frank said. “We don’t like snoopers.”

  Frank was in a desperate situation, but he did not panic. With catlike speed he thrust out his leg and tripped the man on his right, then flung him down so hard the grasp on the youth’s right arm was broken. With his free arm Frank jabbed an elbow into the midriff of the man behind him.

  “Ouch!” his opponent grunted loudly.

  The third man, who still had a firm grip on Frank’s left arm, was unable to dodge the boy’s blow. It caught him on the chin and he crumpled to the ground.

  Frank had only a second to collect his wits. One of his stunned opponents had recovered quickly, scrambled to his feet, and lunged at him. Just as Frank dealt the man a staggering blow, he heard a noise behind him. Before Frank could turn, he was struck on the head with a hard object.

  Several minutes passed before Frank regained consciousness. He slowly got to his feet and looked around. The three men were gone. Frank grimaced as he felt a large swelling on the back of his head. Then he noticed that his wrist watch and wallet were missing.

  “Chris has some rough playmates,” he thought. “And they’re petty thieves to boot.”

  Still a bit unsteady on his legs, Frank finally started uptown to rendezvous with his brother. Frank’s body ached, but a light rain which was falling seemed cool and refreshing to him.

  When Joe saw Frank’s condition, he exclaimed, “Leaping hyenas! You look as if yuu’d fallen into a cement mixer!”

  “Not quite,” Frank replied. “I ran into some of Chris’s pals.”

  “What! You mean you caught up with the smuggler?”

  “Yes, but lost him again. I’ll tell you all about it later. But first let’s find some shelter from this rain. I’m cold.”

  They ducked into a doorway. Frank straightened his tie and brushed off his clothes in an effort to look more presentable.

  “My wallet was stolen,” he said. “How much money do you have left?”

  Joe dug into his pockets. “Exactly six dollars and thirty-seven cents.”

  “I’m starved,” Frank announced. “And we’ll need most of that to get a good meal. Anyway, it’s not enough for our fare back home. Let’s find a restaurant and a phone. We can call Mother collect and let her know what has happened so far. Hope she can wire us some money.”

  The rain lessened and the boys hurried along the street in search of an eating place. They examined the menus posted in the windows of several restaurants, hoping to find one that would not exceed their budget.

  “Here’s a possibility,” Joe said. “The menu looks good and the prices are reasonable.”

  The boys entered the restaurant and sat down. Shortly a waiter walked over to them. He eyed Frank’s rumpled clothes and the man’s manner became abrupt. The Hardys had already selected a dinner listed on the window menu and ordered immediately.

  “I have a feeling he’s in a hurry to get rid of us.” Joe grinned as the waiter walked off.

  “Did you see the way he stared at me when he came over?” Frank laughed. “I admit I look a little shabby. He probably thinks we’re not going to pay our bill.”

  After finishing dessert, Frank rose. “Give me some change and I’ll place a call home,” he told Joe. “Meanwhile, you take care of the check.”

  Locating a phone booth at the rear of the restaurant, the young detective deposited the coin and dialed the operator.

  “I’m sorry,” said a feminine voice when Frank tried to make a collect call to Bayport. “Violent storms up there have temporarily affected the service. I suggest you try again in about an hour.”

  Disappointed, Frank returned to the table. To his surprise, Joe was involved in an argument with their waiter.

  “What’s wrong?” Frank asked.

  “There seems to be a misunderstanding about our check,” Joe declared. “It’s almost double the amount listed on the menu we saw in the window.”

  “I already told you,” the waiter growled. “Those prices are good only up to three o‘clock. After that, you pay more.”

  “I’ll say you do,” Joe retorted. “But how were we supposed to know?”

  The waiter picked up a copy of the menu the boys had seen in the window and thrust it at them “Can’t you read?” He pointed to a line of fine print at the bottom of the menu:THIS MANAGEMENT RESERVES THE PRIVILEGE TO CHANGE LISTED MENU PRICES AFTER THREE P.M.

  “Wow! You almost need a magnifying glass to read it!” Joe snapped.

  “Don’t try to squirm out of this,” the waiter said harshly. “I had you kids sized up the minute you walked in here. I’m going to get the manager!”

  The waiter reappeared shortly with a short, stocky man wearing a dark suit and a bow tie.

  “I hear you boys can’t pay your check,” he said.

  Joe started to explain. “We can pay you half of it now and ...”

  “We don’t sell meals on the installment plan,” the manager stated tersely.

  “Give us a little time,” Frank pleaded. “Just as soon as we can get a call through to our home, we’ll have some money wired.”

  “A lot of good that will do me,” the manager answered. Suddenly his expression changed. His face broke into a wide grin. “Tell you what! I’m
in need of a couple of dishwashers right now. Each of you work for three hours and I’ll call it square. You keep your money.”

  The Hardys were reluctant, but being short on funds, with no place to go, and unable to get through to Mrs. Hardy yet, they agreed.

  After working a while Joe said in disgust, “A couple of private detectives end up in New York as kitchen police!”

  “I wouldn’t complain too much,” Frank said, grinning. “What if we had to wash these dishes by hand!”

  “Why do we have to do them at all?” Joe complained. “Dad has several friends here in the city. They’d be willing to help us out with some money.”

  “I know! But I think we should go to them only as a last resort.”

  Frank waited nearly four hours before getting a call through to Bayport. Finally the lines were repaired, and a long-distance operator connected him with Mrs. Hardy.

  “Your Aunt Gertrude and I have been worried sick about you and Joe,” she said. “There’s been a bad storm here. Where are you?”

  “Still in New York. But guess what? Joe and I are washing dishes to pay for our dinner.”

  Mrs. Hardy laughed and promised to wire them money right away.

  “Send it to the telegraph office at Grand Central Terminal,” Frank requested. “And don’t worry about us. We’re fine, and we’ll probably be home tomorrow. Now tell me, did that fake inventor show up?”

  “No. I guess the storm was too bad. The detectives stationed here were needed elsewhere and had to leave. The box on the steps is soaked. We turned the lights off and have been watching from the window. Maybe we can catch a glimpse of whoever comes.”

  “Good. ‘Bye now. I hope nobody tapped this call.”

  When Frank and Joe finished their work, they hurried from the restaurant. It was still raining when they stepped onto the street. “It’s almost midnight. What now?” Joe asked.

  “Let’s take the subway to Times Square,” Frank said. “Then we can get the cross-town shuttle to Grand Central. At least we can keep dry there until our money arrives.”

  There were only a few people waiting for the shuttle train when the boys arrived at Times Square. Several minutes passed, then suddenly Frank clutched his brother’s arm.

  “What’s the matter?” Joe asked.

  “That man behind the post!” Frank whispered. “He’s one of Chris’s friends!”

  Just as Joe glanced up, the man brushed against one of the strolling passengers on the platform. The young detectives’ keen eyes saw him lift a wallet from his victim’s pocket.

  “Hey! You!” Frank shouted, rushing toward the pickpocket with Joe close behind him.

  Startled at Frank’s outcry, the thief quickly removed the money and dropped the wallet. He leaped off the platform onto the tracks and disappeared into the dark tunnel. The boys took off in pursuit.

  “Watch that side rail!” Frank warned his brother. “It’s charged with high-voltage electricity!”

  The young detectives had run a considerable distance into the yawning tunnel when they halted abruptly.

  “What’s that rumbling noise?” Joe asked.

  “It’s the shuttle train!” Frank screamed. “And it’s coming our way!”

  Seconds later the fast-moving train loomed from around the bend. Would the Hardys escape in time?

  CHAPTER XIII

  Exciting Assignment

  “RUN for it!” Joe yelled.

  The boys whirled and dashed through the tunnel. As the train rapidly gained on them, its headlight illuminated the walls. Stretching along one side was a power line encased in metal piping. Frank spotted it.

  “That’s a conduit line!” he shouted. “Grab it and flatten yourself against the wall!”

  They made a desperate leap, caught hold of the narrow piping, and stiffened themselves hard against the wall. Seconds later the train sped past them. The roar was deafening and the mass of air that was pulled along lashed the Hardys like a gale. The sides of the cars were barely inches away as the lighted windows passed by in a blur.

  Soon the last car disappeared around a bend. The youths jumped onto the tracks and made their way back to the Times Square station plat form. Both were trembling.

  “What do you think happened to the man we were chasing?” Joe asked finally.

  “Probably he’s used this tunnel before as a means of escape,” Frank replied, “and knows the layout well. I’m sure he’s heading for Grand Central station.”

  Arriving at the platform, the boys spotted the man Chris’s pal had tried to rob. He was talking to a police officer.

  “These are the two boys who chased the pickpocket into the tunnel,” the man told the policeman as the brothers walked toward them.

  The officer turned to Frank and Joe. “This man claims someone stole his wallet.”

  “That’s right,” Frank said, “and he’s probably the same one who lifted mine this afternoon. We chased him but he got away.”

  “By now he has no doubt reached Grand Central,” Joe added.

  “I’ve alerted a couple of the men on duty there,” the policeman said. “They’ll be on the lookout for him.” He stared at the boys curiously. “Say, that was a risky job for you fellows to take on!”

  The boys introduced themselves to the officer and showed him their credentials.

  “So you’re the Hardys,” the policeman remarked.

  “I’m Reilly. Your father’s name is something of a legend around the department.”

  “Dad is a great detective,” Joe said proudly.

  At the officer’s request, the boys gave him a description of the pickpocket. Reilly then took the name and address of the man who had been robbed.

  Shortly the next train arrived and the Hardys stepped aboard. When they got off at Grand Central station, Frank and Joe noticed a commotion at the far end of the platform. A group of spectators had assembled.

  “Let’s see what’s going on,” Frank suggested.

  As the boys walked forward, Joe’s eyes widened. “Hey, look!” he yelled. “There’s the pickpocket we chased!”

  “He’s being questioned by two policemen,” Frank observed. “That was quick work. They must’ve nabbed him coming out of the tunnel.”

  The boys pressed their way among the spectators.

  “I ain’t done nothin‘,” they heard the pickpocket snarl.

  “That’s not true!” Joe declared. “He tried to steal a man’s wallet. My brother and I saw the whole thing!”

  “And I suspect he took mine and is a pal of some smugglers,” Frank added.

  “Who are you?” one of the policemen asked.

  The boys identified themselves once more, then related the incident at the Times Square station.

  One of the officers nodded. “We were alerted to be on the lookout for this guy.”

  “We know all about him,” the second policeman said. “His name is Torchy Murks. Has two convictions for petty larceny. We had reports of a pickpocket that looks like him working the subways recently.”

  “You’re crazy!” Murks growled. “I’m being railroaded!”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  The officers requested the boys to accompany them. At the precinct Murks was marched off to the interrogation room.

  A few minutes later a tall, muscular, square-jawed man emerged from the squad room. He walked directly to the Hardys and extended his hand in greeting.

  “One of the officers just told me you’re the sons of Fenton Hardy,” he said.

  “That’s right.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Detective Lieutenant Danson. I joined the force as a rookie just before your father left the department. A great detective. Come into my office.”

  The youths were ushered into a small but comfortable office, where Danson offered them chairs and seated himself behind his desk.

  “I hear you fellows had a scrap with Torchy Murks,” he said. “Slippery character. Well, tell me, what brings the famous Hardys
to New York City?”

  The boys related their experiences of the past two weeks, ending with an account of how they had trailed the smuggler-kidnapper Chris to New York.

  Lieutenant Danson sat thoughtful for several moments. “That’s strange,” he mumbled to himself.

  “What is?” Joe inquired curiously.

  “It might be just a coincidence,” Danson muttered. “Then again ...”

  The boys watched with interest as the lieutenant thumbed through his private list of telephone numbers. “An FBI agent I know, named Emery Keith, dropped into my office a couple of days ago and told me about two suspects his office wants for questioning. From his description of the men, one of them sounds like this big blond fellow Chris. Of course our men have been on the lookout, but I’d like Keith to hear your story.”

  Twenty minutes later two neatly dressed men arrived at the lieutenant’s office.

  “I’m Agent Keith,” the tall, light-haired one said to the Hardys. Then he introduced his shorter, dark-haired companion. “And this is my assistant, George Mallett. I’ve heard a lot about your father. Some of our agents have worked with him.”

  After the formalities, they all sat down to discuss the case. Frank and Joe told their story about the kidnapping and smuggling.

  “Hmm!” Keith muttered. “Interesting lead!” The agent eyed the Hardys for a moment before speaking again. “Does the name Taffy Marr ring a bell with you fellows?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid not,” Frank replied.

  “Taffy Marr,” Keith said, “is one of the slickest crooks in the country. He’s the leader of the smuggling ring and I suspect is the boss of Shorty, Chris, and their pals. Marr is young—the innocent-looking type—but as clever and cold-blooded a crook as you’ll ever come up against.”

  “What else can you tell us about his looks?” Frank asked.

  “Not much. Taffy is slender, of average height, and uses a lot of disguises, so we’re not exactly sure what he does look like. One of our men did spot a triangular scar on Marr’s left forearm. No doubt he’s self-conscious about this identification and he usually wears long sleeves.