The Vanishing Thieves

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “They’ve moved out the hottest stuff!” Joe exclaimed. “They knew we’d go to the police, so they got rid of it fast.”

  “What are you talking about, young man?” Osgood Admax inquired.

  Pointing to the side wall, Joe said, “An hour ago three stolen cars were parked there.”

  “And over a dozen engines were lined up here,” Frank added. He pointed to the spot. “You got them out of here because you knew the serial numbers would prove they were stolen!”

  Drawing himself up with dignity, the store owner said, “I have invoices for every item in this place. Lieutenant, you are free to examine my records.”

  “They won’t show anything,” Joe said angrily. “Invoices are easy to forge. They got everything out of here that had serial numbers on it, so there’s no way to prove the rest of this stuff is hot.”

  The lieutenant’s voice was just as angry when he said, “What kind of game are you boys playing?” He turned to the gangling man. “Accept my apologies, Mr. Admax.”

  “Of course,” the man said graciously. “You were only doing your duty.” He frowned at the young detectives. “I don’t know why you are trying to cause me trouble, but if you try it again, I’ll sue you for defaming my character.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Joe muttered in disgust. “I don’t think he has any character.”

  Outside Lieutenant Frisby said in a grim tone, “Now I want you four to come with me.”

  As they followed the detective’s car, Chet asked worriedly from the back seat, “Think he’s running us in for filing a false report?”

  “How could he?” Frank said. “We haven’t filed any.”

  “He seems to think we have,” Chet said.

  But the lieutenant was not leading them back to Parker Center. Instead he drove to the warehouse on the edge of Old Chinatown. He parked in front and Frank pulled in behind him.

  When they got out of the car, Frank said, “I’ve got a feeling we’re in for another surprise.”

  The lieutenant tried the front door and found it unlocked. As they went inside, Joe said to Frank, “I have a feeling your feeling is right.”

  They headed for the office. The elderly Jonas Moapes was seated behind the desk with his feet up, again smoking his corncob pipe.

  “Why, hello, Lieutenant!” he exclaimed cordially. “What is it this time?”

  “Nothing,” the officer said, and, turning abruptly, he stalked out of the place.

  The lieutenant climbed into his car and drove off. The four boys looked at each other.

  “Now what?” Chet asked.

  “Now that he’s discredited us again,” Frank said, “that old man won’t stick around here long. Let’s tail him wherever he goes.”

  Since they did not know whether Jonas Moapes would come out the front or the back door, Frank drove the car to the side street and parked so that they could see up the alley. Then Joe posted himself at the corner, where he could observe the front and signal to the others if the old man should appear.

  About fifteen minutes later, Frank lightly beeped the horn. Joe hurried to the car and climbed in next to him. Looking up the alley, he saw Crafty Kraft’s eighteen-wheeler backing up to the sliding door.

  As they watched, the tattooed man lowered the ramp, and three coveralled workmen emerged. Using a dolly, they began unloading car engines and wheeling them into the warehouse.

  When they were finished, Crafty pulled the truck out of the way, but left it in the alley. The vehicle had blocked the boys view of what was beyond it, but now they saw that the three stolen cars were parked there, waiting for the truck to move. They were driven into the warehouse by Sluice, Jivaro, and Big Harry Knotts.

  Joe got out of the car.

  “Where’re you going?” Frank asked.

  Pointing to the delicatessen right across the street, at the edge of the alley, Joe said, “To call Lieutenant Frisby.”

  There was a pay phone on the wall of the small shop. Dropping in a dime, Joe dialed Parker Center and asked for the auto-theft division.

  A voice answered, “Lieutenant Frisby.”

  “This is Joe Hardy,” the young detective said. “We’re still at the warehouse. Those stolen car engines were just unloaded from a truck, and the three cars were driven in there a few minutes ago. The crooks must figure that since you’ve already checked the warehouse twice, you won’t check it again.”

  “They’re right about that,” the detective said and hung up.

  Joe walked back to the car, discouraged and frustrated. As he climbed in, Crafty Kraft started the truck. It was facing their way, and while it was too far for the driver to notice the four boys, he would be able to see them once he got to the mouth of the alley. Frank hurriedly pulled away.

  “We’ll circle the block and come in behind them,” he said. “What did the lieutenant say, Joe?”

  “He didn’t believe me,” Joe said glumly. “Who’s in the truck?”

  “Everybody, including old Mr. Moapes. They locked up the building.”

  Vern said, “If Lieutenant Frisby isn’t going to do anything, what’s the point of following the truck? He won’t react when we tell him where it went, either. ”

  “I guess you’re right,” Frank agreed. “We may as well go back to the hotel. It’s getting late anyway.”

  Some time later, they all gathered in the Hardys’ room to discuss their next step.

  “Let’s wait until we hear from our dad,” Frank suggested. “We’ll give him all the information and let him contact Lieutenant Frisby. Hopefully, the lieutenant will believe him.”

  There was a knock on the door. Joe went to open it, and gaped in surprise.

  Standing in the hall was the well-dressed, bent old man, Mr. Merriweather!

  17 The Old Man

  Without a word, the old man moved into the room. Joe regained his composure. “I thought you’d be in the hospital, Mr. Merriweather,” he said.

  Merriweather shut the door behind him and said in his creaky voice, “I had a miraculous recovery from my heart attack.”

  Then he laughed and straightened up. He pulled off his white wig and false white eyebrows, and used a handkerchief to wipe away the makeup that made him look wrinkled.

  “Dad!” Frank and Joe cried out. “How did you find us?”

  “I went to your previous hotel,” the private detective said. “When I found you’d checked out, I phoned home.”

  “B-but what were you doing at Admax, Mr. Hardy?” Chet asked.

  “Getting evidence against the car-theft gang! When you saw me writing in my notebook, I was taking down the serial numbers of engines. I just phoned the Division of Motor Vehicles in New York State, and all of them are from stolen cars. What were you doing there?”

  The boys related the results of their investigation, and how the crooks had managed to trick the police into thinking they were lying.

  “If only Lieutenant Frisby had gotten to the warehouse about fifteen minutes later this afternoon,” Chet said. “He would have caught them moving the stolen goods back in.”

  “I doubt it,” Mr. Hardy disagreed. “The timing was deliberate on the part of the crooks. Probably they were waiting somewhere with that truck and the three stolen cars for an all-clear phone call from the phony caretaker.”

  “And now Lieutenant Frisby won’t even talk to us anymore,” Joe complained.

  “I think he’ll listen to me,” Mr. Hardy said.

  Dialing Parker Center, he asked for the officer, holding the phone so that the boys could listen in. When he got Lieutenant Frisby on the line, he explained who he was.

  “Oh, yes,” the lieutenant said. “I’ve heard a lot about you, sir. But I’m afraid I’ve been having some trouble with your sons and a couple of their friends. ”

  “I know, Lieutenant. I’m calling from their hotel room. The gang has been cleverly fooling you. Everything the boys told you was true.”

  “But the evidence against their story was ov
erwhelming,” the detective protested.

  “Nevertheless, it was false evidence. As the boys told you, those stolen cars and things were at Admax. I not only saw them, but by pretending to be a crooked buyer, I got the serial numbers of the engines. I just checked with the New York State DMV, and all are listed as stolen. Right now, the three cars that have not been stripped yet and the engines are at the warehouse in Old Chinatown.”

  “Your word is good enough for me,” the lieutenant said. “My search warrant for that place is still good, so I won’t have to wait for a new one. Can you meet me there right away?”

  “I’ll be glad to.”

  Mr. Hardy, who had turned in his rented limousine, had come in a taxi, so they drove to the warehouse in the boys’ car. Lieutenant Frisby was already there with a half dozen policemen.

  After shaking hands with Fenton Hardy, the lieutenant said, “The rear doors are locked. I guess we’ll have to break in.”

  “There’s a restroom window around back with a broken lock,” Frank said. “I can climb in and open the door for you.”

  “Good idea,” the lieutenant agreed. “That’ll save smashing in a door. But just in case anyone is inside, I’d rather send a policeman instead of you.”

  He designated one of the officers to go to the back and enter through the restroom window. A few minutes later, the officer unlocked the front door.

  “Nobody in the place, sir,” he reported.

  Lieutenant Frisby led the way into the warehouse. When he saw the three cars and the row of engines, he stopped short and stared. “Well, I’ll be,” he muttered, then turned to the boys. “My apologies, gentlemen.”

  “We don’t blame you, Lieutenant,” Frank said. “The gang was so clever, at one point they almost had us believing we imagined the whole thing.”

  The officer looked at his wristwatch. “After five-thirty. It’s unlikely any of the gang will return here tonight, and Admax will be closed by now. I’ll have both places watched. We’ll nab the crooks as soon as they show up in the morning.”

  “We know a couple of stakeout points, one in front and one in back,” Joe said.

  “Good.”

  The boys showed the officer the cardboard refrigerator carton near the front door and the shed across the alley. The lieutenant posted a man with a walkie-talkie in each place and told them he would have a backup force of several squad cars waiting nearby. They were to move in as soon as the stakeouts reported that the gang had arrived the next morning.

  Frank spoke up. “There are a couple of other places you ought to watch, too, Lieutenant. We know where Red Sluice lives, and have the address of his girlfriend’s apartment. I think Anton Jivaro is staying with Red. ”

  “The hijacker?” the lieutenant said. “We want him as badly as the gang members.”

  “He is a gang member,” Vern said as Frank gave the officer the two addresses, which he wrote in a notebook.

  “Maybe you ought to keep all four places under surveillance and hold off making arrests for a few days,” Fenton Hardy suggested. “If you move in right away, you may miss the kingpin of the operation. But if you maintain a stakeout, he might show up. If he doesn‘t, one of the gang members might lead you to him.”

  “In the meantime, they’ll tear apart my car,” Vern said ruefully.

  “You can identify the big boss from the picture I took,” Frank said. “I’ll have it developed tomorrow and turn it over to you.”

  The lieutenant looked doubtful. “I’d rather not wait to move in at any of the locations, but we won’t tip our hands. We’ll stay out of sight and nab them as they show up. That way none of them will have the opportunity to spread the alarm. Of course, they’ll know something’s up when people start disappearing. Still, it should only take a few days to net all of them.”

  Mr. Hardy smiled. “I guess my investigation of the theft ring is over. Lieutenant, I’ll give you the information I have, including the descriptions of all known gang members. That should wrap it up. From there on it will merely be a matter of nabbing them.”

  “I certainly appreciate your help, Mr. Hardy,” the lieutenant said.

  “You’re welcome. Boys, are you ready to fly back to Bayport with me tonight?”

  “I don’t think so,” Joe said. “We still have the mystery of Vern’s coin to solve. Up till now, we haven’t had much time to concentrate on that.”

  “Besides,” Vern added, “I want to hang around to wait for my car. When can I have it back, Lieutenant?” he asked eagerly.

  “Tomorrow,” the lieutenant replied. “It will be in the police impound lot.”

  “Well, boys,” Mr. Hardy said, “perhaps you can take me to the hotel to pick up my baggage, and then drive me to the airport.”

  He shook hands with the lieutenant and said good-bye. The officer told the boys to phone him the next day. “I’ll let you know how successful the stakeout was,” he promised.

  In the morning, Frank took his film to a twenty-four-hour developing service. Then, he phoned Lieutenant Frisby from their hotel room, holding the receiver so that the other boys could hear the conversation.

  “So far we’ve had only partial success,” the lieutenant reported. “A number of small frys were arrested at the warehouse, but they were just workers employed to strip the stolen cars. At Admax, we nabbed the man who claimed to be Osgood Admax, and who turned out to be a wanted forger named Calvin Renk. His clerk, Melvin, apparently was just an employee, and didn’t know the items they sold were stolen.”

  “You haven’t gotten Big Harry, Crafty Kraft, Red Sluice, or Anton Jivaro yet?” Frank asked.

  “No, nor the big boss. Neither Sluice nor Jivaro has been near Red’s house, Red hasn’t visited his girlfriend, and none of them have shown up at either the warehouse or the store.”

  “You think they were somehow tipped off?”

  “No, I suspect they are simply being cautious. They are a cagier group than I thought. Probably they just went underground for a few days to make sure they really had me fooled. I’m suddenly not too confident that we’ll get them anytime soon.”

  “Why, Lieutenant?”

  “Before they surface, they’ll take the precaution of phoning the store to speak to Calvin Renk, and the warehouse to ask for one of the workmen there. When they can’t get hold of either, I think they’ll run!”

  18 A Surprising Discovery

  Vern said to Frank, “Let me speak to the lieutenant before you hang up.”

  “Hold on, Lieutenant,” Frank said. “Vern Nelson wants to talk to you.”

  He handed the phone to his friend.

  “When can I get my car back, sir?” Vern asked.

  Come down and sign for it anytime you want. Check in here first and I’ll have the papers ready for you. But not before 2:00 P.M., because I’m leaving for lunch.“

  “All right,” Vern said. “We’ll see you at two.”

  The boys ate at the hotel coffee shop, then drove to Parker Center. They found Lieutenant Frisby in the auto-theft division squad room. When Vern had signed the necessary papers, the lieutenant gave him a release form to present at the impound lot in return for his car.

  “One other thing, Lieutenant,” Vern said. “Do you think we could get a look at a certain case file?”

  “Which one?”

  “A missing 1913 Liberty Head nickel that disappeared. It was left to me by my uncle, Gregg Nelson, but wasn’t in his safe-deposit box when it was opened.”

  “That would be a case for the burglary division,” the lieutenant said, picking up his phone.

  After a short conversation, he hung up. “No such complaint was ever filed,” he announced.

  The boys looked at each other. Joe said, “Maybe we’d better ask the lawyer who handled your uncle’s estate about that, Vern.”

  The boys thanked Lieutenant Frisby, then got Vern’s car released from the impound lot. Since they did not need two cars, they turned in the rented one.

  “What’s our ne
xt move?” Chet asked as they drove away from the rental agency.

  “There’s nothing more we can do about the gang,” Frank said, “so we’re free to concentrate on Vern’s nickel. Who is this lawyer Joe mentioned?”

  “Charles Avery in the Nichols Building,” Vern said. “It sure sounds fishy that he never reported the coin missing.”

  They found Charles Avery in his seventeenth-floor office. Vern introduced Frank and Chet, and the plump attorney invited them all to sit down.

  Vern said, “We just came from the police, Mr. Avery. How come you never reported that the coin was missing?”

  “Because there was no evidence that a crime had been committed,” the lawyer said smoothly. “For all we know, your uncle hid the nickel somewhere other than in the safe-deposit box.”

  “But his will said he put it there.”

  Mr. Avery nodded. “On the other hand, there was no evidence of the box having been tampered with. Did you talk to Bank President Laing?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he was no help?”

  Vern said ruefully, “He explained to us how impossible it was for anyone but Uncle Gregg to get in that safe-deposit box.”

  “Actually that only increases the mystery, doesn’t it? I don’t see how the police could have done anything, even if I had reported it.”

  “They could have checked coin dealers to see if the nickel was offered for sale,” Joe suggested.

  Pursing his lips, the lawyer said, “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “We could check them now,” Frank suggested. “Let’s make a list of all coin dealers in the area, and visit every one of them.”

  “You can use my telephone directory,” Charles Avery offered.

  The boys looked in the yellow pages and copied down a list of names.

  “This is going to take a long time,” Chet said, as they finished.

  “Perhaps you ought to start with the dealer through whom Mr. Nelson bought the coin,” the lawyer suggested. “I have it in my file.” He rose to get a folder from a cabinet and leafed through it. “Here it is,” he commented. “Everett Fox on Wilshire Boulevard.”

  “I thought he bought it from a fellow collector in Massachusetts,” Vern spoke up.