“So you kids have been spying on me,” Morwood said. “I thought I noticed you snoozing outside the door when I came back out. I was just negotiating the deal before the tapes were delivered.”
“Stolen tapes?” Frank suggested.
“I thought I told you kids to watch your mouths,” the pudgy-faced man snarled, taking a step toward the Hardys.
“It’s okay, Ron,” Morwood said quickly, turning back to the Hardys. “I don’t know where these tapes came from, and I don’t want to know. It’s none of my business. But I can assure you that I had nothing to do with the theft of Simon Devoreaux’s movie. I don’t get involved with things like that.”
“Well,” Frank continued, “I don’t suppose you have any idea who it was.”
Morwood shrugged. “I really don’t. If that film is being bootlegged, I’ll probably hear about it sooner or later. But I haven’t heard a thing yet.”
“If you do, give us a ring,” Joe said.
“I’ll do that,” Morwood said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish my transaction with these gentlemen.”
Frank and Joe turned and walked past the men, who glared at them. When the Hardys reached the edge of the woods, they strode quickly across the parking lot back to the motel.
“That was a bad scene,” Joe said.
“Yeah,” Frank said. “I don’t care much for Morwood’s taste in business associates. You think those guys are honest businessmen?”
“Right,” Joe said with a laugh. “And I’m King Kong. There’s no way those tapes weren’t stolen. The real question is whether or not Morwood had anything to do with the theft of Devoreaux’s film.”
“Well, he claims he didn’t,” Frank said. “And his story about producing videotapes of low-budget films explains why he had those hand-labeled tapes under his counter.”
“That still doesn’t let him off the hook, though,” Joe said. “But we don’t have any evidence on him, so maybe we’d better concentrate on somebody else for a while.”
“I still think we should talk with Devoreaux,” Frank said. “He’s at the center of all of this, and we haven’t been able to get near him. He might be able to give us some helpful information.”
“There’s something else that’s bothering me,” Joe said as they stepped back into the lobby of the motel.
“Yeah?” Frank asked. “What is it?”
“That elephant that tried to squash my skull earlier,” he said. “Who let it out of the tent?”
“I don’t know,” Frank said. “But whoever did it was probably trying to get you off the case— permanently.”
“Whoever did it must have noticed me sleeping by the outbuilding,” Joe said, “then led the elephant around to where I was lying. He probably left in a hurry when I woke up. So the question is, who would have the key to unlock the chain that was holding the elephant in the tent?”
“I don’t know,” said Frank. “I—”
“Hi, guys!” Brian Amchick said, coming out of the elevator. “How’s the case going?”
“Not as well as we’d like,” Frank said. “We were wondering if there might be some way we could get to talk with Simon Devoreaux. You wouldn’t happen to know where he is, would you?”
“As a matter of fact, I saw him in the coffee shop a little while ago,” Brian said. “He might still be there.”
“This may be our chance,” Joe said. “Let’s try to talk to him before he leaves.”
Frank led the way back to the coffee shop, where they had eaten breakfast earlier. It was lunchtime, and the restaurant was nearly full. Simon Devoreaux and his bodyguards were sitting at a large table near the window. Frank approached the table, Brian and Joe immediately behind him, but one of the bodyguards stood up and blocked their path.
“We’d like to talk with Mr. Devoreaux,” Frank said as the bodyguard turned a hostile gaze on him.
“So would a lot of people,” the bodyguard said, folding his arms across his massive chest. “But Mr. Devoreaux doesn’t want company. So get lost.”
“It’s about his stolen film,” Joe said. “We’re the detectives Linda Klein hired to find it, and it would be useful if we could ask him a couple of questions.”
“Mr. Devoreaux has already spoken to the police about the missing film,” the bodyguard said. “He doesn’t need to talk to any kids like you about it. So, like I said, get lost.”
Frank started to say something in reply, but suddenly there was a noise from the table where Devoreaux was speaking. Frank looked over to see the film director sit up halfway in his seat and make a desperate, gasping noise, his hands around his neck. Then the director collapsed in his chair, his face falling forward into the salad plate in front of him.
“What’s wrong with him?” Joe asked.
Frank looked alarmed. “It doesn’t look good.”
Frank watched as the bodyguard seated next to Devoreaux lifted the director’s face up and placed his hand against the unconscious man’s neck. The bodyguard looked up with a troubled expression in his eyes.
“I think he’s dead!” he cried.
13 Invader from Mars
* * *
“Dead?” Joe said in a shocked tone.
Just then he heard a voice from across the room shout, “I’m a doctor!” A man in a loose-fitting jogging suit hurried over to the director’s table. He picked up Devoreaux’s wrist and felt for his pulse.
“He’s not dead,” the doctor said finally. “But his pulse is very weak. Somebody call an ambulance immediately!”
The doctor reached down and picked up Devoreaux’s plate. He held it under his nose and sniffed gently.
“This smells odd,” he said. “It may have been poisoned. I’d recommend that nobody else eat anything until the food’s been checked out.”
Joe heard at least a dozen forks clank down simultaneously around the room after the doctor had spoken. “Let’s hope this doesn’t turn into an epidemic,” Joe whispered to his brother.
“This is terrible,” Brian said, coming up behind the Hardys. “The convention is going to have a bad reputation after this.”
“Let’s just hope the ambulance gets here in time,” Frank said.
“Somebody’s been trying to ruin Devoreaux’s health all weekend. It looks as if they’ve finally succeeded.”
Within five minutes an emergency crew arrived. Joe watched as the paramedics examined Devoreaux for a moment, gave him an injection, and strapped him to a stretcher. Then they carried him out of the cafeteria. Joe caught a glimpse of Devoreaux’s face as he left. It looked white and pasty.
“This has not been a good weekend,” Joe said with a sigh.
“We’ve still got a case to solve,” Frank said. He looked across the room to see Jack Gillis staring down at his salad plate. The Hardys walked over to say a few words to him.
“Excuse me, Mr. Gillis,” Frank said. “We just wanted to say how sorry we were that this had to happen to Mr. Devoreaux.”
“Hmmm?” Gillis looked up from his plate. “Oh, yes. You’re the two boys who are investigating the theft. Thanks for the kind words. I’m pretty shaken up by what just happened to Simon.”
“I’d be careful if I were you, Mr. Gillis,” Joe said. “Remember that somebody may be trying to harm you, too.”
Gillis looked down at his plate again. “Maybe I’d better not eat any more of this. Not after what happened to poor Simon.”
“Good idea,” Frank said. “In fact, you might want to eat canned food for the rest of the weekend.”
“Yes,” Gillis said distractedly. “Well, I’ll be packing up and heading back to Hollywood soon. I’ve got to get back out to the tent and start preparing the props for the trip back. If you’ll excuse me . . .”
Joe watched Gillis stand up and walk away. Then he noticed a small black object that the special-effects director had left on his table.
“Hey, what’s this?” Joe said. He reached down and picked up the object. “Gillis must have forgot
ten it.”
Joe turned and called out Gillis’s name, but he had already left the coffee shop. Joe shrugged and held up the object to examine it.
“What is it?” Frank asked.
“Some sort of electronic gadget,” Joe said. “It looks sort of like the remote control for our VCR.”
Joe turned it over in his hands. It was made out of black plastic in a rectangular shape and measured about five inches by two inches. There were several buttons on one side of it, with markings beneath them. Joe jabbed several of the buttons at random.
“Look out,” Frank said. “You may have just launched a flight of missiles somewhere in Omaha.”
“Why do I doubt that?” Joe said. “Well, we’ll just have to give this back to Gillis the next time we see him.” He stuffed the device into his shirt pocket and turned back to his brother.
“There’s nothing else to do here,” Frank said. “Let’s go check out some other leads. Maybe we can find Feinbetter and his friend Hennessy.”
“Lead on,” Joe said.
As the Hardys exited the coffee shop, they noticed several solemn-faced people wandering around outside.
“Word must be getting around about what happened to Simon Devoreaux,” Joe said. “That ought to put a real damper on the convention.”
As they stepped into the hallway, Joe heard the sound of raucous laughter. He turned to see two men with wide smiles on their faces happily slapping each other on the back.
“Well, speak of the devil,” said Frank. “Richard Feinbetter and Arlen Hennessy. Wonder what they’re so happy about?”
Feinbetter looked up to see the Hardys standing in front of them. “Well, hello, boys,” he said jovially. “Have you heard the news?”
“You mean about Simon Devoreaux?” Frank asked.
“Yeah, that was the news,” Hennessy said.
“I don’t believe you guys,” Joe said. “Are you laughing because Simon Devoreaux just got hauled off to the hospital?”
“Simon Devoreaux got what was coming to him,” Feinbetter said. “That fraud has been making a fortune off my ideas for nearly ten years now, and I feel no sympathy for him at all.”
Arlen Hennessy stopped laughing. “Maybe the kid’s right, Rich. Devoreaux’s treated you pretty badly over the years, but he didn’t deserve to get poisoned.”
“Mr. Feinbetter doesn’t seem to agree,” Frank said. “Do you, Mr. Feinbetter?”
“You’re still wondering if I had something to do with the attacks on Devoreaux, aren’t you?” Feinbetter said. “Well, I didn’t. I’m not sorry that any of it happened, but it wasn’t my doing. That’s not my style.”
“What is your style, Mr. Feinbetter?” Joe asked. “Stealing films?”
Feinbetter gave Hennessy a dirty look. “You should never have made that joke about me and the films, Arlen,” he told him. “These boys aren’t going to let up until they find the real culprit. Which I hope happens soon.”
“I don’t suppose you have an alibi for what you were doing when Mr. Devoreaux got poisoned, do you, Mr. Feinbetter?” Frank asked.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” Feinbetter said. “For the last two hours I’ve been in one of the conference rooms delivering my guest-of-honor speech. And I have over one hundred witnesses. In fact, I just got out.”
“Can’t get a better alibi than that,” Hennessy said. “And I was there with him the whole time. So don’t start getting any ideas that I might have had something to do with what happened to Devoreaux.”
Hennessy nodded at Frank and Joe. Then he and Feinbetter turned and walked away.
“He’s got us there, Joe,” Frank said.
Joe sighed. “I guess so. But if Feinbetter didn’t do it, who did?”
“Morwood isn’t off the hook yet,” Frank reminded his brother. “And neither is Pete Amchick.”
“Yeah, but something’s bugging me about all of this,” Joe said. “I’m not sure what it is, though.” He shrugged. “I’m starting to get a little stale. Maybe if we get our minds off this thing for a minute, we’ll start getting some ideas.”
“I saw something in the program about a room where they’re showing movies,” Frank said. “They had some neat stuff on the schedule. Maybe a half hour of old films will clear the cobwebs out of our brains.”
“That’s it over there,” Joe said, pointing across the hall from the coffee shop at a sign that read, Baru the Jungle Boy vs. the Martians: Special Showing. Two metal spears had been propped in front of the sign as decoration. Next to the sign was a meeting room.
Frank opened the door and entered the room with his brother. It was dark inside, except for the flickering of a movie projector and an old black-and-white film showing on a screen at one end of the room. Several rows of chairs had been set up, and a few scattered fans were sitting in them. Frank found his way to the second row and sat down with his brother.
The film was mindless and silly, but Frank had to admit it was a lot of fun. A young boy who had been raised by apes in the jungle was battling against midget-size invaders from Mars. Frank watched along with his brother for about fifteen minutes, laughing at the dated dialogue and absurd plot twists.
“This is great,” Joe said finally, “but we’d better get out of here and back on the case.”
“Okay,” Frank said, standing up. “Let’s go.”
On the screen a native tribesman in an elaborate headdress was preparing to throw a spear at one of the Martians. He cocked back his arm and prepared to launch the spear into the air.
As he threw it, there was a ripping noise from the screen. Frank, looking up in astonishment, realized that a real spear had come leaping out of the screen— and it was headed straight toward him!
14 The Magic Box
* * *
Frank twisted aside just in time. The spear landed right in the middle of the chair in which he had been sitting.
Joe looked at his brother in amazement. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Yeah,” Frank said. “A spear. Straight from the jungle to my seat.”
“Down in front!” somebody behind Joe shouted. “I can’t see the screen.”
“You can’t see the screen because there’s a big hole in it,” another voice replied. “Somebody turn on the lights.”
A moment later the room was flooded with light. The projectionist, a slender young man, turned off the film, and the image vanished from the screen.
“Wow!” exclaimed a boy in the row directly behind the Hardys. He stared at the spear that jutted up from Frank’s seat. “This is better than three-D movies.”
“A lot more dangerous, too,” Joe said.
“Who would do such a crazy thing?” Frank asked, looking down at the spear embedded in the seat next to him.
Joe gazed up at the gaping hole in the middle of the screen. “There still could be somebody behind there,” Joe said, pointing. He raced to the screen and looked behind it, but nobody was in sight.
“He would have gotten away by now,” Frank said. He turned back to the projectionist. “Did you see anybody leave this room after that spear was thrown?”
“Yeah,” the projectionist said. “Some guy just rushed out the door.”
“Did you see what he looked like?” Joe asked.
“No,” the projectionist said. “The lights were still out. All I saw was a silhouette when he ran into the hallway.”
“Come on,” Frank said. “Maybe we can still catch him.”
Frank and Joe hurried into the hallway and looked around, but there was no one in sight. When Frank glanced back at the door to the room, however, he noticed that one of the spears that had been part of the display was missing.
“Well, we know where he got the spear,” Joe said.
“Great,” Frank said. “But that doesn’t help us. We still don’t know who threw it.”
A light seemed to switch on in Joe’s eyes. “Wait a minute!” he cried, grabbing his brother’s arm. “I just realized something. There�
��s a common thread running through a lot of the events that have taken place this weekend: the lightning bolt that almost hit Devoreaux, the phony elevator I walked through, the smoke bomb thrown by the costumed sorcerer, even that spear that jumped out of the movie screen.”
“Yeah,” Frank said. “They’re all a lot weirder than the stuff we normally run into.”
Joe shook his head. “They’re all special effects— like you’d find in the movies. And not everyone here has the know-how to create special effects,” Joe continued.
“Jack Gillis?” Frank suggested. “But somebody tried to kill Gillis yesterday afternoon. We were there, remember?”
“I know,” Joe said. “But Gillis seems to be the most likely suspect.”
“What about Pete Amchick?” Frank said. “He knows enough about electronics to pull off a lot of this stuff.”
“True,” Joe said. “But remember how I was wondering earlier who would have a key to let that elephant loose? Gillis would have one, and Pete Amchick wouldn’t. Pete Amchick has the technical know-how to build that electrical contraption that almost zapped Simon Devoreaux last night, but I’m betting it’s Gillis.”
“And Gillis was in the restaurant while Devoreaux was eating,” Frank said. “He could have gone over to Devoreaux’s table to say a few words to him and secretly dropped something into his salad.”
“There’s one thing I can’t figure, though,” Joe said.
“What’s that?” Frank asked.
“Why would Gillis steal his own film?” Joe said. “He said himself that he was co-creator of the movie. Why would he want to get rid of all the copies? For that matter, why would he want to kill Simon Devoreaux?”
“I don’t know,” Frank said. “But I think maybe we’d better have another conversation with Jack Gillis.”
“Sounds good,” Joe said. “Where do you think he is?”
“He told us he was going back out to the tent to get the props ready to ship back to Hollywood,” Frank said. “Let’s look for him there.”
Frank and Joe walked back to the lobby. When they reached the parking lot, they could see the large green tent, but the flap was closed, and nobody appeared to be around.
The Secret of Sigma Seven Page 9
