Thick as Thieves Read online

  Hardy Boys Casefiles - 29

  Thick as Thieves

  By

  Franklin W. Dixon

  Chapter 1

  "Go AWAY," said the thin man who stood between Frank Hardy and the single open entrance to the darkened Bayport Museum.

  Caught off-guard, Frank took a step back and blinked in the harsh artificial light from overhead. The man in front of him folded his arms and smirked, almost begging Frank to try to push by.

  Frank knew that look, from other bullies he'd run across. At first glance, this one didn't have the usual bully equipment — he was almost a head shorter than Frank, who stood just over six feet tall, and much older, with dark, thinning hair that had worked back on both sides into a widow's peak. His thick glasses magnified his eyes, making them look far too large for his head. An ill-fitting suit hid his physique. The man might have been athletic once, but had long since let himself go — a small potbelly spread out from under his thin chest. Frank had no doubt he could push past the guy without any effort.

  But there was that smirk, the smug grin of a man who had a rule book behind him, if not muscle. It was the look of a clerk who could use the power of a large company—or government—to make himself feel big.

  "Who does this guy think he is?" an angry voice burst out from the darkness behind Frank. It was his younger brother, Joe. He was seventeen, a year younger than Frank, with blond hair and a powerhouse build, in contrast to Frank's brown hair and lean frame. Joe's approach to problems was different from Frank's too.

  "We're supposed to be here," Frank explained. "Chief Collig hired us to handle security for one of the museum exhibits."

  "Who cares?" the man snapped back.

  Joe moved into the light beside his brother, clenched his fists, and glared at the guy.

  One look at Joe's angry, flashing blue eyes and the man's smug mask cracked. With a frightened gasp of breath, the guy stepped back, opening his hands in front of his chest to ward off any possible punches.

  Frank put an arm out to hold Joe back. "Cool down," he said to his brother. Then he turned his attention back to the man and stared coldly into his eyes. "Mind telling me why we can't go in?"

  The man returned his level gaze, his confidence returning. From his pocket he drew an ID card. "Elroy Renner, American Insurance Investigators. You're interfering with official business. Now move off."

  Joe snatched the card from Renner, glanced at it, and grinned. "I guess you're here with the new exhibit."

  Angrily Renner grabbed the card back and slid it into his pocket. "Listen, kid. I'm in charge of security around here, and if you know what's good for you — "

  "Who's in charge?" a deep voice boomed from inside the museum. Chief of Police Ezra Collig stepped through the door, his face red with rage. "Renner! What have I told you?"

  Renner glared at the chief, the two men locked in a duel of stares. "The insurance company left operations in my hands, not — "

  "This is my town," Collig interrupted. "No one tells me what to do in my town. The insurance company sent you to work with me, not to run the show."

  Renner's jaw dropped. "I'm not going to leave the protection of valuable gems in the hands of some hick-town cop."

  "Hick town!" Joe yelled, and Renner spun toward him. The thin man's eyes darted from Joe to Frank to Chief Collig, then back to Joe. Sourly rolling his eyes, he gave up the argument and slunk into the museum.

  Collig chuckled. "He's a good man, really— but a real pain in the neck to work with sometimes." In a grand gesture, the chief swept his arm toward the open museum door and winked at the Hardys. "After you, boys."

  Frank drew a deep breath and looked up at the front of the building before entering. He always found the museum inspiring. An old mansion, it had four spires rising to the sky like corner towers on a castle. The spires were being rebuilt as part of a plan to renovate the museum. Scaffolding rose up around them, making the museum look like a castle under siege. The building was set back from the street and separated from other houses by woods and a huge lawn.

  Inside, a short foyer opened into a parlor - the size of a normal house. The walls were lined with heavy gold-framed paintings, and in the center of this main room was a giant sculpture of bronze and chrome. Frank wasn't exactly sure what it was supposed to be. The last time he'd been in the museum, a statue of a Greek warrior had stood there.

  He remembered it well — the statue had fallen and almost killed Tessa Carpenter back in The Borgia Dagger case.

  "Could use your help," he heard Chief Collig say as they left the room and walked down the carpeted hall. He realized Joe and the chief had been talking while he'd been deep in thought.

  "I don't know," Joe was saying. "I thought the Bayport police didn't like working with us amateurs."

  Collig smiled apologetically. "Sure, I prefer not having to look over my shoulder for you two whenever a crime happens in this town. But this is different. We need security guards to watch the Star of Ishtar exhibit. I don't have the manpower to staff a special detail like this twenty-four hours a day."

  "I read about the exhibit in the paper," Frank said. "The Star is one of the largest sapphires in the world."

  "Right. And I need people I can trust."

  "You can trust these two?" Renner had reappeared almost magically and was leaning in a doorway, his arms tightly crossed.

  "I'd rather trust them than all your electronic gadgets," Collig snapped back. "I've known these boys for years. They're smart, honest, and they've got great instincts."

  "Electronics don't need instincts," Renner replied. He pushed open a door, and the four of them walked through it. The relatively dark space on the other side was large. It was a corner room, and one of the spires rose a hundred feet above it. The floor was a rich marble, and exhibit cases lined the brocaded walls. In the center, surrounded by electric eyes and vibration alarms, was an eight-sided glass case.

  "There," Renner said proudly, "is the Star of Ishtar!"

  Frank's eyes widened.

  There was nothing in the case.

  "It's empty," Joe said. For a moment Frank thought Renner was going to collapse like a balloon with the air let out. His face went chalk white, and his mouth flopped open, then shut without a word coming out.

  Chief Collig stepped forward with his usual no-nonsense attitude and tested the defenses. When his fist passed through the electric-eye beam and pounded on the glass, alarms began to shriek.

  "Well, that ought to bring reinforcements," Collig muttered, his eyes darting around the room.

  "This is your fault!" Renner screamed.

  "There was supposed to be someone in this room at all times!"

  "There would have been!" Collig answered. "If you hadn't been playing drill sergeant and stopped the Hardys from coming in. I had to come find you to see what was taking so long."

  "So you admit it!" Renner bellowed. "The loss is your responsibility."

  "Let's worry about getting the stone back before we decide who's to blame," Frank suggested. "How could anyone manage to steal the Star without tripping the alarms?"

  He studied the case, and then the room. Nothing seemed out of place. Puzzled, he glanced up into the darkness of the spire.

  About sixteen feet up a flicker of motion caught his eye.

  "A rope!" Frank cried. "Someone hit the lights. Joe, come here."

  As Collig hit the switch that lit the spire, Joe reached his brother's side. "Get me up there," Frank said. Joe cupped his hands together, and in seconds Frank stepped from Joe's hands to his shoulders and was leaping for the rope.

  It was just within his grasp. Quickly Frank started to work himself up hand over hand. As his eyes adjusted to the lights, he looked straight up.
<
br />   Almost at the top of the spire, also climbing the rope, was a woman in a black jumpsuit.

  When she glanced down at him, Frank saw she was young and beautiful, with reddish blond hair sweeping over her shoulders.

  "I don't believe it," Joe said when he caught a glimpse of the woman's face. "It's Charity."

  "Who's Charity?" said Collig, bewildered.

  "Don't ask," Joe muttered, shaking his head. The beautiful young jewel thief had made a fool of him once. Could Frank even the score?

  "Get outside and have the building surrounded," Frank called down. "I'll keep climbing. Let's give her nowhere to go." Already he could hear the sirens of reinforcements arriving outside. They had Charity trapped.

  For what seemed an eternity, Frank continued to pull himself up. He was almost within reach of the woman dangling above him. She was peering out through a skylight at the top of the spire as if she were waiting for something or someone.

  "Why, Frank Hardy," she said, finally deciding to acknowledge him. "I haven't seen you since when? San Francisco? Is your brother still as cute as ever?"

  "Give it up, Charity." Frank's voice was gravelly from the exertion of the climb. "We've got you surrounded."

  "That may be," Charity admitted, the lovely smile never leaving her lips. Her hand slipped into her jumpsuit and came out a second later with a glint of silver.

  Charity moved so fast, Frank hardly saw the knife as she slashed the rope.

  Frank sucked in a last breath and pictured with horror the long plunge to the marble floor below.

  Chapter 2

  AFTER A COUPLE of inches Frank's fall stopped. The shock jarred the rope from his grasp. He desperately grabbed for it and tightened his grip around the heavy cord.

  Swaying one-handed in midair, he was holding on for dear life.

  After he had caught his breath, Frank looked up to see why he hadn't plunged all the way to the floor below. Charity hadn't cut the rope all the way through. A single strand had him dangling in the air. If he remained perfectly still, the strand might support his weight until help came. If he moved, the strain on the rope would snap it, and he would plummet to the hard floor.

  But if he stayed where he was, Charity would escape, and Frank couldn't let that happen.

  Slowly he eased himself up, putting as little strain on the strand as he could. The rope slipped another inch, and he froze to stop its swaying. After a moment he started working his way up again, but the strand kept untwining.

  Frank knew he wouldn't make it.

  From above he heard a metallic creaking, and looked up to see Charity opening one of the glass skylights at the top of the spire. A blast of cool night air gusted in, sending the rope swaying again. Another fiber popped loose from the strand.

  Frank closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had to make his move and get up past the raveled strand.

  He gathered his strength. Then, in a flurry of movement, he pulled himself up in a couple of rough, rapid motions. The rope dropped by another inch. His hand was almost past the split when the last fibers pulled loose and the strand broke.

  Frank lashed out, his fingertips grazing the top rope, but he couldn't get a grip on it. His fingers slid along the rough fibers, then closed on empty air.

  No! They'd caught on the tail end of the frayed strand. Frank's fingernails dug into his palm as he clung to it. The pain in his fingers blotted out all thought. By instinct he threw his free hand up and caught hold of the rope. Ignoring the burning in his shoulders, Frank pulled himself the rest of the way to the window in the spire.

  As he crawled out the window, the pain caught up to him, and Frank collapsed on the scaffolding. The cool air washed over him, and he opened his eyes to see what looked like a giant bat standing over him.

  Frank shook the pain from his head and stared. It was no bat.

  Charity smiled down sweetly at him and blew him a kiss. Before Frank could reach her, she leapt off the scaffolding. The wind caught the hang glider she had strapped herself into, and she was gone, a shrinking, winged dot vanishing into the dark.

  A spotlight hit Frank, blinding him, and from the ground came a voice through a megaphone "You're surrounded. Give yourself up." It was Elroy Renner. Frank yelled back and pointed to Charity, but they were too far away to hear him and in the wrong location to see Charity's flight. Frustrated, Frank began the long climb down the scaffolding.

  "Where is she?" Chief Collig asked as Frank reached the ground. "Gone," Frank said on the run. "She took off in a hang glider." He had Joe by the arm now. "Come on."

  "Wait!" Renner shouted. "You can't just run out! You have questions to answer!"

  "Later," Frank shouted back as he and Joe raced to their black van in the museum parking lot. "When we catch Charity, we'll have all the answers."

  "How are we going to catch her?" Joe asked, climbing into the passenger's seat. He yanked the seat belt around him. "If you lost sight of her, she could be anywhere."

  The van had roared to life, and with a screech peeled out of the parking lot and onto the street. They headed for the west end of Bayport.

  "She took off over the west woods," Frank said. "If she plans to make a safe landing — and there's no guarantee of that — there's only one place she can do it."

  Joe snapped his fingers. "The old Miller farm. It's the only clear, flat land for miles."

  "Right," replied Frank. "I can't wait to bring her in."

  "You?" Joe said, "I'm the one she made a fool of in San Francisco."

  "She did a pretty good job of that with both of us, brother."

  Joe grinned. "That'd really be something, wouldn't it? Us capturing the greatest jewel thief of the decade — " He stopped as the gates to the old Miller place appeared in the headlights.

  The Miller farm had been one of the many in the Bayport area, but times had changed. Farmers had moved out, and more and more of their land had been built up with new housing developments. Yet, even as the city swallowed up so much land, this old farm remained untouched, even after the last Miller died. Now it was a slowly collapsing monument to a way of life that had all but vanished from that part of the country.

  The lock that should have been on the gate wasn't there. Frank killed the headlights as Joe got out of the van and pulled open the barrier. The van rolled onto the farm.

  "There's a light on at the house," Joe said. He stood on the step of the van, hanging out the open door. Something dark spread out across the road in front of them. "Watch it."

  Frank brought the van to a stop. "Charity's hang glider," he said, getting out of the van. "If we run over that, it'll make so much noise that she'll know we're here. Let's leave the car and not move the glider. It'll be quieter approaching on foot."

  Joe grinned. "I can't wait to see the look on her face when we burst in on her."

  Quietly they crept through the tall weeds and then across the grass to approach the house. The curtains were drawn, but a woman's shadow fell on them, moving back and forth. Frank squinted. There was something odd about the silhouette, but he couldn't put his finger on what.

  "Let's hope she's alone," he said. "I'd hate to run into someone toting a gun."

  Joe reached the house first and flattened his back against it. Inside, the shadow still walked back and forth. "If she's got the Star, she'll have already dumped any partner she might have had. Charity uses people, but she never splits the loot with them."

  "Looks like she's waiting for someone," said Frank, who had flattened himself against the wall next to Joe. "Let's not disappoint her."

  They reached the door. It was solid wood, but years of decay had splintered and weakened it. It gave slightly against Joe's testing shove.

  "Ready?" he whispered. Frank nodded.

  Joe threw down one finger, and then a second. On the third finger, the Hardys stepped away from the door, then hurled their shoulders into it.

  The door cracked open with a sound like a sudden thunderclap. It fell away, and the Hardy
s rushed into the farmhouse. All the furniture was still there, covered with a thick layer of dust. There was no sign that anyone had lived there in recent months.

  Frank didn't hang around to check out the decorating. They ran for the living-room door and rushed into the lit space.

  In the middle of the living room was a lamp, trained on the window. Between the window and the light was a record player, its turntable moving round and round. Riding around was a cardboard cutout shaped like a woman's head and shoulders. The shadow cast by the light seemed to move back and forth across the curtains. Cords from both the light and the record player ran to a small portable generator in a corner of the room.

  That was it — there was no sign of Charity.

  "A trick!" Joe roared. "She's not here at all."

  "What's that noise?" Frank cut across Joe's yelling. From somewhere came a low hum, like that of a giant electric fan that was growing louder and louder.

  "Outside!" Joe dashed for the front door.

  "I've got a bad feeling about this," Frank said, following on the heels of his brother. "Remember old man Miller, back when we were kids? How he used to entertain at fairs?"

  "Barnstorming," Joe recalled. "He did flying tricks in an old biplane."

  "And his barn is built to store a plane," Frank said, leading the way now, to the barn. "That's how she's going to get out of here! She has a plane stashed here."

  They flung open the barn doors, and a blast of air hit them in the face. The single engine of a biplane roared in their ears. The boys rushed in, raising their arms to keep the blowing dust out of their eyes. They could just make out a woman sitting in the pilot's seat.

  "Charity," Joe yelled, but his voice was drowned by the engine noise. There was a grinding of machinery behind him, and he turned—too late—to see the barn doors closing. There wasn't enough space for them to get out.

  "Frank!" Joe shouted. "The doors!"

  They rushed over and pressed their hands against the doors, struggling to keep them open, but strong motors forced them shut. Charity stuck a remote control out the side window, and on her lips she plastered a smile.