The Secret of Sigma Seven Read online

  Joe snapped his fingers. “Right! Bootleg videotapes, like Devoreaux said. I read an article about that the other day. There’s a big black market for videotapes of new movies. Especially movies that haven’t even been released yet, like this one.”

  “And I bet there are a lot of people who’d pay good money to get a videotape of the latest movie from Simon Devoreaux,” Frank said.

  “I sure would,” Chet joked. Leaning forward in his seat to face the others, he whispered, “Where can I find the guy who’ll sell me a copy?”

  Grabbing a handful of the popcorn from the bag Chet held, Joe said, “Unless you want to go to jail, I think you’d better wait until this one hits the theaters here in Bayport. Anyway, Devoreaux must have a master print of this film back in Hollywood, so he can turn out more copies.”

  “But who in this crowd would have the equipment to transfer a film to video?” Frank asked. “That’s not the kind of thing the average person might own.”

  “The average person doesn’t dress like a zombie from Zepton,” Joe quipped, looking around the room at the rapidly departing crowd. “But most of these people probably wouldn’t know what to do with the film if they had it, so they aren’t suspects in the crime.”

  “Suspects?” Brian asked, wrinkling his brow. “You guys really are detectives, aren’t you? I’ve heard that you’ve helped the police investigate a few crimes around the Bayport area.”

  “We like to pitch in from time to time,” Frank said. “Our father’s a private investigator, and he’s taught us about detective work.”

  “So are you going to help Simon Devoreaux get his movie back?” Brian asked.

  “We’ll help him if he asks us,” Joe replied.

  Frank glanced toward the door. Devoreaux was standing outside the room, talking to Linda Klein. The young woman looked upset. The movie director still wore an angry expression on his face. “From the looks of him,” Frank said, “he doesn’t seem like the type who would ask us. Maybe we’d better leave this case to the Bayport police.”

  Chet stood up. “Well, if we’re not going to see the film,” he said dejectedly, “let’s go get something to eat.”

  “Not a bad idea,” Frank said. “Want to go over to Mr. Pizza with us, Brian? We can come back here later.”

  “Sounds great,” Brian said. “Let’s go.”

  As the four teenagers left the room, they saw Simon Devoreaux and his entourage heading down the crowded hallway. Linda Klein trailed along after the director’s group.

  “Please, Mr. Devoreaux,” Frank heard her plead, “I wish you would reconsider your decision not to give your talk. We’d all like to hear what you have to say.” But the director ignored her and continued to stride down the hallway toward the lobby.

  “Poor Linda,” Brian said with a sigh. “She really worked hard organizing this con. And Devoreaux was supposed to be the main attraction.”

  “He’s the main attraction, all right,” Joe said.

  The chattering crowd in the lobby had fallen silent. Everyone stared at the director as he loudly ordered one of the men in his entourage to call his lawyers.

  Just then the Hardys saw Brian look across the lobby, an expression of surprise on his face. They saw their friend was looking at a short, balding man in his late thirties. The man was standing inside the front entrance of the motel.

  “I can’t believe it,” Brian said, hurrying over to the man. The Hardys and Chet followed their friend.

  “Uncle Pete!” Brian exclaimed. “What are you doing here? I thought you were up in Massachusetts.”

  The man smiled at Brian in a distracted way, as though he had something else on his mind. Frank could see the family resemblance between Brian and his uncle. Brian’s uncle had the same round face and friendly expression as his nephew.

  “Oh, Brian,” the man said. “Good to see you. Wondered if I’d run into you here.”

  “Hey, guys,” Brian said, turning to the others. “This is my uncle Pete. Pete Amchick. He’s a professor up at Boston Tech. Uncle Pete, meet Frank, Joe, and Chet, friends of mine.”

  Pete Amchick shook hands with the teens, but Frank got the impression that he barely noticed them. Brian’s uncle was busy surveying the crowd in the lobby.

  “I’m hoping to talk to Simon Devoreaux,” Pete said. “But I need to talk to him alone.”

  “Boy, did you pick the wrong night,” Joe said with a laugh. “I don’t think Devoreaux’s in the mood to speak to anybody right now.

  “Oh, I think he’ll want to talk to me,” Pete Amchick said, smiling slightly. “We have some things to discuss.”

  “Well, here’s your chance,” Chet told him. “Devoreaux’s coming toward us.”

  The Hardys turned to follow Chet’s gaze. Devoreaux and his entourage were heading toward the door. The two large bodyguards kept the crowd out of his path as Devoreaux made his way through the lobby.

  “Excuse me,” Pete Amchick said, stepping up to the director. “Mr. Devoreaux? Could I speak with you for a moment?”

  The silver-haired film director paid no attention to Pete Amchick. Instead, he turned to a young man in his group and said in his deep voice, “I left my briefcase in my room. Get it for me, would you?” The young man nodded and hurried off.

  “Come on, Uncle Pete,” Brian said, taking his uncle’s arm. “Let’s go grab some dinner.”

  But Pete Amchick pulled away from his nephew. “Not now, Brian. I need to talk to Devoreaux,” Pete said urgently. “It’s very important.” He started to approach the director again, but before he could say anything, Linda Klein walked up to Devoreaux.

  “Mr. Devoreaux, I’ve notified the police about the theft,” she said. “Once again, please accept my apologies for this terrible occurrence.”

  The director looked at her, a stony expression on his face. “Apologies won’t get my film back, Ms. Klein,” he said. “If the film isn’t returned shortly, you and the Bayport Inn will be hearing from my lawyers.”

  Frank noticed that Linda looked very unhappy to hear this from the director.

  “Eat photons, alien dog!” a voice suddenly shouted.

  Devoreaux froze in his tracks and stared toward the door in disbelief. Frank turned to see a person dressed like the hero of The Secret of Sigma Seven standing by the door. He wore black armor and a helmet that formed a mask over his face. His long black cape almost touched the floor.

  Smiling maliciously, the armor-clad man pulled a zap gun out of his holster and pointed it directly at Devoreaux, who was stunned.

  The man in black pulled the trigger on the gun. There was an exploding sound, and a bullet sped out of the muzzle directly at the startled director!

  3 Elevator to Nowhere

  * * *

  Devoreaux jumped aside at the last second as the bullet whizzed past his shoulder, blasting a two-inch hole in the wall behind him. The echo of the gunshot reverberated through the crowded lobby for several seconds as all heads turned toward the person in black armor.

  Frank Hardy rushed forward, grabbed the arm of the man who had fired the shot, and yanked the gun from his hand. To his surprise, the assailant put up no resistance whatsoever. He simply pulled off his helmet and mask, revealing that he was not much older than fourteen.

  “Let me at him!” one of Devoreaux’s bodyguards exclaimed as he rushed forward and grasped the teenager’s other arm. Frank stepped back and let the bodyguard take charge of the young man. He handed the gun to the second bodyguard.

  Frank studied Devoreaux’s assailant carefully. He looked tall for his age. He had pale skin and blond hair that had been messed up when he had pulled off the helmet. Frank guessed that he was as startled by the gunshot as everyone else in the room.

  “That was a close one,” Joe said, stepping beside his brother. “You did a great job getting the gun away from that guy.”

  “He didn’t put up much of a fight,” Frank said with a shrug. “There’s something funny going on here.”

  �
��Hilarious,” Chet said. “When the bullets stop flying, maybe I’ll be able to laugh.”

  Simon Devoreaux walked up to his assailant. By now the bodyguard was pinning the young man’s arms tightly behind his back. “Who are you? Why did you try to kill me?” Devoreaux demanded. His voice was angry, but Frank noticed that he sounded quite shaken as well. “Are you the person who stole the film?”

  “M-my name is F-Fred,” the teenager stammered. “Fred Johnson. And I—I didn’t try to kill you. I didn’t even know that thing was 1-I-loaded! Somebody handed it to me and said I should shoot it at you as a joke. I thought it was just a toy gun.”

  As the second bodyguard cracked open the gun, Frank saw for the first time that it was only a toy zap gun. But Frank was amazed to see that inside the plastic shell of the zap gun was a small pistol. Its trigger was wired to the trigger of the zap gun, so that when the toy gun was fired, the real pistol fired, too.

  “Here’s what he tried to shoot you with,” the bodyguard said. “Somebody went to a lot of trouble to hide this pistol inside the plastic gun.”

  Devoreaux glanced at the pistol, then turned back to the frightened Fred Johnson. “Who gave you the gun? Is he in this room now?”

  “He was here a second ago,” Fred replied, looking desperately around the lobby. “He was standing over there. B-but I don’t see him now. He must have left.”

  “What did he look like?” Frank asked. “Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”

  “He—he was wearing a costume,” Fred Johnson stammered. “Like one of those porcupine creatures from your films, Mr. Devoreaux.”

  “Great,” Joe muttered. “There are hundreds of people in costume at this convention. I’ve seen five giant porcupines in the last ten minutes.”

  Devoreaux turned to the bodyguard who held Fred Johnson. “Hold on to this young man until the police arrive. I’m sure they’ll have a few questions for him.”

  “I can’t tell you how sorry I am for this incident,” Linda Klein said to the director. “I can’t imagine how it could have happened. The planning committee made a serious attempt to restrict the use of toy weapons at the convention.”

  But instead of replying, Devoreaux just motioned to his entourage to follow him out the door.

  Linda Klein stood looking after him, a worried expression on her face.

  “Maybe we should help her out,” Frank said, gesturing toward the young woman. “She’s probably going to be in a lot of trouble if nobody finds out who stole Devoreaux’s film.”

  “Not to mention finding whoever gave Fred Johnson that gun,” Joe said. “The kid doesn’t sound like a liar or a criminal. It looks to me like somebody was using him to get at Devoreaux.”

  Frank told Brian and Chet that he and Joe would see them later. Then the Hardys walked over to Linda Klein.

  “Excuse me,” Frank said. “We were wondering if we could give you a hand with this incident, maybe help you find the guy who took Mr. Devoreaux’s film.”

  “What?” Linda Klein stared at Frank, a baffled look on her face. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Frank Hardy, and this is my brother Joe. We’ve had some experience with detective work.”

  “Oh, yes,” Linda Klein said, a look of comprehension coming over her face. “I’ve heard of you guys. I don’t know what you can do about this, though. Simon Devoreaux is already planning to sue the BSFS for the loss of the Sigma Seven reels and the damage to his reputation. And there’s no telling what he’s going to do about what just happened.” Frank saw that Linda was growing more agitated. “It may take years for the BSFS to pay for this,” she continued. “The other members will never forgive me!”

  “Maybe we can help out,” Joe said. “If the guy who stole the film is still in the motel, we might be able to find him, and that may persuade Simon Devoreaux not to sue you after all.”

  A hopeful glimmer appeared in Linda Klein’s eyes. “You think there’s a chance? What about that kid who tried to shoot Devoreaux with the toy gun? Do you think he might be behind the theft, too?”

  “I doubt it,” Frank said. “I think he was telling the truth when he said that someone gave him the gun.”

  “But that probably means that the person who stole the film is still here—or was a few minutes ago,” Joe added. “Assuming that whoever stole the film also gave the gun to the kid. So maybe there’s still a chance we can catch him.”

  “All right,” Linda said. “I’d really appreciate it if you could help. I’m sure I can clear it with the convention committee. I’ll be talking to the police in a few minutes, but we’ll still need all the assistance we can get. Thanks a lot!”

  “You can thank us when we catch the thief,” Frank said with a grin.

  “Maybe you can help us out,” Joe said. “Do you know anybody who dislikes Devoreaux enough to steal his film—or kill him?”

  Linda shrugged. “Nobody in the club knows Devoreaux at all, except by reputation. If he has enemies, they’re probably out in Hollywood, not here.”

  “One of them must be here,” Frank said. “Since this is where the film was stolen.”

  “I wish I could give you more help,” Linda said with an apologetic smile. “Listen, I overheard Devoreaux say he was having a meeting with his special-effects director at the Shore Restaurant. I’m going to call the restaurant and tell Devoreaux that I’ve got a pair of well-known private detectives on the case. Maybe that will change his attitude.” She turned and vanished into the crowd again. Frank and Joe looked at each other.

  “Well?” Joe said. “Now that we’ve promised to solve this case, what do we do next?”

  “We could start out by questioning the kid with the gun,” Frank suggested.

  “Not a bad idea,” Joe said. “Let’s go.”

  Devoreaux’s bodyguard was still holding the costumed teenager with his arms pinned behind his back, waiting for the police to arrive. Frank gently nudged aside several curious bystanders as he and Joe came up beside the frightened-looking young man.

  “Excuse me,” Frank said to the bodyguard. “Do you mind if we ask this guy a few questions?”

  The bodyguard, a hulking man with wide shoulders and a neck as thick as a tree trunk, looked at the Hardys with narrowed eyes. “You’re not the police.”

  “No, we’re not,” Joe said. “We’re working for the people who put on this convention, and we’d like to find out a few things from this kid.”

  “I guess it can’t hurt,” the bodyguard said with a shrug. “But I’ll be right here, okay?”

  “Sure thing,” Frank said, turning to Fred Johnson. “Your name’s Fred, right? I’m Frank Hardy. You said a minute ago that somebody gave you that gun?”

  “Yeah,” said the boy, still trembling. “I didn’t mean to shoot Mr. Devoreaux. Honest!”

  “We believe you,” Joe said. “We were just wondering if you noticed anything unusual about the guy who handed you the gun. Besides the fact that he was dressed as a porcupine,” he added with a slight smirk.

  Fred Johnson thought about it for a moment, then shook his head “N-no,” he said. “That’s all. He had on this costume and— Wait a minute! There was something else. He had on this . . . this medallion around his neck, outside the costume.”

  “What did the medallion look like?” Frank asked.

  “It was green,” the teenager said promptly. “Kind of like jade. And round. There was something carved in it, too.”

  “What was the carving?” Frank asked.

  “A crescent moon and a star,” Fred replied.

  Joe looked at his brother. “That’s something to go on, at least.”

  Just then the Hardys spotted a pair of uniformed police officers entering the lobby. The bodyguard nodded at them. The officers took hold of Fred and led him out of the motel.

  “Hey, you guys, I thought we were going over to Mr. Pizza,” Chet said as he and Brian walked up to the Hardys. “I’m starved.”

  “Me, too,” Joe said. “Le
t’s head out.”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” Brian said, motioning toward the nearest wall. “See that poster? Somebody put it up while you were talking to that kid.”

  Frank looked at the poster and read out loud. “ ‘Because of the unfortunate cancellation of this evening’s presentation of The Secret of Sigma Seven, the con party will begin at 9 P.M.’ ”

  “The con party?” Chet asked. “That’s the party mentioned in the schedule, isn’t it?”

  Brian nodded. “It’s the official party of the convention,” he explained. “Lots of food and sodas, all free.”

  “This is definitely my kind of convention,” Chet said with delight. “I should have started coming to these things years ago.”

  “I knew Chet was a serious science fiction fan,” Frank said, grinning.

  “By the way, Brian,” Joe said, “what happened to your uncle?”

  “He followed Devoreaux when he left,” Brian said. “Kept saying that he really had to talk to him.”

  “Do you have any idea why your uncle is so desperate to talk to Devoreaux?” Frank asked Brian.

  Brian shook his head. “Uncle Pete isn’t very talkative. And tonight he’s being even more quiet.”

  “Come on,” Joe said. “Let’s get to the party. Do you know the way, Brian?”

  “Sure,” Brian said. “It’s on the fourth floor. Follow me.”

  He led them to the main elevators at the back of the lobby. When the doors opened on the fourth floor, Frank could hear the sounds of a party in the distance. He and the others followed Brian to a large suite.

  Inside the suite, which consisted of several interconnected rooms, Frank could see people of all ages standing around talking and eating. Frank also spotted the tall, ruddy-faced, red-haired man he’d seen with Devoreaux earlier that evening. The man was talking in an animated tone to a young woman. Frank overheard the man say that he had arrived in Bayport that afternoon and had liked the town very much.

  “Who is that guy?” Frank muttered to himself. “I know I’ve seen him before tonight.”