Frank sighed. It was going to be six months before he had a bike again.
The sun had just set when the Hardy house appeared down the street. In the flickering glow of the streetlights, Frank couldn’t believe his eyes. He stopped. He stared. He rubbed his face and then looked again. He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and looked one more time.
“Frank . . . are you okay?” Joe asked.
“No,” said Frank. “I’ve gone crazy. I’m pretty sure I’m seeing things. There’s my bike!”
Frank pointed to the porch. Sure enough, a small red bike was leaning against the railing, all chained up.
“How is that possible?” asked Joe.
“I don’t know!” said Frank.
He ran over and inspected the bike. It was definitely his, from the dinosaur stickers on the frame to the words “Bayport Bandits” on the wheels!
“It’s a miracle!” Frank said.
“Oh, hi, boys!” Aunt Gertrude opened the front door. “I was wondering when you would get home.”
“Aunt Gertrude!” Frank and Joe yelled at the same time.
“Hey, Aunt Gertrude,” said Frank, “do you know how my bike got here?”
“Sure do, Frank. I put it there.”
“You put it there?”
How is that possible? Frank wondered. Had his Aunt Gertrude stolen his bike?
“After Joe came and got the patch, we expected you home pretty quickly. So when it started to get dark, I got worried. I drove down to the park, but I couldn’t find you boys anywhere. Then, just as I was about to leave, I saw your bike sitting unattended by the ranger’s station! I was worried someone might steal it, so I picked it up, threw it into the back of my car, and brought it home.”
After all that, the bike was at his own house! Frank couldn’t help but laugh.
Joe looked at the bike, and then looked at Frank. “The 2011 Bayport Junior Bike Rally rematch, tomorrow!”
“You’re on!” said Frank. Then he looked up at Aunt Gertrude.
“Thank you, Aunt Gertrude!”
Frank rushed up the stairs and gave Aunt Gertrude a big hug.
“Oh!” She laughed. “Well, thank you, Frank. Now you boys get inside. Dinner is almost ready. I made vegetarian lasagna tonight!”
“Just one minute, Aunt Gertrude. There’s something we need to do first.”
The boys walked into the backyard and pulled down the hidden rope ladder that led up to their secret tree house. The tree house was where they did all their best thinking, and also their best lemonade drinking, hiding from homework, and designing the spy gear they would have in the future. It was also where they kept their case files. Their father, Fenton Hardy, was a former member of the Bayport Police Department. He had always taught them to keep good records, because you never knew when you might have to look back for information.
“What should we call this case?” asked Frank.
Joe thought for a moment. “‘The Stolen Bicycle’?” he said. Then he shook his head. “No. We should call it ‘The Bicycle Thief,’ since we spent all afternoon looking for the thief, and the bike was right here!”
THE BICYCLE THIEF, Frank wrote in big letters. Then, underneath it, he wrote:
CULPRIT: EVERYONE!
The Bicycle Thief Page 4