"You saying we actually rigged this for some coverage?" Berman shot back.
"No, I mean, has any of this wound up in print or on television?"
"We've been able to keep it quiet," said the agent. "If people get the idea Jed has people around who don't like him, it hurts his image."
Frank leaned forward. "You didn't recognize this voice on the phone, Jed?"
"No."
"Man or woman?"
"I'd say a man."
"What about the handwriting on the note?"
"Just scribbling in block letters."
Joe stood up. "It's improbable that a fan could have known your phone number." He walked to one of the bow windows in the room, looking into the foggy night below. "The person who made those calls needed some way to get that number."
Berman blinked. "I never thought of that."
Shannon just shrugged. "We gave it to all kinds of media people. It's not exactly a secret."
"But to get it, you'd need a media connection," Joe pointed out.
Shannon's smile was bitter. "Some media people would probably sell the number for a few bucks."
"Is there anybody you can think of - anyone you know personally - who might want to threaten you?" asked Frank.
"Hey." Jed raised his eyebrows mockingly and struck a pose. "Larry just told you that everyone on earth loves me." Then he shook his head. "I really can't come up with the name of anybody in England who's got a grudge against me."
Frank turned to the agent. "You don't suspect anyone?"
"I think it's more than just a disgruntled fan. Something more serious than that."
"About the shots tonight," Joe said. "Who knew we were due to come over here?"
"No one - except me and Jed."
Frank nodded. "Then I want to check the phones before we leave tonight."
"You think they're bugged?"
"That's one way to find out Jed's itinerary and know that we were coming here at nine."
"It could simply be that somebody was out there watching this place," Shannon objected. "When you two came by, they recognized you and took a couple of potshots."
Frank said, "Maybe, except - "
The phone rang.
Berman jumped to his feet and hurried to the glass-topped phone stand near the windows.
"Yes?" He listened for a second, then turned to Frank. "It's for you."
"Who is it?"
"Didn't say."
Frank got up and took the receiver. "Frank Hardy speaking."
A very cultured British voice came over the line. "We missed you and your brother this time, young man."
"Who is this?" Frank demanded.
The voice went on as if he hadn't spoken. "If you hope to live to become an old boy, don't help young Mr. Shannon. Tell him to give up his search for Jillian."
Chapter 3
Frank hung up. Then he lifted the receiver again, quickly unscrewed the mouthpiece, and removed a small electronic device - a bug. He looked toward Jed Shannon and said, "Can you tell me who Jillian is?"
The actor started as if the fireplace had suddenly burned him. "Who was that on the phone?"
"I have no idea. But whoever he was, he sure doesn't want us to help you find Jillian."
Joe asked, "Does this tie in with your gunman?"
"You got it," Frank replied. "Unless we drop the case, the next shots won't miss."
"Then suppose you tell us who she is," Joe said to the actor.
Berman sank low in his chair. "You might as well, kid."
"If any of this winds up in some scandal tabloid," warned Shannon, "I'll - "
"Before you go further," cut in Frank, "I'd better explain something. Unless you feel you can trust Joe and me, there's no use trying to do business with us."
"But if we do tackle your case," added Joe, "then you're really going to have to tell us the truth."
"Do it, kid," said Berman.
Shannon sat on a long, low black leather sofa and ran a hand over his face. "I shouldn't have been screaming at you guys. But this whole situation has me a little hyper."
He sighed. "I guess it began about ten months ago, doing the location shooting for A Punk at Oxford. I met a girl. Her name is Jillian Seabright - yeah, that's her real name. She's an actress, a very good one. Nobody's ever heard of her in the States because she's mostly done stage work and a little television here in London. Jillian had a small role in my movie, which is how I met her."
Frank asked, "Did you date her?"
"Not exactly. Nothing formal, anyway. We had lunch once or twice at an out-of-the-way inn she knew about, and we mostly just sat around and talked for hours. You know how it is when you really hit it off with someone. We became friends, actually."
"Jillian really isn't like any of the actresses I've known," he explained. "She doesn't seem like a show business person at all. She's bright, caring, and - I just like her." He rose up, pacing again. "Fact is, it wasn't until I was back home in Los Angeles that I realized how much I liked her. So I started calling her long distance."
"Expensive," commented Joe.
"I can afford it, and Jillian is worth it." The actor gave them a sheepish shrug. "She's a very special sort of girl. Anyway, we agreed that when I came over here to promote the opening of my movie in England, we'd get together."
"I nearly had to tie him down to keep him from hopping over here weeks ago to see her," Berman chipped in. "That would have fouled us up with promoting A Punk at Oxford. We were nearly number four at the box office for almost - "
"Enough, Larry."
Frank asked the actor, "So what happened when you got to England?"
Shannon shook his head. "I didn't find her."
"Wasn't she expecting you?" Joe frowned.
"Sure she was. I talked to her on the phone just a few days before I left L.A."
"She didn't hint that anything might be wrong?"
"Nothing like that. We had a dinner date set for my first night in town." Shannon dropped onto the sofa. "But I couldn't get any answer to my phone calls. Then I went over to her flat in the St. Marylebone district, and she wasn't there."
"What did they tell you at her building?" asked Frank.
"A neighbor said Jillian is still living there. I mean, she didn't move out or anything. But nobody had any idea where she's gone to."
"The kid's tried everything he can think of," said the agent. "The West End theater where she was doing a play, the - "
"What happened at the theater?" asked Joe.
Shannon replied, "Jillian had a small part in this Restoration comedy called: 'Tis a Pity She Won't Be Woo'd. But she'd been replaced, and nobody knew where she'd gone off to."
"When's the last time she was in the play?" Frank asked.
"She did the part till about three days before I got to town."
Frank said, "Does she have an agent?"
"Some seedy guy named Ian Fisher-Stone," said Shannon. "I checked with him, too, over the phone, and he didn't know a thing."
"You mean," said Frank, "he had a client working and didn't even wonder why she quit a play and disappeared?"
"Fisher-Stone told me Jillian was just off on a holiday. But he didn't know where she'd gone."
"How did he know she went on a vacation?"
"He wasn't very clear on that, but he gave me the impression it wasn't Jillian herself who told him."
Frank looked closely at Jed. "I don't want to set you off again, but is it possible she has another boyfriend?"
"She told me she didn't, not anyone serious."
"Did she mention anything else to you?" Frank continued. "Somebody who was annoying her? Or maybe some out-of-town acting job that might be coming up?"
Shannon started to shake his head, then stopped, frowning. "Wait now," he said. "She did tell me once or twice that maybe she was going to be a star, too. She didn't give me any details, but I had the idea she was probably being considered for a big part in a movie or play."
"You
didn't know what it was, though?" Frank asked.
"She didn't give more than hints. Lots of actors and actresses are very superstitious, and they won't talk about a big part until after they've signed for it."
"Even if she has a part in a big-budget movie," said Joe, "that doesn't explain why people are threatening you."
"And Jillian is involved in the threats - right?" asked Frank.
Jed Shannon sighed. "Yeah. Both the phone calls and the letter warned me to forget about Jillian."
Eyes narrowing, Frank glanced from Jed to Larry Berman. Something was wrong with this case, right from the start. 'There's got to be more to this than what I'm hearing here. This girl didn't just go off to star in a movie."
"I'll tell you what I'm afraid of," said Shannon. "That's, she's been kidnapped or something, and that I'll never see her again."
Frank said, "This doesn't sound like a kidnapping."
"What do you mean? She's vanished, and nobody can find her."
Frank gave him a long, hard look. Shannon seemed sincerely upset, but actors - even bad actors - could be hard to read. "Kidnappers do it for money," he said, probing. "Here you are, a guy making a huge salary. Instead of trying to scare you off, the bad guys should be hitting you up for a fat ransom."
"What about her family and relatives?" said Joe. "Could be they've been approached about a ransom."
"No. Jillian's an orphan. There's no family at all."
Frank said, "All that's clear right now is that wherever Jillian Seabright is, there's somebody who doesn't want her found."
Shannon asked, "But why?"
"That's what we'll have to find out." Frank rose up. "We'll need all those addresses. Her home, the theater, her agent."
"I've already checked all those out," Shannon said.
"But we haven't." Joe got to his feet, too. "And how about a photo?"
Shannon shook his head. "I don't have one," he said, a little embarrassed. "Well, I have a dozen, actually, but I left them all at my beach house in Malibu."
"What does she look like?" Frank asked.
"She's very pretty."
"Can you get a little more specific?"
Shannon closed his eyes. "Five foot four, about a hundred and ten pounds, blond hair, shoulder length. Jill's got a heart-shaped face, dimples, big eyes. They're ... they're ... well, sort of gray-green." He looked a little flustered as he opened his eyes. He took a big breath and said, "I really am worried about her."
"We'll find her," Joe assured him.
"Now, let's take a look at these phones," said Frank.
The fog was even denser when the brothers left Jed Shannon's town house. It closed in tight around them as they started walking back toward their car.
Joe said, "Think we'll be able to trace that bug you found in the phone?"
"Probably not."
"Maybe we ought to persuade Shannon to go to the police again."
Frank said, "You heard me suggest that to Larry Berman. But he's convinced the London police think he's just a publicity nut."
"We've got evidence now, since that bug was real."
"We've only got evidence that there was a bug on the phone." Frank shook his head. "There's no way of proving who planted a snooping device there."
"Meaning Berman himself could have done it?"
"I don't think he did, Joe, but the police might."
After walking a few paces in silence, Joe remarked, "I hope we find Jillian Seabright."
His brother grinned. "That's part of our job now," he said. "Find her, and we should find whoever is threatening Jed Shannon. But you sound like you have other motives."
"Hey, I'd just like to meet the lady," said Joe. "Think about it, Frank. A multi-million- dollar Hollywood actor like Jed Shannon must meet dozens of incredible girls every day. You know - actresses, models, heiresses, maybe even a princess or two."
"True." They'd reached their parked car, and Frank fished the keys from his pocket.
"But he flies all the way to London from far off California to see this one girl again," Joe said.
Unlocking the door on the driver's side, Frank said, "He had to come to London anyway. He's promoting his new movie." He slid in behind the wheel, reaching across to open Joe's door.
"No, I think he really is in love with Jillian. You could hear it in his voice."
"He's an actor. He can make you hear anything in his - What's the matter, Joe?"
Joe held out a file card to his brother. "I just found this on my seat."
Neatly lettered on the white card were six words.
This could have been a bomb.
Chapter 4
"Well, that was considerate of someone to give us such a break," Joe said with a smirk. "I wonder if this was put in the car before or after we were shot at."
"Whoever it was must have dropped it in through the crack in your window," Frank said as he started the car. "Maybe it was put there by the person I had that nice chat with on the phone."
"Or a certain red-haired girl who lost her dog," Joe mused.
Frank took his eyes off the road to look quizzically at his brother. "What are you talking about?"
As they made their way to the hotel Joe told his brother of his encounter with the girl in the doorway.
When they let themselves into their room Frank took the card from Joe and inspected it. "Too bad Jed got rid of that letter telling him to leave town. We have no way of knowing if this was written by the same hand."
***
The Hardys left their hotel, a grand but faded palace just off the Strand, early the next morning. The new day was chilly and gray, and a light rain was falling. In search of a heartier meal than the continental breakfast their hotel offered, Frank and Joe followed the concierge's directions and, a few minutes later, were having breakfast in a quaint hotel restaurant on a street off Trafalgar Square.
The place was decorated in yellows and greens, and a thick, rich carpet kept things quiet, absorbing the clatter of knives and forks, teacups and plates, and the conversations of the numerous diners.
In spite of the grand surroundings, Joe frowned down at his plate. "This doesn't look much like an English muffin."
"We're in England, the headquarters of English muffins." Frank dipped his toast into the yolk of his fried egg. "They must know how to make the things."
"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" Joe spread more marmalade on a muffin half. "But this isn't anything like the English muffins you get at the supermarket back home in Bayport."
Frank cut a slice of bacon and grinned. "Joe Hardy, the well-traveled tourist."
"I happen to be an expert on English muffins." Joe spread more marmalade. "Any new thoughts on this case occur to you during the night?"
"No, I still think we have to start by locating Jillian Seabright. She's the key to all this."
"Jed's studio is going to have two security people going along with him on his round of interviews today," said Joe around a mouthful of muffin. "So we're covered on that."
Frank didn't look so sure. "The bad guys - if that's what they are - have been pretty good at getting around security measures."
Joe leaned back in his chair. "I don't think you're completely sure this isn't just a publicity gimmick."
"I'm just not a hundred percent certain Jed's in love with this missing girl."
"Maybe not, but if this was a publicity thing, they'd have gotten something into the papers," Joe pointed out. "I bought an armload of them, from stately to sleazy, when we got back to the hotel last night. Several mentions of Jed and his movie, sure, but not a word about Jillian."
"This is a natural for the Daily Yell. 'Star Searches for Lost Love. Fame and a New Film Can't Ease Heartbreak.' You know the kind of headlines this story will generate," Frank said.
"I'm betting Jillian really is in some kind of trouble, and that Jed doesn't have any idea where she is."
Frank took his last mouthful of egg, wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin, and asked fo
r the check. "After today, maybe we'll have some answers."
"Sure you're okay on the way we're splitting up the work?"
With a nod, Frank said, "I'll track down Jillian's agent and talk to him. You'll try talking with the other tenants in the building where Jillian lives. We might as well take the Underground. It's easier than finding a parking spot and can be quicker than driving."
Joe shifted in his chair for a moment. At last he finally burst out, "You know, I'm really more of a show-biz expert than you are."
Frank gave his brother a look. "Joe, this Ian Fisher-Stone doesn't sound like a big talent agent. I don't think he'll have a bunch of hot-looking girls hanging around his waiting room."
"Do you think I'd be distracted from my duties by a bunch of beautiful actresses?"
"Yes, I do." Frank picked up the check, pulled some bills from his pocket, and gave them to the silent waiter who'd materialized beside them.
Joe sighed as he pushed back from the table.
"I hate to admit it, Frank, but you're probably right."
***
The dirty brick building on the edge of Soho was narrow and tired-looking. The tiles in the entrance were all cracked, and so was the glass on the building directory. A shadowy stairway led up to Ian Fisher-Stone's third-floor office. It smelled of stale cigar smoke.
As Frank climbed past the tattoo parlor on the second floor he began to suspect that Jillian's agent wasn't high on the ladder of success. The dingy, tiny reception room he finally reached seemed to confirm that. Holes actually showed through the worn Oriental carpet, and the photos on the walls were faded from age. Piled high on a small reception desk were dozens of fat, dusty file folders.
Since there was no one seated behind the cluttered desk, Frank crossed the threadbare rug and tapped on the frosted glass door. Peeling gold letters spelled out Ian Fisher-Stone, Talent Representatives.
When Frank rattled the door, a muffled voice said something unintelligible.
Frank turned the dented brass doorknob.
The agent's inner office was no larger than the outer one. His desk was about the same size and equally cluttered. There were more piles of crammed folders leaning on a row of battered wooden filing cabinet along one wall. The framed photos of actors and actresses on these walls weren't quite as old and faded as the ones outside. Frank noticed a gap in the lowest row. Unfaded wallpaper showed where a photo had been.
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