The London Deception

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Now that we know Shah was involved, we’re blowing all kinds of holes in the ghost theory,” Frank told him. “By coming in through the door on the roof, he could have pulled the screws out of the courthouse facade and sabotaged the lights with greasepaint without anyone seeing him.”

  “What about the fire in Emily’s dressing room?” Joe asked.

  “Remember, we couldn’t figure out how someone got past you and Chris?” Frank reminded him.

  “Yeah.” Joe answered.

  Chris suddenly popped up from beneath the stage through a trapdoor. “Like many stages, this one has a trapdoor,” Chris said. “There’s a crawl space beneath the stage, leads to the stage right wing.”

  “So then Shah could have lit that fire and evaded Chris and me without being a ghost,” Joe realized.

  Frank nodded. “The crawl space is almost directly under the stage right door. Shah could have ducked into it just as you and Chris came through the door. Then he could have come up through the trapdoor, climbed to the catwalk, and gone out over the roof.”

  “That’s why the emergency exit siren wasn’t triggered,” Chris added.

  Joe snapped his fingers as he figured out another piece of the puzzle. “Shah also had to be the person who stole the tour guide’s costume and tried to push the gate on top of you, Frank,” Joe guessed.

  “But how did he escape from the roof of the abandoned building?” Frank wondered.

  “The same way he always got from that roof into the theater,” Joe replied. “He walked the plank.”

  “But how did Shah know to find us at the Seven Bells Pub?” Frank asked.

  Joe shook his head. “And who was the white figure you saw in the lighting booth?”

  “More unanswered questions,” Frank remarked.

  “Speaking of questions, where’s Jennifer?” Joe asked.

  “I rang her flat,” Chris said, “but no one answered.”

  “Aren’t you a little concerned?” Joe pressed on. “The last thing we told her to do was phone the police. The police aren’t here, Mr. Paul’s not here, no one’s here.”

  “Maybe she left a note,” Frank said.

  While Joe and Chris checked the lobby, Frank checked the lighting booth. Frank found no note, but sensed something in the booth was different. The computerized lighting board was gone!

  Rushing downstairs, Frank found Joe and Chris outside the theater talking with Mr. Paul.

  “Hello, Frank,” Mr. Paul said. “The boys were telling me the disturbing news.”

  “Hadn’t you heard already?” Frank asked.

  “He hasn’t heard from Jennifer or the police,” Joe told him.

  “I have more bad news,” Frank told them. “Someone stole the light board.”

  “Neville Shah?” Chris wondered.

  “No, Neville Shah wasn’t carrying anything when we chased him,” Joe said.

  “He must have had an accomplice,” Frank said, looking at Dennis Paul, then at Chris.

  “Dad, we need to discuss something,” Chris told his father. Chris confessed to being the anonymous donor and told his father everything they knew about Mr. Kije.

  “Oh, Chris, you shouldn’t have used your money,” Mr. Paul scolded.

  “Never mind about my money, Dad,” Chris said. “I want to know about Kije Enterprises.”

  “I’m sorry, boys, I should have come out with it as soon as the trouble started,” Mr. Paul said, then sighed heavily. “I am Mr. Kije.”

  13 Mr. Kije Appears

  * * *

  “What do you mean?” Chris asked.

  “When my uncle Jared died last year, he left me a large sum of money, requesting that I use it to produce Innocent Victim,” Mr. Paul explained.

  “Why?” Joe asked.

  “My uncle knew how much I believed in my script and knew it was my dream to have it mounted onstage,” Mr. Paul replied.

  “But why didn’t you just use your own name?” Chris wondered.

  “Because it would be a vanity production,” Frank guessed, remembering the conversation from a few days earlier. “Like Lord Quill’s ill-fated production for his wife.”

  “Yes,” Mr. Paul said. “Not only would it jeopardize its chances for success with the critics to have my name on the show as producer, it was simply too embarrassing to have people think I was such an egomaniac. If I was producing and directing my own script, actors like Emily Anderson would have found it amateurish. She might not even have accepted her role.”

  “But it’s a wonderful show, Mr. Paul,” Frank said. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed.”

  “Yes, well, my behavior has been foolhardy,” Mr. Paul admitted. “But I assure you I have done nothing to undermine my play. When I told you I was meeting with Mr. Kije, I was actually visiting every show business investor I knew, trying to raise additional money.”

  “The private investigator told us you had gone to several homes that night,” Joe recalled.

  “Private investigator?” Chris and Dennis Paul chorused.

  Joe explained about Mr. Jeffries hiring a private investigator to investigate the incidents at the theater.

  “Well, whoever else is behind this, I’m afraid they’ve finally done us in,” Mr. Paul said. “We’ve lost two days of rehearsal and we can’t do a show without a light board.”

  • • •

  By ten-thirty A.M., the police had once again come and gone. When Jeffries arrived, Mr. Paul told him about the events of the preceding night, even going so far as to admit his deception about Kije Enterprises.

  “Mr. Paul, I have been extremely lenient,” Jeffries began. “I have looked the other way while you allowed nonunion labor—teenagers, in fact—to run your spotlights and rebuild your sets.”

  “Yes, you’ve been very kind,” Mr. Paul replied.

  “I forgave the fact that you nearly burned down my theater,” Jeffries went on. “I might even have forgiven you misrepresenting yourself to me as Mr. Kije. But now my state-of-the-art, computerized light board has been stolen by someone on your staff.”

  “We told you, it was Neville Shah,” Joe protested.

  “Detective Inspector Ryan has informed me that Mr. Shah is a possible suspect, based mainly on your testimony and a wig of some sort,” Jeffries said, dismissively. “In any case, according to our contract, you are responsible for any of the theater’s equipment, including the light board, which you use for your production.”

  “Yes, well, I’m certain it will turn up,” Mr. Paul said.

  “It will cost ten thousand pounds to replace it,” Jeffries told him. “I would like it by tomorrow morning.”

  “You’re well aware that I don’t have ten thousand pounds,” Mr. Paul said coolly.

  “Yes. I am also well aware that I am out of patience, so I’m willing to cut my loses,” Jeffries said. “Now, I could simply toss you out for breach of contract, but since I have some sense of pity, I will allow you to sign a new agreement, releasing each of us from our obligation to each other.”

  “That is generous, but I—” Mr. Paul began to say.

  “Your advance rent will cover the cost of replacing the light board,” Jeffries said, then turned and walked off. Frank watched him retreat into his office.

  “What possible benefit could there be for Mr. Jeffries not allowing Innocent Victim to go on?” Frank asked Dennis Paul.

  “None I can think of,” Mr. Paul replied. “Up until now, he’s been threatening to sue me if I broke our rental agreement. Now, he appears to want the contract broken.”

  “Hmm,” Frank said, scratching the back of his neck thoughtfully. “What could you do to Mr. Jeffries if he broke the contract?”

  “Well, I could sue him in return,” Mr. Paul replied.

  “Just for the money you had already given him?” Frank wondered.

  “No, if his breach of contract brought about the demise of the show, I could sue him for all my costs, which is the entire budget of Innocent Victim. I could even sue fo
r its potential earnings,” Mr. Paul said.

  “For hundreds of thousands,” Joe concluded.

  “I suppose, but not in this case,” Mr. Paul said. “Jeffries has grounds to break the rental contract, given everything that’s happened.”

  “Unless he’s the cause of everything that’s happened,” Joe said

  “But that’s rather far-fetched, Joseph,” Mr. Paul said. “Jeffries would have to have a lot to gain to take that sort of risk.”

  “So what do you want to do, Dad?” Chris asked.

  “Go on with rehearsal,” Mr. Paul replied. “I’ll try to beg, borrow, or steal a light board somehow.”

  By noon rehearsal was in full swing. Emily Anderson seemed inspired, Frank thought, and Chris took full command of the stage. The cast had pulled together as never before. It was sad to think it might all be over the next day.

  Joe sat down next to Frank in the back row of the theater.

  “Any luck finding Jennifer?” Frank asked.

  “She’s still not home and none of her neighbors have seen her,” Joe replied quietly. “I’m worried.”

  Frank looked at his brother, trying to figure out how to broach a sensitive subject. “Joe, has it occurred to you that Jennifer might have been working with Neville Shah and has been fooling us all along? She may have disappeared because she stole the light board herself.”

  “That could be true,” Joe replied, frowning. “But I’m hoping it’s not.”

  Joe heard a faint metallic tapping noise coming from somewhere in the theater. “What’s that sound?”

  “The heating system is probably ancient,” Frank guessed. “It’s the pipes in the walls, filling with steam.”

  Joe nodded, then asked, “Has Mr. Paul had any luck finding another light board?”

  Frank shook his head. “It’s not like a cup of sugar he can borrow from a neighbor,” Frank said. The words were just out of his mouth when an idea struck him. “Or maybe it is.”

  Frank rose to his feet. “Hold down the fort, Joe, I’m going to try to borrow a cup of sugar.”

  Frank left the theater. Joe started to follow, wanting more of an explanation, but stopped when he saw Timothy Jeffries leading a man in a business suit out of his office. The man, whom Joe felt he had seen before, stood with Jeffries at the back of the theater, watching the rehearsal.

  Jeffries was pointing to one thing and then another. Joe crouched and slipped along the partition between the lobby and the theater to see if he could hear what was being said.

  “It’s a grand space,” the man said.

  “Yes, Mr. Blanco, with plenty of room for dancing,” Jeffries added.

  Dancing? Was this a producer planning to do a musical, Joe wondered?

  “Dancing isn’t a main feature,” Blanco said. “It’s mostly men.”

  “Yes, of course. Now, here is the inspection slip. The electrical system, you can see, is up to code,” Jeffries told him.

  Suddenly the two men rounded the corner into the lobby. Joe rose swiftly and walked directly toward them, so as not to look as if he was hiding. “Hello,” he said politely.

  “Hello, young man,” Blanco said. “So sorry to hear your show won’t be opening.”

  “Not opening? I think it’ll be one of the biggest hits of the year. I give it two thumbs up!” Joe said, enthusiastically thrusting his two thumbs into the air.

  Joe watched Jeffries’s face turn crimson as he tried to hold his temper.

  “I thought you said—” Blanco began to question Jeffries.

  “The producer has broken several rules stipulated in our rental agreement,” Jeffries assured him. “If they don’t leave peaceably, I have the legal right to force them out.”

  “But what have they done?’ Blanco asked.

  “We can talk more about that later this afternoon,” Jeffries said, pushing out a smile. “When there aren’t feelings to be hurt.”

  Jeffries led Blanco to the front door.

  “So, I’ll trot off to the bank and be back,” Blanco said to Jeffries.

  Joe spotted a white limousine waiting at the curb. Like lightning, the memory of where he had seen Blanco shot into Joe’s head. Blanco had been in the Lamb and Wolf Pub with John Moeller, the soccer star.

  As Blanco slipped into the limo, Jeffries closed the theater door and strode angrily up to Joe.

  “Stay out of my business,” he demanded. “Do you understand?”

  “The man asked me a question and I answered,” Joe replied, undaunted. “Why are you showing the theater when you already have a show in it, Mr, Jeffries?”

  “A show will not be in it if my state-of-the-art light board is not recovered,” Jeffries said with a smug smile.

  “My brother is taking care of that right now,” Joe said confidently, trying to provoke a reaction.

  “Well, well—” Jeffries stammered, clearly thrown. “Even so, the word in the theater community of London is that Innocent Victim is a troubled show. In layman’s terms, that means it has disaster written all over it. So I am looking for new renters now, so that my theater doesn’t stay dark for another year after Mr. Kije-Paul’s show closes.”

  “Mr. Blanco is a theater producer?” Joe asked.

  Again, Jeffries stumbled on his words. “He’s, he’s—yes!”

  “What’s the name of the musical?” Joe pressed on with the rapid questions.

  “What musical?” Jeffries demanded.

  “I heard you mention ‘room for dancing’ to him,” Joe said.

  “Yes, a musical,” Jeffries sputtered. “A musical, I don’t know the name.”

  From this short exchange, Joe now felt certain that Jeffries was hiding something and had some secret reason for wanting Innocent Victim out of his theater.

  “Will you recommend Neville Shah again to do lights?” Joe asked the theater owner.

  “Jennifer Mulhall knew he was an ex-convict as well,” Jeffries insisted. “We wanted to help him. Ask her if you don’t believe me.”

  “I would, but she’s disappeared,” Joe said, staring into Jeffries’ eyes.

  Jeffries drew himself up, smiled, and stepped forward, looking up at the taller Joe Hardy. “You’re an exchange student. Why don’t you just try to enjoy yourself so you can leave England next week with fond memories, instead of regrets.”

  Jeffries turned and walked back into his office. Despite Jeffries’s smiling face, Joe knew he had been threatened.

  • • •

  “You have incredible nerve, I’ll give you that,” Schulander said to Frank Hardy, who stood across from the producer’s desk in a posh executive suite, holding a bag containing a roast beef sandwich.

  “I had to figure out some way to get by your receptionist,” Frank said.

  “Yes, not much of a ruse, bringing me roast beef when I’m a vegetarian,” Schulander said.

  “I guess your receptionist doesn’t know your eating habits,” Frank said, smiling.

  “Yes, she’s new. All right, so what do you want? A job, an audition?” Schulander asked.

  “I want a light board,” Frank replied, and explained the situation at the Quill Garden, including all the acts of sabotage that had been plaguing the production.

  “I know that your good friend Mr. Jeffries would appreciate your help,” Frank concluded with a statement he knew was a necessary lie.

  “Let’s not exaggerate,” Schulander said. “Jeffries is an acquaintance of mine, as is every other theater owner in town.”

  Frank’s shoulders drooped as he prepared for Schulander to send him away empty-handed.

  “However, in this difficult business, we must all help each other whenever we can, else the theater shall die,” Schulander said, rising and walking to a huge wall calender covered with handwritten notes.

  “I have a show in Covent Garden closing tonight,” Schulander continued. “However, all the lighting equipment, including the board, is rented through the end of the week. You may borrow it.”

  “
Mr. Schulander, I don’t know how to thank you,” Frank said, grinning.

  “You could begin by bringing me falafel next time,” Schulander said. “Now let’s arrange for you to pick up that equipment. After all . . .”

  “. . . the show must go on,” Frank and Schulander said in unison.

  • • •

  Frank left the theater and headed down the steps into the Leicester Square tube station.

  The bright sun had begun to melt the snow from the night before, and as Frank trotted out of the Aldgate East tube stop near the theater, he felt hopeful about the Pauls’ new show.

  As he started to cross the intersection, he hesitated, remembering to look right, instead of left, before crossing to the median halfway across.

  But as he stepped into the street, Frank heard an engine race to his left. Turning his head, he saw a car driving in reverse headed straight for him.

  14 A Forgotten Ally

  * * *

  The car slammed on its brakes and stopped a few yards before it reached Frank.

  David Young stepped out of the car. “Hello, Frank,” he said. “Get in.”

  Frank felt uncertain about this.

  “We’re a block from the theater, I don’t want anyone to see us talking,” Young explained.

  Frank nodded and then got into Young’s European compact car. Young looked like a giant crammed into the driver’s seat of the tiny automobile as he drove Frank around the block.

  “Mr. Young, what are you doing here?” Frank asked.

  “I’ve been here for twenty-one hours now,” Young told him, referring to a pile of empty cardboard coffee cups on the backseat of the car.

  “Mr. Jeffries told you to stake out the theater?” Frank asked.

  “Mr. Jeffries didn’t much like my conclusion that you boys and Dennis Paul were innocent,” Young told him. “When I said I planned to watch the theater overnight to see who the real culprit might be, he sacked me.”

  “Sacked you?” Frank asked.

  “Fired me,” Young replied. “So I figured I’d better stake it out for your sake, if you know what I mean.”

  “Then you saw us when we chased after Neville Shah,” Frank realized.