At that distance the Hardys couldn’t tell which rider might be their quarry. Frank and Joe sprinted to their bikes.
“Good thing we’ve got our bad weather mountain tires on,” Joe said as they took off after the riders. “If we pedal hard, we might just catch them.”
“Assuming they don’t know the trail any better than we do,” Frank said grimly.
The brothers pedaled rapidly up the hill. When they reached the top, they spotted the lights of one motorcycle and the ATV racing down a ravine away from them. The other cycle had vanished.
“Think one of those is him?” Joe asked.
“We’ve got a two out of three chance,” Frank replied. “And we’re not giving up now!” He shot down the hill, his bike bouncing over rocks, roots, and fallen branches. Joe zipped after him.
The rough terrain took some of the advantage away from the ATV and the motorcycle. Because of their greater weight, the machines lurched and bounced more than the Hardys’ bikes did. Obviously, neitherof the riders was an expert on rough terrain. They skidded and sputtered their way up and down the hills.
Frank and Joe, on the other hand, had plenty of experience at both motocross and mountain bike races. The Hardys pumped up the hills with ease, and skidded down leaf-covered slopes without mishap. They rocketed across a small stream in their path, and dodged around tree stumps and other obstacles that suddenly loomed up out of the moonlit mist.
The brothers gained a lot of ground on the two riders. Both vehicles were sticking together—at least for the moment. The Hardys reached the bottom of a small gully just as the riders crested the next hill.
The Hardys shot after them. They topped the hill in no time and saw a sprawling subdivision in the rolling valley below. The riders skidded down the slope just a short distance ahead of the brothers.
“This must be Magus Hills—the neighborhood Callie mentioned,” Frank called, without slacking his pace.
“If we had the cell phone, we could tell the girls to cut those riders off,” Joe said.
“We’ll just have to do the best we can on our own,” Frank replied.
A large swath of hilly space wound between the large, expensive houses of Magus Hills. A pond sat in the middle of the subdivision, and a three-foot-widecreek meandered out of the pond and flowed into the distance. Cheery light streamed out of the houses into the dancing silver fog.
During the chase, the woods and mist had effectively hidden the Hardys from their quarry. Now the riders spotted Frank and Joe and both accelerated. It was all the brothers could do to keep up.
“Looks like they’re in more familiar territory now,” Joe said, panting.
Frank nodded and redoubled his efforts. Bumping over the open space, they weren’t losing much ground, but they weren’t gaining any, either. “Should we switch on our headlights?” he asked his brother.
“No,” Joe replied. “We’re doing okay without them. At this point they’d only ruin our night vision.”
The ATV and the cycle nearly skidded out near a large two-story neo-Victorian. The backyard lights flicked on automatically, and a commotion rose up in the home. Unfortunately, the riders darted out of the light before the Hardys could recognize them.
Suddenly the motorcycle switched off its lights. A few seconds later, the ATV did the same.
“They must have figured the lights made them easier to follow,” Joe said.
“Or easier to identify,” Frank agreed. His breath came in heavy gasps, and his muscles ached, but he refused to quit.
The brothers had gained on their quarry during the skid out. Now only fifty yards separated them. The winding, landscaped terrain of the open space largelynegated the superior horsepower of the motor vehicles.
All at once, though, a footbridge rose up on the left. The motorcyclist swerved and darted over the bridge as the Hardys whizzed past.
“Lost him!” Joe said. “That cyclist must have known that bridge was coming.”
“Stay with the ATV,” Frank called as the cycle disappeared into the fog. “It’s two against one, now, and his rig is clumsy on this landscape.”
“I don’t have much left,” Joe said, gasping. “But maybe we can outflank him somehow.”
“Cut over that way,” Frank said. “I’ll try to chase him around the other side.”
The flat grassy area they were riding over wound right. Joe cut left, pressing up over the top of a ten-foot-high hill. At the top of the hill, two tree trunks suddenly appeared out of the fog right in front of Joe.
Frank put on a final burst of speed and closed the distance on the ATV.
The rider glanced back over his shoulder. He spotted Frank and swerved left. Frank followed.
Joe darted between the trees, barely missing the trunks with his wide shoulders. As Joe topped the rise, the ATV skidded with Frank in hot pursuit. The four-wheeler was trapped between the brothers and a large pond. Joe barreled down the slope, switching on his headlight, and angling straight for the ATV.
The headlight surprised the rider, and he swervedsuddenly to the right. The ATV’s tires skidded on the fog-slick grass and it went into a spin.
Joe clamped down on his brakes, but the tires didn’t catch. He slid toward the spinning four-wheeler, unable to stop. Frank, too, skidded headlong toward the impending pileup. Both Hardys braced themselves for a spectacular three-way crash.
9 Networking
At the last instant Joe leaped off his bike. He flew over the spinning tires and landed on the rider of the ATV. The rider’s breathwooshedout as both he and Joe fell to the ground.Frank kept skidding toward the ATV. Desperate, he leaned over the handlebars and spun his bike on the front wheel. The rear of the bike whipped around and hit the four-wheeler. The collision threw Frank over his handlebars.
The elder Hardy tucked into a forward roll, hoping to blunt the impact as he crashed. He landed hard on Joe and the ATV rider, cracking his elbow on the rider’s helmet. The three of them tumbled down the side of the pond, stopping two feet before the water’s edge. Riderless, the ATV rolled down into the pond and sputtered to a stop.
Joe and Frank lay stunned for a moment. The ATV rider groaned.
“Are you okay?” Joe finally asked.
“Yeah,” Frank replied. He felt woozy, but the spots had begun to clear from his eyes. “How about you?”
“I’ve been better,” Joe said. “At least we caught the guy we were after.”
Frank and Joe disentangled themselves from the rider and rolled slowly to either side. “Do you think he’s all right?” Frank asked.
Joe dragged himself into a sitting position. At the same time, the rider groaned again. “He’s alive, at least,” Joe said.
Despite the pain in his elbow, Frank sat up. The rider sat up as well.
“Are you guys crazy?” asked a muffled voice from inside the helmet. “Man, does my head hurt!” He pulled the helmet off and set it on the grass beside him. The face under the helmet belonged to Gerry Wise.
Frank’s and Joe’s hearts sank. They’d caught the wrong man.
As the bad news sank in, lights from a police cruiser appeared on the far side of the pond. A voice coming over a loudspeaker said:
“All of you, stay right where you are!”
Joe and Frank knew the Bayport Police Headquarters well. They’d been there many times while working on cases. Usually, though, they came as visitors, not suspects.
The brothers sat in a holding area while the police worked out the details of what had happened. Finally, their friend Officer Con Riley came over to see them.
“Well,” he said, “this is a bigger mess than you’re usually in.” Con often lent them a sympathetic ear when they were working on a case.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Frank said, rubbing his sore elbow.
Con shook his head disapprovingly. “Right now I think the best idea would be for you boys to go home and get some rest.”
“We’re not being charged with anything?” Jo
e asked, a trace of surprise in his voice.
“Luckily for you, no,” Con said. “Gerry Wise lives in the Magus Hills subdivision. His father built that entire tract of houses. Gerry has a right to use the recreational space as he sees fit. That use maynotinclude racing around on a four-wheeler in the pitch-dark with his friends—but that’s a matter for the neighborhood association. Probably, they’ll fine him and make him clean up the damage. I’ve a feeling that you boys might like to help out on that front.”
Frank nodded, but Joe blurted out, “He was running a shady card game in the old Benson Mini-Mall.”
Con folded his arms across his chest and nodded in return. “Yup. I know all about that. Your friend’s father owns that building. Gerry had permission to run games there—though I gather that tonight’s affair got a little out of hand.”
“You might say that,” Joe said, rubbing his ribs where the demon-masked man had hit him.
“As to the game itself . . .” Con shrugged. “I don’t pretend to understand this collector card stuff. What they were doing sounds like itmightbe gambling, but we don’t have anything solid to hang a charge on— despite what you saw. I’m not sure you’d want us to do that anyway. Probably some of those players are friends of yours.” Con shot the brothers a look that said he knew they’d followed someone there, though both Hardys had kept Chet’s name out of their statements.
“You might be right,” Frank said.
“It was hard to tell with everyone wearing masks,” Joe added.
“So, go on, get out of here,” Con said, waving his hand toward the door.
“Thanks, Con,” Frank said.
“Don’t thank me,” the officer said. “Just thank your lucky stars that Chief Collig isn’t on duty tonight. You know how much he ‘likes’ both of you.” Con grinned.
The Hardys smiled back and headed out of the holding room. In the foyer, they met their father, Fenton Hardy, as well as Chet, Iola, and Callie.
“Sorry we got you out of bed for nothing, Dad,” Joe said.
“I’m glad they’re not charging you,” Mr. Hardy said, “and I’m glad that you’re both safe. On the whole, though, I would have preferred a good night’s sleep.”
“I couldn’t have slept anyway, until I heard fromJoe,” Iola said. Joe gave her a quick, reassuring hug. Frank did the same for Callie.
“Did you recover all the cards you brought to the game, Chet?” Frank asked.
“Yeah. Some of them got a bit stomped, but they’re all there and usable,” Chet replied.
“I don’t know about the rest of you,” Callie said, “but I’m beat. And I’mveryglad tomorrow is Saturday and we don’t have school.”
“I’ve still got a lot of work to do,” Chet said, “to get ready for the tournament on Tuesday.”
“And I’m betting our bikes need some work as well,” Joe said, sighing.
“I think you can sort all that out in the morning,” Mr. Hardy said. “That is, if any of you are up before noon.”
The whole group chuckled and headed for the door. They ran into Gerry Wise and his father, who were leaving at the same time. Mr. Wise scowled at the Hardys.
Gerry grinned sheepishly at the brothers. “Sorry about this, guys,” he said. “It was all just a big misunderstanding. I’m glad nobody really got hurt.”
“Us, too,” Frank said. “We’ll lend you a hand repairing any damage.”
“I’ll say you will,” Mr. Wise said angrily. “You’re lucky we don’t have you boys up for assault!”
“Hey, cool it, Dad,” Gerry said.
“I think the kids can settle this on their own,” Mr. Hardy said calmly. “There’s nothing that a few apologies and some elbow grease can’t fix.”
Mr. Wise frowned but didn’t say anything more.
As they all walked down the front steps, Gerry hung back with the others and whispered, “Chet, I hope you’ll play next month. This kind of stuff doesn’t usually happen.”
“I can’t believe that you’d—” Joe began.
Frank cut him off. “Gerry, did you know all the players at the game?”
“Most of them, yeah,” Gerry said.
“And you supplied the masks?” Frank asked.
“Most of them,” Gerry repeated.
“So, who was the demon-masked guy who started all the trouble?” Joe asked.
Gerry shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “Some of the players wear their own masks when they show up. They don’t wantanyoneguessing who they are. That way, their card strategies remain a complete secret.”
“Too bad,” Joe muttered.
Gerry waved goodbye and got into his father’s limo. The teens piled into the Hardys’ van, and Fenton Hardy went to his own car.
“Come straight home as soon as you’ve dropped everyone off,” Fenton said to his sons.
Joe and Frank nodded. “Don’t worry, Dad,” Joe said. “The only place we’re going tonight is to bed.”
Frank and Joe did get up before noon, but notmuchbefore noon. They spent the remainder of Saturday morning working on their bikes, which their father had reclaimed from the police. The bicycles were pretty badly beaten up.
Chet Morton showed up around one with Iola and Callie.
“Hey, guys,” Chet said. “How’s it going?”
“We’ve had better mornings,” Joe said, wiping the sweat from his brow with a grease-stained towel. He cleaned his hands on the towel and said, “Hi, Callie. Hi, Iola.”
“Chet’s been pacing around like a caged lion all morning,” Iola said.
Chet sighed with frustration. “I’m out forty-five bucks,” he said, “and I’m not much closer to having my deck rebuilt.”
“What about that Internet site Daphne mentioned?” Frank asked.
“I used most of the search engines available, but I couldn’t find it,” Chet said forlornly. “Every time I typed in ‘Black Knight,’ I kept coming up with role-playing game sites.”
Frank wiped the bicycle grease from his hands. “Maybe we should ask Daphne to show us the site personally.”
“Good idea,” Joe said.
“Iola and I did some checking this morning,” Callie said. “It turns out that Gerry, Daphne, and Pete all live in that same subdivision.”
Frank gave his girlfriend a kiss on the cheek. “Not only beautiful, but smart, too.”
“So either Pete or Daphne could have been the cyclist we chased into Magus Hills,” Joe said. “I’ve seen them both riding motorcycles, too.”
“I don’t think Daphne could have been the demon-masked guy, though—not unless she’s an Oscar-winning makeup artist,” Chet said.
“Pete looks like our best bet,” Frank said, “but there may be other suspects we haven’t considered.”
“Well,” Joe said, “until we get more evidence, I think we should take Frank’s suggestion and talk to Daphne.”
All of them agreed, and after the Hardys showered, they all hopped into the van and headed for Daphne’s house—a new, two-story colonial on Hebert Avenue. Daphne answered the door when they rang the bell.
“Hey, guys,” she said pleasantly, “this must be my day for friends dropping in unexpectedly.”
“Who else has dropped by?” Frank asked.
“Tim showed up earlier,” she said. “We were going to have a tune-up game, but the big dummy left his cards in his school locker. He was going to try and get them.”
“Getting his deck from school on a Saturday?” Chet said skeptically.
“There’s a volleyball game in the gym today,” Callie said. “Hemightbe able to get in.”
Daphne shrugged. “I haven’t seen him since, so who knows? What can I do for you guys? Did you come to get humiliated in a tune-up game, Chet?”
Chet shook his head. “Nope,” he said. “My deck’s still pretty sparse.”
“Still?” Daphne said, raising her eyebrows. “Get it together, Morton. You’ll never make it past the first round of the tourney this way.”
Daphne gently slapped her forehead. “I’m sorry. I should have sent you the URL. Come on in. We’ll send an instant message from my machine to the Knight. You can pick up the conversation at your place later.”
“Good idea,” Chet said.
Daphne led the teens into her house. “Mom,” she called to an unseen parent, “I’ve got some friends over to surf the Net.”
“That’s fine, dear” came a reply from the other room. Chet and the others went upstairs to Daphne’s room. There they found the latest in computer equipment as well as the usual posters and memorabilia.
Daphne quickly logged on to the Net. “The site is kind of hidden,” Daphne explained. “You can’t find it unless someone shows you. There. I’ve E-mailed the URL to you, Chet.”
“Thanks,” Chet said. He stood next to Daphne; the rest of the group watched over their shoulders.
Daphne’s fingers flew over the keyboard. In seconds the Black Knight’s site appeared on the screen. It had a crude castle and a block-lettered title. As the page opened, a deep voice came over the monitor, “Halt! Who goes there?”
Daphne typed in her name and password. The doors to the castle opened, a new screen popped up, and the computer voice said, “Welcome, Lady Soesbee.” Daphne moved her cursor across the new screen and pressed the Send a Message option.
She requested that the Black Knight contact Chet at his home E-mail address as soon as possible. She stressed that Chet needed to buy cards before Tuesday’s tournament. Then she sat back and smiled with satisfaction.
“That’s all there is to it?” Joe asked.
“Yep,” Daphne said. As she spoke, a bell sounded and a new screen popped up on her monitor.
“It’s from the Black Knight,” Daphne said. “He must have been online when we wrote.”
“Let’s see what he has to say,” Frank said.
Daphne pressed a few keys and the reply opened up. It read: “Lady Soesbee: Tell your friend to wait for my E-mail tonight. We’ll set up a meeting.—The Black Knight”
Crime in the Cards Page 6