The Secret of Sigma Seven

by Franklin W. Dixon

  He leaned forward and said in a loud stage whisper, “It was Feinbetter. My old buddy Richard Feinbetter stole Simon Devoreaux’s film.”

  5 The Huckster Room

  * * *

  Frank and Joe edged their way through the crowd until they were right in front of Arlen Hennessy.

  “Are you saying you know who committed the crime?” Frank asked the writer. When Hennessy smiled smugly and nodded, Frank continued. “Then why haven’t you told the police?”

  “That’s aiding and abetting a felony,” Joe added. “You’d better tell us everything you know about Richard Feinbetter and the theft of Simon Devoreaux’s film—before you wind up in real trouble.”

  Hennessy folded his arms over his chest and glared at the Hardys. “So who are you guys, anyway? The local police department? Next thing I know, you’ll be threatening to drag me down to the station house if I don’t confess.” He assumed a wide-eyed look of innocence and said in a high-pitched voice, “Honest, officers, I don’t remember a thing. Everything just went black, and then I woke up with a smoking gun in my hands.”

  The crowd laughed, but Frank didn’t crack a smile. “We’re serious, Mr. Hennessy. The people who are putting on this convention have asked us to find out who’s responsible for stealing that film, and you’ve just given us our first solid clue.”

  Hennessy rolled his eyes. “Come on, you guys! You’re taking me just a little bit too seriously. I was only kidding. Richard Feinbetter didn’t take Simon Devoreaux’s film. At least, I don’t think he did.”

  “Then why did you say that he did?” Joe asked.

  “It’s a standing joke between Rich and me,” Hennessy said. “He hates Simon Devoreaux and would love to get even with him someday. So when the film disappeared, well, the first person I thought about was Rich Feinbetter. But I don’t really think he would do it. Rich is not a crook.”

  “What do you mean, ‘get even’?” Frank asked. “Why would Feinbetter want to get even with Devoreaux?”

  “Plagiarism,” Hennessy said. There was a murmur from the crowd of fans surrounding Hennessy and the Hardys. “Ever since the first Galactic Saga film came out eight years ago, Rich has been claiming that Devoreaux was ripping off his books. And he’s right. The Galactic Saga films bear a suspicious resemblance to the Federation of Worlds series of novels that Rich published several decades ago, except that Rich’s books were a lot better than Devoreaux’s movies.”

  “Couldn’t Feinbetter just take Devoreaux to court and sue him for plagiarism?” Joe asked.

  “He could, and he did,” Hennessy replied. “But the best lawyer that Rich Feinbetter could afford was nowhere near as good as the best lawyer—or team of lawyers—that Simon Devoreaux could afford. Devoreaux’s lawyers made mincemeat out of Feinbetter’s claims. They said the resemblances between the Galactic Saga movies and Feinbetter’s books were coincidence, and they got away with it. All Feinbetter wanted was a small percentage of the profits from the films, but he never saw a cent.”

  “So now you think Feinbetter might want revenge?” Frank asked. He was aware of the crowd of fans who were watching him and his brother question Hennessy.

  “Well . . .” Hennessy began, then he stared at the two teens through narrowed eyes. “Say, who are you two guys, anyway? You say the con committee hired you to find the culprit in the missing movie mystery?”

  “Yes. We’re investigating this crime,” Joe said. “We help the police out sometimes with criminal cases in the Bayport area.”

  “Detectives, huh?” Hennessy said. “I thought you looked a little young to be cops. Well, don’t take what I said about Rich Feinbetter too seriously. Dick may have reason to want revenge, but he’s not the sort of guy who’d do something illegal to get it. Maybe he’d hire somebody to throw a pie in Devoreaux’s face, but he wouldn’t steal one of his films. I really was kidding when I said that.”

  “What about you?” Joe asked. “You just said some pretty nasty things about Devoreaux’s films, too. You didn’t happen to grab those movie reels from the limousine last night, did you?”

  “Give me a break,” Hennessy said. “I’ve been writing film reviews for the SF magazines for years. Unlike some of the fans at this convention, I happen to have good taste in movies, and Devoreaux’s films leave a bad taste in my mouth. I’ve got nothing personal against the man, except for what he did to my friend Rich. And I also happen to think his movies are lousy.”

  “I see,” Frank said, watching Hennessy carefully. Despite his comical attitude, the writer seemed sincere when he said he was innocent. “Well, if you happen to have any more thoughts about the theft, we’d appreciate it if you’d tell us about them,” Frank added.

  “Sure thing,” Hennessy replied. As the Hardys turned and left the crowd, they heard Hennessy say, “They’re making detectives younger all the time.”

  Frank and Joe looked at each other. It wasn’t the first time they’d heard that comment.

  “You know, I just thought of something,” Frank said. “The guy in the space suit last night was tall. Both Hennessy and Feinbetter are medium-size guys.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Joe replied. “The guy we’re looking for could have worn lifts in his shoes as part of his disguise.”

  “That’s true,” Frank admitted.

  Just then the Hardys spotted Brian Amchick walking toward them.

  “Hi, guys,” Brian said with a smile. “How’s it going?”

  “We just had a close encounter with Arlen Hennessy,” Frank said. “He’s quite a comedian.”

  “That’s Arlen,” Brian said with a laugh.

  “Listen,” Joe said. “I’ve been thinking about the bootleg tape angle. If somebody wanted to sell bootleg copies of a science fiction movie on tape, where would he go? Would anybody be selling that kind of thing here at the convention?”

  Brian thought about it for a moment. “Could be,” he said finally. “I’ve seen that kind of thing floating around before. Sometimes you can recognize the bootleg tapes because they have hand-printed labels. The quality of the tapes usually isn’t very good, either.”

  “Is there any place here at the convention where people sell videotapes and things like that?” Frank asked.

  “Sure,” Brian said. “The huckster room.”

  “The what?” Joe asked.

  Brian laughed. “The huckster room. That’s the place where all the dealers—the guys who sell books, films, posters, and stuff—set up tables. Every science fiction convention has one.”

  “Maybe we’d better check this out,” Frank said. “Where is this huckster room?”

  “Down in the basement,” Brian said. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

  Brian led them to a door at the far end of the lobby and down two flights of stairs. “The huckster room is right through here,” he said.

  He pushed open the door at the bottom of the stairs and followed the Hardys through. On the other side was a large room with unfinished concrete walls and high ceilings. On the floor were rows of metal tables, set up so that aisles ran between them. A man or a woman sat at each table, which had piles of merchandise on top. Fans strolled up and down the aisles, picking up the merchandise, examining it, and occasionally buying it.

  “Pretty neat,” Joe said, looking around. “Maybe I’ll find some stuff here I want to buy.”

  The Hardys joined the browsing fans. Frank looked around and saw dealers selling everything from T-shirts with slogans such as “I’d Rather Be Time Traveling” to costumes modeled after those worn on a popular science fiction TV series. There were also piles and piles of old paperbacks with titles such as The Changeling from Alpha Ten and The Million-Year War.

  “Where are the videotape dealers?” Frank asked Brian. “That’s what we came down here to see.”

  “George Morwood’s the guy you really ought to talk to,” Brian said. He scanned the room. “I think I see him over there.”

  Frank and Joe trailed behind Brian as he le
d them through the maze of tables. Finally they reached one that was stacked high with videotapes in brightly colored packages. Joe glanced over the table. Next to the videotapes he saw rows of movie posters and photos showing alien monsters and flying spaceships. Behind the table sat a man of about thirty-five, with a pale complexion and a distrustful look on his face.

  Joe leaned toward Morwood and smiled. “Hi!” he said brightly. “We’re looking for science fiction videotapes. You got any?”

  With a scowling expression, Morwood looked Joe over, then gestured toward several rows of videotapes set up on the table. Joe began eagerly thumbing through them. Frank and Brian did the same.

  Then Joe looked up at Morwood with a disappointed look on his face. “I think I’ve got all of these already,” he said. “Don’t you have anything, well, different? Something that’s hard to find? Something that”—he leaned over the table and said in a whisper—“something that might not be available in the stores yet?”

  Morwood seemed to consider Joe’s words for a moment. Then he nodded faintly and reached under the table. He pulled out a tape and handed it to Joe.

  “This one’s brand-new,” he said to Joe in a low voice. “You won’t find it anywhere else. It’s a real collector’s item.”

  Joe studied the tape. The title of the film, The Nanotech Project, was hand-lettered on a plain white label. Joe frowned at the label, then looked back at Morwood.

  “Just how new is this?” he asked. “I mean, is it really, really new?”

  “It’s not even in the theaters yet,” Morwood said. “You can’t get any newer than that.”

  “That’s pretty new, all right,” Joe said. “You got any more films like this?”

  Morwood looked at Joe suspiciously, a nervous expression on his face. “Why do you want to know?”

  “I just want some new stuff for my tape collection,” Joe said innocently. “That’s all.”

  “You’re not asking for anything . . . illegal, are you?” Morwood asked Joe. There was an edgy tone to his voice, and his eyes shifted around the room, as if he were checking whether anyone was watching.

  Joe opened his eyes wide, as if he were shocked. “No!” he insisted. “I wouldn’t even think of such a thing.” He looked down at the tape in his hands. “This tape isn’t illegal, is it?”

  A frightened look crossed Morwood’s face. He reached out and snatched the tape away from Joe. “I don’t know what you’re up to, kid,” he said sharply, “but I run a legitimate business. And I don’t like you insinuating things about the way I operate.”

  “Hey,” Joe said, “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Sure you didn’t,” Morwood interrupted, putting the tape back under the table. “Now, get lost.”

  Frank gave Joe’s shoulder a tug. “Come on, sport. I don’t think you’re making any friends here.”

  Joe moved away from the table. Brian and Frank followed after him.

  “I don’t like the looks of that guy,” Joe muttered as soon as they were too far away to be heard. “He was pretty quick to pull that first tape out from under the counter when I asked for it. Then he got scared.”

  “You weren’t exactly subtle,” Frank said with a frown.

  “I know,” Joe admitted. “But that first tape sure looked like a pirate job to me. I guess I just pushed my luck too far. Maybe we should—”

  “Hey,” Frank interrupted. “Isn’t that Richard Feinbetter?”

  Joe looked in the direction Frank was pointing and saw the writer walking toward the exit. He was carrying a small stack of books that he had apparently purchased in the huckster room.

  “Yeah, it is,” Joe said. “Want to follow him and see where he goes?”

  “Just what I was thinking,” Frank said.

  “Can I tag along?” Brian asked. “Sounds like fun.”

  “Be our guest,” Frank said. “Just try to make yourself inconspicuous.”

  The Hardys and Brian waited until Feinbetter had closed the door to the stairs behind him. Then they walked up to the door and pushed it open. Feinbetter’s footsteps echoed from above. Frank started climbing the stairs as quietly as he could, his brother and Brian a few steps behind him.

  Feinbetter didn’t exit the staircase at ground level. Instead, he kept climbing toward the higher floors. Then Frank heard the footsteps come to an abrupt stop.

  “Where’d he go?” Joe whispered. “I didn’t hear a door open.”

  “I don’t know,” Frank said. “Let’s go up to the next floor.”

  Frank and his companions crept up one more flight, only to find the door to the third floor still closed. Another flight of stairs led up to the fourth floor, but Frank could see no sign of Feinbetter.

  “Some detectives we are,” Frank said. “Can’t even trail a suspect up the stairs.”

  Suddenly there was a sound from above. Frank looked up to see Feinbetter on the shadowy landing above them.

  “Who are you?” the man snapped. “Why are you following me?”

  He reached inside the front of the cardigan sweater he was wearing and pulled out a gun. He leveled it straight at the Hardys and Brian and said, “You’d better have a good answer to that question. Or else!”

  6 Vanishing Act

  * * *

  Frank swallowed hard. For an older man, Fein-better’s gun hand was surprisingly steady, and the look on his face wasn’t exactly friendly.

  “Er, hello, Mr. Feinbetter,” Frank stammered. “Hope you had a good time at the party last night.”

  Feinbetter squinted at Frank. “Now I recognize you,” he said. “You’re the two young men who were implying last night that I have something to do with the missing film.”

  “Sorry if we were a little out of line, sir,” Joe said, his eyes on the gun. “Hope you didn’t take it the wrong way.”

  “There seemed to be only one way to take it,” Feinbetter retorted. “Who are you boys, anyway? And why are you interested in Devoreaux’s missing movie?”

  Frank took a deep breath. “We’re detectives, Mr. Feinbetter. We’ve been asked by the people who put on the convention to find the film.”

  “Maybe we should have business cards printed up,” Joe suggested. “Then we wouldn’t have to answer that question a zillion times a day.”

  “You really think I might have stolen the film?” Feinbetter asked.

  “Well, you seem to have a motive,” Frank replied.

  “How would you know about that?” Feinbetter snapped.

  “We, uh, heard a rumor,” Joe said, “that you believe Simon Devoreaux ripped off some of your ideas in his Galactic Saga films.”

  Feinbetter rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “I bet Arlen Hennessy told you about that. Arlen never did know when to shut up. And I suppose you’re following me around the hotel to see if I meet with a fence to sell the stolen film. Correct?”

  “That’s about it, sir,” Frank said.

  “Well, I’m not,” Feinbetter said. “I’m going up to my room to take a nap. I’m scheduled to be on two more panels this afternoon and evening, and at my age I need all the rest I can get. Do you have any objections to that?”

  “No, sir,” Joe said.

  “I don’t suppose you’d have any objections to putting down that gun?” Frank asked. “It’s making us very nervous.”

  “Oh, this,” Feinbetter said, looking down at the pistol in his hand. “Gave you a scare, did it?”

  He aimed the gun directly at Frank, then pulled the trigger. Frank gasped and jumped backward, but all that came out of the gun was an orange flag that had the words “ZAP! You’re star dust!” written on it.

  “I bought this for my grandson,” Feinbetter said with a grin. “Thought it was kinda cute.”

  Joe let out a sharp breath. “Another zap gun,” he said. “Those things must be all over this con. It’s so dark in this stairwell that I didn’t recognize it.”

  “At least,” Frank gasped, “this one didn’t have a real gun hidden inside i
t.”

  “Now, if you boys will excuse me,” Feinbetter said, “I’m going back to my room. And when I finish with my nap, I’m going to have a long talk with Arlen Hennessy.”

  “Yes, sir,” Frank said as the writer disappeared through the doorway.

  “Well, what do you think?” Frank said to Joe. “Do you think Feinbetter acts like the kind of guy who would have stolen Devoreaux’s film?”

  “How would I know?” Joe said with a shrug. “When’s the last time we caught a crook who looked like a crook? Half the time the culprit turns out to be some perfectly innocent-looking person who helps little old ladies across the street. Sometimes it’s even the little old lady.”

  “True,” Frank said. “And Feinbetter never specifically denied taking the film. So far, he’s got the best motive in the place.”

  “He definitely does,” Joe agreed. “But I’m beginning to think that George Morwood might be in on this, too. Maybe they’re in it together. Feinbetter stole the film, and Morwood plans to bootleg it.”

  “Maybe,” Frank said. “What do you think about Morwood, Brian?” He turned and saw that Brian’s face was completely white. He was staring at the Hardys, an awed expression on his face.

  “Is this what you guys go through every day?” Brian asked. “Face people who point guns at you? If that had been a real gun, you could have gotten killed.”

  “Well, we don’t run into guns every day,” Frank said. “But it’s not the first time, and sometimes the guns are real.”

  “Great,” Brian said. “Maybe I shouldn’t hang around you guys quite so much.”

  “I hope this doesn’t scare you away,” Joe said. “We really appreciate you taking us around the convention.”

  Brian glanced at his watch. “I know where I ought to be taking you right now. My uncle Pete is giving a presentation in about ten minutes. I promised him I’d be there.”