Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
Bullets ricocheted from the pavement behind the van. Half a dozen holes spider-webbed the rear windows.
, Joe took careful aim at the van's rear right tire and squeezed off a long burst. The tire disintegrated, The van lurched to the right and smashed into a stack of packing crates, splintering them. It careened back to the left and crashed into a huge metal container, where it finally came to a rest.
"Stop!" Louise Trent's voice cried from inside the van as Joe and Frank ran up. "Don't shoot!" Joe and Frank looked at each other. They remained standing in the center aisle, halfway to the van, Joe's rifle ready in his arms. "Come out with your hands up," Frank called cautiously.
Slowly the driver's door opened. Frank and Joe waited tensely for Louise to climb out and surrender. The silence stretched almost too long to bear, and Joe stepped forward to see what was wrong. That's when Louise Trent stepped out of the van, aiming her Browning at the boys and blasting away.
"Dive!" yelled Joe as they leapt to avoid flying bullets. The warehouse was filled with the sinister pop of the silencer, coming closer to where the boys crouched behind some boxes.
Another pop, then a crash, and from somewhere behind them, Tiffany screamed.
"Tiffany!" Joe yelled, starting to run toward her. Frank went to pull him back — too late. Louise whirled, snapping off two shots to force Joe farther into the open. She grinned coldly, aiming the Browning right between his eyes.
"Say a prayer," she murmured triumphantly. "I'm afraid it'll be your last."
Under the insistent gaze of the Browning, Joe had no choice but to let the rifle clatter to the cement floor. Tiffany sobbed as Louise's finger tightened on the trigger.
"Give me the gun, Louise." Frank calmly walked up to her, his hand held out.
Louise Trent didn't take her eyes off Joe. "Don't be impatient, Frank. You'll get your turn."
She squeezed the trigger. Tiffany screamed. Then—nothing. Nothing but a faint click.
Frank's hand closed on the gun. "It's jammed," he said quietly. "I could see it from across the room." A gleaming brass cartridge was caught in the ejection port, looking like a little stovepipe.
Joe, still half in shock, scooped up his rifle and approached Louise Trent. All arrogance had fled from her now. She trembled like a small, cornered animal.
"Don't shoot," she whispered, letting go of the Browning. Tears began to stream down her face. "I — I give up!"
Outside, a police car with its roof light flashing skidded to a stop on the pier.
***
Two days later the three Hardys arrived in the reception room of Chief Peterson's spacious office. Joe wasn't prepared to see the person who was waiting for them. There, seated in an overstuffed chair, looking very uncomfortable, was - Lightfoot. He wore a good suit and dark shoes. His shapeless felt hat was nowhere in sight. Behind him stood a security officer.
Lightfoot jumped up when he saw Joe. "Hey man," he said, "do you know what I'm doing here?"
"Beats me," Joe said. "I figured you were still on the run." He grinned. "But I'm glad to see you." It was true.
"I turned myself in when I heard about Gus," Lightfoot said. "I had no part in that."
"I know," Joe said.
The intercom buzzed and the chief's secretary looked up. "Chief Peterson will see you now," she said with a smile.
They all filed through the double doors and into the chief's office, with Lightfoot hanging back. Samuel Peterson was seated behind a cluttered desk. Across from him sat Mr. Chilton and Tiffany.
Peterson rose and greeted Mr. Hardy warmly "Good to see you again, Fenton!"
Then he turned to Frank and Joe. There was stern look on his face. "I suppose you know, interfering with police communications is a most serious matter."
The two boys nodded.
"That contraption of yours nearly deafened the officers in every unit within half a mile of that warehouse, not to mention all the dispatchers on duty."
They nodded again.
"Do I have your word that you'll never do anything like that again?"
They nodded once more.
"Unless it's a matter of life and death."
The boys grinned.
Tiffany got up and put her hand on Joe's arm. Then she stood up on tiptoe and kissed him quickly on the cheek. Joe grinned in surprise.
"And now you, Mr. Wimberley," the chief said, turning to Lightfoot. "You know the D.A. has considered having you named as an accessory to the crime of industrial espionage."
The black youth looked at the black chief of police. Then he dropped his eyes. "Yes, sir," he said.
"However," Chief Peterson said, "since you turned yourself in, and since you were not entirely a willing participant, I've convinced them. I give you another chance. Especially since one of the upstanding citizens has offered you a job that should keep you out of trouble." "Who? What job?" Lightfoot asked in obvious surprise.
"Mr. Chilton has an opening in his mailroom," the chief replied, his eyes twinkling. "There's there for advancement. And with your experience with deliveries, you ought to do fine." Mr. Chilton looked down at Tiffany, where she stood holding Joe's hand. "Our former mail clerk being enrolled in our management training program," he said proudly. - Tiffany smiled up at Joe. "I was surprised," she whispered. "We had a good talk last night. He's not so bad, after all!"
Lightfoot was staring unbelievingly at Mr. Chilton. "You're offering me a job?" he asked. Mr. Chilton nodded.
lightfoot stepped forward. "All right!" he said. He offered his hand palm up to Mr. Chilton. Mr. Chilton stared at the outstretched palm for a second. Then, grinning self-consciously, he slapped it. Lightfoot laughed happily and returned the slap.
"I guess that's it for now," Chief Peterson said. "Thank you all very much. And, Fenton, don't wait for another crisis to look me up, okay?"
In the hall outside, the Hardys said goodbye to Lightfoot and wished him luck in his new job! Then Mr. Chilton turned to the two brothers. "Thanks again for your help."
"It's good to have a satisfied client," Joe said. Frank and Mr. Hardy nodded.
"What's going to happen to Louise and Chung?" Tiffany asked.
"Their lawyer is working out a plea bargain with the district attorney. But it will probably be a long time before they're out free," Frank said. "Actually I think they're happy to be safely behind bars."
"What do you mean?" Tiffany asked.
"If they get out any time soon," Mr. Hardy told her, "their associates will probably do the same thing to them that they did to Gus."
"Then MUX is still in business!" Tiffany exclaimed.
Joe frowned. "Yes, they're all safely out of the country right now, and there's no way to get at them. But I have a feeling we'll cross paths with those guys again—some other time, some other place, under a different name Tiffany put her arm through his. "Give me a call when it happens," she kidded. "I was kind of getting into this cops-and-robbers stuff."
Her father frowned. "I thought you wanted to be in corporate management."
Joe grinned down at Tiffany. "Well, if corporate management doesn't work out, you could always get a job as a messenger." He tossed her ite key to Frank's bike lock. "Why don't you practice by delivering us an economy-size pizza?"
Tiffany tossed the key back to him. "Future presidents know how to delegate authority," she said firmly.
"Well, Madam President," Joe said as he bowed low, "as long as you have the budget, it's okay to roll."
The five of them burst out laughing.
The End.