The Secret of Sigma Seven (10 page)

“All right!” Chet declared. “Here's my chance to shine. Anybody know where I left my stilts?”

• • •

Two hours later the Hardys, Chet, and Brian left the costume party. “That was really fun,” Joe said.
“Too bad you didn't win the Cosmic Costume Contest, Chet.”

“You probably blew your chances when your stilts broke as you were crossing the room and you collided with the guy dressed as a flying saucer,” Frank said.

“That shouldn't have made any difference,” Chet insisted. “I still think my costume was better than the three-headed Uranian gerbil monster. I don't think that should have won second prize, a year's subscription to
Other Worlds
magazine.”

“Well, you must admit that the nine guys dressed as a giant octopus were pretty awesome,” Joe said. “Which is why they won the trip to Cape Canaveral.”

“Listen,” Brian said as the Hardys and Chet prepared to leave the con for the evening. “I reserved a room in the motel for the weekend so that I could spend more time at the convention. Do you guys want to crash on the floor tonight? You can get an early start in the morning.”

“No, thanks,” Joe said. “We've been going nonstop all day, and I'm looking forward to sleeping in my own bed.”

“Uncle Pete will be there,” Brian said. “He crashed there last night, too. He's so absentminded he never bothered to reserve a motel room here, and now they're all booked up.”

Frank gave Joe a glance. “Maybe you should think twice, Joe. It might be fun to spend the night on Brian's floor.”

“Uh, yeah,” Joe said. “Hope your uncle Pete won't mind a little conversation.”

“I'm sure he won't,” Brian said.

When they reached Brian's room, Pete Amchick was already there, poring over some papers at a small writing desk. He looked up briefly at Brian and his friends as they entered the room.

“Excuse me, Professor Amchick,” Frank said, “can we talk with you for a minute?”

“I've got some things I need to look over,” Pete said. “Perhaps some other—”

“It'll just take a minute,” Joe interrupted. He told Brian's uncle about the black boxes he and Frank had seen in the conference room. “We were wondering if you could tell us anything about how the lightning bolt was generated.”

A spark of interest appeared in Amchick's eyes. “Oh, yes. Fascinating device. Of course, I've never seen its inner workings, but I can make a few guesses.” He began talking about electric potential and a number of other subjects. Frank felt more confused when Pete Amchick finished speaking than when he had begun.

“That's all very interesting,” Joe said when Amchick finally finished his lecture. “Do you think you could build something like that?”

“Probably,” Amchick said. “I suppose I could find all the necessary parts at the university. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, we were just curious,” Frank said. “I bet
Simon Devoreaux would like to know a little more about that gadget that almost zapped him.”

“Have you gotten a chance to speak to Devoreaux yet, Mr. Amchick?” Joe asked.

“No,” Pete Amchick said calmly. “But that's because of the unfortunate events of this weekend. I'm sure that when all of this calms down, he'll be willing to speak to me.”

“What exactly is it you want to talk to him about?” Joe asked.

“The matter is private,” Amchick said. With that, he turned back to his books and ignored the Hardys.

Joe and Frank looked at each other with expressions of frustration, then began to get ready for bed.

• • •

The next morning Joe awoke with a groan. He had slept on the floor at the foot of Brian's twin bed, using a bed sheet as a blanket. Frank, who had slept in the narrow space between the bed and the wall, rolled over and gave him a sour look.

“That,” Joe said, “was the lousiest night's sleep I've ever had. Are you sure that sleeping on the floor is really an old tradition at science fiction conventions, Brian?”

Brian sat up slowly. “Sure it is,” he said between yawns. “Of course, going seventy-two hours without sleep is also an old science fiction fan tradition.”

“We're getting there,” Frank said, standing up and stretching. “I spent half the night staring at the ceiling and the other half staring at my watch.”

Chet, who had slept on the couch, got to his feet. “Let's go get some breakfast,” he suggested.

Joe looked around the room. “By the way, Brian,” he asked. “What happened to your uncle Pete?”

“He got up early and headed out,” Brian said. “Didn't you notice?”

“I can't believe it,” Joe said. “I must have actually been sleeping.”

An hour later, after they had showered and eaten a quick breakfast, Brian and Chet left to attend a panel discussion. Frank and Joe stopped by the huckster room, where they found a dealer selling toy guns like the one that had been used to shoot at Simon Devoreaux on Friday evening. The dealer had no idea how anyone could have slipped a pistol inside one of his guns.

By late morning Joe was beginning to get discouraged as he and Frank wandered through the motel lobby and down the hallways. They had come up with no new theories and had found no new evidence.

As Joe passed a small room, he noticed a dim flickering of light visible through a small window in the door. Curious, he walked up to the door and peered inside.

What he saw startled him. “Well, what do you know,” he said, squinting into the darkness. “Pete Amchick's in there—with Simon Devoreaux.”

Frank crowded in beside his brother for a glimpse through the window. “Well, Amchick finally got to talk to Devoreaux.”

“Do you think we should leave those two in there together?” Joe asked. “If Amchick's the one who's been trying to kill Devoreaux, it's probably not a good idea to leave them alone.”

“They're not alone,” Frank said, peering through the window. “I can see Devoreaux's bodyguards in there, too, sitting in the shadows.”

“Amchick's showing Devoreaux some kind of movie,” Joe said. “Can you make out what it is?”

“I can't see it any better than you,” Frank said, “but I think it's the same film that Amchick was showing in the auditorium yesterday. The one that he made on a computer.”

“So that's why Amchick has been chasing down Simon Devoreaux,” Joe said. “He wanted to show him that film. I wonder why?”

“Maybe he wants to get a job as a special-effects director,” Frank said.

“Somehow I can't see it,” Joe said. “Amchick doesn't look the type. Besides, if he's the one who tried to kill Devoreaux the other night, why would he want to bump off his prospective boss?”

“I don't know,” Frank said. “But we'd still better keep our eye on Amchick. Devoreaux might not be in any danger as long as the bodyguards are around, but we don't know what Amchick is up to.”

“Okay,” Joe said. “But—” He stopped in midsentence and turned away from the door. “Uh-oh. Look who just slithered in.”

Joe pointed down the hallway, where George
Morwood was stepping out of an elevator. Morwood looked around nervously, then moved toward the lobby.

“He's acting kind of funny,” Joe said. “I'll follow him and see what he's up to.”

Frank nodded. “I'll stay here and keep an eye on Amchick and Devoreaux.”

Leaving his brother, Joe followed Morwood into the lobby. Morwood headed out the door and rounded the building. Joe followed him quietly to the rear parking lot of the motel. He crouched down behind a parked car and watched as Morwood approached a man wearing a black leather jacket with chains hanging on it. They spoke for a minute, then headed for a small, windowless outbuilding behind the motel. As they opened a door and stepped inside, Joe left his hiding place and walked toward the brick building.

The door they had entered was marked No Admittance, and the building appeared to be some kind of storage room. Joe sat on the ground next to the building, hidden from the door by some thick bushes. Leaning his head against the bricks, he thought, I'll just wait here until they come out.

Joe was suddenly aware of how tired he was. After the long night on the floor of Brian's room, the lack of sleep was starting to catch up with him. Without realizing it, he closed his eyes and began to fall asleep.

Suddenly Joe's eyes snapped open, and he came
fully awake. He thought he heard a deafening bellow, like something out of an old jungle movie. He wondered if it had been a dream, but then he looked up and saw a huge object hovering over him.

Joe froze when he realized it was the foot of a large elephant, and that it was about to crush him into the pavement!

Joe rolled aside just as the elephant's foot came crashing down on the pavement. He got to his feet and backed away from the huge animal. Joe winced as the elephant, which was still wearing the Surriband costume from the day before, made a bellowing noise and looked around as if deciding where to go next.

Joe's heart thumped loudly as he eyed the elephant nervously. Where in the world did this creature come from? he thought.

“There he is!” shouted a worried voice. Joe looked up to see a husky man in overalls racing toward the elephant. “Bruno! How did you get out of the tent?”

“Is . . . is this your elephant?” Joe asked.

“Yes, it is,” the man in overalls said, a look of deep
concern on his face. “I work with the zoo. I brought this elephant here at the request of the people who do those Galactic Saga movies. They promised they'd keep him in their tent, but somehow he got away.” He grasped the elephant's trunk. “Bad Bruno! Back to the tent.”

“How did he get away?” Joe asked. “Didn't you have him tied up?”

“There was a metal chain attached to his leg,” the man said, “but it had been unlocked. Someone must have let him loose.”

“Why would they do that?” Joe asked. “He could have caused a lot of damage or gotten injured. Did you see anybody sneaking around the tent?”

“No,” the man said. “I don't know who did this. It might have been somebody who thought they were doing Bruno a favor. People think elephants are so sweet and nice—and they're right. But one of these babies can crush a car with one foot. They should never be let loose around people. I have no idea why anybody would do that.”

Joe looked up at the elephant's friendly face—or what was visible of it through the Surriband mask— and thought about how it had almost put a foot on his own face.

“Well, I hope you keep a close eye on him from now on,” Joe said. “I'd hate to find myself, uh, getting underfoot again.”

“I will, believe me,” the man said. “I'm taking him back to the zoo right now. I should never have agreed to help these movie people.”

The man led the elephant away. Joe looked after him, his heart still pounding. Suddenly limp, he sagged against the wall of the brick building and let himself calm down.

Joe took a deep breath and turned to look at the door where Morwood and the man in the leather jacket had disappeared. He saw that it was slightly open. Had Morwood left while he was asleep? he wondered. Joe eased open the door and looked inside. It appeared to be a grounds-keeper's shed, with rakes and shovels and other implements propped against the wall. There was no sign of either Morwood or the man Joe had seen him meet, and no clues to what they had been doing there.

Joe muttered angrily under his breath, “If only I'd gotten a better night's sleep, I wouldn't have dozed off waiting for Morwood to come back out.” With a sigh, he walked back to the motel door, stepped inside, and headed to the hallway where he had left Frank.

Frank was still peering through the small window, looking a little bored. Joe came up beside him and glanced through the window.

“Morwood gave me the slip,” Joe said in a frustrated tone. “How are things going here?”

“You're not going to believe this,” Frank said, “but Amchick's showing Devoreaux that film for the third time. The director must really like it.”

Suddenly the lights in the small room flickered on. “It looks as if that was the last showing,” Joe said.
“They're starting to get up. We'd better make ourselves scarce.”

Devoreaux and his companions began moving toward the door. Frank and Joe went a short distance down the hallway, in the opposite direction from the lobby, and watched them leave.

Devoreaux walked out of the room, followed by his bodyguards. When Pete Amchick came out, the director smiled and shook hands with him. They headed toward the lobby and out the front door.

“They're acting awfully friendly,” Frank said.

“Maybe we were wrong about Amchick,” Joe said. “He doesn't look like he's in the mood to kill Simon Devoreaux right now.”

“Well, somebody stole that film and tried to kill both Devoreaux and Jack Gillis,” Frank said. “If it wasn't Amchick, then it must have been either Morwood or Feinbetter. What happened when you followed Morwood?”

“He met some guy, and they went into a building behind the motel,” Joe told him as he and his brother walked back toward the lobby. “I don't know what happened after that.”

“Why didn't you wait until they came out of the building?” Frank asked.

“I fell asleep,” Joe said.

Frank laughed. “Are you putting me on? My brother, the ace detective, fell asleep on the job?”

“You haven't heard the best part yet,” Joe said with a grimace. He proceeded to tell his brother about the elephant.

Frank stopped short and shook his head in amazement. “Incredible,” he said. “That story makes up for your unscheduled nap. I can't wait to hear what the gang at Mr. Pizza thinks of that one.”

“They'll probably think I've flipped,” Joe said. “But let's solve this case before we start telling stories about it, okay?”