The Secret of Sigma Seven (3 page)

As the second bodyguard cracked open the gun, Frank saw for the first time that it was only a toy zap gun. But Frank was amazed to see that inside the plastic shell of the zap gun was a small pistol. Its
trigger was wired to the trigger of the zap gun, so that when the toy gun was fired, the real pistol fired, too.

“Here's what he tried to shoot you with,” the bodyguard said. “Somebody went to a lot of trouble to hide this pistol inside the plastic gun.”

Devoreaux glanced at the pistol, then turned back to the frightened Fred Johnson. “Who gave you the gun? Is he in this room now?”

“He was here a second ago,” Fred replied, looking desperately around the lobby. “He was standing over there. B-but I don't see him now. He must have left.”

“What did he look like?” Frank asked. “Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”

“He—he was wearing a costume,” Fred Johnson stammered. “Like one of those porcupine creatures from your films, Mr. Devoreaux.”

“Great,” Joe muttered. “There are hundreds of people in costume at this convention. I've seen five giant porcupines in the last ten minutes.”

Devoreaux turned to the bodyguard who held Fred Johnson. “Hold on to this young man until the police arrive. I'm sure they'll have a few questions for him.”

“I can't tell you how sorry I am for this incident,” Linda Klein said to the director. “I can't imagine how it could have happened. The planning committee made a serious attempt to restrict the use of toy weapons at the convention.”

But instead of replying, Devoreaux just motioned to his entourage to follow him out the door.

Linda Klein stood looking after him, a worried expression on her face.

“Maybe we should help her out,” Frank said, gesturing toward the young woman. “She's probably going to be in a lot of trouble if nobody finds out who stole Devoreaux's film.”

“Not to mention finding whoever gave Fred Johnson that gun,” Joe said. “The kid doesn't sound like a liar or a criminal. It looks to me like somebody was using him to get at Devoreaux.”

Frank told Brian and Chet that he and Joe would see them later. Then the Hardys walked over to Linda Klein.

“Excuse me,” Frank said. “We were wondering if we could give you a hand with this incident, maybe help you find the guy who took Mr. Devoreaux's film.”

“What?” Linda Klein stared at Frank, a baffled look on her face. “Who are you?”

“I'm Frank Hardy, and this is my brother Joe. We've had some experience with detective work.”

“Oh, yes,” Linda Klein said, a look of comprehension coming over her face. “I've heard of you guys. I don't know what you can do about this, though. Simon Devoreaux is already planning to sue the BSFS for the loss of the
Sigma Seven
reels and the damage to his reputation. And there's no telling what he's going to do about what just happened.” Frank saw that Linda was growing more agitated. “It may take years for the BSFS to pay for this,” she continued. “The other members will never forgive me!”

“Maybe we can help out,” Joe said. “If the guy who stole the film is still in the motel, we might be able to find him, and that may persuade Simon Devoreaux not to sue you after all.”

A hopeful glimmer appeared in Linda Klein's eyes. “You think there's a chance? What about that kid who tried to shoot Devoreaux with the toy gun? Do you think he might be behind the theft, too?”

“I doubt it,” Frank said. “I think he was telling the truth when he said that someone gave him the gun.”

“But that probably means that the person who stole the film is still here—or was a few minutes ago,” Joe added. “Assuming that whoever stole the film also gave the gun to the kid. So maybe there's still a chance we can catch him.”

“All right,” Linda said. “I'd really appreciate it if you could help. I'm sure I can clear it with the convention committee. I'll be talking to the police in a few minutes, but we'll still need all the assistance we can get. Thanks a lot!”

“You can thank us when we catch the thief,” Frank said with a grin.

“Maybe you can help
us
out,” Joe said. “Do you know anybody who dislikes Devoreaux enough to steal his film—or kill him?”

Linda shrugged. “Nobody in the club knows Devoreaux at all, except by reputation. If he has enemies, they're probably out in Hollywood, not here.”

“One of them
must
be here,” Frank said. “Since this is where the film was stolen.”

“I wish I could give you more help,” Linda said with an apologetic smile. “Listen, I overheard Devoreaux say he was having a meeting with his special-effects director at the Shore Restaurant. I'm going to call the restaurant and tell Devoreaux that I've got a pair of well-known private detectives on the case. Maybe that will change his attitude.” She turned and vanished into the crowd again. Frank and Joe looked at each other.

“Well?” Joe said. “Now that we've promised to solve this case, what do we do next?”

“We could start out by questioning the kid with the gun,” Frank suggested.

“Not a bad idea,” Joe said. “Let's go.”

Devoreaux's bodyguard was still holding the costumed teenager with his arms pinned behind his back, waiting for the police to arrive. Frank gently nudged aside several curious bystanders as he and Joe came up beside the frightened-looking young man.

“Excuse me,” Frank said to the bodyguard. “Do you mind if we ask this guy a few questions?”

The bodyguard, a hulking man with wide shoulders and a neck as thick as a tree trunk, looked at the Hardys with narrowed eyes. “You're not the police.”

“No, we're not,” Joe said. “We're working for the people who put on this convention, and we'd like to find out a few things from this kid.”

“I guess it can't hurt,” the bodyguard said with a shrug. “But I'll be right here, okay?”

“Sure thing,” Frank said, turning to Fred Johnson.
“Your name's Fred, right? I'm Frank Hardy. You said a minute ago that somebody gave you that gun?”

“Yeah,” said the boy, still trembling. “I didn't mean to shoot Mr. Devoreaux. Honest!”

“We believe you,” Joe said. “We were just wondering if you noticed anything unusual about the guy who handed you the gun. Besides the fact that he was dressed as a porcupine,” he added with a slight smirk.

Fred Johnson thought about it for a moment, then shook his head “N-no,” he said. “That's all. He had on this costume and— Wait a minute! There
was
something else. He had on this . . . this medallion around his neck, outside the costume.”

“What did the medallion look like?” Frank asked.

“It was green,” the teenager said promptly. “Kind of like jade. And round. There was something carved in it, too.”

“What was the carving?” Frank asked.

“A crescent moon and a star,” Fred replied.

Joe looked at his brother. “That's something to go on, at least.”

Just then the Hardys spotted a pair of uniformed police officers entering the lobby. The bodyguard nodded at them. The officers took hold of Fred and led him out of the motel.

“Hey, you guys, I thought we were going over to Mr. Pizza,” Chet said as he and Brian walked up to the Hardys. “I'm starved.”

“Me, too,” Joe said. “Let's head out.”

“I've got a better idea,” Brian said, motioning toward the nearest wall. “See that poster? Somebody put it up while you were talking to that kid.”

Frank looked at the poster and read out loud. “ ‘Because of the unfortunate cancellation of this evening's presentation of
The Secret of Sigma Seven,
the con party will begin at 9
P.M.
' ”

“The con party?” Chet asked. “That's the party mentioned in the schedule, isn't it?”

Brian nodded. “It's the official party of the convention,” he explained. “Lots of food and sodas, all free.”

“This is definitely my kind of convention,” Chet said with delight. “I should have started coming to these things years ago.”

“I knew Chet was a serious science fiction fan,” Frank said, grinning.

“By the way, Brian,” Joe said, “what happened to your uncle?”

“He followed Devoreaux when he left,” Brian said. “Kept saying that he really had to talk to him.”

“Do you have any idea why your uncle is so desperate to talk to Devoreaux?” Frank asked Brian.

Brian shook his head. “Uncle Pete isn't very talkative. And tonight he's being even more quiet.”

“Come on,” Joe said. “Let's get to the party. Do you know the way, Brian?”

“Sure,” Brian said. “It's on the fourth floor. Follow me.”

He led them to the main elevators at the back of
the lobby. When the doors opened on the fourth floor, Frank could hear the sounds of a party in the distance. He and the others followed Brian to a large suite.

Inside the suite, which consisted of several interconnected rooms, Frank could see people of all ages standing around talking and eating. Frank also spotted the tall, ruddy-faced, red-haired man he'd seen with Devoreaux earlier that evening. The man was talking in an animated tone to a young woman. Frank overheard the man say that he had arrived in Bayport that afternoon and had liked the town very much.

“Who
is
that guy?” Frank muttered to himself. “I know I've seen him before tonight.”

“I'm headed over there,” Chet said, pointing across the main room at a long table filled with sandwiches and sodas. “Free food, here I come!”

“Let's grab some eats and see if anybody in this room's wearing a medallion like the one Fred Johnson described,” Joe suggested.

“I see some people I want to talk to,” Brian said. “I'll catch up with you guys later.”

The Hardys joined Chet at the end of the buffet line. As they moved down the line, they heard laughter coming from one corner of the room. Frank looked over and saw a group of fans clustered around Richard Feinbetter, the gray-haired science fiction writer they had seen in the lobby earlier.

After they had gotten their sandwiches and sodas, the Hardys and Chet walked over to listen to what
the writer had to say. Feinbetter had just finished telling the group a humorous story about his early years as a writer. He was smiling and seemed to be having a great time. Then someone in the crowd said the name Simon Devoreaux.

“Devoreaux?” Feinbetter snapped in a raspy voice. “That phony? He's never had an original idea in his life. He's just a hack moviemaker. That kind of guy gives science fiction a bad name.”

Raising his eyebrows, Joe glanced at Frank, then back at Feinbetter. Could the writer have had a reason to swipe Devoreaux's movie?

“It's too bad about that film being stolen, Mr. Feinbetter,” Joe said casually.

“Too bad?” Feinbetter said, looking Joe up and down. “It's the best thing that could have happened. Devoreaux got what was coming to him.”

Frank studied Feinbetter closely. “What do you mean by that? Sounds as if you don't like Simon Devoreaux very much.”

Feinbetter started to reply, then seemed to think better of it. “Never mind,” he said. “I shouldn't have said what I just did about Devoreaux. I don't want to give anybody the idea that I approve of stealing property.”

“
Do
you approve of stealing property?” Joe pressed.

“And what kind of question is that, young man?” Feinbetter said sharply. “We taught better manners to young people in
my
day.”

“If you think my brother's manners are bad here, you should see him at the dinner table,” Frank said with a grin.

Joe shot Frank a dirty look as Feinbetter went back to telling stories. The Hardys listened for a moment, then wandered away.

“We may have found our first suspect,” Joe said.

“Yeah,” Frank said. “Unless my instincts are off, I think Richard Feinbetter has something against Devoreaux.”

“But does he dislike him enough to steal his film?” Joe asked.

“Or to try and kill him?” Frank added. “Maybe we should see what we can turn up on Feinbetter.”

“In the meantime,” Joe said, “let's split up and look around the party for anything else that might be a lead.”

“I'll check back with you in a half hour,” Frank said.

The elder Hardy wandered around the room and struck up conversations with several fans but learned nothing significant. The stolen film seemed to be the big topic of conversation, but nobody knew any more about it than Frank already did. And he didn't spot anyone wearing a green medallion. Finally he located his brother.

“I came up empty, too,” Joe reported. “Let's call it a night.”

They found Chet chatting with a girl who was wheeling out food from the kitchen and Brian talking
with a group of fans. The Hardys explained the situation to their friends.

“Sorry you didn't have better luck, guys,” Brian said. “I'll walk with you and Chet back down to the lobby.”

As they left the room, Frank spotted a lone fan standing next to a door at the end of a dimly lit hallway. The tall fan wore a NASA-style space suit, complete with oxygen tanks strapped to his back. He gestured at the four teens and said something unintelligible through the face mask of his helmet. It was impossible to make out any details of his face through the clouded glass.

“Hey, guys,” the fan said in a muffled voice. “You need to get downstairs? There's an elevator right here.”

“What?” Joe said. “I thought the elevators were in the middle of the building, over the lobby.”

“So did I,” Brian said. “Well, you learn something new every day.”

Joe looked at the door next to the space-suited fan. Sure enough, it was an elevator door. As they watched, the man reached over and, with a gloved hand, pressed the button marked down. The light over the door blinked on.