The Secret of Sigma Seven (8 page)

“Sounds like somebody wants not only to snatch Devoreaux's latest film,” Frank said, walking on, “but also to get rid of the entire team as well. You suppose they'll go after the actors next?”

“Fortunately, the actors aren't at this convention,” Joe said. “Which probably greatly increases their life expectancies.”

Frank thought for a moment. “Do you suppose,” he said, “that it would increase the value of a bootleg
film if the people who were in charge of the movie— such as the director, the writer, the special-effects supervisor—were all out of the way, so they couldn't remake the film?”

Joe laughed. “That's the craziest idea I've ever heard! Crazy . . . and kind of scary, too.”

“All right,” Frank said. “How many suspects do we have?”

“Everybody who was in this motel last night,” Joe said. “And probably a few who weren't.”

“Let's narrow it down a bit,” Frank said. “Who do we know that has a motive?”

“George Morwood, for one,” Joe said. “He's my favorite. He deals in videotapes of popular science fiction films and may have some shady dealings going. He'd probably love to get his hands on a copy of Devoreaux's film so he can sell bootleg copies of it.” Joe opened the door and stepped into the motel.

“But we still don't know why he would try to kill Devoreaux and Gillis,” Frank said as he settled into one of the thickly padded sofas in the middle of the lobby.

“You know, I was thinking . . .” Joe said, sitting in a chair opposite his brother. “The stolen copy isn't really worth that much if the master is still in Hollywood. You heard what Gillis said about there being a master negative under lock and key.”

“Right,” Frank said.

“Let's assume that Morwood also stole the master film,” Joe said, propping his feet on a coffee table. “Maybe he wants to guarantee that nobody can
remake the film from scratch. If Devoreaux and Gillis, the two major creative talents behind the film, are out of the way and the master negative is gone, Morwood would have the only copy of
The Secret of Sigma Seven
that will ever exist. It can't be refilmed by its creators, and nobody can make a new copy because the master negative is gone. The only existing copy would be worth a fortune to collectors.”

“Those are pretty big assumptions,” Frank said. “How would Morwood get to the master negative in Hollywood? He's been here in the motel all weekend.”

“Good question,” Joe admitted. He paused to think over the problem.

“It sounds unlikely to me,” Frank said. “And I'm not so sure about the idea that the thief wants to kill Devoreaux and Gillis to keep them from remaking the film. It costs a lot of money to make a movie, particularly a movie with a lot of special effects. I can't see the studio agreeing to finance a remake, especially if there are bootleg copies around.”

“I guess you're right,” Joe said. “But it's something to keep in mind.”

“Now, what about Richard Feinbetter?” Frank asked. “Think he might have done it?”

“Possibly,” Joe said. “He's got a motive, too. He thinks Devoreaux's been ripping him off all these years.”

Frank stared thoughtfully out the window at the parking lot. “Feinbetter hates Devoreaux,” Frank mused, “but he doesn't necessarily hate Gillis.”

“We don't know that he doesn't,” Joe said. “Remember what Gillis said about how the Galactic Saga movies are as much his creation as Devoreaux's?”

Frank nodded. “We certainly can't rule Feinbetter out. So that gives us two suspects. And I wouldn't be surprised if we find some more before the day is out”

“Why would we want more suspects?” Joe asked. “We're supposed to be narrowing down the list.”

“I know,” Frank said. “But the list always has a way of growing before it gets shorter.” He glanced over his brother's shoulder. “Speaking of suspects, look who's on his way out of the motel.”

Joe turned to see George Morwood, the videotape dealer that they had met in the huckster room earlier, approach the door with a large box in his hands. Inside was a jumbled pile of videotape cartridges.

The Hardys stood up and walked over to him. When Morwood saw Frank and Joe coming toward him, he quickly pushed the door open and hurried away.

“Excuse me, Mr. Morwood?” Frank said as he and Joe followed the dealer outside. “Can we talk to you again for a minute?”

“No,” Morwood snapped, walking at a rapid pace toward the parking lot. “I don't want anything to do with you guys. Not after this morning.”

“Aw, give us a break, Mr. Morwood,” Joe said. “It wasn't anything personal. We're just investigating the theft of that film, that's all.”

“Well, you've got no reason to investigate me,” Morwood said in a huffy tone of voice. “I didn't have anything to do with it, and that's all you need to know. Now, if you'll excuse me . . .”

Morwood pulled open the rear door of a large van and placed the box of tapes inside. Then he closed the door and walked around to the front. He climbed into the driver's seat, started up the engine, and drove away, leaving the Hardys alone in the middle of the parking lot.

“We'd better keep our eye on him,” Frank said. “If he's got the film, he must have it hidden someplace. Maybe he'll lead us to it eventually.”

“Maybe he's taking it away in that van right now,” Joe said.

Frank shook his head. “I doubt it,” he said. “Not in broad daylight. He'd probably be afraid someone would see him.”

“This would be a good time to check out Morwood's room, while he's gone,” Joe said.

“We don't know where he's staying,” Frank pointed out. “He might not even be rooming in the motel.”

“It wouldn't be hard to find out,” Joe said. “We'll just ask at the desk and tell them that we're friends of his. It's an old trick, but it usually works.”

“Okay,” Frank said, turning back toward the motel. “And maybe it's about time we talked to Simon Devoreaux, too.”

“We should have talked to him before now,” Joe said as he followed his brother. “But the guy's
impossible to get close to. He's always got those bodyguards around him. And he doesn't look particularly friendly.”

“We'll just have to figure out a way to get to him,” Frank said.

The Hardys entered the motel. The registration desk was located next to the elevators, and it took the brothers only a minute to learn that George Morwood was in room 137. They thanked the woman at the desk and headed down the hallway past the elevators.

When they reached Morwood's room, Joe paused in front of the door. He looked both ways to see if anyone was watching, then pulled a Swiss army knife out of his pocket.

“This looks like a pretty easy lock,” he said to his brother. “Tell me if you see anybody coming.” He picked out the little screwdriver from the knife and poked it into the lock mechanism. A moment later there was a click. Joe turned the knob and opened the door.

Joe stepped inside the room, followed by Frank. He closed the door carefully, then looked around. Morwood wasn't much of a housekeeper, Joe noted. Clothes were scattered on the floor, on the dressers, and on top of the messy bed. Boxes full of videocassettes were stacked on the floor.

“Maid service must not have been here yet,” Frank said.

“They ought to get time and a half for doing this room,” Joe said.

The brothers searched briskly through the clothing and piles of videotapes but found nothing suspicious. Frank opened the door to the closet, but there was nothing inside except a few unused hangers.

“A lot of good this did us,” Frank said. “If Morwood's got the film, he knows better than to keep it in here.”

“And I don't see any sign of a porcupine costume,” Joe said. “Or an astronaut's suit. Or the famous green medallion. Come on, let's get out of here.”

Joe led his brother back into the hallway, closing the door behind him. As they headed down to the lobby, they saw Linda Klein, the convention official who had asked them to investigate the theft, coming in the opposite direction. She was walking quickly, with a stricken look on her face.

“Hey, Linda,” Frank said. “Any news about Devoreaux's film?”

She stopped walking and looked up at Frank. “Yes, we've had news,” she said glumly. “And it's worse than ever.”

“What happened?” Joe asked.

“Word just came in from Hollywood,” she replied. “The master negative of
The Secret of Sigma Seven
has been stolen.”

Joe looked at his brother. “It looks as if one of my theories was right,” he said grimly.

“If somebody's trying to corner the market on copies of
The Secret of Sigma Seven,
they're sure doing a good job,” Frank commented.

“And just when I thought I had Simon Devoreaux talked out of suing us,” Linda said with a groan. “He had even agreed to appear on a panel tonight at seven o'clock with Richard Feinbetter and several other writers. Devoreaux probably won't speak to me again when he hears what happened to the master negative.”

“You mean he hasn't heard yet?” Joe asked.

“No,” Linda replied, pushing up her glasses. “He's not taking any calls in his suite right now, so
the studio sent the message to the convention committee. I answered all the calls myself. I'm just going up to deliver the message to Devoreaux now.”

Suddenly her eyes lit up. “Wait a minute!” she cried. “I don't have to deliver this message to Devoreaux right now.”

“You don't?” Joe asked.

“No,” she said, a gleeful look on her face. “I'll just hold on to the news until tomorrow—until
after
he's been on the panel tonight.”

“Won't he be madder than ever when he finds out?” Frank asked.

“Yeah,” Joe added. “Then he might be twice as ready to sue you.”

“Wrong,” she said, fixing her gaze on Frank and Joe. “Because you two are going to find the person who stole the film before then.”

Frank stared at Linda in astonishment. “We are? I mean, of course we're going to find the guy. But what if we don't find him before you have to give the message to Devoreaux?”

Linda Klein shook her head and smiled. “I've heard a lot about how good you guys are. You've caught lots of crooks, ones that even the police couldn't find. So you can catch this guy by tomorrow, right?”

“Well,” Joe said, “we'll try our best.”

“I'm sure that'll be good enough,” Linda said. “How's it coming? Have you figured out who the thief is yet?”

“We've found some clues but—” Frank began.

“Great!” Linda exclaimed. “Keep up the good work. I've got complete faith in you two. I'll just hold on to this message until tomorrow. I'm sure Mr. Devoreaux doesn't want to be worried right now, anyway.”

“I'm sure,” Joe said in a doubtful tone.

“Do you think there's any chance we can talk to Simon Devoreaux himself?” Frank asked Linda. “He might be able to give us some important clues.”

A worried look crossed Linda's face. “Talk to Devoreaux? You don't really want to talk to him, do you?”

“Well, yes, we do,” Frank replied. “Unless you really don't want us to find the missing film.”

“I don't want
anybody
talking to Simon Devoreaux right now!” Linda said emphatically. “I've managed to get him calmed down for a while, and I don't want anybody upsetting him. He's one of those guys with a hair-trigger temper. You never know what might set him off.”

“It would really help us if we could talk—” Joe began.

“No,” Linda said firmly. “Absolutely not. You guys are sharp enough to solve this crime without talking to Simon Devoreaux. Now, listen, I've got some convention business to take care of. I'll see you guys later, right?”

“Right,” Joe said as Linda Klein disappeared down the hallway.

“For a woman whose neck is on the line, she could be a little more helpful,” Frank commented.

“I know,” Joe said. “She seems to think we can perform miracles.”

“Well, she's right about that,” Frank said with a grin. “The question is, can we perform them fast enough?”

“By the way,” Joe said, “is something wrong with my ears, or did I hear her say that Devoreaux and Richard Feinbetter are appearing on a panel together tonight?”

“That's what she said, all right,” Frank said.

“So what do you think's going to happen when those two guys get together?” Joe asked.

“I think sparks are going to fly,” Frank said. “Somebody ought to tell Linda that those two are old enemies and will probably try to kill each other before the night's over.”

“Think we should be the ones to tell her?” Joe asked his brothers.

A wicked gleam appeared in Frank's eye. “Nah! But I think we should show up for the panel. It ought to be fun. Who knows? Either Feinbetter or Devoreaux might say or do something that will help us with the case.”

“Good idea,” Joe said.

Just then the Hardys glimpsed a startling apparition coming down the hallway toward them. It was eight feet tall and covered with bright red feathers. Two things resembling both arms and wings flapped up and down against its sides. At its throat was a hole, like the opening of a pouch, and out of that hole suddenly popped a head.

“Hi, guys,” Chet announced. “How do you like my costume?”

Joe stared at Chet, dumbfounded. “Uh, I'm having a little trouble putting my thoughts into words.”

“I thought you were going as the Zepton poodle, Chet,” Frank said. “What made you change your mind?”

“That costume was too hot,” Chet said. “So I traded it for this one. How do you like it?”