Free Crime in the Cards by Franklin W. Dixon

They’d caught the wrong man.
    As the bad news sank in, lights from a police cruiser appeared on the far side of the pond. A voice coming over a loudspeaker said:
    â€œAll of you, stay right where you are!”
    Joe and Frank knew the Bayport Police Headquarters well. They’d been there many times while working on cases. Usually, though, they came as visitors, not suspects.
    The brothers sat in a holding area while the police worked out the details of what had happened. Finally, their friend Officer Con Riley came over to see them.
    â€œWell,” he said, “this is a bigger mess than you’re usually in.” Con often lent them a sympathetic ear when they were working on a case.
    â€œIt seemed like a good idea at the time,” Frank said, rubbing his sore elbow.
    Con shook his head disapprovingly. “Right now I think the best idea would be for you boys to go home and get some rest.”
    â€œWe’re not being charged with anything?” Joe asked, a trace of surprise in his voice.
    â€œLuckily for you, no,” Con said. “Gerry Wise lives in the Magus Hills subdivision. His father built that entire tract of houses. Gerry has a right to use the recreational space as he sees fit. That use may not include racing around on a four-wheeler in the pitch-dark with his friends—but that’s a matter for the neighborhood association. Probably, they’ll fine him and make him clean up the damage. I’ve a feeling that you boys might like to help out on that front.”
    Frank nodded, but Joe blurted out, “He was running a shady card game in the old Benson Mini-Mall.”
    Con folded his arms across his chest and nodded in return. “Yup. I know all about that. Your friend’s father owns that building. Gerry had permission to run games there—though I gather that tonight’s affair got a little out of hand.”
    â€œYou might say that,” Joe said, rubbing his ribs where the demon-masked man had hit him.
    â€œAs to the game itself . . .” Con shrugged. “I don’t pretend to understand this collector card stuff. What they were doing sounds like it might be gambling, but we don’t have anything solid to hang a charge on— despite what you saw. I’m not sure you’d want us to do that anyway. Probably some of those players are friends of yours.” Con shot the brothers a look that said he knew they’d followed someone there, though both Hardys had kept Chet’s name out of their statements.
    â€œYou might be right,” Frank said.
    â€œIt was hard to tell with everyone wearing masks,” Joe added.
    â€œSo, go on, get out of here,” Con said, waving his hand toward the door.
    â€œThanks, Con,” Frank said.
    â€œDon’t thank me,” the officer said. “Just thank your lucky stars that Chief Collig isn’t on duty tonight. You know how much he ‘likes’ both of you.” Con grinned.
    The Hardys smiled back and headed out of the holding room. In the foyer, they met their father, Fenton Hardy, as well as Chet, Iola, and Callie.
    â€œSorry we got you out of bed for nothing, Dad,” Joe said.
    â€œI’m glad they’re not charging you,” Mr. Hardy said, “and I’m glad that you’re both safe. On the whole, though, I would have preferred a good night’s sleep.”
    â€œI couldn’t have slept anyway, until I heard from Joe,” Iola said. Joe gave her a quick, reassuring hug. Frank did the same for Callie.
    â€œDid you recover all the cards you brought to the game, Chet?” Frank asked.
    â€œYeah. Some of them got a bit stomped, but they’re all there and usable,” Chet replied.
    â€œI don’t know about the rest of you,” Callie said, “but I’m beat. And I’m very glad tomorrow is Saturday and we don’t have school.”
    â€œI’ve still got a lot of work to do,” Chet said, “to