Free What Happened at Midnight by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

to his own table.
    â€œWhew, that was close!” Joe murmured as he raised his head.
    â€œIt sure was,” Frank agreed. “But we have one thing in our favor. We’re the last persons in the world Chris would expect to find trailing him in New York City.”
    The Hardys watched as a waiter walked up to the big man’s table. Apparently Chris was well known in the restaurant, for the two exchanged a few words laughing all the while. Presently a slim, sharp-featured man emerged from a door to the kitchen and went directly to Chris. He sat down, then began to talk.
    â€œI think,” Joe whispered, “it’s time for some action. How about my going outside and looking for a policeman?”
    â€œGood idea, Joe. I have a feeling the man with Chris should be investigated, too. He may be one of the smugglers.”
    Joe slid from the booth and went outside. No officer was in sight, but there was a public-telephone booth nearby. “I’ll call headquarters from here,” Joe decided and dialed the number.
    He was connected with a lieutenant, who said they had been alerted by Chief Collig, but the boys’ message to him had been delayed, and the call to New York had come too late for the police to meet the train from Bayport. “I will send two officers to the restaurant. If this man Chris hasn’t started to eat yet, he’ll be there a while. By the way, we got a message that you are to phone your home at once.”
    â€œThank you,” said Joe and hung up.
    He immediately dialed the Hardy house. Aunt Gertrude answered. “My, you boys certainly take off fast! You ought to be right here taking care of the secret radio mystery.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, Aunty?”
    â€œI mean that I can’t understand your father. He sent a telegram saying, ‘Inventor will phone. Do as directed.’ Well, the inventor called and said we should leave the radio on the front steps at ten o‘clock tonight.”
    Joe was astounded. After a moment’s thought he said, “I think the telegram was a hoax. Dad would never do such a thing. Somebody may be listening in on this call, but I’ll take a chance. Put a package on the steps but not the radio. Then ask the police to shadow the house and pick up this fake inventor. I have to say good-by now. Frank and I have one of the gang almost nabbed. Give my love to Mother. Tell her we’re sorry we couldn’t call before this.”
    Joe returned to the restaurant and in whispers repeated his whole conversation. Frank nodded, then pointed to Chris’s table.
    â€œI heard that thin guy call him Chris, so we know for sure we’re on the right track.”
    The smuggler and his companion were busily engaged with pencil and paper. Chris seemed to be explaining something that did not please the other man, for he shook his head doubtfully and crossed out what Chris had already jotted down.
    â€œI’d give anything to know what those two are talking about,” Frank said in a low tone.
    â€œSo would I,” Joe replied and started to eat.
    At that instant the boys’ attention was diverted to a stocky man who had just entered the restaurant. He glanced in their direction, then made his way toward them. He planted himself in front of their table and glared at the Hardys.
    â€œWhat’s the idea of sittin’ at my table?” he demanded.
    â€œYour table?” Frank asked in surprise.
    â€œYes. This is my table you’re sittin’ at. You’d better clear out!”
    â€œThere are lots of other tables,” Frank retorted in a low voice.
    â€œSure. And you can have any one of ‘em you want.”
    Frank decided that nothing would be gained by arguing with the stranger. Both boys returned quietly to their meal and did not look up.
    â€œWell,” the man roared, “are you gonna move?”
    â€œAs soon as we’ve finished our lunch,” Joe