Crime in the Cards by Franklin W. Dixon

holding a fist-size black box in his hand. Con Riley was talking with him. Another officer stood near the two, quietly staying out of the conversation.
    â€œI can’t believe all this lunacy!” McCool said, holding out the box. “This lens wasn’t stolen. It’s right here. I put it away for the weekend. There’s no crime here, no mystery.”
    â€œAccording to the student who reported the incident, the lens wasn’t where it was supposed to be,” Con said calmly.
    McCool blew out a long huff of air. “I’m sorry I didn’t put it in the usual place,” McCool said. “But here it is. You can see it with your own eyes. If anyone had called me, I could have told you where to find it.”
    â€œWe tried to get in touch with you, Mr. McCool,” Con said. “But we couldn’t reach you all weekend.”
    â€œIs that my fault?” McCool asked. “I have to get ready for class. Is there anything else you need from me?”
    Con tipped his hat back on his head. “No, sir. I think that’ll do.”
    â€œGood,” McCool said, stalking back into his classroom.
    â€œWhat a hoot!” Tim said quietly. “Good thing the cops didn’t find my cards. I’ve been worried about them all weekend.” He took off his coat and opened his locker door.
    A Creature Card fluttered out of Tim’s locker and fell faceup on the floor.
    Chet’s eyes went wide and he gasped, “My Bargeist!”

12 The Tournament Tim’s jaw dropped. “H-How did that get in there?” he stammered. He looked up to find all eyes on him. “Hey,” he said sheepishly, “you don’t think I had anything to do with this.”
    â€œYou’re sure this is your card, Chet?” Joe asked.
    Chet picked up the Bargeist and examined it.
    â€œWell, it’s not mine!” Tim put in defensively.
    â€œI can’t be sure,” Chet said, his mouth drawn into a tight line. “But there aren’t a lot of Bargesits in circulation. It’s a very rare card. This could be the one from my missing deck.”
    At that moment Con Riley and the other officer walked by on their way to the front door. “What’s that?” Con said. “You found one of your stolen cards?”
    â€œThe Bargeist,” Iola interjected. “It’s rare and very valuable.”
    â€œWhere did it turn up?” Con asked.
    â€œIt fell out of my locker when I opened it,” Tim said. “But I don’t know how it got there.”
    â€œReally . . .” Con said, rubbing the slight stubble on his chin. The officer with Con glanced suspiciously at Tim. “What’s your name, son?” Con asked.
    â€œTim Lester,” Tim said, his voice shaking nervously. “But I really don’t know anything about this. Honest, Officer Riley!”
    â€œI think you and I should have a talk,” Con said. He turned to his partner. “Officer Chisholm, please secure that locker until we can investigate further.”
    â€œRight,” Officer Chisholm said. She closed Tim’s locker and took up a position in front of the door. “The rest of you, move along,” she said to the Hardys and their friends.
    â€œBut it’s my cards that were stolen,” Chet said.
    â€œI know, that Chet,” Con said. “For now, though, I’ll have to ask you for that card. We may need it as evidence.”
    Reluctantly, Chet handed over the Bargeist. “Will I get it back in time for tomorrow’s tournament?” Chet asked.
    â€œWe’ll do our best,” Con said. “I can’t make any promises, though.” He looked at the rest of the group. “You should get to class. I may need to talk to the rest of you, though. We’ll be in touch. Keep an eye on that locker, Marge.”
    Officer Chisholm nodded. “Check. Tell Crime Scene to hurry back.”
    â€œDon’t worry, I