Hotline to Danger by Carolyn Keene

snapped her fingers. “Wait a minute. I remember a case where the main phone line was bugged. It was in an old building like this one, and the main connection panel was in the basement.”
    She swung her gaze to Tony. “Does this place have a basement?”
    â€œYeah. But I’ve never been down there.”
    Nancy pulled her flashlight from her purse. “There’s always a first time.”
    â€œBess and I will answer the phones until the hotline closes,” George said.
    â€œAre you sure you know what you’re doing?” Tony asked Nancy as they went down to the first floor.
    Nancy laughed. “No. But I’ll figure it out as I go.”
    She followed him past the rec room and Mr. A’s office. The door was closed, and the only light still on was the one in the hallway.
    â€œThe basement,” Tony said, pointing to the door beyond the director’s office.
    Slowly, he opened it. A wave of damp, musty air hit Nancy in the face.
    Tony ran his fingers along the wall, looking for a light switch. When he flicked it on, nothing happened.
    â€œGreat,” he muttered. “This could be a scene from a horror movie.”
    Nancy grinned, pulled her flashlight out of her bag, then flicked it on. The beam lighted the wooden steps and the landing at the bottom. Cobwebs hung from the banister.
    â€œI’ll go first.” Nancy stepped onto the top step. It creaked eerily. Carefully, she made her way down into the dungeonlike room. She could hear Tony’s footsteps behind her.
    When she reached the bottom, she swung the beam in an arc. Shadows loomed in every corner. A lone light socket hung from the ceiling. Nancy aimed the flashlight on it.
    â€œSomeone took the bulb out,” she whispered.
    Nervously, Tony stepped closer to her. “Let’s just hope whoever took it isn’t big and mean—and still here.”
    â€œLook!” Nancy pointed the beam at the wall on the right. Next to the furnace was the main phone panel, the box where all the phone lines in the building converged.
    Nancy scrambled over several dust-covered boxes to get to it. From the panel, a number of colored wires ran in different directions.
    â€œWhat are we looking for?” Tony asked.
    â€œOther wires spliced into these colored ones,” Nancy told him. “That means someone hastapped directly into the line. In newer buildings, the phone wiring is in a secured area. But in these old buildings it’s wide open—a wiretapper’s dream.”
    â€œBoy, this is more like a spy movie than a horror film.” Tony moved to Nancy’s right and began checking the wires that went toward the ceiling. Bending down, Nancy ran her fingers along the ones that headed behind the furnace.
    â€œBingo!” she said triumphantly. She aimed her flashlight on a wire that had been cut in two. New wires had been taped onto each end of the cut wire. Nancy ran the flashlight beam down the spliced-on wires, following them all the way to a tape recorder concealed in a shoebox behind the furnace.
    â€œWhew.” Nancy whistled appreciatively. “Someone knows what they’re doing. I bet the recorder has a dropout relay. That means when the phone is used, the recorder automatically switches on.”
    Tony peered over Nancy’s shoulder, trying to get a better look. “So how do we know if it works?”
    â€œWe try it out. Go up to the pay phone and call the hotline number. I’ll stay here and see if the tape recorder starts up.”
    Tony looked uncertain. “You’re going to stay down here—alone?”
    â€œSure.” Nancy gave him a reassuring smile.“I’ll be fine. Once we know if this works, we’ll call B.D.”
    â€œAll right.”
    Stepping away from the furnace, Nancy turned her flashlight toward the steps so Tony could see where he was going. He stumbled over a box, then hurried up the stairs.
    Nancy had to chuckle. She