tomorrow morning. Right now, I say we get some rest," Frank said as he headed for bed. "No telling how long my dad and Sims will be with Fat Harold."
"You can sleep in Aunt Gertrude's room," Joe said to Biker. "I hope you like perfume."
As they reached the top of the stairs, Biker turned to Joe and said, "I'll understand if you want to lock the doors and windows."
"What?" Joe asked, astonished. Then he saw the grin on Biker's face. He jabbed Biker in his ribs. "You'd make a wisecrack to the end."
Joe slept restlessly, disturbed by strange dreams. The worst one had him trying to prevent Biker from riding off a large cliff into a bottomless grave. The night seemed to go on forever.
He heard a noise in his bedroom and sat up. "Who's there?" he said loudly.
"It's me," Frank replied.
Joe jumped from his bed. "Did Dad call?"
"Keep your voice down. They got here about an hour ago and went to bed. Sims is staying, too."
"What time is it?"
"Almost five-thirty. Get dressed."
"Why are you whispering?" Joe asked as he pulled on his jeans.
"I think I'm onto something, and I don't want to wake Biker." "What is it?" "Shhh. In the basement." Frank left Joe's room.
Joe didn't like it when Frank started acting secretive. Joe preferred the straight approach. Frank liked to keep his ideas to himself until he was absolutely sure that he was right. Sometimes he waited until it was almost too late.
Frank had his computer booted up by the time Joe reached the basement office.
Like Joe, Frank had slept restlessly. But his restlessness was because of a nagging problem — Fat Harold's "little birdie." Someone had always been one step ahead of the Hardys and had nearly gotten them killed twice. Joe suspected Sims. But it would have been easier for Sims to kill Biker in the "line of duty." No, Fat Harold's "little birdie" had to be someone who was close to Biker and to Frank and Joe as well.
"What's the big mystery?" Joe asked. He sat in the chair next to Frank's and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
"How did Fat Harold know someone would be at Frost's apartment—and where to find Callie and Sue?" Frank asked.
"Someone told him," Joe answered with a yawn.
"Right — his 'little birdie.' And how did that little birdie tell him?"
Joe sat up. "What do you mean?"
"How did the little birdie contact Fat Harold?"
"By phone!"
"Right, again. Someone's been keeping tabs on us and reporting back to Fat Harold. And now for the grand prize What kind of phone calls did the little birdie make?"
"Longdistance!"
"Give the man a stuffed bear!" Frank said. Just then the computer chirped and the screen lit up. "The little birdie made two calls to Fat Harold. If he was close enough to know our every move, then he had — "
"To make the calls from Bayport," Joe finished.
"You win the bonus prize," Frank said. He turned to his computer and began punching in the code numbers for accessing long-distance phone calls.
"Sims could have known," Joe said.
"No. Whoever made the first call tried to set us up. Sims didn't know we were going to Queens. The second phone call was to inform Fat Harold about Callie and Sue and set us up again. Fat Harold was in Bayport shortly after we arrived—and we were with Sims the whole time."
The computer beeped, and Frank punched the Enter button. "Aha?" he said triumphantly.
"What is it?" Joe moved to view the screen. A seemingly endless list of phone numbers rolled before his eyes.
Frank hit a button and the list stopped scrolling. He pointed at one line. "Here's the first phone call."
"How can you tell?"
"Remember Fat Harold's crazy number?"
"Yeah. Five-five-five - BETS," Joe replied.
"BETS translates to two - three - eight - seven — and there it is."
"Here's the second," Joe said, pointing farther down the screen.
"The time of the first call was shortly before noon, about the time we were on our way to Queens. The second call was made several hours later, just after we got back to Bayport."
"The two phone
"You can sleep in Aunt Gertrude's room," Joe said to Biker. "I hope you like perfume."
As they reached the top of the stairs, Biker turned to Joe and said, "I'll understand if you want to lock the doors and windows."
"What?" Joe asked, astonished. Then he saw the grin on Biker's face. He jabbed Biker in his ribs. "You'd make a wisecrack to the end."
Joe slept restlessly, disturbed by strange dreams. The worst one had him trying to prevent Biker from riding off a large cliff into a bottomless grave. The night seemed to go on forever.
He heard a noise in his bedroom and sat up. "Who's there?" he said loudly.
"It's me," Frank replied.
Joe jumped from his bed. "Did Dad call?"
"Keep your voice down. They got here about an hour ago and went to bed. Sims is staying, too."
"What time is it?"
"Almost five-thirty. Get dressed."
"Why are you whispering?" Joe asked as he pulled on his jeans.
"I think I'm onto something, and I don't want to wake Biker." "What is it?" "Shhh. In the basement." Frank left Joe's room.
Joe didn't like it when Frank started acting secretive. Joe preferred the straight approach. Frank liked to keep his ideas to himself until he was absolutely sure that he was right. Sometimes he waited until it was almost too late.
Frank had his computer booted up by the time Joe reached the basement office.
Like Joe, Frank had slept restlessly. But his restlessness was because of a nagging problem — Fat Harold's "little birdie." Someone had always been one step ahead of the Hardys and had nearly gotten them killed twice. Joe suspected Sims. But it would have been easier for Sims to kill Biker in the "line of duty." No, Fat Harold's "little birdie" had to be someone who was close to Biker and to Frank and Joe as well.
"What's the big mystery?" Joe asked. He sat in the chair next to Frank's and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
"How did Fat Harold know someone would be at Frost's apartment—and where to find Callie and Sue?" Frank asked.
"Someone told him," Joe answered with a yawn.
"Right — his 'little birdie.' And how did that little birdie tell him?"
Joe sat up. "What do you mean?"
"How did the little birdie contact Fat Harold?"
"By phone!"
"Right, again. Someone's been keeping tabs on us and reporting back to Fat Harold. And now for the grand prize What kind of phone calls did the little birdie make?"
"Longdistance!"
"Give the man a stuffed bear!" Frank said. Just then the computer chirped and the screen lit up. "The little birdie made two calls to Fat Harold. If he was close enough to know our every move, then he had — "
"To make the calls from Bayport," Joe finished.
"You win the bonus prize," Frank said. He turned to his computer and began punching in the code numbers for accessing long-distance phone calls.
"Sims could have known," Joe said.
"No. Whoever made the first call tried to set us up. Sims didn't know we were going to Queens. The second phone call was to inform Fat Harold about Callie and Sue and set us up again. Fat Harold was in Bayport shortly after we arrived—and we were with Sims the whole time."
The computer beeped, and Frank punched the Enter button. "Aha?" he said triumphantly.
"What is it?" Joe moved to view the screen. A seemingly endless list of phone numbers rolled before his eyes.
Frank hit a button and the list stopped scrolling. He pointed at one line. "Here's the first phone call."
"How can you tell?"
"Remember Fat Harold's crazy number?"
"Yeah. Five-five-five - BETS," Joe replied.
"BETS translates to two - three - eight - seven — and there it is."
"Here's the second," Joe said, pointing farther down the screen.
"The time of the first call was shortly before noon, about the time we were on our way to Queens. The second call was made several hours later, just after we got back to Bayport."
"The two phone
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