The Dead Season by Franklin W. Dixon

gunman, the smaller man put up a good fight.
    Joe grabbed hold of his wrist and tried to wrestle the gun loose, but the killer would not let go.
    The two men toppled to the floor in a rolling struggle. Joe forced himself up on one knee, freed his right hand, and swung at the gunman but missed.
    Frank stepped in and wrenched the pistol from the killer's hand.
    "Don't move," said Frank.
    Joe stood up, but the gunman lay on the floor. "Thanks, Frank," said Joe.
    "It's what brothers are for."
    "Now, my friend," said Joe to the gunman, "I think it's time we saw your face."
    He reached down and began slowly to pull up the black cloth that hid the identity of Randolph Tyler's murderer.
    A woman's voice said, "Don't do that, Joe."
    Joe and Frank both turned in response.
    "Drop the gun," said Heather, who stood some twenty feet away. She was holding an automatic pistol and had it aimed at Joe.
    "I mean it, Joe," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "Drop the gun, Frank."
    Frank let the pistol fall to the floor.
    The gunman grabbed it quickly and stood up and walked toward Heather. "What took you so long?" he demanded of her. "They could have killed me."
    Heather didn't answer him. She just kept her automatic leveled at Joe and Frank. Finally she whispered to the killer, "Go on. Get out of here."
    "You coming, too?" he asked.
    She nodded. "I'll be right behind you."
    Joe stared at Heather, not believing what he heard.
    The gunman ran from the pavilion and disappeared into the darkness.
    Heather began walking backward slowly in the direction the gunman had gone. Joe stood still, watching her, his mouth agape. There was a confused expression on his face.
    Heather seemed on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry, Joe. Really," she said.
    Joe took a step forward.
    "Stop right there," said Heather in a stronger voice. She held the pistol with both hands now.
    " But, Heather, why?" asked Joe.
    "I had to."
    "I don't get it. I thought we were - " Joe didn't finish the thought.
    "We are," she said. "Or at least, we were," she added quietly.
    Joe took another step toward her and said, "But - "
    Heather changed her expression. "Don't come any closer, Joe," she said. "I mean it. I'll shoot."
    Frank held out an arm to stop his brother. "She means it, Joe."
    With that, Heather turned and ran after the Ghost Gunman.
    The Hardys stood in stunned silence for a few seconds. Joe couldn't believe what had just happened. Frank had half expected it and was now planning their next move.
    "I know you're not ready to hear this, Joe," he said, "but we've got to stop them, and I don't think we have much time."
    Joe said nothing but continued to stare at the place where Heather had been standing. He was still trying to digest what had taken place.
    "Joe? Do you hear me?"
    Still Joe said nothing.
    "Joe, for Gary and Janet's sake, we have to act now. That gunman character is a killer, and if I'm not mistaken, he has an escape planned, and we don't have a moment to spare."
    Joe Hardy turned to look at his brother and said, "Let's get him." His look was determined.
    Frank Hardy smiled and gave his brother a look that said he knew he could always count on him, no matter what.
    "This way," said Frank, and he let Joe back down the secret stairs to the cavern.
    "There's no way the gunman will leave without checking for the other jewels on Wiley Reed's boat one more time," Frank said quietly as they walked down the stairs.
    The stairs were dark, but Frank still had his penlight, and using it sparingly, the Hardys were able to navigate the dark stairs fairly quickly.
    Joe was about to say something, but Frank gestured for him to keep silent.
    Ahead of them, coming from the direction of Wiley Reed's boat, they could now hear the sound of people arguing.
    It was Heather and the Ghost Gunman.
    As they listened to the argument, the Hardys made their way toward the boat.
    "I don't understand what you're saying," pleaded Heather. "We had a deal."
    "The same deal your grandfather gave