The Secret of Sigma Seven by Franklin W. Dixon

lightning bolt was generated.”
    A spark of interest appeared in Amchick’s eyes. “Oh, yes. Fascinating device. Of course, I’ve never seen its inner workings, but I can make a few guesses.” He began talking about electric potential and a number of other subjects. Frank felt more confused when Pete Amchick finished speaking than when he had begun.
    â€œThat’s all very interesting,” Joe said when Amchick finally finished his lecture. “Do you think you could build something like that?”
    â€œProbably,” Amchick said. “I suppose I could find all the necessary parts at the university. Why do you ask?”
    â€œOh, we were just curious,” Frank said. “I betSimon Devoreaux would like to know a little more about that gadget that almost zapped him.”
    â€œHave you gotten a chance to speak to Devoreaux yet, Mr. Amchick?” Joe asked.
    â€œNo,” Pete Amchick said calmly. “But that’s because of the unfortunate events of this weekend. I’m sure that when all of this calms down, he’ll be willing to speak to me.”
    â€œWhat exactly is it you want to talk to him about?” Joe asked.
    â€œThe matter is private,” Amchick said. With that, he turned back to his books and ignored the Hardys.
    Joe and Frank looked at each other with expressions of frustration, then began to get ready for bed.
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    The next morning Joe awoke with a groan. He had slept on the floor at the foot of Brian’s twin bed, using a bed sheet as a blanket. Frank, who had slept in the narrow space between the bed and the wall, rolled over and gave him a sour look.
    â€œThat,” Joe said, “was the lousiest night’s sleep I’ve ever had. Are you sure that sleeping on the floor is really an old tradition at science fiction conventions, Brian?”
    Brian sat up slowly. “Sure it is,” he said between yawns. “Of course, going seventy-two hours without sleep is also an old science fiction fan tradition.”
    â€œWe’re getting there,” Frank said, standing up and stretching. “I spent half the night staring at the ceiling and the other half staring at my watch.”
    Chet, who had slept on the couch, got to his feet. “Let’s go get some breakfast,” he suggested.
    Joe looked around the room. “By the way, Brian,” he asked. “What happened to your uncle Pete?”
    â€œHe got up early and headed out,” Brian said. “Didn’t you notice?”
    â€œI can’t believe it,” Joe said. “I must have actually been sleeping.”
    An hour later, after they had showered and eaten a quick breakfast, Brian and Chet left to attend a panel discussion. Frank and Joe stopped by the huckster room, where they found a dealer selling toy guns like the one that had been used to shoot at Simon Devoreaux on Friday evening. The dealer had no idea how anyone could have slipped a pistol inside one of his guns.
    By late morning Joe was beginning to get discouraged as he and Frank wandered through the motel lobby and down the hallways. They had come up with no new theories and had found no new evidence.
    As Joe passed a small room, he noticed a dim flickering of light visible through a small window in the door. Curious, he walked up to the door and peered inside.
    What he saw startled him. “Well, what do you know,” he said, squinting into the darkness. “Pete Amchick’s in there—with Simon Devoreaux.”
    Frank crowded in beside his brother for a glimpse through the window. “Well, Amchick finally got to talk to Devoreaux.”
    â€œDo you think we should leave those two in there together?” Joe asked. “If Amchick’s the one who’s been trying to kill Devoreaux, it’s probably not a good idea to leave them alone.”
    â€œThey’re not alone,” Frank said, peering through the window. “I can see