The Shattered Helmet by Franklin W. Dixon

focused sharply. “Wait a minute!” he said, and held the film up against the light. His hands began to shake.
    â€œBoys, if I’m not mistaken, this is it! Yes, here’s Cornelius Doornheim, who played the lead, and he’s wearing the helmet.”
    The surge of excitement was electrifying. Frank, Joe, and Evan pressed closer for a better look.

    â€œBoys, this is it!” Buster said.
    â€œBe careful!” the actor cried. “You’ll knock me over and we’ll all explode!”
    He rolled up the film again and placed it back in the can. “I don’t want to put this in my projector,” he said. “It would be better to have it copied on safety film first.”
    â€œDo you know a lab who would do it?” Frank asked.
    â€œYep!”
    â€œGreat! Can we go right now?”
    â€œWhy not? Follow me in the car. I’ll take the camper and return it to the rental agency.”
    On the way Joe remarked, “We might as well get two copies. Jeff Riker would love to have one, I’m sure.”
    The technician at the laboratory promised to make two copies by late afternoon.
    Buoyed by enthusiasm, they drove back to Buster’s bungalow. A few blocks away they stopped for gas at a service station. While they were waiting, Frank’s eyes lighted upon a maroon Buick up on the rack.
    â€œJoe! See that car with the New Mexico license number?”
    â€œThe one Cole and the Greek were using!” Joe exclaimed.
    â€œRight. They must have followed us here and are spying on us.”
    â€œNow we know for sure they set the fire,” Joesaid. “Let’s talk to the mechanic.” He and Frank approached the man who was working on the car, while Buster and Evan stayed behind.
    â€œWe’ve been trying to get in touch with a Greek friend of ours,” Frank said. “But he’s moved. I believe this is his car. Do you have his address?”
    â€œThe car belongs to a Greek, all right,” the mechanic replied. “George Dimitri.”
    â€œThat’s our friend,” said Frank
    â€œI don’t have his address. He said he’d pick up the car tomorrow or the day after.”
    â€œWhat’s he driving in the meantime?” asked Joe.
    â€œA blue Chevy. He rented it from the place down the street. You want me to give him a message?”
    â€œNo. We’re leaving town tonight. Thanks all the same.”
    At Buster’s house, the young detectives went into a huddle to map out their strategy.
    â€œWe’ll have to stake out that garage, then follow Dimitri when he picks up the Buick,” Frank said.
    â€œDo you think Buster will give us his car for the whole day?” Joe asked.
    â€œI wouldn’t even ask him. We can’t impose on him like that. Let’s rent one. But first I want to call Dad. It just occurred to me that he might know something about George Dimitri.”
    Mr. Hardy did indeed. “He’s a shady characterwho came from Greece not long ago and joined the Gerrold mob. What his racket is I don’t know yet. I’ll try to find out.”
    Frank then told his father about their planned stakeout.
    â€œNo need to rent a car,” Mr. Hardy said. “Sam Radley is in Los Angeles right now. Call him at the Ambassador Hotel. He might be able to do the surveillance job for you.”
    Frank called his father’s operative, who had assisted them on many cases, and reported what had happened. Sam promised to watch the garage the following two days.
    Later Buster went out to get the afternoon paper. At the bottom of the front page was a three-column picture of his burning garage. He handed the paper to the boys. “Take a look at that story!” he said.
    They read the report and groaned in dismay. All details of their quest for the old movie had been given to millions of readers in the Los Angeles area!
    Frank shrugged. “Well, our enemies knew all about it, anyway. What