Mr. Hardy quietly stared at the stranger before him, taking in his surroundings: the man that lay prone on the floor, the person who Mr. Hardy assumed was Carolyn, slumped over the stranger’s shoulder.

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” Mr. Hardy said. “You seem to know who I am, yet I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“I’m sure you know of me, Mr. Hardy.” Alexander smiled, though the smile never reached his eyes.

Mr. Hardy did recognize the man standing before him, having seen the photo that Mr. Gray had given Frank.

Frank stood just outside the door, straining to hear what his father was saying. He could hear another voice and he knew that it didn’t belong to Mr. Jones. He felt a tap on his shoulder, and turning he looked into his brother's blue eyes. Joe gestured to Frank, letting him know that Joe would be going to the back of the house.

Frank followed Joe. As they came to the side of the house, Joe noticed an open window on the second floor. A large oak tree was close by. On closer inspection, Joe saw that one of the tree branches was right next to the open window.

“Frank,” Joe whispered, he pointed upwards. “I’m going up there.”

“I don’t know, Joe.”

“I might find a weapon to use or I could make a noise to distract Black.”

“How do you know that’s Alexander Black?” Frank wanted to know.

“There was a small opening through the curtain. I got a look at him.” Joe shivered. “It’s him all right.”

Frank sighed. “Okay, but be careful! No heroics!”

“I can’t make any promises,” Joe said with a smile. Before Frank could protest, Joe climbed up the tree.

Frank let out another exasperated sigh and continued on to the back of the house.

Joe quickly climbed up the tree, carefully walking along the branch towards the open window. He looked around the room; there wasn’t much in it. Joe wondered if this was a guest bedroom. He noticed that the door was slightly ajar. As quietly as possible, Joe walked out of the room.

Frank was glad to find a back door; he tried the doorknob, and found it was locked. Frank reached into his jean pocket, taking out the lockpick kit he always carried with him. With practiced ease, he picked the lock, silently opening the door.

 

Alexander Black studied Fenton Hardy; this was the man who had thwarted several Assassin plots. He wondered what was so special about him. Then Alexander recalled something about Fenton Hardy.

“Where are your sons?”

His back to the wall, Frank peeked around the corner of the kitchen doorway. He saw his father still standing just inside; Alexander Black was a few feet away. Frank sent a silent plea to Joe, “Now would be a good time for a distraction, baby brother.”

Fenton shrugged. “I don’t know where they are. You know teenagers. Out all night, having fun.”

“Not your sons, they’re upstanding young men. I know that they’re always by your side. Now tell me, Hardy, where are your sons?”

Fenton stood calmly, all the while his heart was beating a mile a minute. He had seen Joe at the top of the stairs, making his way down. If Alexander so much as turned the other way, he would see Joe.

Joe was almost at the bottom of the stairs; as he put his weight on the third-to-last step, the wood groaned.

Unceremoniously dropping Carolyn to the ground, Alexander spun around and whipped out a gun.

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The Hardy Boys Fan Fiction authors of the Hardy Detective Agency have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.