Frank stayed flat and kept his head down and covered with his arms, until the window was done breaking apart and all was silent again. When he was convinced the immediate danger was past, he raised his head and got to all fours. He crawled over to the window to peer outside, brushing aside the glass chunks as he went, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. No cars, no people running away – nothing.

"You okay, Frank?" Phil was levering himself off Allison. He crouched and duck-walked over to Frank, crunching over the glass. "What happened, anyway?"

"Something was thrown through the window," Frank replied. "Yeah, I’m all right. How about you two?"

"I’ve found the ‘something.’" Allison said. She had risen to her knees and was looking about her. Now she pointed at an object lying on the floor. It was a brick, with a piece of paper rubber-banded to it. "And yes, I’m fine. But oh, our window!" She got to her feet shakily, staring aghast at the empty frame.

Frank stood up and gingerly walked across the glass-covered carpeting to where the brick lay. He picked it up and slid the note from beneath the elastic band, being careful not to put too many fingerprints on it. "Wow…."

"Is that addressed to me?" Allison asked, "I am home!" she protested, with a slightly hysterical giggle. "Does someone want me to go away?" The boys looked at her doubtfully, wondering how close she was to losing it completely.

"I suppose it could be to me," Phil conceded with a tight grin. "Is this your parents’ subtle way of telling you to date someone else?" he quipped to Allison, who merely glared at him, rather than laughing.

"No – you both know it’s probably meant for Joe and me," Frank said grimly. "You two stay inside," he directed Phil and Allison, who didn’t argue. "I’m going to look around outside. You might want to think about getting out of here, though, at least temporarily." As he left, he saw Phil wrap his arm about the shaken Allison, urging her towards a chair on the side of the room opposite the shattered window.

Frank skirted the house, staying close to the building while attempting to see if there were any signs of the attacker. Although he looked closely, he saw nothing out of the ordinary.

"Young man! Hello!" An elderly man and woman were standing on the sidewalk across the street, waving to get Frank’s attention. He walked over to talk to them.

"What happened?" the man asked. "We heard a crash, and when we looked out, saw that the Lewis’ window was broken! Is everyone all right over there?"

"Yes," Frank replied. "Allison and another friend and I are the only ones there right now, and we’re all okay."

"Dreadful!" his wife cried. "Poor little Allison must be frightened half out of her wits! What happened?"

"Someone threw a brick through the window," Frank explained. "You didn’t, by any chance, see anything – anyone running away, anything like that?"

"No, we weren’t in the front of the house when it happened," the elderly gentleman replied. "We just came out after we heard the noise. Earlier, though, we saw a boy come running out of the Lewis’ house, chasing after someone who was parked in the street. He took after them in a car."

Frank recognized this event as Joe beginning his pursuit. "Nothing else?" he persisted.

"No, not a thing," the woman assured him. "There’s never any crime on this street – at least, there never has been. It’s dreadfully upsetting that this has happened! Vandalism – tsk, tsk, tsk!" She shook her head dolefully.

"We called the police," her husband added. "They should be here in a few minutes."

Frank wasn’t sure he was pleased by this news, but he realized it was the natural thing to do: if someone was going around tossing bricks through windows, you called the police. "I think I’ll see if anyone else noticed anything," he said, and moved to the next house, where a woman in her mid-thirties and two pre-teen girls were staring in fascination at the broken window.

No, nothing, was the answer. Disappointed, Frank re-crossed the street and joined Phil, who had come outside and was questioning the neighbors on that side. "Anything?"

"No," Phil shook his head. "No one seems to have seen anything at all. Everyone was doing something else – you know, watching TV, or reading, or whatever, when they heard the crash. By the time they got out here, whoever did it was long gone."

Frank checked his watch. It was still a couple of house until Joe could check out the mansion, and now he was going to be tied up answering questions and talking to the police about the attack. This is not my day, not at all! "Let’s go back inside," he suggested, but even as he and Phil did so, they heard the whine of sirens approaching. Soon a black-and-white patrol car whirred up, and two uniformed officers approached Allison’s house and were admitted.

"Miss? I’m Sgt. Brian Donaldson," the tall, dark-skinned patrolman introduced himself. "This is my partner, Officer Albans." He indicated the thin, balding man accompanying him. "Can you tell us what happened?"

Allison faced them, attempting to appear calm and in control, but her voice was muted and shook when she spoke. "This is my parents’ home," she stated, after giving her name. "They’re away from home at the moment. I and my friends were spending the day here. A few minutes ago, someone threw a brick through the front window; a brick with a note attached to it."

She pointed to the brick, which Frank had set on the table, and the note lying beside it.

"Plain white paper, letters cut from a magazine probably, and stuck on with rubber cement…" Donaldson noted after examining the note, as Officer Albans produced a plastic bag and carefully slipped the note into it. "Any idea why someone would do something like this? Who’s supposed to go away?"

"M-my violin – I play with the New York City Junior Symphony – my violin was s-stolen, Friday night," Allison reported. "S-someone doesn’t want me to find it." She gulped and attempted to steady her quivering voice. "We reported the theft to the New York police, but so far no one has been able to locate it. It’s a Stradivarius – it’s very valuable. It belonged to my great-grandfather. We – someone’s been – been threatening…" She broke off, shivering. It was quite obvious that she was very upset, and becoming more so, the longer she had to talk.

Frank stepped forward, nodding to Phil. "Go on," he whispered to his friend, "take her away and try to calm her down." He turned to the police officers. "Sergeant Donaldson, I can tell you anything else you need to know, I think."

"You can, eh?" Sgt. Donaldson eyed him skeptically, but seemed willing enough to listen. "Okay, let’s hear what you have to say." He glanced at Allison and nodded his permission to Phil to remove her from the discussion. "Miss Lewis, it’s okay, just relax."

Frank related the story, only leaving out Joe’s activities in chasing someone who had been watching the house. He explained about the theft of the violin outside the restaurant, and the subsequent chase and recovery. He recounted Robert’s strange actions at Phil’s apartment, and he went into careful detail over the disappearance of Allison’s violin after the concert, including the mysterious cuff link found near the back door. He mentioned Rodney’s attempts to gain possession of the instrument and the threatening messages Phil and Allison had received. He finished by saying that he didn’t know what – if anything – the NYPD had come up with on the theft.

Sergeant Donaldson had listened with care, and Officer Albans had taken meticulous notes throughout Frank’s recital. Now the sergeant had some questions.

"What’s your name, and how do you figure in this? What’s your interest?"

Frank shrugged, smiling a little. "Phil and I grew up together," he said, "and Allison is his girlfriend. My brother and I were at her concert on Friday night, when the instrument disappeared. Sometimes we do detective work on our own – investigations…."

"Your name?" Donaldson asked again.

"Frank Hardy."

The familiar look Frank had seen so many times before came into the officer’s eyes. "Any relation of Fenton Hardy, the detective?"

We might as well have cards printed with it, Frank thought ruefully. They can say ‘Frank Hardy’ or ‘Joe Hardy, son of Fenton Hardy’! It would save time! Aloud, he replied, "yes, he’s my father."

Donaldson nodded in understanding. "Okay, then I can see how you got involved. Comes naturally, huh?" He grinned, and Frank nodded, appreciative of the understanding. "Still, Frank, even so, I have to warn you off this now. It’s started getting dangerous, with bricks flying through windows – and we don’t want civilians getting hurt! So let the police do the detective work now."

Fat chance! But Frank kept his expression neutral, and only said "I can see your point, Sgt. Donaldson," in a noncommittal tone.

"This is already getting tricky, with the NYPD involved and now this in our jurisdiction," Officer Albans commented, shutting his notebook.

"Well, we’ll give ‘em a call and see what we can find out," Donaldson grunted.

When the officers had departed, Phil set about making phone calls to glass-repair places. On a late Sunday afternoon, finding someone to replace the window immediately was impossible, but at last he managed to locate someone who would at least come out and do a temporary patch job. While this was going on, Allison had begun an attempt at cleaning up the mess. She fetched a broom and dustpan to sweep up the glass fragments, and then the vacuum cleaner, sniffling occasionally when she found the remains of small decorative items which had also met their demise.

"My mother’s had these for years," she confided to the boys, exhibiting some now-headless little figurines. "She’s going to be broken-hearted over this!"

For a time, Frank assisted with the clean-up project. When the air in the living room began to grow cooler, he realized with a start that it was getting dark outside, and Joe’s mission to infiltrate the mysterious mansion might be underway. By the time the repairman had finished boarding up the window and departed, and still nothing had been heard from Joe, Frank’s nerves were becoming more and more jangled.

"Frank," Phil laid a hand on his shoulder in attempted reassurance. "You have to give Joe time to actually look, remember? He has to get in, or at least close, and then he might have to stay concealed…"

"I know, I know." Frank nodded, but his tension was apparent to both Phil and Allison.

Time passed, and the phone didn’t ring. More time passed, and Frank began to pace nervously. At last, the young detective came to an abrupt decision.

"Phil, can we take your car and drive around to look?" he asked.

"I don’t want to leave Alli alone…" Phil hesitated.

"I’ll be fine," Allison assured them. "I’ll just run across the street and stay with Mr. and Mrs. Burgess until you get back. Don’t worry about me, Phil."

"Okay – in that case, let’s go, Frank." Phil capitulated. He hugged Allison goodbye, and the two boys set out in his car.

Frank noted with relief that Phil’s driving had settled down, now that he was away from the stresses of Manhattan traffic. He still drove rapidly, but gone were the abrupt lane changes and accelerations and decelerations. They headed for the road which Frank recalled Joe saying he thought he’d been on. Phil and Frank peered down each street as they passed it, hoping to spot the Saturn.

When his cell phone rang, breaking the tense silence, Frank jumped. He snatched it out.

"Joe?"

"No, it’s me, your mother," came Laura’s voice. "Frank – honey, something’s happened to Joe. Some people found him unconscious in your car. He’s apparently been hurt pretty badly."

"WHAT?"

Frank’s felt his heart sink right into his knees.