The man rounded a corner, and Frank put on a burst of speed, realizing that if he wasn’t to lose track of his prey, he needed to keep him in sight! He dodged an elderly couple walking along ahead of him, nearly knocking down the man in his hurry, and gabbled out a hasty apology as he shot by. "Sorry – got to catch that guy!" he gasped, and darted around the corner, only to find himself entangled with more pedestrians. This lovely, warm summer’s evening was evidently a very popular time for tourists and native New Yorkers alike to be out, sauntering along and enjoying the atmosphere. At any other time, Frank might have enjoyed it too – but not now! "Excuse me – pardon me, sorry," he gasped, over and over, cutting in and out as he raced down the sidewalk.

He spotted the man, and risked a yell: "Hey, you – give that violin back!" but the man never even slowed. If anything, he increased his speed. He was running in a frenzy, legs pumping madly, and his unencumbered arm flailing, but he had no rhythm to his stride, or fluidity of motion, and Frank could see he was closing the gap between them. "Give it back!" Frank bellowed again, heedless of the startled glances he was receiving from passers-by.

The sudden appearance of an unattended skateboard nearly caused a disaster. Frank saw it barely in time to avoid it, and was forced to make an awkward leap. He stumbled, caught himself, and resumed the chase, swearing beneath his breath at people who left their things lying around on sidewalks. Up ahead, he saw his quarry stagger, and look back apprehensively.

He’s tiring! Frank thought exultantly. I’ll have him in a minute. He sped up, brushing past a group of teenage girls who had halted on the sidewalk to stare at the man with the violin case, and then at Frank himself. But although the guy ran so poorly, he wasn’t giving up. To the elder Hardy boy’s chagrin, he saw the man suddenly dart across the street, maneuvering through the slow-moving traffic, and then leap upwards, taking advantage of a lowered fire escape ladder on the other side of the street.

Oh no, not rooftops! Frank groaned mentally, as he charged into the street in pursuit. Tires squealed and horns blared, and he was forced to stop, and dodge vehicles, whose drivers universally scowled and yelled imprecations at him. Still, Frank kept on. He made it across the avenue, and neared the ladder.

He was ready to continue the pursuit wherever necessary, but the thought of scrambling around on fire escapes or roofs was unnerving. The thief was scurrying up the iron steps, still clutching the violin case in one hand, but as he gained a third story, his foot suddenly slipped. Instinctively, he grabbed for the ladder with both hands, and the violin case dropped from his grasp.

Frank, arriving beneath him at just that moment, made a frantic grab, and snagged the violin case out of the air, saving it from smashing to the concrete. Above him, the defrauded thief kept ascending the ladder, then scrambled onto the roof and continued his getaway.

Damn! Frank sagged against the ladder, frustration evident on his features. Although he wanted to apprehend the guy who had stolen Allison’s violin, he realized that his pursuit had been successful in part. At least he had regained possession of the precious instrument! And Allison would be waiting, and worried…. Slowly, Frank turned around, and began to retrace his steps to the restaurant. He held the violin case tightly against him with both arms, taking no chances on its being snatched from him again.

At least I can memorize what I saw of him, he thought, as he trudged along. Red sweatshirt – looked like it had some sort of school logo on the front, but I never saw what logo it was. Big guy – burly build. Blondish hair, long – ponytail under a baseball cap. What sort of baseball cap? Yankees’ colors, but that’s not surprising; this is New York, after all. Blue jeans. Can’t run worth a darn….

Frank broke into a half-jog, for he knew Allison would be frantic over her lost instrument. He rounded the last corner, and saw her, standing on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. Her face was a mask of worry, and it looked as if tears were close. Phil stood beside her, his arm wrapped protectively about her shoulders. They were both scanning the crowds intently, obviously watching for Frank’s return.

He strode up to them and held out the violin case to Allison. Her eyes lighted up, and she seized it with both hands.

"Frank! Thank you! Oh, thank you, oh, how did you do it; this is absolutely wonderful!" she gushed, and let go of the violin with one hand, to hug Frank tightly. "Oh, you don’t know how much I appreciate this; Phil said you could do it, but—" She hugged him again, and then backed away. The smile on her face faded, and she suddenly looked extremely angry. The pretty green eyes flashed fire. "I am going to kill Rodney for this!" she snapped.

"Huh? Who’s Rodney?" Frank blinked in surprise.

"I’ll tell you when I get back," Phil promised him, taking Allison’s arm possessively. "I’m going to walk Alli to her dorm, make sure she gets there okay. Then I’ll be right back. But I’m not going to let her go alone if Rodney or his goons are lurking around." He tugged on his girlfriend. "Come on, Alli, we need to go." They hurried off, and Frank, bemused, re-entered the restaurant. He returned to their table, where he found an avidly curious Joe, Vanessa, and Megan waiting for him.

"For heaven’s sake, what happened?" Megan demanded, as Frank sat down. "First you leave, then Phil dashes out – and then he came back and said someone stole Allison’s violin! He told us to wait here…much to Joe’s dismay!" she added, with a teasing look at the younger Hardy brother.

"Some freakazoid who’d followed us in here snatched it right out of her hands," Frank confirmed. "So I chased him, to get it back."

"And did you?" Joe queried. "Did you catch the guy?"

"Yes…and no." Frank replied. "He had a head start, but he wasn’t much of a runner – which was lucky. I might never have nabbed him, otherwise. I was just about to get him when he ran across the street and climbed up a fire escape ladder. But he dropped the violin on his way up, and he just left it. I decided it was more important to get Allison’s instrument back to her than to hunt him down."

Joe grinned. "You getting too old for these high-speed foot chases?" he jeered, "You’re pushing 20, remember? Maybe you’d better start leaving it to us younger guys, who are in better shape!"

Frank gave him a disdainful look. "Too old nothing!" he protested. "He just had some lucky breaks – for instance, I almost tripped over a skateboard—"

"Not only getting old, but clumsy as well." Joe crowed, his eyes glinting mischievously.

"Joe…" Megan’s tone held a veiled warning. She was very fond of Joe, but enough was enough. "You weren’t there. You don’t know what happened. And Frank got back the violin, which is what was the most important thing."

Joe heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Whatever you say, Red," he muttered, his eyes twinkling – and then he stopped, amazed to see sparks of fury flying from Megan’s azure eyes.

"Don’t you call me that!" Megan snapped, with unaccustomed heat. "I hate that nickname!"

"Huh?" Joe gaped at her, bewildered. Megan was always so gentle, and usually easy to tease and joke with. What had caused this abrupt transformation?

"Why?" Frank, too, was startled by his girlfriend’s reaction to Joe’s gibe. He reached for her hand, and squeezed it soothingly. "There’s nothing wrong with it, honey – Joe didn’t mean anything by it." He shot a warning look at Joe, who was regarding Megan with honest confusion. "What’s so bad about being called ‘Red’?"

For a moment there was tense silence. "When I was little, my hair was a lot redder," Megan admitted reluctantly. "There was this bratty little boy in third grade, who alternated between calling me ‘Red’ and ‘Fire Truck,’ all year long." Her eyebrows drew together in a scowl, an unusual expression for her. "I hated it then, and I hate it now." She glared at Joe.

"Okay, okay—" Chagrined, Joe made a conciliatory shushing gesture. "I’m sorry. But it just came out – it seems like such a natural thing to call you…"

"Well, don’t!" Megan still sounded a little miffed, but her anger was subsiding.

Joe hastily sought to change the subject. "Did Allison say anything about why someone would have stolen her violin?" he asked Frank.

"She said something about someone named Rodney," Frank said. "Phil said he’d explain when he got back. He’s walking her to her dorm."

About ten minutes later, Phil returned, flushed from his brisk walk in the June warmth. Instead of sitting down, however, he hovered impatiently beside the table. "We’d better go over to my place so you all can change for the concert," he suggested. "We can take my car."

Settling the bill took a few minutes, but soon the teens were back in the parking garage, where they retrieved their clothes from Frank’s car. Phil was voluble in his admiration for the sleek black Saturn, and Frank beamed with pride in his new acquisition. Still, he was just as happy to ride in Phil’s car for this short trip, and leave his car safely parked. They ascended the stairs to the level where Phil’s car was parked, and climbed in.

Phil’s car ostensibly seated five – but those five must have been Munchkins! Frank thought with dismay, as they attempted to wedge into the vehicle. Joe, being the largest, was granted the privilege of the front passenger seat, while Vanessa, Frank and Megan got the back. Megan was put in the middle of the seat, with Frank on one side and Vanessa on the other, and the little redhead was nearly squashed between them. She would have disregarded the middle seat belt and simply sat on Frank’s lap, but he shook his head sternly at this suggestion.

"No way, Baby! You know New York traffic’s no place to go without a safety belt – sorry, but you’ll just have to put up with being squished for a little while!"

Grumbling, Megan complied. Phil started the motor, and they began their descent through the spiral ramps of the parking structure. As he drove, Phil began explaining about Rodney.

"Rodney is Allison’s cousin. He’s older than she is – he’s the oldest grandchild of her grandfather. He’s been trying for a year now, to claim that valuable violin as his own." Phil stopped speaking for a moment as he pulled out of the garage into traffic. He accelerated abruptly, and cut across two lanes of traffic. In the back, Vanessa covered her eyes with both hands, and Megan gasped and shrank against Frank. Cringing, the elder Hardy wrapped a protective arm about his girlfriend. Joe braced his hand against the dashboard, but Phil seemed oblivious of his passengers’ alarm. He stamped on the brake as a traffic light turned red, bringing his car to a shuddering halt, and went on with his explanation.

"Allison was given the violin a year ago, and Rodney’s been after it ever since. He claims that since he’s the oldest grandchild, it should rightfully go to him."

"Is that true?" Frank asked. He winced as the light changed, and Phil depressed the gas pedal and started across the intersection, disregarding the fact that there was no room for him in the next block. Phil didn’t use to drive like this back in Bayport! I think he’s become too much a New Yorker!

"Nah!" Phil scoffed, shaking his head. "Alli’s great-grandfather set down the stipulations for the disposition of that violin. He’s the one who played in the Vienna Symphony, and his will states that it is to be passed to the child in each generation with the talent and drive to succeed. There wasn’t anyone who fit that description, in Alli’s parents’ generation, but Allison’s been playing since she was four years old and able to hold a violin. Her grandparents made the decision that she should have it."

"Four! Wow!" Joe whistled in approbation, then abruptly cut the sound off with a sharp intake of breath as Phil changed lanes, barely avoiding a collision with a taxicab. The cab driver leaned on his horn, but Phil ignored the blast of sound. "Is there something special about the violin, other than that it’s old, and has sentimental value?" Joe continued after he regained his composure.

"It’s a very valuable Stradivarius," Phil told them. "Priceless in both monetary terms, and the fact that great violinists have owned and played it – Alli being the latest. Rodney doesn’t want it for those reasons, though. He just wants to sell it."

"Sell it!" Megan cried out in protest. "That’s awful!"

"Yeah." Phil glanced into the rearview mirror and met her eyes briefly. "Naturally, Alli’s great-grandfather didn’t have that in mind. Rodney’s gone to court twice now, trying to get possession of it, but he doesn’t have a legal claim. It legitimately belonged to her grandfather, and he signed ownership over to her just before she started at Julliard."

Phil flipped his turn signal on, then swung into another parking garage, this one a three-story brick structure. "This is the closest to my apartment," he commented. "We’ll still have to walk a couple of blocks, though." All of his passengers breathed silent sighs of relief. It felt much safer in here, out of traffic, and Phil was forced to drive slowly up the ramps.

After getting their dress clothes from the trunk, the teens walked through an average Manhattan residential neighborhood for three blocks to reach Phil’s apartment building. It was a ten-story building, looking positively tiny in comparison to the massive New York skyscrapers. The lobby was dark and shabby-looking, although it appeared clean; the elevator Phil led them to was rickety, and made groaning noises as it struggled upwards. The Bayport visitors exchanged nervous glances, but Phil blithely disregarded the ominous sounds. Apparently he was used to the elevator’s vagaries, and not alarmed by them.

When they arrived safely at the fourth floor Phil led his friends to his apartment, and unlocked the door. "It’s not big, but it’s home. My aunt and uncle were great, when I was staying with them last fall, but I always felt like they were watching me, and reporting everything back to my parents. I wanted a little more freedom, and I sure have that now!" He ushered them inside. "I have a roommate, Matt; he’s at work now. So we’ll have the place to ourselves." He looked around, beaming with pride. "Not big, but it’s what I can afford right now."

It was small. The rooms were all miniscule in size – the kitchen was small, the living room was small, the bathroom was tiny, and the two bedrooms were definitely on the smallish side. But it was tidy; evidently Phil and Matt were both fairly meticulous in their habits, and this made it seem more spacious than it actually was.

"Vanessa, you and Megan can use my bedroom to change," Phil told them, indicating the room. "Guys, you can change in Matt’s room."

"What about you?" Frank inquired.

"I’ve got my stuff in the bathroom," Phil assured him. "Girls, if you need to redo your makeup or something, I’ll make it fast so you can use the bathroom."

When they reassembled in the living room, admiring looks and approving comments and whistles were abundant. Vanessa was striking in a flowing calf-length, flower-print skirt and scarlet blouse, with stiletto heels that made her taller than Joe. She was wearing her hair piled high on her head, and she looked both elegant and exotic. Megan was dressed in a deep green velvet skirt that fell to her ankles, with a silky lighter green top. High heels raised her stature an inch or so, but she still looked tiny in comparison to the others. Her silken curls tumbled in an auburn riot; her turquoise eyes were sparkling with anticipation, and Frank’s eyes glowed when he looked at her.

"Oh, don’t you two look nice!" Vanessa exclaimed, taking in the Hardys’ appearance with approval.

Joe, clad in a dark blue suit, with a light blue shirt, blushed at his girlfriend’s praise, and tugged at his navy-and-red striped tie. "This thing’s going to choke me to death," he muttered, but he didn’t sound very grumpy. He smiled at Vanessa. "We’ll be the best-looking couple there," he promised her.

Frank was wearing a charcoal-gray suit, and his shirt was light gray. His tie was dark red with silver accents, and he looked, as Megan put it, ‘absolutely fabulous, dah-ling!’

"No more fabulous than you," he replied, chuckling.

Phil was seated on the couch, thumbing through a textbook, his feet propped on the coffee table as he waited for his guests. When he rose to his feet, the Bayporters saw with surprise that Phil looked completely different from the usual lanky, uncoordinated guy they were used to seeing. He was dressed in a dark brown suit and a cream-colored shirt, his tie a gold-and-brown Paisley print, his hair neatly brushed back and slicked down instead of shooting out in various directions as it usually did.

"Phil, you look wonderful!" Vanessa exclaimed, and he blushed and grinned self-consciously.

"Thanks – and your timing’s great; we need to fly!"

Phil headed for the door, and opened it, preparing to head for the car. Before he could take another step, however, a drawn-back fist slammed directly into his stomach!