He neared Stan and the intruder and pulled the ski mask from the man's head, revealing a thirty year old man with greasy black hair and cleft chin. "Who are you?" Joe demanded, glaring at the angry man. No answer was forth coming. "Why were you in this house?" Joe questioned him again.

"It was a mistake," the man said. "I thought my sister lived here but it's the wrong house."

"And yet, we saw you leaving the house," Joe continued. "How did you get inside?"

"The door was unlocked," the man told him.

"No, it wasn't," Stan stated positively. "I always double check all the doors and windows before I leave." He looked over at Joe and gave a little laugh. "In this neighborhood, you never know exactly what to expect or when."

Joe gave Stan a knowing grin. "I'll watch him," he said. "If you'll call the police?"

"Sure you got him covered?" Stan asked, releasing the man and backing a way a little.

"He's not going anywhere," Joe promised, his eyes glued to the intruder.

"Look, kid. I got the wrong house, that's all," the man insisted.

"You mistakenly entered a locked house wearing a ski mask on one of the hottest days of the season?" Joe asked, shaking his head. "And if I believe that, you've got a bridge in Brooklyn to sell me, right?"

The man glared at Joe and Joe sensed he was getting ready to make a break for it. Joe stepped closer to him, his hands ready to form fists in a second's notice but the move was aborted as Stan returned and stationed himself behind the captive.

"The police are on their way," Stan said. "It didn't look like anything had been disturbed," he added.

"I told you," the intruder said. "I got the wrong house."

"Then whose house were you meaning to break into?" Joe demanded.

The man's face contorted into a snarl but he stayed where he was as a siren was heard nearing the area. A minute later, a squad car came to a halt in front of Stan's driveway and two uniformed officers got out.

Stan explained about the intruder and Officer Delaney read the culprit his rights as Officer Cortez searched him. "What are you doing with this?" Officer Cortez demanded of the prisoner, holding up a picture of Fenton Hardy.

"I want a lawyer," the prisoner demanded in response.

"We'll need a statement," Officer Delaney told Stan and Joe.

"Of course," Stan agreed at once. "We'll follow you down to the station."

The officers left with their suspect and Joe climbed back into Stan's jeep and they went downtown. After issuing their statements, Joe spoke with Sergeant Con Riley, a man in his mid twenties with straight brown hair and brown eyes who was a close friend of the Hardys. Although he had no information on the intruder yet, he promised to call Joe when he did find something. Satisfied, Joe and Stan returned to Elm Street. Joe helped Stan carry in the fish then grabbed his gear and went home.

"Hello, honey," Laura greeted Joe as he entered the living room. "Did you have a nice time?" she asked, pushing a stray strand of blond hair out of her blue eyes.

"And how!" Joe replied, smiling down at his petite mother. "I caught a trout that big!" he bragged, holding his hands apart at what he estimated was the appropriate size. "Stan took my catch," Joe continued. "He's going to fry it up and we're to have dinner with him tonight."

"What happened to your father?" Laura asked, eyeing her son's face closely. "Why did you go fishing with Stan?"

"Dad has a new case," Joe answered. "He had to be at a meeting with Senator Davenport early this afternoon." Laura could tell his father's desertion had hurt and she fully intended to call him on the matter. He should know there are some things more important than a mystery! she thought, her eyes aflame.

"Go and get cleaned up," Laura ordered her son. She wrinkled her nose. "You're starting to smell like dinner." Joe laughed and headed upstairs to shower and change.

Stan called an hour later and invited the two Hardy's over for dinner. After they had eaten, Laura insisted on doing the dishes so Stan took Joe to the basement to show him his hobby. Joe followed Stan downstairs and through the basement door. Stan clicked on a soft light and Joe let out an appreciative whistle. "This is better than my set-up," Joe told Stan looking at the apparatus in the corner. "I've been saving for one of these," he added.

"I didn't know you developed your own pictures," Stan commented, surprise written all over his face. "You appear to have such a busy schedule; when do you have the time?"

"If it's important to you, you make time," Joe replied, wishing he were important to his father. "Besides, as many pictures as I take, I have to know how."

"If you like, you can come over and try my enlarger out before you invest in one," Stan offered.

"For real?" Joe exclaimed, his blue eyes lighting up at the prospect.

"For real," Stan assured him, laughing at Joe's obvious delight.

Joe looked at some of the pictures Stan had tacked up on the wall. "Your wife?" he asked, spotting one picture with Stan standing next to a lovely woman with short blond hair. Joe turned to look at Stan, pity evident in his eyes. "She was pregnant when..."

Stan nodded. "Please, I really can't talk about it."

"Maybe we should go see if mom has finished with the dishes," suggested Joe, changing the subject in accordance with Stan's wishes.

Laura had indeed finished with the dishes and was waiting in the living room for the two to return. "Thank you for taking Joe fishing today," Laura said to Stan, smiling gratefully.

"It was my pleasure," Stan assured her. "I enjoy having someone to do something with." A thoughtful look crossed his face and he looked over at Joe. "Say, you don't by any chance play golf, do you?" he asked.

"I've only played twice," Joe admitted. "I must admit, I'm not very good at it."

"If you've only played twice, then it's no wonder," Stan told him. "What you need are the two P's."

"The two P's?" Joe asked, wrinkling his forehead as he tried to think what they might be.

"Practice and pointers," Stan clarified. "I usually play golf every Sunday at Berkley's," he said, naming a prestigious golf club on the outskirts of town. "But my partner broke his arm this past week and had to cancel. I don't suppose you would want to join me for a game? Your brother too, if he is back from his trip," Stan added.

"Go on," Laura urged Joe to accept. "Frank won't be back until tomorrow night."

"Well, if you don't mind a novice, I'd love to go a round with you tomorrow," Joe accepted the invitation.

A little later, Joe and Laura headed home. As Joe unlocked the door, the phone started ringing. "Oh, hi Con," Joe said, recognizing the voice on the other end at once.

"I got some info on the intruder at your neighbor's," Con told Joe.

"Shoot," Joe told him.

"The man's name is Marvin Sumerhill. He's a local thug for hire. He said he had been paid five thousand dollars to break into your place and steal your dad's file on Logan Dempsey," Con informed Joe. "Sumerhill couldn't make out the house number on the address he was given and got Axemeyer's house instead of yours."

"Logan Dempsey, huh?" Joe said. "Thanks, Con," he added before bidding the man goodbye and hanging up. Joe went upstairs to his father's office and pulled Dempsey's file. Sitting down at the desk, he turned on the lamp and opened it up. There was a picture of a man with jet black hair and hard green eyes.

According to the stat sheet he was six foot two and weighed roughly two hundred and forty pounds. His last known address was in Greensboro, NC. There were several unconfirmed reports of his death but no body had ever turned up.

Dempsey's rap sheet linked him to the current crime czar, Donald Terrazine and showed him as being wanted for securities fraud, land swindling, and theft.

Joe finished reading about the man and closed the file. He used the Rolodex to find the number of the hotel his dad usually stayed at when visiting the capitol and put through a call.

Five minutes later, Joe hung up the phone with a frown. His dad had checked out three hours previously. He hoped his dad called home soon. Joe put the folder back in the file cabinet and locked it. Turning off the lamp, Joe went downstairs. After taking the trash out, Joe locked the door and turned on the alarm. Telling his mother goodnight, Joe returned upstairs and went to bed.

Several hours later, he was awakened out of a sound sleep by a shrill alarm. He reached for his alarm clock but realized it was the burglar alarm making the noise!