Hardy Detective Agency featuring Hardy Boys Fan Fiction

The Hardy boys rushed out the front door of the reading room eager to meet up with their father in the dark alley across the street. As they stepped off the curb, Frank suddenly flung his arm out in front of Joe to stop him.

"Whoa! Somebody's coming. We'd better get out of sight."

Joe, eager to see his dad, hadn't seen the large sedan coming down the street. As he stepped back with Frank into the shadows of the reading room's recessed doorway, the auto turned into the alley, its headlights cutting a wide bright arc in the darkness.

"Darn! They'll see Dad," he muttered, fists clenched anxiously.

Frank peered across into the alley. "He's not there! I can't see him in the light from the headlights. I wonder where he went?"

Joe raised his eyes to look at the upper floors. "He must have jumped up to the fire escape stairway. You know Dad. He's always able to put the iron up his back in a pinch and make the best of it."

The sedan pulled up to the warehouse door and the car doors opened. Five people stepped out, a few words were muttered by one of them to the driver, and then the auto pulled away. It was difficult for the boys to tell if the newcomers were men or women. They all were wearing cloaks similar to the one worn by Question Mark.

"Cult members!" Joe hissed. "They're arriving for tonight's celebrations."

"And here come more," Frank responded, as another auto, a big touring sedan, pulled off Broome Street and into the alley.

The curtains were down, so they couldn't see anyone inside the car. The headlights lit up the alley and the boys got a better look at the people now standing by the door. One of them was knocking on it with a fist.

"What a bunch of weirdoes," Joe grunted. "They're wearing masks, too!"

As the new arrivals climbed out of the sedan, the boys could see that they, too, were cloaked and wearing black domino masks. They joined the others at the door, which had now been opened by someone from inside, and they all filed into the warehouse chatting amongst themselves.

Frank shrugged and his eyes narrowed. "Looks like a big night for the Mysterians, eh?"

"You're darn tootin' right," Joe returned. "And here come more."

Another big auto pulled into the alley and stopped by the warehouse door. Four more cloaked and masked cult members stepped out before the car pulled off down to the next street. Frank and Joe huddled in the cold waiting for the arrivals to end. The library reading room was now dark and everyone was gone. The librarian must have gone out by a back entrance. But the boys lingered. Two more cars pulled into the alley across the street within the next few minutes, ejecting ten more people. In all, the boys figured that about twenty-five cult members had arrived.

"We should call the police," Joe muttered, as they waited for the coast to clear. "There's not much we can do against such a large number of people."

"And what will we tell them?" Frank asked bluntly. "That a bunch of people are getting together in an old warehouse? It's New Year's Eve, after all. The cops would figure they're just having a party."

Joe scowled. "Dad wouldn't be sneaking in there if it was just a party, you can bet!"

"He'll have a gun on him," Frank said, trying to ease his brother's anxiety. "All we have to do is sneak in there and meet up with Dad. Then we can work together to round up all those crooks!"

After ten or so minutes had passed with no new arrivals, the boys figured that everyone who was going to attend the evening's activities had arrived. They waited another five minutes, just to be safe, then quickly crossed the street and stole into the alley, staying far in the shadows to avert the one glowing light close to Broome Street..

The fire escape stairway was several feet past the side door, and they quickly hurried over to it. The bottom step of the stairway was about seven feet from the ground, and the boys were easily able to jump up and grasp it in order to pull it down closer. In moments they were stealthily climbing the stairs, trying not to make even the slightest sound.

"Go up to the third floor," Joe whispered to Frank, who had taken the lead. "With the broken windows there, we ought to be able to get inside with no problem."

Frank nodded silently, figuring that's what their father must have done. There was no sign of him on the fire escapes. He obviously had been able to get into the building. Frank kept climbing until he had reached the big third floor windows and the fire escape platforms that led along them.

"Let's go toward the back," Joe suggested. "Stay away from that light out front."

The boys stole along the fire escape, the sounds of the city drifting up from below them. They knew that later there would be uproar and pandemonium everywhere as the clock struck twelve and the New Year's celebrations reached their zenith.

Frank hissed at Joe. "This window here is broken. Look, there's a piece of glass missing big enough for a raccoon to crawl through."

Joe snickered. "This isn't Bayport. There probably aren't any raccoons in this neighborhood. But it's no wonder that old colored man was concerned. Birds and bats could easily fly in through that hole."

The windows were huge, about four feet long and twice as high. The bottom panes could be pushed up from the insides to allow air to flow in. The boys checked the next two along the fire escape, looking for a bigger hole, one they could fit their arms through to facilitate pushing the window up. Neither of those were broken, but the next one had a huge area of glass missing, perfect for their purpose. But, even better, it was already opened, pushed up far enough for a person to crawl through.

"Good luck, I'll say," Frank muttered. "I bet Dad did this and climbed inside."

"Talk about following in his footsteps," Joe grinned with irony. "This is just the ticket!"

Frank squeezed himself through the opening between the window sash and the sill, stepping onto the floor into the interior of the warehouse. Joe followed and they squatted there in the darkness for a minute, straining their ears for any sound. Muffled noises of music and conversation came from somewhere upstairs, but not a sound was to be heard near at hand. The boys pulled out their flashlights and switched them on. Twin beams of light played about showing they were in a huge room, long in length and high-ceilinged, and piled high in most spots with old crates and boxes. A closed door stood across from them.

"That must lead to a hall," Joe ventured. "Let's investigate!"

It seemed to be colder in the warehouse than it had been outside, and the boys were shivering as they crossed the cavernous room. Joe carefully pulled open the door and, switching off the flashlights, the boys peered into a long hall the length of the building. It was dimly lit by bare bulbs in three locations, and a stairwell could be seen in the middle with steps going up and down.

"Shall we go right upstairs?" Joe asked in low tones. "Or should we look around on this floor for Mr. Jefferson?"

"Let's see if we can find Bobby's father," Frank replied. "I'm convinced he's being held captive on this floor and that's why the cult members were angry at the old colored man for looking around."

"Go down that far end to the left," Joe urged. "That would face the next block, which isn't as busy as Broome Street. And I'm sure they'd keep him as far from the stairwell as possible."

Frank nodded and led the way, creeping quietly down the hall. Joe closed the door to the storeroom behind him and followed. They passed a handful of other doors which obviously led into more storerooms, but they heard nothing to arouse their suspicions. At the end of the hall they decided to turn around and work their way back to the middle again, but this time open each door and check out the rooms they led into.

It was then that they heard a muffled sneeze coming from within the storeroom closest to them.

"Great guns!" Joe blurted out. "Did you hear that? Somebody's in there!"

"Shhh!" Frank silenced him. "If that's Bobby's dad, there may be a guard in there, too."

Joe bit his bottom lip in consternation. He hoped he hadn't flubbed things up. They inched their way up to the door and listened, hardly daring to breathe. All was quiet. Then, suddenly, another sneeze came from within. Then, an angry voice:

"Doggone it! I wish I could get more heat in here. But no! Everybody's busy upstairs. I might as well be locked up all alone on the moon!"

"That must be him," Joe hissed in Frank's ear. "Mr. Jefferson!"

"I do believe you are right, little brother. And it sounds like he's alone. Let's go!"

Frank slowly turned the knob and pushed the door inward. Inside was another big room like the one they had come into when they had entered the building. This one, too, was piled high with crates and boxes, most of which looked like they had been long forgotten years ago. But there was light in the room, albeit dim, and there was a separate smaller room up against the wall facing the street in back. Light shone out from beneath its closed door. Next to the door along the wall were a table and chairs, an icebox, and a desk with a small dim lamp on its top.

"He must be locked in that room," Frank whispered, after taking it all in, and he began to tip-toe across to the door, Joe following.

When they reached it, the boys noticed immediately that the door was a metal one and had not only a sturdy lock on the outside but also a bolt and chain. The room was a veritable prison! Then, a sudden voice from within the room startled both Frank and Joe.

"Who's out there? I heard you come in. You can't fool me. I need more heat in here! I'm catching a cold!"

The boys exchanged brief puzzled expressions, then Frank blurted out in a low hoarse voice:

"We're the police! Who are you and why are you locked in that room?"

"The police?" came the voice from behind the door. "Thank goodness! My name is Bob Jefferson and I'm being held prisoner in this room by the Mysterians, the mystic cult that owns this building. They're all upstairs now practicing their strange rites. Please let me out of here!"

"It's Bobby's dad!" Joe exclaimed happily. "Yessiree! Doesn't that just beat the band?"

Frank had quickly unhooked the chain on the door and slid back the bolt, but he needed a key to unlock the lock.

"Where is the key to the lock?" He asked the man inside.

"Check on the table by the icebox. They usually leave the key ring there so the guy on the next shift guarding me has it at hand."

Joe bounded over to the table and saw a key ring laying in front of a table clock that pointed to the hour of eleven. He could scarcely believe it was that late already, only one hour to midnight! He picked up the key ring, which held several keys, and brought it over to Frank.

Frank made a couple attempts to unlock the lock before he found the right key, but soon enough the tumblers clicked and the door opened.

"Oh, mercy me!" the man inside shouted, pushing his way out. He looked like a thirty year-old version of little Bobby and was wearing a knit cap and overcoat. He sneezed again as he rushed out into the bigger room. "Bad enough they had to lock me up," he went on, "but there's hardly any heat in there! This whole building is freezing cold except upstairs, of course, where they hold their ... hey! You fellows aren't the police. Why, you're just .... boys!"

Surprised, the man stepped back to look at them, his hands on his hips and his brows knit in confusion.

"We're the Hardy boys from Bayport," Frank told him. "We found your son Bobby on Cabin Island yesterday after the fire. He's okay. He's at our house now with our mother and our aunt."

Bob Jefferson looked at them for a moment with an expression of great relief, then staggered over to the table where he crumpled down into a chair and held his head in his hands. The boys could see he was trembling.

"Thank goodness he's all right," the man sighed wearily. "I've been so worried about Bobby! I didn't know what happened to him. I was mesmerized. The leader of the cult is a master of hypnosis. He put me under his spell on the island and took me back to Bayport, then here to New York. It wasn't until I was locked up in that room and the spell had worn off that I realized I didn't know what happened to my son."

"Didn't they tell you?" Frank asked.

Bob Jefferson shook his head. "No, they wouldn't tell me anything. I thought they were holding him captive, too, in some other location. I can't believe they left him alone on that island!"

"What a bunch of cutthroats!" Joe said indignantly. "Good thing we went there to check out the fire."

"What in blazes were you doing on the island with little Bobby?" Frank demanded.

The man hung his head in shame. "It's a long story, boys. But my father owns Cabin Island. I haven't spoken to him in ten years. He probably thinks I'm dead. You see, the cult known as the Mysterians has had me under their control since I first came to New York to attend college."

"We know your father," Frank told him, "and he does think you are dead. Or at least he did so until this morning when we told him you might still be alive."

Bob Jefferson looked up at them, hope in his expression. "I met the leader of the cult on Cabin Island yesterday. The cult wants to own the island. Question Mark, the leader, had his assistant start fire to the cabin, believing my father would sell the island if the cabin was destroyed. I began to fight with him, I got so angry. But he was able to mesmerize me, as always, and that's the last I remember until I came to my senses there in that room."

"But why does the cult want to buy Cabin Island?" Frank asked. "Our dad is a detective and he's working on this case, so we know that the cult specializes in real estate swindles. But we also know they are willing to pay top price for the island. And that's no swindle! Why do they want it?"

Bob Jefferson sighed deeply, then said, "There is a hidden cave on Cabin Island that is a veritable treasure trove, boys. It is filled with gold and gems and a thousand other riches, cached there, I'm sure, hundreds of years ago by some long forgotten pirates. I stumbled upon it when I was a boy your age and kept it my very own secret. I never told anyone, not even my dad."

"Even though the cult had me under their control for years," he went on, "I never mentioned it to them either. It had become unimportant and I pretty much had forgotten about it until Question Mark drew it out of me recently during a mind control session. We met there yesterday because he wanted to see it, and I showed him the cave and its pirate cache. It's all still there, boys, millions and millions of dollars worth of treasure. That's why the Mysterians want to buy Cabin Island!"

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Disclaimer

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.