"Well, we just wanted to drop this off, and tell you about where the key led." Joe gripped Frank’s arm and tugged him toward the exit. Frank, mystified, held back, but Joe pulled harder. "Sorry it didn’t have anything to do with the case….We need to get back to the hotel now; Frank’s supposed to be resting….Come on, Frank, the doctor said you needed to rest – remember?"

Sergeant Fogle looked slightly surprised at the sudden departure, but nodded his understanding, and Joe pulled his brother hastily from the building.

"What’s the big idea?" Frank demanded, freeing his arm from Joe’s grasp once they were on the sidewalk. "We wanted to ask him about the papers in the trash, remember?"

"Something’s screwy." Joe cast a furtive glance backwards. "I never saw Fogle after our room was broken into last night. I cleaned it up myself. I didn’t report it to the hotel people. I didn’t tell Mr. Freemont, or any of the other kids…so how the heck did Fogle find out about it, that’s what I want to know!"

Frank stared at him, consternation evident on his features. "I don’t like the sound of this." he said slowly.

"That guy’s given me the creeps from the minute I met him!" Joe muttered. He glanced around. "Now we need another taxi, I suppose!" he groused.

"The buses are running," Frank reminded him absently, still evidently cogitating on the problem of Fogle. "Joe, I think it may be time we did a background check on our friend Sergeant Fogle."

"Back at the hotel?" Joe suggested, but Frank shook his head.

"No – better not risk it. If Fogle is involved in something shady, he may have had our room phone tapped. We never had a reason to check for bugs, but maybe we should. Fogle had plenty of opportunity to put something on our phone when I was knocked out, the other day. Let’s use a pay phone."

Joe patted his pockets. "I’m short on change." he said doubtfully.

"We can pick up a phone card at that gas station, and use the pay phone outside." Frank pointed out. Joe looked where he indicated, and nodded approval.

They strolled casually down the street, trying not to seem conspicuously in a hurry. After purchasing a phone card, they exited the gas station and went to the pay phone at the corner of the building. Fortunately, it was an open one, so the boys didn’t have to worry about both fitting into an enclosed booth. Frank seized the handset and punched in the familiar number of Sam Radley.

When their father’s operative answered the phone, Frank explained what was going on in Nashville, and asked for Sam’s help in untangling the confusion surrounding Sergeant Fogle.

"I’ll get on it, Frank." Radley promised. "But it will take a little while. Can you call back this evening?"

Frank conferred briefly with Joe, then replied to Sam’s question. "Yes, we can. How does seven sound?"

"Seven works; that should give me enough time." Radley agreed. "You two take care, now, understand me? I don’t want to have to try and explain things to your folks if something happens to you!"

Frank chuckled. "We’ll be careful, Sam – aren’t we always?"

"No!" was the response, but Sam was laughing too. "Talk to you later, Frank." The receiver was replaced with a click. Frank hung up, and turned to Joe.

"I’m hungry," he announced. "Let’s grab some lunch, and then go over to the Parthenon and talk to Mr. Ratkin."

Joe tried once again to be the responsible one. "You’re supposed to be resting—"

"Later, little brother, later." Frank said in exasperation. Am I this way with Joe when he gets hurt? he wondered.

Lunch consisted of soft tacos from the nearest Mexican fast-food place, and then they located a cross-town bus that took them to the Parthenon.

"I miss having the van!" Joe grumbled. "All these buses and taxis are a pain!"

"You’d be on a school bus right now, if it wasn’t for me," Frank reminded him. "Or, at least, on a bus with your school class."

Joe looked somewhat guilty. "I feel bad about that; kind of like I deceived Mr. Freemont. But when I talked to him, I really was afraid you’d need me around—"

"Hey, I appreciate the thought." Frank said. His tone was light, but there was deep affection in his dark eyes. He knew Joe had been willing to give up any part of his school trip, ‘just in case.’

When they reached the museum, the Hardys presented their credentials to the man on duty, who waved them on in. They made their way to the top floor of the building, and set about doing a thorough check of the whole area: entrances, exits, security measures. Then they asked questions of the guide about the outside security and what happened at night.

"Ordinarily there are two guards on duty at night, and one during the day." their informant said. "But on Friday there will be an additional six guards posted outside, one at each entrance. This is plus all the guards who will be in the galleries inside, and the alarm systems, which will be activated."

When they were finally convinced they’d thoroughly covered the ground, they sat down on a bench in one of the wide hallways, to discuss their next moves.

"From what all I can tell, there’s no way anyone could get into this area to steal the money, from the outside." Frank stated with conviction. "If there’s any danger of that happening, it will be an inside job."

Joe nodded agreement. "Let’s see if Mr. Ratkin can give us a few minutes." he proposed. "Maybe he can shed some light on this."

Ted Ratkin was in his office, doing paperwork, and he greeted the boys pleasantly when they tapped on his door.

"Come in, come in. What can I do for you?" he asked, waving them to chairs. Then he took a closer look at Frank. "What happened to you?" he asked, noting the boy’s bruised face and bandaged wrist.

"Just a minor traffic accident." Frank said. He and Joe sat down and looked at each other uneasily, not exactly sure where to start. Finally, Joe broke the stalemate.

"We were wondering about Sergeant Fogle being in charge of security for the Parthenon event." he began. "When was he assigned to that position?"

"Well," Ratkin said consideringly. "He wasn’t originally in charge of it. When the ceremony was first discussed and set up, Lieutenant Mason was supposed to be the head of security. Unfortunately, he was injured a short while back, and Sergeant Fogle stepped into the breach. He volunteered to do it; seemed real interested in helping out. As far as I know, he’s done a good job – why do you ask? Is there some problem?"

"Was he at the meeting, the night of the murder?" Frank asked, not answering Mr. Ratkin’s question.

"No, he wasn’t. Although he was the police liaison, after Lieutenant Mason was hurt, he wasn’t required to be there – Donald Tremaine was supposedly handling things at the meeting. Of course, Tremaine never showed, either." Ratkin added

"Thanks, Mr. Ratkin. We know you’re busy, so we won’t take any more of your time right now." Joe said, standing up. Frank followed his example. "We appreciate the information." Joe continued. "Oh, by the way – things look good, as far as security measures go. I don’t think anyone can get into that ceremony upstairs from the outside."

Ratkin stood also, a relieved expresssion on his face. "That’s good to hear, Joe. You’re right, I do have things I need to do. I’ll talk to you later." He shook hands with the boys, and was already busy with his paperwork by the time they got out the door.

"Soooo…" Joe mused, as they stepped outside. "What do you think? Could Fogle have been the man in the wig, that first night?"

"No, I don’t see how he could be." Frank replied. "But I’ll bet he knows him!" He pondered briefly. "We need to follow Fogle." he announced, at last.

"No can do, brother mine!" Joe shook his head decisively. "Following an officer on duty is a felony – or maybe it’s a misdemeanor. I can’t remember what Dad’s book said. At any rate, we can’t do it without getting in trouble for it!"

"I wonder where he lives?" Frank said then. "If we could pick him up there, we wouldn’t be following him on duty."

Joe eyed him warily. "That’s cutting it awfully close," he noted. "Letter of the law, and all that."

"I don’t care." Frank said stubbornly. "He’s tied up in this somehow, and I want to know what’s going on!"

Returning inside, the boys went to the pay phone in the lobby, and checked the phone book, but much to their dismay, found no listing for Fogle.

"He’s only been in Nashville for three months," Frank recalled with chagrin. "His listing wouldn’t be in this phone book! We could try Directory Assistance, I suppose…Oh, that wouldn’t work; police always have unlisted numbers and addresses."

"Let’s try asking at the police station!" Joe proposed. "You’re the brains of this outfit; you can come up with some excuse or other for us needing his home address!" He evidently had forgotten his insistence that Frank go to the hotel and rest, and Frank wasn’t about to remind him of it! Once more, they headed to the nearest bus stop, and soon were speeding back downtown.

Although Frank had racked his brain for a plausible reason for needing Sergeant Fogle’s address, the best thing he could come up with, when faced with the inquisitive officer behind the front desk, was to say: "He asked us to take his dog out – because he hasn’t been home last night or today. And when we got ready to do it, I found that I’d lost the paper with his address on it."

The officer eyed them suspiciously. "That’s one of the flimsiest excuses I’ve ever heard. Do you think we just give out addresses and phone numbers for police personnel to anyone who asks? Go on, get out of here, you two!"

"Wait—" Joe held up a hand. "This is important. We’ve been working with Sergeant Fogle on the murder case of Donald Tremaine. I’m Joe Hardy, and this is my brother, Frank." The policeman continued to stare at them in an unfriendly manner. "Fenton Hardy is our father." Joe continued, desperately. I hate to do this! No one ever listens to us about anything until we drag in Dad’s name!

Hate it or not, it worked. At the mention of Fenton Hardy, the suspicious look faded from the cop’s eyes. "Hmmm…well, it’s against regs, but if you’re Mr. Hardy’s kids, I suppose I can bend the rules a little." He tapped his computer keyboard a few times, then jotted down some information from the screen, and handed the piece of paper to Frank. "Good luck with the investigation."

"Thank goodness Nashville has a good taxi service!" Joe observed, as they flagged down yet another cab, and directed the driver to the address they had been given. A fifteen-minute ride found them in a pleasant residential neighborhood. When the cab driver indicated their destination, Frank requested that they be let out a block further on.

"And could you possibly wait here for us, for maybe…ten minutes?" he asked, as Joe paid the fare. "We’re not sure the person is home." He smiled winningly. "It’s a…surprise…visit."

The driver nodded. "Ten minutes it is." he promised. "And if you’re not back by then, I’ll cruise by the house, before I take outta here."

Frank and Joe set off quickly for Fogle’s house. They were in luck; the neighborhood seemed very quiet, with no children playing outside the tidy residences, and no neighbors visible; there was little vehicle traffic. Cautiously, the two made their way close to the house, going into the back yard where they were less likely to be observed. Frank cupped his hands around his eyes, peering into a window.

"Nice – " he murmured. "It looks like our friend Sergeant Fogle is something of a neat freak."

"Let’s split up and check all the downstairs windows." Joe said. "I’ll go this way." He was gone before Frank could reply, but since the elder Hardy had had no intentions of arguing, it didn’t really matter.

A few minutes later, Frank was standing riveted to another window, staring hard through the glass. "Joe!" he hissed. "C’mere!"

Joe hurried to join him. "What is it?"

"Here, in this bedroom – look on the dresser!" Frank replied excitedly, and moved aside so that Joe could take a turn peering in. After one glance, Joe whistled softly and drew back to face his brother."

"A red wig!" He paused, doubt shadowing his face. "Coincidence?"

"Not a chance!" Frank replied emphatically, shaking his head. "You remember what Dad’s taught us, don’t you? In a mystery, there’s no such thing as a coincidence." He furrowed his brow, trying to remember his conversation with Fogle in the cruiser, the day he had been attacked. I wish I could remember what he said…’coincidence’ – that reminds me of something, but I can’t think what. Shaking his head impatiently in an effort to clear his thoughts, he started back towards the street. "Let’s catch that cab driver before he leaves, and go back to the hotel. You, little brother, look like you could use a nap."

"You’re the one who’s supposed to be resting, remember?" Joe responded, almost automatically, but the gibe was lost in an enormous yawn. Joe gave a shamefaced grin. "I guess you’re right," he admitted. "I was up and down all night, thanks to your nurses!"

Once back at the hotel, Joe flopped onto his bed and was asleep almost immediately. Frank lay down too, but remained awake, letting the information they’d gleaned sift through his mind.

Frank punched his pillows into a more comfortable position and returned to his troubled thoughts. Even if we assume that Fogle has decided to steal the money, and Donald Tremaine found out about it, therefore was killed – what does that have to do with the ‘I’m patterning my life on Fenton Hardy’s’ thing? He knows things about Dad that – well, there’s no reason he shouldn’t know them, but there’s no reason he should, either! How does that fit in with the money angle?

Without being aware it was happening, Frank drifted off to sleep too. When he opened his eyes and looked at the digital clock readout, he was surprised to see it was 5:30. Guess I was more tired than I realized! he thought, and sat up, moving carefully as his sore muscles protested.

"Joe?" Frank reached over to nudge his brother’s arm. "Joe, wake up, and we can go get some dinner."

Joe mumbled something incomprehensible, and rolled over, turning his back to Frank.

"Joe!" Another, harder nudge. "Aren’t you hungry? It’s time to eat." Sure-fire way to wake him up: mention the prospect of food! Frank thought, with an inward chuckle.

"Huh…?" Joe’s eyes were still closed, but this time the mumble was a bit more coherent. "Whadja say? Eat?"

"I said, let’s go get some dinner." Frank repeated patiently. "I’m hungry; it’s 5:30 already."

Joe rolled back over, rubbed sleepily at his face, and finally opened his blue eyes. "Okay…okay, I’m awake….Did you get some rest?"

Frank nodded. "Plenty. I feel fine. Come on, let’s try that Chinese restaurant – the House of Hunan."

By the time the boys made their way to the restaurant, ordered, and ate, it was nearly seven o’clock. They went back to the hotel, and again considering the chance that their room telephone was tapped, they chose a pay phone in the hotel lobby. Frank dialed Sam Radley’s number, and waited patiently as it rang…and rang.

Finally, Sam answered. After a few pleasantries, they got down to business.

"I’m a little confused about this guy Fogle." Radley admitted. "The story he told you doesn’t jibe with the things I’ve found out."

"Why not? How?" Frank asked. He held the receiver so that Joe, pressing close, could hear too.