"And we’re still going to cut the record!" Amy Farragut bubbled. "I’m so excited about that!"

"Yeah, it’ll be great," Joe concurred. He glanced around, looking for their van, wondering if Frank had had any luck pinning down where the mysterious key had come from. He wasn’t surprised not to see it – but a little disappointed, even so.

Joe and his companions entered the hotel lobby, and were heading toward the elevators when a figure detached itself from a group near the front desk.

"Joe Hardy!"

Joe turned, surprised at the hail, and was even more surprised to see Sergeant Fogle striding towards him.

"Hey, Sergeant!" Joe smiled in welcome. He stepped away from the others. "I hope you’ve come to tell us there’s been a break in the case—"

"Joe, no, sorry, I haven’t." The police officer’s brown eyes were very somber. "I have some bad news for you, I’m afraid."

Joe’s grin faded. "What’s wrong?" He felt his breathing quicken, and what felt like an icy fist of apprehension clutch his insides. "What’s happened?"

"There’s been an accident – a car accident—"

Fogle got no further; Joe seized his arm tightly, words spilling out in an incoherent stream.

"Frank? Something’s happened to Frank? Oh God, what? How did it happen? Is he badly hurt? He’s not…he can’t be—"

"Joe! Stop it, get hold of yourself!" Fogle said sharply, then quickly softened his tone. "Frank’s in the hospital, but right now that’s all I know. Come along with me; I’ll give you a ride there." He guided the distraught Hardy boy towards the doors, keeping up a steady flow of reassuring words.

Once seated in the officer’s car, Joe found himself staring numbly through the front windshield, his mind whirling with horrid possibilities. With determination, he wrenched his attention to Sergeant Fogle. "How did it happen, exactly?"

"The van Frank was driving was run off the road by another car, and it overturned – well, turned onto its side, at any rate." Fogle told him, accelerating smoothly into the late-afternoon traffic. "It happened on one of the highway stretches outside of town, so they were traveling at a fair rate of speed. There were quite a few witnesses to the whole thing, and I understand Frank was not at fault in any way."

Of course he wasn’t at fault! Joe thought. "Was the other driver hurt? Or is he in custody?" he demanded.

Fogle shook his head. "The other car left the scene, and we haven’t located the driver yet. One thing we do know; that car was stolen."

"Stolen…?" Joe faltered. "Then it can’t be traced!"

"No, but we’ll catch up to the driver, don’t worry."

"Sergeant Fogle, do you have any idea how badly Frank was hurt?" Joe’s voice shook.

"I’m sorry, Joe; I don’t. I only know that he was taken to the hospital." The officer replied. After a moment, he continued. "Do you know what Frank was doing, where he was going? He didn’t seem to be going to the hotel."

Joe hesitated. Should I tell him? No, not yet...well, not all of it, anyway. Aloud, he said, "No, I’m not sure where he was going. We haven’t had much time to talk; I’ve been busy with school things." That much is true, anyway! "But – Sergeant Fogle? We did find a key, taped to the bottom of the wastebasket in Tremaine’s room. We were going to look into that, when we had a chance."

"Ah - I see." Fogle kept his eyes on the road, but Joe heard the unspoken rebuke in his voice. "I don’t suppose it occurred to you two that the police should be informed of this find?" 

"We were going to tell you," Joe said defensively. "But we wanted to see if we could locate what it was to, first."  

When they reached the hospital, Fogle parked his car, and escorted Joe through the emergency entrance and up to the information desk. "This is the brother of Frank Hardy," he informed the woman behind the glass partition. "He was brought in about three hours ago – vehicle accident. What can you tell us about his condition?"

She consulted her computer at length, while Joe fidgeted anxiously. "He’s in room 614," she answered, finally.

"Do you know his condition?" Joe pressed. "How badly was he hurt?"

She shook her head. "It doesn’t say what his injuries were." she answered. "I suggest you go up to the sixth floor and ask at the nurse’s station."

Joe spun on his heel and hurried toward the elevators. He didn’t wait for Fogle, but the policeman caught up to him as he waited for an elevator to arrive.

"Joe, I’m sorry, but I have some things to attend to – I’m afraid I can’t stay." Fogle apologized. "I hope Frank is all right. I’ll check in with you later to find out."

"Okay—" Joe barely glanced at him; the elevator door slid open, and he swiftly entered the car, and punched the button marked 6. Frank, you’ve got to be all right…you’ve got to be all right….

Emerging on the sixth floor, Joe looked around for the nurse’s station, then hurried to it. He caught the eye of a small, dark-haired nurse who smiled at him encouragingly.

"Can I help you?" she asked, in a soft Southern drawl.

Joe explained why he was there, and she consulted the records carefully. Then she looked at him, with another smile.

"Accordin’ to this, he’s being held overnight for observation, but his injuries weren’t serious." Joe sagged against the desk with a huge sigh of relief, and the nurse chuckled softly. "You can go on in and see him; 614’s just around that corner and down the hall a bit."

Joe set off around the corner and down the hall, glancing at the room numbers as he hurried past. Finding 614, he gently pushed on the half-open door, and entered the room.

There were two beds in the room; one unoccupied. On the one nearest the door, Frank lay, his eyes closed.

"Frank?" Joe tiptoed towards the bed, rapidly scanning for obvious injuries. One side of Frank’s face was bruised and swollen, and his left wrist was wrapped in elastic bandages. "Frank?"

Slowly, the elder Hardy boy turned his head and opened his eyes. He stared blearily in Joe’s direction. "Huh?" He blinked a couple of times. "Oh, hi Joe…"

Joe stepped close to the bed. "You pick the oddest places to hang out…." He tried for an encouraging smile. "You aren’t having a very good vacation so far, are you?"

Frank smiled wearily. "Not so far, no." he murmured. He reached with his good hand for the power controls, and carefully raised the head of the bed.

"How bad is it?" Joe asked, perching on the edge of the bed.

"Just bruises, and a sprained wrist," Frank assured him. "The doctor said I can leave tomorrow morning, but he wanted me to stay here tonight." He shifted gingerly. "I think I’ll find more bruises tomorrow – and I’ll be stiff; that’s for sure."

"Tell me what happened." Joe requested. "Sergeant Fogle met me at the hotel, and brought me here. He said you were run off the road by a stolen car!"

"Stolen, huh?" Frank mumbled. "Figures." He sighed. "I was heading for the bus station; that’s all. I was going to try the key…and the next thing I knew, the van was sliding off the road and tipping over." He thought for a moment. "It was a sedan, and it was dark blue…that’s about all I remember."

"So you didn’t make it to the bus terminal?" Joe asked.

"No – maybe you’d better take the key and try." Frank indicated the bedside table with a gesture. "It should be in my pants pocket, in that drawer."

Joe rummaged, and discovered the key. He pocketed it, then sat down on the empty bed. "Someone has it in for you." he observed quietly. "First the knock on the head, then the arrow, now this."

"I know." Frank acknowledged tiredly. "Well, I’m out of commission until tomorrow, at least. Do you think you could check at the bus station and see if the key happens to fit their lockers? It might be the wrong type, you know."

"What happened to the van?" Joe asked. "Is it still drivable? Where is it?"

"I don’t know if it’s drivable," Frank admitted. "I think it was towed to a garage. I’ll see if I can find out how badly it’s damaged, and tell you when you check back." He extended a hand towards the telephone, but Joe intercepted the movement.

"I think you need to rest, not be calling repair shops," Joe told him gently. "I’ll go to the bus station in a taxi, and I’ll call and check on it when I get back."

"Okay…" his brother sighed reluctantly.

"You take it easy, okay?" Joe stood up, his eyes still fixed worriedly on Frank’s bruised face.

Frank nodded. "I will….I’ll feel better when I know you’ve at least checked the lockers at the bus station." he added, with a shadowed version of his usual smile.

Joe’s trip to the Greyhound terminal was uneventful and un-illuminating. Although the key was close to the appropriate size, it was just the slightest bit too wide to fit in the slots of the doors. Defeated, Joe was intending to return to the hospital, when he realized he needed to check in with Mr. Freemont at the hotel. He changed his destination.

"Mr. Freemont?" Joe tapped on the door of the teacher’s room. In a moment, it opened, revealing Freemont, dressed casually, and holding a book, his finger inserted to mark his place.

"Joe! Come in – what can I do for you?" Mr. Freemont smiled and swung the door wider.

"Frank’s been in a car accident," Joe began, and went on to explain what had happened earlier. Mr. Freemont expressed his shock and dismay at the news, and readily granted Joe permission to be excused from the next day’s class activities in order to look after his brother.

"Of course you can skip tomorrow’s trip." he told Joe. "Just because Frank’s being released tomorrow doesn’t necessarily mean he’s completely recovered from the accident, and he may need you around. Hopefully, though, if he’s feeling well enough to be left alone, you could join us in the afternoon, so as not to miss out on too much."

"Thanks a lot, Mr. Freemont! I hope it works out that way."

Joe went back to the elevator and rode to the floor where his and Frank’s room was located. I’ll grab some stuff for Frank – his toothbrush, some clothes for tomorrow, his razor… he thought, as he walked quietly down the carpeted hallway. And I should find out where the van was taken, so I can call and see how badly it was damaged….

Inserting his key-card into the door slot, Joe waited for the light to flash green, then opened the door. He switched on the lights – and halted, his eyes wide. What the…?

For the room had been ransacked – the beds stripped down to the mattresses, drawers pulled open, clothing strewn about on the floor. Joe eased the door closed, and stood with his back against it for a moment, surveying the scene. For some reason, he didn’t fear that whoever had done this was still there, but he was so shocked by the room’s appearance that he couldn’t immediately react.

Finally, he shook his head and set about finding out what – if anything – was either taken or damaged. Slowly, he began setting things to rights, running a mental inventory as he worked. He had a suspicion that what the intruder had been seeking was currently resting in his pocket!

All our clothes are still here…. Joe methodically folded shirts, underwear, and socks, and replaced them in their drawers. Lucky thing we didn’t leave any cash sitting around…. He scooped advertising flyers back onto the dresser, and picked up the book Frank had brought with him, carefully smoothing out the crumpled pages. He hung slacks and jeans back in the closet, and replaced the sheets and blankets on the beds. Finally he moved on to the bathroom, thanking his lucky stars that bottles had merely been moved, not smashed; he had no inclination to try and mop up spilled shampoo or shower gel.

There was nothing missing; he was sure of that. Now he had a decision to make: to call or not to call Sergeant Fogle and report the break-in.

No…not yet. He mused as he tossed clothes for Frank into a plastic store bag, and added his shaving kit. I’m not going to tell the police, and – and I’m not going to tell Frank, either! he decided. Maybe tomorrow, when he’s feeling better, but I don’t want him upset, tonight!

Ready at last to return to the hospital, Joe removed the mysterious key from his pocket and after a moment’s thought, he turned the LED alarm clock upside down; and finding some cellophane tape in his suitcase, securely taped the key to the bottom of the clock. Whoever searched the room probably won’t be back, he reasoned, and if someone does come back, this is such an obvious hiding place, no one would bother looking here!

Another taxi ride brought Joe back to the hospital once more, and he made his way to room 614, hoping that Frank was feeling better by now. To his relief, he found his older brother awake and watching television.

"Hey, bro!" Joe held up the plastic sack. "I brought you some stuff I thought you might need, for tonight and tomorrow. How are you doing now?"

"Thanks." Frank smiled his appreciation. "I feel pretty good," he assured Joe. "I was able to find out about the van," he continued, as Joe plopped into the bedside chair. "It was taken to a local repair shop, and the guy I talked to there said it wasn’t badly damaged. They’ll probably have it done day after tomorrow. Oh, and I got hold of the insurance company; the agent said we’re covered."

"Good, that’s a relief." Joe replied. "I talked to Mr. Freemont, and told him what happened. He excused me from the class activities tomorrow, so that I can look after you."

Frank chuckled grimly. "I don’t need ‘looking after’" he reminded Joe, "but I appreciate the thought." He shifted positions, carefully, and changed the subject. "What about the key?"

"Nada," Joe admitted ruefully. "That key may fit a locker somewhere, but it doesn’t fit the ones at the Greyhound station."

A few minutes later, a nurse arrived, bringing Frank’s belated dinner. Since he hadn’t been there to order it, earlier in the day, he’d ended up getting served much later than the other patients.

"Visiting hours are almost over, I’m afraid." she informed Joe, while expertly arranging Frank’s bed tray across his lap and setting his dinner on it. "You’ll have to leave. Don’t worry, he’ll be fine!"

Joe reluctantly got to his feet. The aroma of Frank’s dinner made him realize he’d had none himself; at this point, even hospital food sounded better than nothing! "I’ll see you in the morning, then." he said, gripping Frank’s shoulder gently in farewell. "I’ll be here first thing."

Joe had intended to catch a local city bus back to the hotel, rather than pay the costs of another taxi, but when he arrived at the bus stop nearest the hospital, he found he was doomed to disappointment: the schedule posted told him that there were no buses running this late! Joe groaned dismally, and looked around for a taxi. But after several minutes of waiting….

Just my luck! No buses running, and now, no taxis around, either! Although he realized that he could go back inside and request that a cab be called for him, Joe hated to do that. He calculated the distance back to the hotel, and decided it was walk-able, assuming he didn’t get lost on the way! He started out at a brisk pace.

The streets were well-lit, and Joe made good time, striding lithely along, occasionally breaking into a jog. There were few pedestrians out, for it was after nine o’clock by now. Joe slowed down briefly to rest, and walked along quietly. After a time, however, he cocked his head, listening. There seemed to be an echo to his footfalls. He glanced back, but saw no one behind him.

Shaking his head – guess I just imagined it! – Joe started forward again, but after another block, he was sure he heard footsteps behind him. Again he stopped and turned his head – and as he paused, near the entrance to a dark alleyway, arms reached out of the shadows, seized Joe Hardy, and dragged him backwards into the darkness!