The Flickering Torch Mystery by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

their receiving apparatus, slipped quickly around the fence, and made tracks for their convertible.
    Chet arrived shortly afterward. “Did you see? I almost got conked!” he began excitedly.
    â€œWe saw,” Joe said. “You were great, Chet!”
    â€œWe also heard everything,” Frank added. “Our little bug worked like a charm. And Seymour couldn’t have done us a bigger favor!”
    â€œWhen he picked it up I thought I was sunk!” Chet declared, rolling his eyes. “What did they say?”
    Joe repeated the conversation.
    â€œInteresting, but what does it mean?”
    â€œWe don’t know,” Frank said.
    â€œThat talk about rocks,” Chet went on. “Suppose they meant the Marlin Crag Cliffs?”
    â€œNo. Precious stones, perhaps. Remember, Mudd asked for hard cash—another kind of payment.”
    â€œAnd what about Wednesday and Saturday?”
    â€œWell, something’s going on then, but we don’t have any idea what or where.”
    â€œThe Flickering Torch is my guess,” Chet said with a professional air.
    â€œPossible,” Joe agreed. “We’ll have to watch the place.”
    The trio returned to Bayport, still puzzled about the overheard clues. Next afternoon Tony Prito and Bernie Marzi showed up at the Hardy house.
    After a hearty welcome by Frank and Joe, Bernie asked, “What can I do for you? Tony mentioned a case you’re involved in, but didn’t give me any details.”
    â€œWe can’t tell you too much either,” Frank said. “But you could help us by telling us everything you know about the Torch employees. Something suspicious may be going on there. We’ll have to check out the place. How about starting out with the musicians?”
    â€œSure,” Bernie said and gave a short summary of everyone’s background. “I know very little about the waiters and the kitchen personnel,” he concluded. “As far as the band goes, I trust everybody with the possible exception of Seymour Schill. I can’t tell you why, it’s just a hunch.”
    Frank nodded slowly. “Your intuition and ours are surprisingly alike.”
    â€œWhat’s the next step?” the drummer asked.
    â€œWe’d like to case the Flickering Torch,” Joe stated.
    â€œListen, I’ve got a great idea!” Bernie exclaimed. “Why don’t one of you join the combo Saturday night? Who handles the lead guitar?”
    â€œI do,” Joe said. “What about your regular guitarist? Won’t he be jealous?”
    â€œHe wants the day off, Joe. We were going to hire another pro. But I’m sure you can fit the bill, so why should we look for anyone else?”
    â€œI’ll take you up on that, Bernie. When do I have to be there?”
    â€œFirst you’ll have to attend our practice session tomorrow. Let the gang see how you do.”
    â€œSuits me fine,” Joe said. “I’ve always wanted to play with pros.”
    Tony grinned at Bernie. “That means Joe’ll have a jump on the rest of us in the Bayport combo.”
    â€œNever fear, we’re not that good,” Bernie said modestly.
    When Tony announced he would have to leave in a little while, Joe asked Bernie if he was planning to return to Beemerville that evening.
    â€œNo,” Bernie replied. “I’m supposed to spend the night at Tony’s and go back tomorrow.”
    â€œListen,” Joe suggested, “why don’t you stay here and then we can drive down together?”
    â€œHave you got room for me?” Bernie asked.
    â€œSure.”
    â€œHey, that’s great,” Bernie said. “Especially since I don’t have a car.”
    â€œIt’s a deal. Let me tell Mother.” Joe hastened upstairs and returned with Mrs. Hardy, who offered Bernie their hospitality. Then Tony departed.
    A few minutes later the phone rang. It was Mr.