The Vanishing Thieves (13 page)

“I certainly appreciate your help, Mr. Hardy,” the lieutenant said.

“You're welcome. Boys, are you ready to fly back to Bayport with me tonight?”

“I don't think so,” Joe said. “We still have the mystery of Vern's coin to solve. Up till now, we haven't had much time to concentrate on that.”

“Besides,” Vern added, “I want to hang around to wait for my car. When can I have it back, Lieutenant?” he asked eagerly.

“Tomorrow,” the lieutenant replied. “It will be in the police impound lot.”

“Well, boys,” Mr. Hardy said, “perhaps you can take me to the hotel to pick up my baggage, and then drive me to the airport.”

He shook hands with the lieutenant and said good-bye. The officer told the boys to phone him the next day. “I'll let you know how successful the stakeout was,” he promised.

In the morning, Frank took his film to a twenty-four-hour developing service. Then, he phoned Lieutenant Frisby from their hotel room, holding the receiver so that the other boys could hear the conversation.

“So far we've had only partial success,” the lieutenant reported. “A number of small frys were arrested at the warehouse, but they were just workers employed to strip the stolen cars. At Admax, we nabbed the man who claimed to be Osgood Admax, and who turned out to be a wanted forger named Calvin Renk. His clerk, Melvin, apparently was just an employee, and didn't know the items they sold were stolen.”

“You haven't gotten Big Harry, Crafty Kraft, Red Sluice, or Anton Jivaro yet?” Frank asked.

“No, nor the big boss. Neither Sluice nor Jivaro has been near Red's house, Red hasn't visited his girlfriend, and none of them have shown up at either the warehouse or the store.”

“You think they were somehow tipped off?”

“No, I suspect they are simply being cautious. They are a cagier group than I thought. Probably they just went underground for a few days to make sure they really had me fooled. I'm suddenly not too confident that we'll get them anytime soon.”

“Why, Lieutenant?”

“Before they surface, they'll take the precaution of phoning the store to speak to Calvin Renk, and the warehouse to ask for one of the workmen there. When they can't get hold of either, I think they'll run!”

Vern said to Frank, “Let me speak to the lieutenant before you hang up.”

“Hold on, Lieutenant,” Frank said. “Vern Nelson wants to talk to you.”

He handed the phone to his friend.

“When can I get my car back, sir?” Vern asked.

Come down and sign for it anytime you want. Check in here first and I'll have the papers ready for you. But not before 2:00 P.M., because I'm leaving for lunch.“

“All right,” Vern said. “We'll see you at two.”

The boys ate at the hotel coffee shop, then drove to Parker Center. They found Lieutenant Frisby in the auto-theft division squad room. When Vern had signed the necessary papers, the lieutenant gave him a release form to present at the impound lot in return for his car.

“One other thing, Lieutenant,” Vern said. “Do you think we could get a look at a certain case file?”

“Which one?”

“A missing 1913 Liberty Head nickel that disappeared. It was left to me by my uncle, Gregg Nelson, but wasn't in his safe-deposit box when it was opened.”

“That would be a case for the burglary division,” the lieutenant said, picking up his phone.

After a short conversation, he hung up. “No such complaint was ever filed,” he announced.

The boys looked at each other. Joe said, “Maybe we'd better ask the lawyer who handled your uncle's estate about that, Vern.”

The boys thanked Lieutenant Frisby, then got Vern's car released from the impound lot. Since they did not need two cars, they turned in the rented one.

“What's our next move?” Chet asked as they drove away from the rental agency.

“There's nothing more we can do about the gang,” Frank said, “so we're free to concentrate on Vern's nickel. Who is this lawyer Joe mentioned?”

“Charles Avery in the Nichols Building,” Vern said. “It sure sounds fishy that he never reported the coin missing.”

They found Charles Avery in his seventeenth-floor office. Vern introduced Frank and Chet, and the plump attorney invited them all to sit down.

Vern said, “We just came from the police, Mr. Avery. How come you never reported that the coin was missing?”

“Because there was no evidence that a crime had been committed,” the lawyer said smoothly. “For all we know, your uncle hid the nickel somewhere other than in the safe-deposit box.”

“But his will said he put it there.”

Mr. Avery nodded. “On the other hand, there was no evidence of the box having been tampered with. Did you talk to Bank President Laing?”

“Yes.”

“And he was no help?”

Vern said ruefully, “He explained to us how impossible it was for anyone but Uncle Gregg to get in that safe-deposit box.”

“Actually that only increases the mystery, doesn't it? I don't see how the police could have done anything, even if I had reported it.”

“They could have checked coin dealers to see if the nickel was offered for sale,” Joe suggested.

Pursing his lips, the lawyer said, “I hadn't thought of that.”

“We could check them now,” Frank suggested. “Let's make a list of all coin dealers in the area, and visit every one of them.”

“You can use my telephone directory,” Charles Avery offered.

The boys looked in the yellow pages and copied down a list of names.

“This is going to take a long time,” Chet said, as they finished.

“Perhaps you ought to start with the dealer through whom Mr. Nelson bought the coin,” the lawyer suggested. “I have it in my file.” He rose to get a folder from a cabinet and leafed through it. “Here it is,” he commented. “Everett Fox on Wilshire Boulevard.”

“I thought he bought it from a fellow collector in Massachusetts,” Vern spoke up.

Mr. Avery nodded. “But it was handled through a local dealer on a commission basis. Such sales usually are.”

He wrote the address of Fox's shop on a scrap of paper and handed it to Vern.

As they left the building, Chet said darkly, “That explanation of why he didn't make a police report sounds fishy to me. I think he's the one who swiped the coin.”

“We'll need more evidence before we make any accusations,” Frank said.

They drove to the address on Wilshire Boulevard. There was a barred plate-glass window with FOX COIN AND STAMP COMPANY lettered on it. Inside, two long counters ran from front to rear on either side of the store. A fussy-looking little man with gold-rimmed eyeglasses stood behind one of them, waiting on a fat woman.

“Be with you gentlemen in a minute,” he said as the boys came in.

“No hurry,” Frank told him.

The two counters were glass-topped. The one on the right contained displays of postage stamps. The left one was devoted to coins.

Chet studied the display. It consisted mostly of single coins, but in some cases there were complete collections in flat, plastic-covered folders.

“You know,” Chet said, “this is a hobby that could be a lot of fun.”

Joe whispered to Vern, “Here we go again. Chet's going to develop a new interest.”

“Does he do that often?”

“About once a month. He gets all enthusiastic about something, then drops it.”

Looking over his shoulder, Chet asked, “Are you guys talking about me?”

“I was just betting your cousin that you're about to become a coin expert,” Joe replied.

“Not in a big way. I thought maybe I'd just collect some ordinary coins, like this penny collection here.”

He pointed to a pair of three-section folders lying open. When the other boys crowded around to look, they saw that they were Lincoln Head pennies.

“There can't be more than a hundred and fifty pennies there,” Chet said. “I can afford a dollar and a half.”

Vern said, “You don't get a collection like that at face value, Chet. Count on it costing a lot more.”

“I suppose coin dealers have to make their profit,” Chet conceded. “I don't mind paying a fair premium.”

The woman customer left and the fussy little man came over to them.

“I'm Everett Fox,” he said. “How may I help you gentlemen?”

Pointing to the penny collection, Chet said, “I'm interested in that.”

“A fine collection,” the coin dealer said, rubbing his hands together. “That's the Lincoln penny with wheat ears on the reverse, minted from 1909 to 1959. One hundred and forty-three coins altogeth er.”

Frank said, “It was only fifty years from 1909 to 1959. How come so many coins?”

“There are different mint marks, because they were struck at different mints. For instance in just the first year there were four: the 1909 V.D.B.; the 1909 S, V.D.B.; the plain 1909; and the 1909 S.”

“What do all those letters mean?” Chet asked.

“V.D.B. are the initials of the designer, which appeared on only two issues. S is the San Francisco mint, and when there is no mint mark, it means the coin was minted in Philadelphia.”

“I see,” Chet said. “How much for the whole collection?”

“These are all either proof coins or uncirculated,” the dealer said. “Sold individually they would cost you about eight. As a complete collection, naturally their value increases. I'm asking eleven.”

“Eleven dollars?” Chet said dubiously. “For only a dollar-forty-three cents worth of pennies? I don't know.”

“Not eleven dollars,” the coin dealer said, elevating his nose. “Eleven thousand.”

Chet gulped.

Frank chuckled. “I can loan you ten bucks, Chet. You could put the rest on your credit card.”

Joe said to Vern, “That's a record. He had this hobby for less than five minutes.”

Frank addressed Mr. Fox. “Actually, we came in to talk about a 1913 Liberty Head nickel.”

“Oh, are you making a bid?” the dealer asked.

“A bid on what?”

“The nickel currently being offered for auction by the DuBois estate in Paris.”

“We hadn't heard about that,” Frank said. “When did DuBois acquire the coin?”

“Oh, it's been in his collection for over fifty years.”

The boys looked at each other. “I guess that rules out it being Uncle Gregg‘s,” Vern said.

The coin dealer said, “If you want to make a bid, I will be glad to forward it.”

“How much would we have to bid?” Frank asked.

“The last auction for such a coin was eight years ago, and a man named Gregg Nelson got it for a hundred thousand dollars. He outbid the next-highest bidder by only two thousand.”

“Who was that?” Joe asked.

“A local banker and avid coin collector named Barton Laing!”

“Barton Laing!” Vern exclaimed.

“You know the man?” Everett Fox asked.

Vern nodded grimly.

“Strange thing,” the coin dealer said. “Naturally, I contacted him when this auction was announced, and he expressed no interest at all.”

“Maybe because he already has a Liberty Head nickel,” Joe muttered under his breath.

“Beg pardon?” Mr. Fox asked.

“Just talking to myself,” Joe replied.

Frank spoke up. “What would you do if someone walked in and offered you a 1913 Liberty Head nickel?”

“Have him arrested,” Mr. Fox said promptly. “There are only five known to exist, and I know who the owners of all of those are. It would have to be stolen.”

“Any other dealer would have the same reaction?” Frank persisted.

“Any honest one.” After a pause Mr. Fox said reflectively, “I doubt that even a dishonest dealer would take a chance. The moment he offered it for sale, he would be arrested.”

“Then actually there wouldn't be much point in stealing such a coin, would there?”

“Not for profit. An unscrupulous collector might steal one for his own collection.”

“Thank you for the information,” Frank said. “Let's go, fellows.”

Outside, Joe said, “Seems pretty obvious who stole Vern's coin. I don't think we have to waste time visiting any other dealers.”

“But how are we going to prove it?” Chet asked.

“I have an idea,” Frank said. “I noticed a little park only about a block from here. Let's go sit on a bench and talk about it.”

“That's Pershing Square you're talking about,” Vern said. “Down that way.” He pointed left.

They walked to Pershing Square and found a vacant bench.

“Okay, guru,” Chet said to Frank. “We await your words of wisdom.”

Frank smiled. “Barton Laing has never met me or Chet. Suppose Chet phoned him and pretended to be a fellow bank president? He could say he has a son interested in coins, and ask if Mr. Laing would be kind enough to show the young man his collection. ”

“And you're the son?” Joe asked.

“Right.”

“Two objections. Barton Laing probably knows most of the other bank presidents in town. If we used a real name, it might be a personal friend of his. If we gave a fake name, he might catch on, knowing the bank and the name of the president.”

“That's only one objection,” Frank said.

“I know. The other is that Chet's voice sounds too young to belong to a bank president.”