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calculator style keypad with an LED display screen at top. Even in the dark, Frank could see the sequence of glowing numbers that Scott quickly pressed in: 3 - 3 - 1 - 4 - 6 - 1. The alarm was activated, ! Scott closed the control box. Frank watched the trio depart and then waited few more minutes. He climbed between the two front seats into the back of the van and opened the tool chest. "Let's see, I'll need the flashlight — and this — " he muttered, taking out a flat case and slipping it into his back pocket. Then he opened the back door of the van, hopped lightly to the ground, and closed the door softly.
    He walked across the street casually, approaching Scott's garage as if he owned the place. Frank strolled right up to the burglar alarm and flipped open the control box. He looked around to make sure no one was in sight. Then he turned back to the control panel and punched in the same sequence of numbers Scott had used earlier. 3 - 3 - 1 - 4 - 6 - 1. Finally he pressed the Alarm Off button. The burglar alarm was now deactivated. No problem. Now came the tricky part. The door was locked, of course, but Frank was prepared. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the soft leather case that he had taken from the tool chest. Unsnapping the cover, he opened the case, revealing an assortment of thin metal strips in variety of lengths and widths — a lock-pick set.
    Breaking and entering didn't rate high on Frank's list of favorite investigative techniques. If things had gone down differently, he might have had Joe set up a diversion while he searched the place in broad daylight. But he was working alone now, and he didn't have a whole lot of time. In a few days the race would be over, and Scott Lavin would pack up and head out for the next Grand Prix race, probably in another country. Any chance of uncovering evidence would be gone.
    Frank wasn't planning on taking anything. He ' was just going to look around—to see if he could find any radio equipment that might provide a link to the mysterious device now in Phil Cohen's workshop.
    He worked the lock like an expert. The Bayport police frequently gave home security seminars, complete with demonstrations of the various burglary tools used to break into houses. Frank always made it a point to attend the classes.
    The lock mechanism began to turn, and he felt the deadbolt slide back. He slowly turned the doorknob and then eased the door open. He lipped into the garage and closed the door quickly, feeling certain he had avoided detection.
    The garage was pitch-black, but Frank wasn't ready to turn on the lights. He didn't want to attract attention. He switched on the flashlight.
    abruptly the garage came alive with shadows that wavered and jumped as Frank moved the beam around in the dark, scanning all the unfamiliar machinery. He spotted what appeared to be a pile of electrical equipment and figured that it was as good a place as any to start looking.
    Then Frank heard it — a faint noise behind him, like a shoe being scuffed on the cement floor. He stiffened, realizing suddenly that he'd forgotten to lock the door behind him. Pivoting on one foot, he whirled to face whoever it was and caught a blow to the side of his head. He tottered on his feet for a second—then Frank Hardy's world faded to black.

Chapter 5
    It was late when Joe Hardy got home. He walked in the front door and headed for the kitchen in search of something to eat. He found his aunt Gertrude making a cup of tea. "Sorry I missed dinner," Joe said as he opened the refrigerator. "Anything left to eat?"
    "Well, at least you called," Gertrude said. "Here it is, already past nine, and your brother isn't home yet. He missed dinner and didn't even call. You two went out together this afternoon. What happened?"
    "Nothing much." Joe grabbed a loaf of bread and some peanut butter. "We went to see Scott Lavin, and then I hung around to help out with Scott's car. Frank took off in the van. He didn't tell me