CHAPTER III
Radical Revisions
The noise awakened Mr. and Hrs. Hardy with a start. "Boys?" their father called from the hallway.
"Down here, Dad!" Frank responded as he and Joe raced to the front door. Opening it, they saw no one. Whoever threw the object had disappeared.
By now Fenton had joined them as they huddled around the object. "It's the flashlight those kids took from us!" Joe exclaimed. Wrapped around the light's gray handle with a rubber band was a piece of paper.
"Be careful before opening it," their father advised. "We'll want to check for prints."
Sporting specialized gloves and using a pair of tweezers, the detective removed the rubber band. Gingerly, he unfurled the paper, its edge frayed as if torn from a student's spiral notepad.
His sons crowded around him to read the note:
"You're sniffing around too much for your own good. Now that we know you have two sons, we don't want to get them into any more trouble than they are already in!
The Syndicate"
"The nerve of those kids! How did they know about you, Dad?" a riled Frank asked.
"I don't think it was them, son," Fenton said thoughtfully.
"What do you mean?"
"While they may have been charged with delivering this, I don't think they wrote this note." Privately, he thought of the shadowy figure watching him down at the cargo ship, and remembered the hired sailors who mentioned the unloaded shipment was done by a group of youngsters.
After a moment, he continued. "Now I'm convinced they're involved with the spy ring I'm investigating. 'The Syndicate' has been a codename for that ring."
"And they wanted you to know it was them," Frank concluded.
"Fenton, what happened?" Mrs. Hardy, worried, sounded from upstairs.
"We're fine, Laura. We'll report this along with the stolen bicycles tomorrow," her husband answered. He examined the damage to the window. "Boys, grab the painter's tape and cover the broken part of the pane. I'll stay down here the rest of the night just in case they return."
"We can take turns, Dad. You need rest as well," Frank offered.
"Fine," his father replied with a quick grin. "You can take first watch, then."
As it was nearly three in the morning, Frank kept alert for the first hour. Joe relieved him at four, followed by Fenton at five. No further disturbances occurred the rest of the night. The boys came downstairs ready for school and prepared breakfast at 6:30.
"Inconclusive on the prints, unfortunately," their father reported. "But as you both indicated, we at least know your suspects are in cahoots with my suspects. What doubly worries me is that they are mere youths. Why would they be involved in something like The Syndicate?"
Mrs. Hardy poured herself a cup of coffee. "Perhaps when you file that police report, check with the chief if they have any leads on runaways in the nearby area," she suggested. "Those boys have to come from somewhere."
"Good idea, Mother," Joe said as he grabbed his brown bag lunch. "Oh, Frank, I've nearly forgotten. Follow me."
Joe bounded up the steps to their bedroom. He opened the closet door and pulled out a storage box. "I thought of this while on watch," he explained, removing the lid. He removed a handful of weathered Taylor Gang books, about twenty in total. The set of books was comprised of blue hardcovers. "I'll never forget when Aunt Gertrude sent us this set she got at a garage sale," he recalled smiling. He a volume over to his brother.
Frank read the title aloud. "The Phoenician Map. I always liked this one. Don't they go to Teotihuacan in this one?" He smiled as he flipped through the pages. His eye caught the name of the book's previous owner, written in blue pen in the upper right hand corner. "Ah, look, Joe. 'Liam Donahue,' remember that name? Poor boy's loss turned out to be our gain."
But Joe was impatient. "What number in the series is it?"
Frank turned to the cover. "Nine," he replied. "Hold on," he said excitedly. "That's the same number of the new Taylor Gang book we saw yesterday."
Joe nodded. "Rules for Uprising." He tapped the cover image. Instead of the trio at the foot of a modern-looking pristine staircase leading up to the Greek temple as in Rules for Uprising, it features the Taylor gang heroes and heroines poring over a parchment at the base of a Mexican pyramid.
"Let's stop by Sinclair's after school," Frank said, thumping The Phoenician Map into Joe's chest. "Some light reading for you."
Before dropping his sons at Bayport High, Mr. Hardy drove them first to the Bayport Police Department where Frank and Joe filled out a police report with Officer Tim Callahan. They provided detail descriptions of the encounter at the Hardy home, a description of the ruffians who stole the bicycles, and details of the old truck that picked up the shipment.
"We'll be in touch the minute we learn something," Callahan assured them as he readied to call local stations regarding any runaways.
Fenton dropped his sons off at Bayport High School before visiting the docks. However, he was disappointed to learn the cargo ship had already left port.
After school, the Hardys met up with Iola and Chet. They rode together to Sinclair's Bookstore for the start of Iola's shift. Chet said he had to do follow up research on the turtle, and promised to meet up with his chums shortly.
"Of course, Chet," Joe said solemnly. Amused, he and Frank watched their plump friend cross the street to the pet shop, then abruptly turn off course and dart into Piper's Snack Shop.
"He doesn't even hide it anymore," Frank sighed, shaking his head.
It was a busy time of the day in the bookstore. As Iola took over for the outgoing clerk, Mrs. Lumpkin, Frank and Joe noticed no copies of new Taylor Gang books at the display. They found Mr. Sinclair assisting a customer in the home repair section.
"The Hardys, two days in a row!" he greeted.
"Out of new Taylor Street Gang books?" Joe asked.
Sinclair nodded, grinning widely. "Can't complain. Librarians may scoff at their literary value, but they have been sure sellers for me!"
But soon, Mr. Sinclair's upbeat demeanor turned as the brothers related their incident the night before with the street lads.
His face clouded, Mr. Sinclair remarked, "There's always been something about the boys. Noticed it the first day they walked into my respectable shop."
"What were your impressions?" Joe prodded the book proprietor.
"Didn't strike me the reader type. Certainly not Bayport residents. Something about them struck me as having a rough upbringing, you might say. Actually felt pity for them. Still do. Less so, though. Got no manners."
"And all they ever want are Taylor Gang books?" Joe asked.
Sinclair nodded. "Nothing else. Always grab the newest editions."
"And by the indication that you're currently out of stock, they aren't the only ones interested in them?" Frank queried.
"Oh, sure. I'd say even more than when you two were of age for them. Of course, if you ask me, the book's changed. Series isn't as good. Like I said, I know librarians who wish they weren't in the catalogue."
"In what way?"
"About a year ago, series went through a whole redesign makeover. There was an article about it in Literary Monthly. I might have the back issue. At any rate, guess they were trying to keep up with the times."
Frank and Joe followed Sinclair as he snaked around the bookshop to the magazine archives. Joe glanced at the counter where Iola was taking a phone call. He smiled her and she smiled back.
Frank handed Mr. Sinclair the Hardy copy of The Phoenician Map. "Oh, look here," Sinclair said as he gazed fondly at the cover. "This was around even before I was a kid. But these old volumes are all out of print now, you know. Completely."
"The book you sold to those boys yesterday was the same series number as this one, but a different title and cover!" Frank said.
Sinclair nodded. "Same series, but plots have changed. Tricking parents and older readers into thinking it's the same as the old versions, but they've completely changed. Tone has changed. Hard to say what exactly. I don't want to say 'streamlined,' but maybe that's it. At any rate, not the good-hearted series we remember."
"But," Joe said as he furrowed his brow, "Harwood van Bueren is still the author?"
"If it's still him," Sinclair mumbled. The Hardys exchanged glances at the thought.
There was silence as the bookshop owner thumbed through a filing cabinet. "Here's the issue I was talking about. Talks about the revisions." He took out a back copy of Literary Monthly and read the table of contents. "Page 17. 'The Restoration of Childhood Classics' by Scott Duffield."
Sinclair handed the periodical over. "On me," he said.
"Thanks, Mr. Sinclair," Frank said as he took the magazine. "Say, you wouldn't by chance have any of the original Taylor Gang books, would you? The ones like this one?" he pointed to the boys' copy of The Phoenician Map. "Before the revisions?"
"Unfortunately, everything I had in stock—which were all 33 volumes and a few copies—were all bought out by a single individual about six months ago."
Joe let out a low whistle. "Wonder who that was."
"But," Sinclair continued softly, his eyes darting around suspiciously, "I have something to show you."
Frank and Joe followed Mr. Sinclair to the rear of the store, to a locked door that appeared to be a closet next to his back office and the emergency exit. Sinclair opened the door and motioned for the boys to enter.
Inside the cramped quarters, Sinclair pulled a dangling light switch. The bulb took a moment to respond. When it did, Frank and Joe could see they were indeed in a closet. But then Sinclair reached down and removed a mat.
"Watch out," he warned and gave a tug at a metal ring attached to the floor. A trapdoor opened!
Sinclair unhooked the lamp from a hook on the ceiling. Frank removed his pocket flashlight. He shone it down the black gap in the floor. Steps!
Before descending Sinclair locked the closet door from inside, then Frank and Joe followed him down the rickety wood staircase.
"I'm not a writer," Mr. Sinclair admitted, "but I don't know where I'd be without books. I've lived in Bayport my whole life, but books take me to other worlds. And it started with Harwood van Bueren."
Sinclair switched on another overhead light downstairs. The bookstore basement flooded with light, revealing rows and rows of books crammed on top of each other. There was such an overflow of so many books there were multiple rows on each shelf, with some texts even stacked vertically on the floor.
Frank and Joe stared in awe at the sight before them.
"Over here," Sinclair summoned them. They followed the proprietor whose sunny demeanor had returned.
"This is my family's private collection," he proudly announced. "And here is my own personal compilation." Mr. Sinclair gestured to an entire bookcase that rose to the basement rafters. The Hardys stared up at rows and rows of Harwood van Bueren stories. Included with the Taylor Street Gang series were earlier, little known novels by the juvenile literature writer.
"There's Virgil, Dante, Shakespeare, Dickens, Dostoevsky, and van Bueren," Sinclair said with a chuckle. "At least, that's what I think. Have a look around, I'm going to check out if I have any records of who that person was who bought all the books."
Sinclair returned upstairs, but the boys barely noticed he was gone. The thrill of discovery the Taylor Gang books used to spark in them returned as they gaped in wonder upon Mr. Sinclair's treasures.
Finally, Frank spoke. "I haven't thought of these books for awhile but I have such great memories of them."
"And how," Joe agreed. "So why the need for changing them? Let's find a copy at another bookstore or library of the new versions and see what the differences are." Yet he couldn't help but gaze at the sight before him.
"Boy," Joe said, "I could spend the rest of the day in here. Some of these I've never heard of before!" For the next few minutes the boys looked at the covers of such titles as Behind The Grandfather Clock, Thief of Poplar, Desert Ship, and Hemlock Trail. They felt the thrilling pull of becoming wrapped up in the mystery and adventures of Ed, Tim, and Janie as they encountered thieves, smugglers, saboteurs, and their recurring nemesis, Deke Switalski.
Frank flipped to the article about the books in the Literacy Monthly periodical. "Despite the success of the Taylor Gang and other titles," he read, "Dole & Toler Publishers in New York abruptly decided to change course after more than 30 volumes sold more than a million copies and reached innumerable youngsters. Dole & Toler employed series creator, reclusive Canadian author Harwood van Bueren, to rewrite the series, sometimes inventing whole new plots and titles. The results, the publishers hope, will ignite a reading revolution in quality literature for impressionable minds."
Frank's reading was halted when Mr. Sinclair returned holding a ledger. "I had Iola check the books regarding that individual who purchased the inventory of van Buerens." He looked up at the boys, ashen.
"Did she find a name, Mr. Sinclair?" Frank asked.
Sinclair nodded. "Scott Duffield."
The boys thought for a minute how they knew that name.
Then they realized Frank was holding the answer in his hand—Scott Duffield, the writer of the article in Literary Monthly!