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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
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him.
Frank sprinted into the nearest shed and grabbed a fire extinguisher off the wall. Then he rushed back out and started running toward the burning car. He caught up with Scott Lavin, who was headed in the same direction.
"He'll be all right," Scott huffed, trying to keep up with Frank's desperate pace. "There's an on-board fire extinguisher."
"I'm not taking any chances!" Frank yelled. A small knot of onlookers blocked his way. He shoved his way through the crowd, swinging the fire extinguisher to clear a path. "Out of the way!" he bellowed. "Coming through!"
Frank emptied the fire extinguisher into the cockpit of the burning machine and tossed the canister aside. He grabbed Joe's arms, yanking out with one tremendous heave. The two brothers tumbled away from the blaze. The small crowd that had gathered at the side quickly scattered as an ambulance and fire engine rolled up. The fire fighters jumped off the truck, and within seconds the blaze was put out, leaving nothing but a cloud of smoke and a smouldering heap where a high-performance race car had been a moment before. Frank helped Joe to his feet, then looked at the burned-out hulk that had been Scott Lavin's first and only Formula One car. He glimpsed Scott Standing off to one side, staring in wide-eyed disbelief, his dream disappearing in a cloud of smoke.
Joe turned his gaze to his brother. "We've got to find out who's behind this before anybody else gets killed," he said grimly.
Frank and Joe showed up at Callie Shaw's house about two hours late. "You guys always seem to think that the shortest distance between two points involves two or three stops in between," she commented after hearing the story. "Does this mean you've whittled your list of suspects down to none ?"
"Well, you have to admit," Joe said, "that Scott Lavin would have to be pretty desperate to blow up his own race car."
"We need more facts," Frank replied. "Maybe the videotape of McCoy's crash will tell us something."
"I still don't see why we couldn't watch it in our own VCR at home," Joe protested as he followed Callie through the house.
"I told you," Callie said. "Mine is a professional video cassette like Arno's. It uses tape than home models. The cassette wouldn't even fit in the slot on your machine." She led the way down the basement stairs.
"My folks let me use the den down here for my video equipment," Callie said. "I've got a professional-format VCR hooked up to the wide-screen TV." She took the videocassette over to a large, black box with an imposing set of knobs and dials on the front and a maze of wires snaking out back. She pushed the cassette through a slot in the machine. "It's show time!" she announced.
Frank pulled over some folding directors' chairs, and they all sat down to watch. "Just fast forward to the part where McCoy goes through the tunnel," Frank said.
Callie pressed a button and the action flew across the screen at a breakneck speed. Joe remembered how, looking down on the scene from the air, McCoy's car hadn't seemed to be going very fast. Now it was comical the way it whizzed down the course and darted around the turns. "hey, that some kind of digital clock?" he asked, pointing to a row of changing numbers at the bottom the screen.
'Yes," Callie said. "Video master tapes have time code for editing purposes. It keeps precise record of the time down to hundredths of seconds."
"Here it comes," Frank cut in, staring intently. The race car entered the dark mouth of the tunnel. "Slow it down now." Callie pressed another button, and the tape plowed to normal speed. The digital clock slowed, too. The Hardys watched as the car disappeared inside and the helicopter swung out over ocean to record the scene from the exit point of the tunnel.
"Hold it right there!" Frank commanded.
"Now play it in slow motion." They could see the low-slung profile of the race car as it gradually emerged from the tunnel. "It's hard to tell from this angle," Frank noted, "but
Frank sprinted into the nearest shed and grabbed a fire extinguisher off the wall. Then he rushed back out and started running toward the burning car. He caught up with Scott Lavin, who was headed in the same direction.
"He'll be all right," Scott huffed, trying to keep up with Frank's desperate pace. "There's an on-board fire extinguisher."
"I'm not taking any chances!" Frank yelled. A small knot of onlookers blocked his way. He shoved his way through the crowd, swinging the fire extinguisher to clear a path. "Out of the way!" he bellowed. "Coming through!"
Frank emptied the fire extinguisher into the cockpit of the burning machine and tossed the canister aside. He grabbed Joe's arms, yanking out with one tremendous heave. The two brothers tumbled away from the blaze. The small crowd that had gathered at the side quickly scattered as an ambulance and fire engine rolled up. The fire fighters jumped off the truck, and within seconds the blaze was put out, leaving nothing but a cloud of smoke and a smouldering heap where a high-performance race car had been a moment before. Frank helped Joe to his feet, then looked at the burned-out hulk that had been Scott Lavin's first and only Formula One car. He glimpsed Scott Standing off to one side, staring in wide-eyed disbelief, his dream disappearing in a cloud of smoke.
Joe turned his gaze to his brother. "We've got to find out who's behind this before anybody else gets killed," he said grimly.
Frank and Joe showed up at Callie Shaw's house about two hours late. "You guys always seem to think that the shortest distance between two points involves two or three stops in between," she commented after hearing the story. "Does this mean you've whittled your list of suspects down to none ?"
"Well, you have to admit," Joe said, "that Scott Lavin would have to be pretty desperate to blow up his own race car."
"We need more facts," Frank replied. "Maybe the videotape of McCoy's crash will tell us something."
"I still don't see why we couldn't watch it in our own VCR at home," Joe protested as he followed Callie through the house.
"I told you," Callie said. "Mine is a professional video cassette like Arno's. It uses tape than home models. The cassette wouldn't even fit in the slot on your machine." She led the way down the basement stairs.
"My folks let me use the den down here for my video equipment," Callie said. "I've got a professional-format VCR hooked up to the wide-screen TV." She took the videocassette over to a large, black box with an imposing set of knobs and dials on the front and a maze of wires snaking out back. She pushed the cassette through a slot in the machine. "It's show time!" she announced.
Frank pulled over some folding directors' chairs, and they all sat down to watch. "Just fast forward to the part where McCoy goes through the tunnel," Frank said.
Callie pressed a button and the action flew across the screen at a breakneck speed. Joe remembered how, looking down on the scene from the air, McCoy's car hadn't seemed to be going very fast. Now it was comical the way it whizzed down the course and darted around the turns. "hey, that some kind of digital clock?" he asked, pointing to a row of changing numbers at the bottom the screen.
'Yes," Callie said. "Video master tapes have time code for editing purposes. It keeps precise record of the time down to hundredths of seconds."
"Here it comes," Frank cut in, staring intently. The race car entered the dark mouth of the tunnel. "Slow it down now." Callie pressed another button, and the tape plowed to normal speed. The digital clock slowed, too. The Hardys watched as the car disappeared inside and the helicopter swung out over ocean to record the scene from the exit point of the tunnel.
"Hold it right there!" Frank commanded.
"Now play it in slow motion." They could see the low-slung profile of the race car as it gradually emerged from the tunnel. "It's hard to tell from this angle," Frank noted, "but
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