““Good night!” exclaimed Joe. “What—”
“Sh, sh!” Frank whispered frantically. “Don’t make a sound.” He released his aunt and led the trembling woman into the kitchen. The others followed.
Mrs. Hardy spoke first. “What on earth are you up to, Frank?”
“I know,” Aunt Gertrude said tartly as she smoothed her disheveled hair and set her spectacles straight. “Frank has gone stark raving mad, that’s what!” She glared at her elder nephew.
“I’m sorry, Aunty,” Frank said soothingly. “You see—I think that dirt spot on the ceiling you’re talking about is a bug.”
“Oh! It really is a beetle! Ugh!”
“Not that kind of bug,” Frank went on with a smile. “ ‘Bug’ is slang for a hidden microphone.”
“So that’s how the crooks knew all about our plans!” Joe whispered hoarsely.
“But that seems impossible!” Mrs. Hardy said. “No outsider has been here recently!”
“Except Mr. Kenfield,” Aunt Gertrude said. She had calmed down, but there was a look of deep concern on her face.
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