A Con Artist in Paris by Franklin W. Dixon

Author:Franklin W. Dixon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aladdin

12

PEN PALS

JOE

WE’D LEARNED A COUPLE OF nifty new details about the case on our surprise flight over Paris. Cyril was either Le Stylo or he was posing as him to advertise the artist’s innocence. And he had come to the same conclusion that we had: Le Stylo was probably being framed for the theft of Plouffe’s precious pen.

Luckily, we were able to find and land on a deserted side street. It may not have been an expert landing, but I think I did pretty well, considering I had no idea what I was doing. And I’m almost positive no one saw us land. I made Frank sit on his hands so he wasn’t tempted to push any more buttons, and drove as carefully as possible back to the Pont Alexander III, where I parked the flying buggy right where we’d found it.

“The lights are still out on the houseboat,” Frank observed. “No way to tell if Cyril has snuck back on board yet.”

“And with the cops still watching, we can’t just go up and knock on his door,” I said, eyeing the unmarked cop car still parked on the corner.

Frank smiled as he watched me pop Sky Ranger’s key back into the secret compartment. “We could always leave him a note somewhere the police won’t know to look.”

“Good call,” I said, pulling out the small pocket notebook I carry with me to log case notes.

We forgot our swim trunks, so we took you up on your offer to go for a spin. The ride was illuminating, I scribbled, tipping him off that we were onto his midnight dive to project Le Stylo’s message across the Arc de Triomphe. Leave the critics behind and give a couple of street art fans a private art history lesson . . . before they have to take their review public. Café Aventure @ 10.

I folded the note and tucked it inside the hidden compartment along with the key.

“Do you think he’ll show?” Frank asked.

“Well, we know he won’t have a problem ditching the stakeout detail,” I replied. “And he probably knows he’ll get a fairer shake from us than Devereux.”

We walked back to the hotel and caught a few hours of shut-eye before our maybe-rendezvous. When we made it down to the lobby the next morning, all the IPAD attendees were buzzing, and this time it wasn’t about Le Stylo.

“There is no such thing as UFOs!” a woman with a Spanish accent declared.

“At least fifty people from all over Paris called the police last night to report seeing it buzz by the Eiffel Tower and head for the Arc de Triomphe,” countered our English friend Stucky. “I’m not saying it was aliens, but it was unidentified, it was flying, and it was an object. That makes it a UFO!”

“Oops,” uttered Frank as we exchanged a guilty look. It looked like our late night flight in Cyril’s flying dune buggy had attracted some unwanted attention . . . from half of Paris!

“If I didn’t know

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