The London Deception by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

theater.
    â€œWell, if we want to find out about Mr. Kije, here’s our chance,” Joe whispered to Frank.
    â€œSay, Joe, I need someone to run a spotlight until we get a replacement for Neville,” Jennifer called as she started up the steps.
    â€œI’ll trail Mr. Paul,” Frank said quietly.
    â€œWhat should I do?” Joe asked.
    â€œFind out what you can about Emily Anderson,” Frank replied. “And learn how to work a spotlight,” he added with a smile, then hurried to catch up with Mr. Paul.
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    Frank followed Mr. Paul at a safe distance, expecting him to hop on a bus or flag down a cab to take him to Mr. Kije’s home or office. Instead, the director and author walked a few blocks and went directly into the First Merchants Bank of England.
    Maybe Mr. Kije is a banker, Frank thought, as he stepped through the revolving doors into the bank lobby.
    Mr. Paul stood in the single line for the tellers. Grabbing a London Herald someone had left on a counter, Frank sat in the customer service waiting area watching Mr. Paul over the top of the newspaper.
    Chris’s father had reached the front of the line. The man behind him tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to an available teller, but Mr. Paul shook his head no and pointed toward a young female teller at a different window.
    From the way the young female teller greeted Mr. Paul when he reached her window, Frank could tell they knew each other, although he couldn’t hear what was being said.
    Frank watched as the young woman took the cashier’s check and began counting out money on thecounter. Frank could tell they were large denominations because of the physical size of each bill. He knew that in England, the larger the bill, the more it was worth.
    â€œSomething smells a bit fishy, eh?” someone across the waiting area from Frank said. It was David Young, the private investigator.
    â€œMaybe she thinks he’s Mr. Kije,” Frank said quietly.
    The teller handed Mr. Paul the money in a large envelope and added, “Have a lovely day, Mr. Paul.”
    â€œOr maybe she doesn’t,” Young said.
    Frank drew the newspaper in front of his face as Mr. Paul passed him and left the bank.
    â€œSomeone followed us last night after we left the Tower of London,” Frank said, waiting for Young’s reaction.
    â€œBy your tone, I fancy you think it was me,” Young said. “Since I left you and your brother, I’ve been trailing Dennis Paul.”
    â€œThen you must have been there when he met with Mr. Kije last night,” Frank said, seeing a chance to get an address for the mysterious producer.
    â€œI followed Dennis Paul to half a dozen quite luxurious homes in Kensington and Mayfair,” Young told him. “He stayed between ten and thirty minutes at each. I checked the addresses and none of the residences, I assure you, was Mr. Kije’s.”
    â€œThen Chris’s father lied to us,” Frank realized.
    â€œDon’t be fooled just because he’s someone’s father,” Young said. “Many criminals are, you know.”
    â€œThanks for the tip, Mr. Young,” Frank said, rising. “Can I ask you something? Did you tell anyone about our whereabouts last night?”
    â€œI reported to my employer,” Young replied, rising from his chair. “Told him you were no longer suspects in my book.”
    â€œYour employer, Mr. Jeffries,” Frank recalled.
    Young nodded, bid Frank goodbye, and left. As Frank headed down the street back toward the theater, his mind raced, trying to fathom why the author and director of Innocent Victim might be trying to sabotage his own production.
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    Meanwhile, Joe was high up on the catwalk practicing following Chris Paul around the stage with a spotlight four feet long and as thick as a tree trunk.
    â€œSteady, Joe, move smoothly,” Jennifer instructed over