Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
CHAPTER I - A Startling Discovery
CHAPTER II - The Battered Dory
CHAPTER III - Disturbing Developments
CHAPTER IV - The Traffic Signal Clue
CHAPTER V - A Futile Search
CHAPTER VI - The Strange Symbol
CHAPTER VII - The Mysterious Mansion
CHAPTER VIII - Tricked!
CHAPTER IX - Found and Lost
CHAPTER X - The Intruder
CHAPTER XI - Kidnapped
CHAPTER XII - Fingerprints
CHAPTER XIII - The Picklock
CHAPTER XIV - Time to Act !
CHAPTER XV - Prisoners
CHAPTER XVI - Double Trouble
CHAPTER XVII - The Wreck
CHAPTER XVIII - Holding a Suspect
CHAPTER XIX - Closing In
CHAPTER XX - The Trap
THE SECRET PANEL
ANOTHER exciting mystery begins for Frank and Joe Hardy when they help a stranger who has had an accident with his car. The man introduces himself as John Mead, owner of a nearby estate. After he continues on his way, Frank finds an odd-looking house key which belongs to Mead. But when the Hardys try to return to it, they learn that John Mead died five years ago! They are even more amazed when they find that the intricately carved doors in the dead man’s deserted mansion have no visible knobs or keylocks.
While working on this mystery, the boys assist their detective father in tracking down a highly organized ring of thieves who are robbing warehouses of television and stero equipment.
What happens when Frank and Joe discover that there is a link between Mr. Hardy’s case and the mysterious Mead mansion will keep the reader on edge with thrills and suspense.
Behind the desk lay Chet Morton, bound and gagged!
Copyright © 1974, 1969, 1946 by Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved.
Published by Grosset & Dunlap, Inc., a member of The Putnam & Grosset
Group, New York. Published simultaneously in Canada. S.A.
THE HARDY BOYS® is a registered trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Grosset & Dunlap, Inc.
eISBN : 978-1-101-07639-2
2008 Printing
http://us.penguingroup.com
CHAPTER I
A Startling Discovery
“STOP!”
Eighteen-year-old Frank Hardy jammed on the car brakes.
“What’s the matter with that driver?” his brother Joe asked excitedly.
Racing down the hill toward them was a car evidently out of control. It zigzagged wildly from one side of the road to the other. Any moment it might crash head-on into the boys’ convertible!
“Better back up!” Joe cried. “Look!”
The oncoming automobile swerved sharply, then dived into a ditch. At the same moment the left front wheel came off and rolled down the hill. Afraid that the wheel might bounce up on their open car, the boys scrambled out and jumped a fence to safety. The heavy wheel missed their convertible by inches and toppled over.
“Whew, that was a close one!” Frank remarked. “I wonder if the driver was hurt.”
“We’d better find out,” urged Joe, starting to run. He was blond and a year younger than his dark-haired brother.
When the Hardys reached the car, the driver, a lean man in his thirties, was still holding the steering wheel and seemed badly shaken.
“Are you all right?” Frank asked.
The stranger nodded slowly. “I think so. But I was never so scared in my whole life.” He spoke with a British accent.
“I can imagine,” Joe said.
“Shouldn’t have let that boy in the garage change the tire,” the man continued. “His boss was out and obviously he didn’t know what he was doing. I might have been killed!”
Frank and Joe agreed. “Can we help you fix the car?” Frank asked.
“That’d be awfully decent of you. My name’s John Mead.”
The boys introduced themselves.
“The sons of the famous detective?” Mead asked, surprised. “I just read something in the paper about your father.”
Joe nodded, then went to retrieve the wheel. Mead got out of the car and with Frank surveyed the lopsided automobile.
“I think we can get her back on the road,” Frank observed. “Hey, Joe, give us a hand, will you?”
Together they righted the car, then Mead got a jack and tools out of the trunk. Soon they had the wheel fastened again, and the Englishman started the engine.
“It’s running fine,” he said, relieved. “You chaps have been a great help. Thanks a lot. My home is on the north shore of Barmet Bay, a couple of miles from Bayport. Will you come and see me some time? I should be back in a week or so.”
“We’ll do that, sir,” Frank replied with a grin. “Good luck!”
He and Joe pushed Mead’s car out of the ditch, then the stranger drove off.
Joe stretched. “That’s enough heavy work for one day,” he said. “We’re supposed to be on summer vacation!” Suddenly he stopped short. “Hey, Frank, take a look at this!”
“What is it?”
“A key. Sure looks funny.”
Frank examined the large, strange-shaped object that Joe had picked up from the spot where the car had turned over.
“It must belong to Mead,” he said. “Maybe we’d better take it over to his house later.”
“He won’t be there for a week, Frank.”
“I know, but someone else might. Come on. Let’s go.”
On the way home they talked about the Englishman. “Did you notice the odd signet ring he was wearing?” Frank asked. “It reminded me of a square with three spokes.”
“It did look strange,” Joe commented.
When they arrived home they were greeted at the door by their father. Fenton Hardy was a tall, well-built man in his early forties. He had resigned from the New York Police Department years before, and attained fame as an expert detective when he went into private practice.
His sons were following in the elder Hardy’s footsteps and in spite of their young age were excellent sleuths in their own right. Now, as they accompanied their father to his study, they sensed that something had gone wrong. Mr. Hardy frowned deeply as he sat down behind his desk.
Frank dropped into a soft upholstered chair. “What’s the matter, Dad? You don’t look too happy.”
“New case, I bet,” Joe put in.
“Right,” Mr. Hardy said, looking at a typewritten sheet in his hand.
“Can you tell us about it?” Frank asked.
“Yes. I’m investigating a series of burglaries. Television and stereo equipment. Mostly stores and warehouses.”
“Must be an organized gang,” Frank observed.
“No doubt. What baffles me is the way they get in. All of the places have good burglar alarms, but they never go off. On the other hand, there is no evidence that the alarm systems were tampered with.”
“Need help?” Frank offered.
“Not right now.” Mr. Hardy grinned. “But I’ll let you know if I do!”
Frank and Joe were always eager to assist their father on his cases, but often had uncovered mysteries of their own, starting with The Tower Treasure, and most recently the baffling ShortWave Mystery.
Frank stood up. “Well, we have an errand to do.” He pulled the key they had found at the scene of the accident from his pocket. “Look at this, Dad,” he said. “Strange, isn’t it?”
“It’s odd all right,” the detective remarked, examining the ornamental piece of metal. “It must fit a very unusual lock. Where did you get it?”
Frank fil
led his father in on their adventure, then asked, “Do you know the Mead place?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Well, we’ll go over and see if someone’s home.”
“Good idea. On the way you can drop off this envelope for Chief Collig, okay?”
“Sure thing, Dad.” Frank took the envelope and the boys left.
At police headquarters they found Chief Collig at the teletype machine, scanning the latest reports.
“Hi, fellows,” he greeted them, sitting back in his chair. He was a vigorous, middle-aged man with iron-gray hair, who worked closely with the Hardys on their various cases. “What’s up?”
Frank handed him the envelope. “Dad asked us to deliver this.” He paused for a moment, then asked, “Do you happen to know the Mead place?”
“Yes. Why?”
Frank told how they had met John Mead and found the odd key after he had driven away.
“There’s something funny going on here,” the chief said slowly. “John Mead has been dead for five years and his house has been closed ever since!”
Frank and Joe stared in amazement. “But we saw—” Joe began.
“I don’t know who the man was,” Collig said firmly, “but it couldn’t have been John Mead. He locked up his house for the winter five years ago and headed for Florida. He and his chauffeur were killed in an automobile accident on the way. No one else lived in the house.”
“Perhaps a son—” Frank suggested.
Collig shook his head. “Mead was a bachelor. There was no will, and apparently no relative to claim the estate. So it’s been vacant ever since his death.”
Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by a telephone call. While waiting for the chief to finish speaking, Frank and Joe discussed the strange situation. If no one lived at the Mead place, who was the man they had met on the road?
“Maybe a con man,” Joe suggested.
“He didn’t look like one,” Frank mused.
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“You’re right. I say we go over there and check the place out.”
When Chief Collig finished his telephone conversation, the boys told him their plan.
“Tell you what,” the chief replied, “I’ll send one of my men with you. Somehow I have the feeling that there’s something very wrong about this whole thing and I don’t want you to go alone.” He turned to the intercom and pressed a button. A moment later he spoke into the transmitter.
“Riley, are you busy? I want you to take a trip with Frank and Joe Hardy before you go on your beat.” The chief waited for an answer, then said, “Fine. They’ll be down right away.”
The Hardys thanked Chief Collig and hurried to the door.
“Let me know what you find,” the chief called after them.
Con Riley was no stranger to the Hardy boys. They had worked with him on past mysteries.
“So we’re taking a pleasure jaunt together,” he said, smiling, when they met him at the front desk. The three walked quickly down the front steps and got into the boys’ convertible.
During the ride Frank explained about John Mead and the unusual key.
“That’s weird,” Riley commented, shaking his head.
About twenty minutes out of Bayport, Frank turned off the highway and followed a side road which paralleled Barmet Bay. They drove around to the north shore, and presently came upon two large stone pillars covered with vines. The name MEAD was carved on one.
As they turned into the driveway, Joe said, “The place looks deserted to me.”
A short distance ahead of them was a clump of trees, around which the driveway wound to the stone mansion. The imposing house at the end of the deeply rutted and overgrown road stood about two hundred feet from the water, commanding an unobstructed view of Barmet Bay.
“Quite a place! Too bad it’s so run-down,” Riley mused, noting the closed shutters and uncut, weed-covered lawn.
Frank pulled up close to the front entrance and parked. “Now let’s see what the inside is like,” he said, getting out of the car.
The three strode up the wide stone steps, to the massive front door. Frank took the strange-looking key from his pocket. Suddenly he exclaimed in amazement:
“There’s no knob on the door!”
The others stared in disbelief. “Frank,” Joe said, “there’s not even a keyhole!”
CHAPTER II
The Battered Dory
FRANK, Joe, and Con Riley stared in puzzlement at the heavily carved door.
“This is ridiculous,” Frank said. “There must be a way to open it!”
“Maybe it’s a swinging door,” Riley suggested. He pressed against it, but it did not budge.
“Let’s have a look at the other entrances,” Frank suggested.
The Mead mansion had four outside doors, one on each side. All were ornate, but like the main entrance had no visible knobs, locks, or keyholes.
“What do you make of this?” Frank asked Joe, still shaking his head.
“Looks as if this key doesn’t belong to the house after all,” Joe muttered.
“It might not even have been dropped by our alleged Mr. Mead,” Frank observed. He was thoughtful for a moment, glancing up at the windows. They were shuttered and appeared to be without hinges or fasteners.
“One thing is for sure,” he continued. “The architect who designed this place didn’t like hardware. There must be a keyhole hidden in the carved designs on the doors. Let’s examine them more carefully.”
“You start,” Joe replied. “I want to go down to that boathouse and look it over. Seems like a pretty nice one from here.”
He hurried along a narrow path that led from the mansion to the water. A tangle of bushes and large overgrown flower beds indicated that the grounds had once been beautiful; now they were badly neglected.
The boathouse was locked. Its side door had no knob, keyhole, or other means of opening it. The two windows had closed shutters like those on the house.
“Wonder if there’s a boat inside,” Joe mused. But there was no way of finding out except by swimming under the large rolling door on the water side.
A honking came from the main house and Joe ran back to find Officer Riley with his hand on the horn.
“Sorry, boys,” he said as Frank joined them. “I have to get back on my beat!” He added, “I checked the back door and found absolutely nothing!”
“I found nothing on the east side door,” Frank reported, and then Joe told them about his quick survey of the boathouse.
The Hardys were reluctant to leave, but had no alternative. They climbed into the convertible and headed for Bayport.
When they stopped at headquarters to let Riley off, they were surprised to see their father coming down the steps. They waited to tell him about the strange doors at the Mead mansion, whose owner was reportedly dead.
“Most unusual,” he commented. “We’ll certainly have to look into the matter. No knobs or keyholes, eh?” He gazed into space for a moment, then added, “Let’s talk it over later. Right now I’d like to borrow your car. Mine’s being repaired at the Acme Garage, and I must see a man over in Henryville.”
Frank and Joe got out and started for home on foot. They took a short cut that brought them to the back of their property. Suddenly Frank caught Joe’s arm and whispered:
“Look!”
“What’s up?”
Frank pointed. Crouching at the back door of the Hardy home was a man, apparently picking the lock!
As Joe started to run, Frank grabbed him by the arm. “Hold on!” he warned in a low voice.
“And let the thief get away?”
“If you rush him, he will get away. Let’s sneak up on him!”
Tiptoeing swiftly across the yard, the boys reached the picklock without being heard.
“Say, what’s the idea?” Frank cried out.
Startled, the man jumped and turned to face the Hardys. Bracing themselves for a fight, they were astounde
d when he made no move to run. Instead, he asked insolently:
“Who do you think you are?”
“We live here,” Joe replied. “And it looks as if we got here just in time, too.”
“I suppose you think I’m a burglar,” said the stranger. “You Hardys think everybody’s a crook. Well, I got a perfect right to be here, so run along and catch a thief somewhere else.”
Frank’s eyes flashed, and Joe could hardly keep his fists under control.
The thin, sneering young man went on, “Mrs. Hardy ordered this lock changed, and I’m here to do it.”
The boys were taken aback. Although this was a plausible answer, it struck them as peculiar, for their mother had not mentioned having any locks changed, and they knew she was not at home.
“Who sent you here?” Frank asked.
“Ben Whittaker. Does that satisfy you?”
Frank and Joe knew old Ben well. He had been Bayport’s leading locksmith and hardware dealer for many years. They wondered how he could tolerate such a disagreeable employee.
A man was picking the lock on the Hardy’s back door
Still suspicious, Joe asked the fellow his name and was told it was Mike Batton. Frank staved out with the workman while Joe went inside and telephoned the Whittaker shop. Ben answered. Yes, Whittaker reported, Mike Batton worked for him. and on his desk pad was an order to change the lock on the Hardvs’ back door at once.
“Will you please describe Mike Batton,” Joe requested.
Mr. Whittaker’s description fitted the young man perfectly. Joe went outdoors again.
“Okay, Batton,” he said. “You win. But I’m sure there’s some mistake. Since you haven’t started your work yet, don’t bother with the lock.”
“That’s okay with me,” the workman growled, and went up the walk to the street without looking back.
“What did you find out?” Frank asked his brother.
Joe told him what Ben Whittaker had said, and added, “His story seems to be on the level, but I’m still not satisfied. I wish Mother would come home so we could ask her.”
But Mrs. Hardy did not return, and after eating lunch, the boys became impatient.
The Secret Panel Page 1