The Secret Panel

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “How’d you get in?” he called out.

  “It was open,” Joe replied.

  Frank pushed and pulled at each flower of the pattern. Suddenly one of the blooms slid aside, revealing a small latch. Frank lifted it with a finger and the door swung inward.

  “Whew! I’m glad to get out of here,” Joe said in relief. “What happened to the lights?”

  “I don’t know. A fuse must have blown.”

  As Joe retrieved his flashlight and followed Frank from the house, he asked him what he had found in the library.

  “Some excellent books on locks and keys,” Frank replied. “One by John Mead. I’ll tell you about it as we drive home.”

  Joe listened to his brother attentively, and made no comment until Frank mentioned that he was sorry to have been interrupted in his reading.

  “Who interrupted you?” Joe asked.

  “You!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You said we’d better go.”

  “I never said that!”

  “Someone did!” Frank said, looking surprised. “I distinctly heard a voice call out, ‘We’d better go now.’ ”

  “Good grief!” Joe ran his fingers through his hair. “There must have been two other persons in the house!”

  “Two or even more,” Frank added dryly.

  “Which means they have a key, too, and know how to use it!”

  “I wonder if they knew we were there,” Frank said. “We hid the car, and unless they saw us without our noticing them ...”

  “We just can’t be sure,” Joe muttered. “They must have switched off the power, too.”

  “It could have been the guy who called himself John Mead,” Frank went on. “And someone else, of course.”

  “Why didn’t we see their car?” Joe wondered.

  “They could have arrived after us and left before we did.”

  Joe sighed. “More problems.”

  Frank drove on, deep in thought. As they approached an intersection, the traffic light changed and he jammed on the brakes. Neither of the boys spoke as they waited for the green signal.

  Suddenly Joe asked, “Frank, do you hear what I hear?”

  “It hums!” Frank said. “Maybe this is the singing light Dr. Gardner was talking about!”

  “Look, why don’t we start out at once and drive ten minutes in various directions? Maybe we’ll find Lenny Stryker!”

  “Good idea. But let’s call Chief Collig first and tell him we’re out of the Mead house.”

  Frank parked in front of a phone booth not far from the humming traffic light and soon had the chief on the line. He reported everything they had experienced and told him about their latest clue.

  Chief Collig had no news concerning Lenny and wished the boys luck in their search.

  When Frank returned to the car, he said, “We can’t go east because of the bay. And we should save the direction toward town until last. We can look around there after dinner.”

  “Right. Let’s go west first and see what’s down this road.”

  In exactly ten minutes the boys stopped in front of an open pasture in a farming section.

  “No hideout here,” Joe said, disappointed.

  Frank drove back to the singing light and then headed north. Five minutes later they passed the Mead property and gazed intently into the grounds. There was no sign of anyone. In another five minutes they reached a tiny village which consisted of a general store, a garage, a church, and a few homes. Frank parked the car.

  “Peaceful-looking place,” he remarked. “I wonder if we’ll find a clue here.”

  They decided to investigate the garage first. Inside the barnlike building, a youth in overalls was washing a car.

  “Where’s your boss?” Joe spoke up.

  “Dunno.”

  While Joe questioned the mechanic about the town’s residents and newcomers, in an effort to find a lead about Lenny and the gang of thieves, Frank wandered into the small office adjoining the garage.

  As he peered around, he noticed a sheet of paper lying on the desk. It was crinkled, as if from dampness, and a corner was torn off. Frank picked it up. It contained a typed list of various appliance and television dealers in the area. Two stores in Bayport and a warehouse in Southport had an X mark after the names.

  Frank gasped. Those were the places that had been robbed within the last two weeks!

  CHAPTER VIII

  Tricked!

  As Frank stared at the list in amazement, the mechanic walked into the office. He noticed the boy’s strange look and the sheet of paper in his hand.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked. “You’re looking at that as if it were a check for a million dollars!”

  Frank said nothing, and the mechanic went on, “I found it outside in the tall grass. Thought it might belong to the boss. He didn’t want it, though.”

  On a sudden hunch Frank asked him if he had changed the tire for Mr. Mead the previous morning.

  “Dunno. I change a lot of tires.”

  “The one I mean was in the front,” Frank added, trying to jog the young man’s memory.

  “Don’t remember.” With that the mechanic left the office again, just as Joe entered.

  Frank drew his brother aside and reminded him of two significant facts: The garage was only a five-minute drive from the Mead home, and the man who had used John Mead’s name had told them he had his tire changed by a boy! This was surely the same place, Frank reasoned. Could Mead have dropped the list here? Was he one of the television thieves?

  Just then a middle-aged man in overalls came in. A label on his breast pocket bore the name Carl Bilks. “Can I help you?” he asked.

  Frank’s mind whirled with new and unanswered questions. Was Bilks in league with the thieves? If so, he would certainly be suspicious if Frank asked him about the list.

  “Oh—ah—I was trying to find out if you changed a tire for a friend of mine yesterday,” Frank said.

  “You’ll have to ask the kid outside,” Bilks replied. “He takes care of that.”

  “I did. He can’t remember.”

  “Why do you want to know? Is anything wrong?”

  “Yes. The wheel came off.”

  “Now look here,” Bilks replied heatedly, “I’m sure it wasn’t done in this garage. My assistant is a trained and competent mechanic. You must have the wrong place, mister!”

  “Probably.” Frank nodded and changed the subject. “I found this on the floor.” He handed the garage owner the list.

  Bilks glanced at it. “Oh, I don’t need that. The kid found it outside and thought it belonged to me, but I don’t have any idea what it is.” He took the sheet and tossed it into the wastebasket.

  “Well, we’ll be running along,” said Frank. “Goodbye, Mr. Bilks.” With that the boys left quickly.

  On the way back to Bayport they discussed the new turn of events.

  “You think Bilks and his mechanic are telling the truth about that list?” Joe asked.

  “I have a hunch they are. It looked as if it had been wet—it might very well have been lying in the grass for a while. But still, it’s not conclusive proof that everyone at the garage is on the level. I memorized the list and we’ll ask Chief Collig to give us a rundown on Bilks.”

  As they passed the humming traffic signal, Joe checked the time again. They went in a southerly direction, and ten minutes later Frank was driving through a residential section of town.

  “Okay, let’s remember this spot and come back after dinner,” Frank suggested.

  “Right.”

  At home they were greeted by Aunt Gertrude. “Well, you just about made it,” she said. “A few more minutes and everything would have been cold!”

  “Don’t you know, Aunty, our timing is always perfect!” Joe quipped.

  “Don’t brag,” his aunt retorted. “Sit down instead.”

  The boys enjoyed a hearty meal of roast chicken, potatoes, and asparagus. While eating, they related
the day’s events. Then Frank announced that they were going out to do a little more sleuthing after dinner.

  “I declare,” Aunt Gertrude said, sniffing. “I don’t know what’s happening to this generation. Never get proper sleep. They’ll all be nervous wrecks before they’re thirty.”

  Concealing their amusement, the boys hurried from the house. Upon reaching the residential section ten minutes south of the second humming traffic light, they parked and walked through the area. After spending half an hour making inquiries, they were convinced that this was not where Dr. Gardner had been taken.

  “Why don’t we run out to Chet’s?” Joe suggested. “Maybe he knows something new.”

  “Good idea,” Frank agreed. “Especially since Iola might be there.”

  “Okay, okay,” Joe said, grinning. “Cut it out.” He was very fond of Chet’s sister Iola, who was his frequent date.

  When the Hardys reached the Morton farm, Chet’s mother and sister came out to the front porch and greeted them excitedly.

  “Chet’s been trying to call you,” Mrs. Morton said with a smile, “but you weren’t home. Finally he couldn’t wait any longer and left.”

  “What’s up?” Joe asked, looking puzzled.

  “I don’t know,” replied dark-haired, slim Iola. “He was kind of mysterious about the whole thing.”

  “Yes, and rather agitated,” Mrs. Morton added. “He asked me to continue trying to contact you, and if I did, to tell you to meet him at 47 Parker Street.”

  The Hardys had never heard of that street, and all Mrs. Morton could add was that Chet had told her he was to meet a man on some special business.

  “We’d better get going, Joe,” Frank urged.

  They bid the Mortons good-by and drove off quickly, their thoughts whirling. Had Chet found the trail of the man who had sold him the battered dory? Or had he somehow picked up a clue to the whereabouts of Lenny Stryker or the television thieves?

  When they located Parker Street, they saw that it led to Bayport’s waterfront. A street lamp revealed number 47 as an old dilapidated house.

  “You think this is the place Chet meant?” Frank asked, surveying the closed windows and drawn shades.

  “Sure seems funny,” Joe admitted. “I don’t like it. Certainly looks deserted.”

  Just then a short, stocky man walked slowly up the alleyway from the back of the house.

  “Hey,” Frank whispered, nudging his brother, “I’ll bet he’s the guy who sold Chet the boat!”

  “Could be,” Joe agreed in a low voice. “He fits the description.”

  The boys stepped up to the man just as he reached the sidewalk. Joe said he was looking for a friend and wondered if the stranger had seen him. The man shook his head.

  “Haven’t seen anybody. Been too busy.” He started up the street.

  “We were to meet him here,” Frank put in, looking intently at the man. “Are you sure he didn’t come to this house?”

  The man returned his gaze levelly, then countered by asking why they were meeting their friend at this place.

  Frank decided impulsively that a straightforward answer was best. He replied that they were trying to find the person who had sold Chet Morton the dory.

  “And we think you’re that person!” Joe added.

  The Hardys expected the man to deny the accusation, but to their surprise he burst into laughter. “Oh, so that’s it,” he said. “Sure, I sold your pal a boat. And I’ve been tryin’ ever since to find him. I want to buy it back.”

  “You—you want to get it back?” Frank cried in amazement.

  The stocky man seemed to be surprised by the boy’s reaction. “What’s the matter with that?” he said. “It belonged to my brother, and I thought he wanted to get rid of it. Turns out he’d like to keep it after all. In fact I’ll pay your buddy extra to get it back. Where can I find him?”

  Frank’s suspicions were aroused now. He was sure Chet had already given his name and address to the man. “We’ll tell him your message when we see him. Where can he get in touch with you?”

  “Come on inside and I’ll get you one of my cards,” the man said.

  Frank and Joe looked at each other. Was this a trap? And where was Chet? They decided to be on guard.

  Slowly they followed the man up the front porch of number 47 and into the hallway. He snapped on a ceiling light, apologizing for the bleak appearance of the house. His furniture, he said, consisted at the moment only of the pieces in his office at the rear. Keeping alert for anything unusual, Frank and Joe walked with him to the end of the hall and waited as he unlocked a door.

  He stepped inside and reached for the light switch. The boys followed as a lamp flicked on. The next moment the stranger whirled about, grabbed Joe by the shoulders, and thrust him against Frank.

  As the Hardys crashed to the floor, their assailant leaped out of the room, slammed the door, and locked it from the outside.

  They heard him hastily retreating up the hallway. Then the light went out. Obviously he had turned off the main fuse on his way out. The front door slammed shut and there was nothing but silence for a moment.

  In the darkness Frank sat up. “Are you all right, Joe?”

  “Yes. And you?”

  “I’m okay. But that guy sure walloped us.”

  Suddenly a loud groan came from somewhere in the pitch-black room.

  Frank got up and felt around for his flashlight, which had dropped from his pocket. He located it and snapped it on. Behind the desk lay a figure, bound and gagged.

  The Hardys hastened to the captive and knelt down, shining the light on his face. Chet Morton!

  CHAPTER IX

  Found and Lost

  QUICKLY Frank and Joe pulled the handkerchief from Chet’s mouth, untied the cords that bound his wrists and ankles, and rubbed them vigorously. Chet soon regained full consciousness.

  “Wh-where am I?” he gasped. Then, recognizing the Hardys, he added, “Thank goodness you came.”

  “Tell us what happened!” Joe exclaimed.

  Frank suggested they leave the house right away. At any instant the stocky stranger might return with reinforcements.

  There was a telephone on the desk. Joe picked it up, but the line was dead. “That figures,” he commented.

  Glancing around, the boys observed that the desk and a small table with two chairs were the only pieces of furniture in the room. One window was high up. Apparently its lock was rusted shut. The other exit from the room was through the wooden door to the hall.

  They threw their weight against it and after several attempts the upper half gave way. Another heave against the door made an opening large enough for them to crawl through. Seconds later they left the house.

  The street was quiet and no one was in sight.

  “Where’s your car?” Frank asked Chet.

  “I parked around the corner.”

  “No wonder we didn’t see it,” Joe said. “We were wondering if we had the right address.”

  The boys drove to the Morton farm. Frank and Joe went inside with their chum and Mrs. Morton served milk and apple pie.

  “Okay, Chet, let’s have your story from the beginning,” Frank urged when Mrs. Morton had left the room.

  Chet told them he had received a mysterious telephone call earlier that evening. He was told to go immediately to 47 Parker Street to see about the dory he had bought.

  “I thought there was a chance I’d get my money back,” he explained, “so I drove over there. When I arrived, the guy who sold me the boat said he wanted it back. At first I didn’t let him know it was at the bottom of the bay.”

  “What did you tell him?” Joe asked.

  “That I wanted to keep it. He glared at me and said I certainly was going to sell it back to him. I was hoping you would come any moment, so I kept putting him off. He got madder by the minute.”

  “I wonder why he wants that old tub back,” Joe said. “The story about his brother sounds phony.”

&n
bsp; “I don’t know.” Chet shrugged. “But when I finally told him it had sunk, boy did he rave! I tried to get out but he locked the front door. He made me describe the place where it had gone under—and then the next thing I knew, he gave me a terrific blast on the head. I blacked out.”

  Before they left, the Hardys promised their friend they would continue looking for the stranger. It would be easier now that they had met him face to face.

  “We have something to pay him back for, too,” Joe said grimly. “We don’t like to be shoved around.”

  After reporting the episode to the police, the boys headed for home. Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude had already retired when they reached their house. They were just about to go to bed when they heard their father’s key in the front door.

  “Let’s talk to him,” Joe urged Frank, and ran down the stairs. “Hello, Dad. How did you make out?” he asked eagerly.

  Mr. Hardy said he was a bit discouraged as far as the television burglaries were concerned. He was working on a new angle involving fingerprints.

  The three went to his study, where Frank and Joe related their experiences that day. It took some time to tell about the humming traffic light; the strange happenings at the Mead mansion; the list at Bilks’ garage and the adventures at 47 Parker Street.

  When they finished, Mr. Hardy was thoughtful. “I think we can assume your assailant locked you all in to make sure you wouldn’t try to follow him.”

  He tapped the desk with a pencil. “The fact that he made Chet describe the spot where the dory went down indicates that he certainly wants it back badly. I’m inclined to think that someone else wants that boat, and it’s not his brother.”

  “The boat itself certainly can’t have any value,” Frank mused.

  “Right. There must be more involved.”

  Frank thought the strange Y carved on the gunwale might be a clue, and Joe reminded him about the locked box in the bow.

  Their father suggested raising the boat and examining it thoroughly. “I think the Bayport Salvage Company would do the job,” he said. “Go over there tomorrow and ask for Mr. Redfield.”