The Secret of the Old Mill (13 page)

“How?” demanded Chet.

Joe took up the line of deduction. “Markel himself told Ken the envelopes were for the printer. Why did Docker say Ken wasn't at the mill the day I saw him? And what was the real reason for his being discharged?”

“I'm getting it,” Chet interjected. “Those men were trying to keep you from questioning Ken. Why?”

“Perhaps because of what Ken could tell us, if we happened to ask him about the envelopes he delivered,” Joe replied. Then he asked Ken if Markel and Docker knew that Joe had picked up the envelope the day of the near accident.

“I didn't say anything about that,” Ken replied. The boy's face wore a perplexed, worried look. “You mean Mr. Docker and Mr. Markel might be—crooks! They didn't act that way.”

“I agree,” Frank said. “And we still have no proof. We'll see if we can find some—one way or another.”

The Hardys reflected on the other mysterious happenings. “The green truck,” Frank said, “could belong to the gatehouse men, since it seems to be used for whatever their scheme is, and they are hiding it at the deserted farmhouse.”

“Also,” Joe put in, “if Victor Peters is the ‘old man,' he's probably an accomplice.”

“And,” Frank continued, “don't forget that the bike Ken used was available to both Docker and Markel to deliver the warning note. The arrow shooting occurred near the mill; the attack on us in the woods that night was near the mill. The warning note found in Chet's car was put there after Markel told him to go to the front gate. The guard probably lied to Chet the first day we went to the mill—he never did phone the personnel department.”

“Another thing,” Joe pointed out. “Both men are more free to come and go than someone working in the plant.”

There was silence while the Hardys concentrated on what their next move should be.

“No doubt about it,” Frank said finally. “Everything seems to point toward the mill as the place to find the answers.”

“And the only way to be sure,” Joe added, “is to go and find out ourselves. How about tonight?”

Frank and Chet agreed, and the boys decided to wait until it was fairly dark. “I'll call Tony and see if he can go with us,” Frank said. “We'll need his help.”

Tony was eager to accompany the trio. “Sounds as if you're hitting pay dirt in the mystery,” he remarked when Frank had brought him up to date.

“We hope so.”

Later, Joe outlined a plan whereby they might ascertain if Peters
was
an accomplice of Docker and Markel, and at the same time make it possible for them to get into the mill.

“Swell idea,” Frank said approvingly. “Better brush up on your voice-disguising technique!”

Joe grinned. “I'll practice.”

Just before supper Mr. Hardy phoned to say he would not be home until later that night.

“Making progress, Dad?” asked Frank, who had taken the call.

“Could be, son,” the detective replied. “That's why I'll be delayed. Tell your mother and Gertrude not to worry.”

“Okay. And, Dad—Joe and I will be doing some sleuthing tonight to try out a few new ideas we have.”

“Fine. But watch your step!”

About eight-thirty that evening Chet and Tony pulled up to the Hardy home in the Queen.

Ken Blake went with the brothers to the door. “See you later, Ken,” Frank said, and Joe added, “I know you'd like to come along, but we don't want you taking any unnecessary risks.”

The younger boy looked wistful. “I wish I could do something to help you fellows.”

“There is a way you can help,” Frank told him.

At that moment Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude came into the hall. Quickly Frank drew Ken aside and whispered something to him.

CHAPTER XVII

WITH rising excitement, Frank, Joe, Chet, and Tony drove off through the dusk toward the old mill.

Chet came to a stop about one hundred yards from the beginning of the dirt road leading to the gatehouse. He and Tony jumped out. They waved to the Hardys, then disappeared into the woods.

Joe took the wheel of the jalopy. “Now, part two of our plan. I hope it works.”

The brothers quickly rode to the service station where they had been that morning. Joe parked and hurried to the outdoor telephone booth nearby. From his pocket he took a slip of paper on which Ken had jotted down the night telephone number of the Elekton gatehouse.

Joe dialed the number, then covered the mouthpiece with his handkerchief to muffle his voice.

A familiar voice answered, “Gatehouse. Markel speaking.”

Joe said tersely, “Peters speaking. Something has gone wrong. Both of you meet me outside the Parker Building. Make it snappy!” Then he hung up.

When Joe returned to the Queen, Frank had turned it around and they were ready to go. They sped back toward the mill and in about ten minutes had the jalopy parked out of sight in the shadows of the trees where the dirt road joined the paved one.

The brothers, keeping out of sight among the trees, ran to join Chet and Tony who were wait ing behind a large oak near the edge of the gatehouse grounds.

“It worked!” Tony reported excitedly. “About fifteen minutes ago the lights in the mill went out, and Markel and Docker left in a hurry.”

“On foot?” Joe asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. If they have to take a bus or cab to town, it'll give us more time,” Frank said.

Tony and Chet were given instructions about keeping watch outside while the Hardys inspected the mill. The brothers explained where the Queen was parked, in case trouble should arise and their friends had to go for help.

Frank and Joe approached the mill cautiously. It was dark now, but they did not use flashlights. Though confident that the gatehouse was deserted, they did not wish to take any chances. As they neared the building the Hardys could see that the shutters were tightly closed. Over the sound of the wind in the trees came the rumble of the turning mill wheel.

The Hardys headed for the door. They had just mounted the steps when the rumbling sound of the wheel ceased.

In the silence both boys looked around, perplexed. “I thought it had been fixed,” Joe whispered. “Seemed okay the other day.”

“Yes. But last time we were here at night the wheel stopped when we were about this distance away from it,” Frank observed.

Thoughtfully the boys stepped back from the mill entrance to a point where they could see the wheel. They stood peering at it through the dark ness. Suddenly, with a dull rumble, it started to turn again!

Mystified, the Hardys advanced toward the gatehouse and stopped at the entrance. In a short while the wheel stopped.

“Hm!” Joe murmured. “Just like one of those electric-eye doors.”

“Exactly!” Frank exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “I'll bet the wheel's not broken—it's been rigged up as a warning signal to be used at night! When someone approaches the mill, the path of the invisible beam is broken and the wheel stops. The lack of noise is enough for anyone inside to notice, and also, the lights would go out because the generator is powered by the wheel.”

The Hardys went on a quick search for the origin of the light beam. Frank was first to discover that it was camouflaged in the flour-barrel ivy planter. Beneath a thin covering of earth, and barely concealed, were the heavy batteries, wired in parallel, which produced the current necessary to operate the light source for the electric eye.

The stopping and starting of the wheel was further explained when Frank found, screened by a bushy shrub, a small post with a tiny glass mirror fastened on its side.

“That's the complete secret of the signal!” he exclaimed. “This is one of the mirrors a photoelectric cell system would use. With several of these hidden mirrors, they've made a light-ring around the mill so an intruder from any side would break the beam. The barrel that contains the battery power also contains the eye that completes the circuit.”

“I'll bet Markel and Docker rigged this up,” Joe said excitedly. “Which means there must be something in the mill they want very badly to keep secret! We must find a way inside!”

The Hardys did not pull the wires off the battery connection, since they might have need of the warning system. Quietly and quickly the brothers made a circuit of the mill, trying doors and first-floor windows, in hopes of finding one unlocked. But none was.

“We can't break in,” Joe muttered.

Both boys were aware that time was precious—the men might return shortly. The young sleuths made another circle of the mill. This time they paused to stare at the huge wheel, which was turning once more.

“Look!” Joe whispered tensely, pointing to an open window-shaped space above the wheel.

“It's our only chance to get inside,” Frank stated. “We'll try climbing up.”

The Hardys realized it would not be easy to reach the opening. Had there been a walkway on top of the wheel, as there was in many mills, climbing it would have been relatively simple.

The brothers came to a quick decision: to maneuver one of the paddles on the wheel until it was directly below the ledge of the open space, then stop the motion. During the short interval which took place between the stop and start of the wheel, they hoped to climb by way of the paddles to the top and gain entrance to the mill.

Joe ran back through the beam, breaking it, while Frank clambered over a pile of rocks across the water to the wheel. It rumbled to a stop, one paddle aligned with the open space above. By the time Joe returned, Frank had started to climb up, pulling himself from paddle to paddle by means of the metal side struts. Joe followed close behind.

The boys knew they were taking a chance in their ascent up the wet, slippery, mossy wheel. They were sure there must be a timing-delay switch somewhere in the electric-eye circuit. Could they beat it, or would they be tossed off into the dark rushing water?

“I believe I can get to the top paddle and reach the opening before the timer starts the wheel turning again. But can Joe?” Frank thought. “Hurry!” he cried out to his brother.

Doggedly the two continued upward. Suddenly Joe's hand slipped on a slimy patch of moss. He almost lost his grip, but managed to cling desperately to the edge of the paddle above his head, both feet dangling in mid-air.

“Frank!” he hissed through clenched teeth.

His brother threw his weight to the right. Holding tight with his left hand to a strut, he reached down and grasped Joe's wrist. With an aerialist's grip, Joe locked his fingers on Frank's wrist, and let go with his other hand.

Frank swung him out away from the wheel. As Joe swung himself back, he managed to regain his footing and get a firm hold on the paddle supports.

“Whew!” said Joe. “Thanks!”

The boys resumed the climb, spurred by the thought that the sluice gate would reopen any second and start the wheel revolving.

Frank finally reached the top paddle. Stretching his arms upward, he barely reached the sill of the opening. The old wood was rough and splintering, but felt strong enough to hold his weight.

“Here goes!” he thought, and sprang away from the paddle.

At the same moment, with a creaking rumble, the wheel started to move!

CHAPTER XVIII

WHILE Frank clung grimly to the sill, Joe, below him, knew he must act fast to avoid missing the chance to get off, and perhaps being crushed beneath the turning wheel. He leaped upward with all his might.

Joe's fingers barely grasped the ledge, but he managed to hang onto the rough surface beside his brother. Then together they pulled themselves up and over the sill through the open space.

In another moment they were standing inside the second floor of the building. Rickety boards creaked under their weight. Still not wishing to risk the use of flashlights, the Hardys peered around in the darkness.

“I think we're in the original grinding room,” Frank whispered as he discerned the outlines of two huge stone cylinders in the middle of the room.

“You're right,” said Joe. “There's the old grain hopper.” He pointed to a chute leading down to the grinding stones.

Though many years had passed since the mill had been used to produce flour, the harsh, dry odor of grain still lingered in the air. In two of the corners were cots and a set of crude shelves for clothes. Suddenly the boys' hearts jumped. A loud clattering noise came from directly below. Then, through a wide crack in the floor, shone a yellow shaft of light!

“Someone else must be here!” Joe whispered.

The Hardys stood motionless, hardly daring to breathe, waiting for another sound. Who was in the suddenly lighted room?

The suspense was unbearable. Finally the brothers tiptoed over and peered through the wide crack. Straightening up, Frank observed, “Can't see anyone. We'd better go investigate.”

Fearful of stumbling in the inky darkness, the boys now turned on their flashlights, but shielded them with their hands. Cautiously they found their way to a door. It opened into a short passageway which led down a narrow flight of steps.

Soon Frank and Joe were in another small hall. Ahead was a partially opened door, with light streaming from it.

Every nerve taut, the young sleuths advanced. Frank edged up to the door and looked in.

“Well?” Joe hissed. To his utter astonishment Frank gave a low chuckle, and motioned him forward.

“For Pete's sake!” Joe grinned.

Inside, perched on a chipped grindstone, was a huge, white cat. Its tail twitched indignantly. An overturned lamp lay on a table.