The Secret of the Old Mill (3 page)

Frank emptied his pockets, but all he had was three dollars in change and bills.

“We'll lend you what we have,” Joe offered. “Eight-fifty.”

Although Chet protested, the Hardys insisted, and Mr. Reed added, “You can take the microscope along and pay me the balance when you can.”

Frank and Joe put their money on the counter, while Mr. Reed went to wrap the instrument.

“Thanks. You're real pals,” Chet said gratefully.

When the store owner returned with the package, Chet said, “I'll go right down to Dad's office and borrow the balance. We'll get back here later this afternoon. Thanks very much, Mr. Reed.”

The boys were about to leave when Frank had a sudden thought.

“Mr. Reed,” he said, “would you let us borrow that counterfeit bill for some close study? We'll be sure to turn it over to Chief Collig.”

“Swell idea,” Joe said.

The proprietor, who was familiar with the Hardys' reputation as sleuths, readily assented. Frank put the bill in his pocket and the boys left the store.

They hurried back to Chet's car and drove to Mr. Morton's real-estate office several blocks away. The office was on the street level of a small building. They entered and were greeted pleasantly by Mr. Morton's efficient secretary, Miss Benson.

“Hello, boys. Enjoying your summer vacation?”

“Yes, thanks, Miss Benson,” Chet said, eying his father's empty desk. “When will Dad be back?”

“Your father's gone for the day, Chet,” she replied. “He decided to go home early.”

“That's funny,” Chet mused. “Dad usually stays until five at least.”

“We have time to drive out to the farm before we meet the train,” Joe said. “Let's go.”

The Morton farm was on the outskirts of Bayport. When Chet swung the car into the driveway, Joe noticed with pleasure that Iola, Chet's sister, was waving to them from the front porch. Dark-haired Iola, slim and vivacious, was Joe's favorite date.

When they told her about the counterfeit bill, she exclaimed, “What a shame!”

Joe agreed emphatically. “And we'd sure like to get a lead on the man who passed it to Chet.”

“Sounds as if you Hardys are in the mood for some sleuthing,” Iola said with a twinkle in her eye.

“What's this about sleuthing?” asked attractive Mrs. Morton as she came outside and joined the group.

The boys quickly explained. Then Chet asked his mother, “Is Dad around?”

Mrs. Morton smiled. “He isn't here right now, Chet. He's attending to an important job.”

Chet looked disappointed until his sister giggled and said, “Dad's not too far away.” Iola winked at her mother and they both began to laugh.

“Your father's important job is at his favorite fishing spot,” Mrs. Morton told Chet.

“Fishing!” Chet exclaimed. “He never goes fishing during the week!”

“He did this time,” said Mrs. Morton. “I guess the good weather was too much for him to resist.”

A few minutes later the boys were in the jalopy and driving down a country road bordered by woods. A half mile farther, Chet stopped and turned off the Queen's engine. The sound of rushing water could be heard.

“This is the spot,” Chet announced, and they started off through the woods.

The boys soon came to a clear running stream and spotted Mr. Morton seated contentedly on the bank. He was leaning against a tree, holding his rod lightly between his knees and steadying it with his hands.

Just as the boys called a greeting to him, the line began to jerk and almost immediately the rod bent till the tip was close to the water. Mr. Morton leaped to his feet and shouted, “Just a minute, fellows! I've hooked a lulu!”

Mr. Morton was an expert. He let the fish take just enough line to bury the hook properly, then he very gently braked the reel with his thumb.

So intent was Mr. Morton on his fishing, he was not aware that his son was now rushing down the slope toward him. Suddenly Chet slipped on a moss-covered rock and fell forward. He lost his grip on the box containing the microscope and it flew toward the water. Joe, behind Chet, leaped forward and grabbed the box.

“Whew!” Chet exclaimed, regaining his balance. “Good work, Joe! Thanks a million!”

The three boys joined Mr. Morton, who was busy landing his catch, a fine, smallmouthed black bass. He held up the fish for them to admire. “Isn't it a beauty, boys?” he said.

“Terrific, Dad,” Chet replied, still out of breath from his near tumble. “And I have something to show you.”

He unwrapped the package and held out the microscope. Mr. Morton put the fish in his creel, then studied the instrument closely.

“It's a topnotch one, son,” he declared. “And just the model you wanted.”

“Yes, Dad. Only there's a slight problem connected with it.”

“Oh—oh.” Mr. Morton chuckled good-naturedly. “I should have known from the look on your face. You didn't have enough money, after all. Well, how much do you need?”

“That isn't all there is to it,” Chet hastened to inform him, and told about the counterfeit bill.

Mr. Morton's face darkened. “I hope we're not in for a flood of phony bills.”

Frank nodded. “Especially since these are very clever imitations.”

Chet's father handed over twenty dollars in small bills.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“From now on, Chet, be careful about making change for strangers,” Mr. Morton cautioned.

“I will,” his son promised fervently. “Getting cheated once is enough!”

Chet paid the Hardys the money they had lent him. Then he said to his father, “I sure was surprised when Mother told me you were fishing —in the middle of the week.”

Mr. Morton smiled broadly. “I've been working hard the past year on the big sale of land to Elekton Controls,” he said. “I thought it was time to take an afternoon off and do some thinking while the fish were nibbling.”

“Is that the property in back of the plant they just finished building?” asked Frank.

“That's right.” Mr. Morton pointed upstream. “You can just see the top of the main building from here.”

“The property you sold has the old Turner mill on it,” Joe remarked. “Quite a contrast. A company that makes top-secret control parts for space missiles in a modern building right next to an ancient, abandoned gristmill.”

“I suppose they'll tear the old place down,” Frank remarked.

“No, Elekton has decided to use it,” Mr. Morton went on. “I suggested to them that the old mill would make an attractive gatehouse for the plant's rear entrance. After all, it's a historic place, built by the settlers when this whole area was inhabited by Indians. The company has renovated the old mill a bit, restoring the old living quarters and adding modern facilities.”

“Is someone living there?” Joe asked with interest.

“I understand a couple of their employees are,” Mr. Morton replied. Then he continued, “They've even repaired the wheel, so it's turning again. Hearing the rushing water and the grinding of the wheel's gear mechanism brought back memories to me.”

“About the Indians, Dad?” Chet joked.

“Not quite, son.” His father smiled. “But I can remember when the mill produced the best flour around here. Your grandmother made many a delicious loaf of bread from wheat ground in the Turner mill.”

“That's for me!” Chet said.

Everyone laughed as Mr. Morton reminisced further about having seen the mill in full operation when he was a boy. Suddenly he and the Hardys noticed that Chet had fallen silent. There was a familiar, faraway look in his eyes.

Joe grinned. “Chet, you're turning some new idea over in your mind.”

“That's right,” Chet said excitedly. “I've been thinking that maybe I could get a summer job at Elekton.”

Mr. Morton exchanged amazed glances with the Hardys at the thought of Chet's working during the summer vacation! But, with growing enthusiasm, Chet went on:

“I could earn the twenty dollars I owe you, Dad. Besides, if I am going to be a scientist, I couldn't think of a better place to work.”

“Elekton's a fine company,” his father said. “I wish you luck, son.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Chet smiled broadly. “See you later. I have to go now and pay Mr. Reed the money I owe him.”

On the drive back to town, Chet told Frank and Joe that he was going to apply for a job at the Elekton plant the next day.

“We'll go along,” Joe offered. “I'd like to see the plant and the old mill.”

“Swell,” said Chet.

When they reached the shopping area in Bayport, Chet drove directly to Mr. Reed's store. The three boys had just alighted from the parked car when Chet excitedly grabbed his friends' arms.

“There he is!” the chubby boy exclaimed. “Right down the street—the man who gave me that phony twenty!”

CHAPTER IV

“THERE he goes! Across the street!” Joe said excitedly. “Let's ask him about the counterfeit bill!”

The three boys broke into a run, dodging in and out of the crowd of afternoon shoppers. The Hardys kept their eyes trained on the stocky figure of their quarry.

But their chase was halted at the corner by a red traffic light against them. The street was congested with vehicles and it was impossible for the boys to get across.

“What luck!” Joe growled impatiently.

It seemed to be the longest red light they had ever encountered. When it changed, the three-some streaked across the street—but it was too late. The stocky man was lost to sight. The Hardys raced down the next two blocks, peering in every direction, but to no avail.

Disappointed, Frank and Joe went back to Chet, who had stopped to catch his breath.

“We lost him,” Joe reported tersely.

Frank's eyes narrowed. “I have a hunch that man who passed the bogus twenty-dollar bill to Chet knew it was counterfeit. That last-second dash for the train was just a gimmick to make a fast getaway. But his showing up here in Bayport a couple hours after he took the train out of town is mighty peculiar.”

Joe and Chet agreed. “He probably got off in Bridgeport,” Frank went on. “That's the nearest big town.”

As the boys walked back toward the Scientific Specialties Store, they speculated about the source of the supply of bogus money.

“Maybe it's Bridgeport,” Frank said. “That could be one of the reasons he took the train there—to get a new supply, or palm off more.”

“You mean they might actually make the stuff there?” Chet asked.

Frank shrugged. “Could be,” he said. “I hope no more counterfeit bills are passed in Bayport.”

“There probably will be,” Chet said ruefully, “if this town is full of easy marks like me.”

“Let's keep a sharp lookout for that fake-money passer from now on,” Joe said, “and other clues to the counterfeit ring.”

“Who knows,” Chet put in, “it could turn out to be your next case.”

As soon as Mr. Reed had been paid, the boys drove to Bayport Police Headquarters. Chet decided to take his microscope into headquarters and show it to Chief Ezra Collig. The keen-eyed, robust officer was an old friend of Fenton Hardy and his sons. Many times the four had cooperated on cases.

“Sit down,” the chief said cordially. “I can see that you boys have something special on your minds. Another mystery?”

He leaned forward expectantly in his chair.

“It's possible, Chief,” replied Frank as he handed over the counterfeit bill. Quickly the Hardys explained what had happened, then voiced their suspicions of the man who had just eluded them.

“Have there been any other reports of people receiving fake bills?” Joe asked the officer.

Chief Collig nodded. “Chet's not the first to be fooled,” he replied. “Since the Secret Service alerted us to watch for these twenty-dollar bills, we've had nearly a dozen complaints. But we've instructed the people involved not to talk about it.”

“Why?” Chet asked curiously.

“It's part of our strategy. We hope to trap at least some of the gang by lulling them into a feeling of false security.”

The boys learned that Chet's description of the stocky stranger tallied with what the police had on file.

“He's a slippery one,” the chief added. “It sounds to me as if the man wears a different outfit each time he shoves a bill.”

“Shoves?” echoed Chet.

“A shover—or passer—is a professional term for people who pass counterfeit money,” Chief Collig explained. He rubbed the bogus bill between his fingers. “This is a clever forgery,” he said. “Let's see what it looks like under your microscope, Chet.”

It took just a minute to rig and focus the microscope. Then, under Chief Collig's directions, the boys scrutinized the faults in the bill.

“Look at the serial number,” the chief pointed out. “That's the large, colored group of numbers that appears on the upper right and lower left portions of the bill.”

As the boys peered at the number, Chief Collig made some quick calculations on his desk pad. “Divide the serial number by six,” he went on, “and in this case, the remainder is two.”

When the boys looked puzzled, the chief smiled. “On the upper left portion of the note you'll see a small letter. One that is not followed by a number. That's the check letter and in this case it's B.”

The boys listened as Chief Collig further explained, “If the letter B corresponds to the remainder two, after you have done the division, it means the bill is either genuine—or a careful fake. The same way with the remainder, one. The check letter would be A or G; and with the remainder three, the check letter C or I, and so on.”