The Secret Panel (13 page)

“I still have no idea where I am,” she said.

Frank and Joe told her. Miss Johnson had never heard of the mansion, and was intrigued to learn that the owner had installed doors and windows without visible hardware.

They discussed the strange history of the Mead house for a while, but as time went by, their fears increased. So did their hunger. They wondered if anyone would bring food. There seemed little likelihood of this now, because the thieves no doubt would make their escape while they had a chance.

“Did anyone come besides the three men we saw today?” Frank asked the nurse.

“Yes. One they called the Boss. He's about fifty, tall, and slender.”

“Did you hear them say anything that might shed some more light on their operation?” Joe asked.

“They talked very little,” Miss Johnson answered. “But I remember that they said they would make their getaway as soon as possible and give up this whole area.”

The Hardys were glumly silent as they realized the thieves probably were on their way by this time.

Lenny Stryker was stirring again. Suddenly he leaped from his cot. Wild-eyed, he began to limp around the room, mumbling to himself.

Miss Johnson and the boys caught hold of him and put him back on the cot.

A moment later the light went out. Lenny became quiet at once, and for several seconds there was absolute silence. Then came an indistinct grating noise. The panel was being opened!

Quickly the boys made their way toward the spot. Frank whipped out his flashlight. But before he could snap it on, Lenny got up again and knocked it to the floor. Screaming and waving his arms, the delirious young man kept the others from reaching the entranceway.

During the confusion the Hardys heard a thud, then a slight click. The light went on again. They gasped as they saw Chet sprawled on the floor!

He looked up in terror, then recognized them.

“Oh, it's you! Am I glad!”

Chet's momentary elation faded when the Hardys did not return his enthusiasm. They pointed to the closed panel, to Lenny Stryker who now lay in a heap on the floor, and introduced Miss Johnson.

“Gosh!” Chet cried. “Let's get out of here!”

“We can't,” Frank told him. “Did you contact Dad?”

Chet shook his head, his eyes roving around the room. Then he caught on. Joe nodded, confirming that they were locked in.

“We're behind the secret panel which can't be opened except with a large magnet. And that magnet isn't here.”

The stout boy gulped and sat down on the floor. Looking up at his friends, he asked, “What are we going to do?”

“Suppose you tell us what happened to you,” Frank said.

After they lifted Lenny to the cot, Chet related how he had got no farther than the Hardys' car before being captured. He had been taken to the Mead boathouse and locked inside.

“I've been there ever since,” he said. “At least that guy Griff brought me some food. Oh—”

Chet stopped speaking as he suddenly remembered something. From his jacket pockets he pulled out several candy bars, an apple, and a small box of crackers. “I never go anywhere without my emergency rations,” he said, smiling. He passed them around. For once Chet did not talk about being hungry himself, and insisted the others eat every bit of the food.

“Isn't there any way at all to get out of this room?” he asked desperately.

“None that we've discovered so far,” Frank told him. “But let's try again.”

While the nurse attended to the patient who was mumbling again, the Hardys made another minute examination of the paneled woodwork in the room. But every piece of carved design seemed to be solidly placed.

They had almost decided to give up the search when Frank came to a section on the right side of the panel where a bird had been cut into the wood. It was perched on a tree branch about five and a half feet above the floor. Frank studied its head and body carefully. Then he put his finger on its heavily feathered wing and gently pushed it up. The wing moved!

 

 

 

 

“COME here!” Frank cried excitedly.

The others leaped to his side. Miss Johnson turned the lamp so that its light shone directly on the bird. Beneath its wing, three tiny slits were revealed.

“The symbol!” Joe exclaimed. “The strange Y!”

For several moments everyone stared in amazement.

“What is it?” Martha Johnson asked.

Frank looked toward Lenny Stryker and put his fingers to his lips. The nurse assured him that her patient was now asleep and could not overhear anything.

“I don't know what the strange mark means,” Frank explained. “But we've seen it several times and think it's a clue to a gang of thieves. Somehow Lenny Stryker got mixed up with them.”

“And you think this house is their headquarters?” Miss Johnson asked.

“It looks that way,” Joe replied.

Frank told her how they met the Englishman who claimed to be John Mead and about the key he had evidently lost when his car landed in a ditch.

“He wore a ring with this symbol,” Frank said. “Did you happen to notice whether any of the men who came here wore such a ring?”

After a moment's thought Miss Johnson said she could not be sure. The tall man called the Boss had worn a large signet ring, but she had not noticed the design. She recalled, however, that he had mentioned the name Carr Electronics once.

“Carr Electronics?” Frank repeated. “That's where the dummy was hit over the head when the place was burglarized.”

“What about the symbol under the bird's wing?” Joe asked. “I'm sure it's not just here for decorative purposes.”

“There might be something hidden beyond it,” Frank agreed. “But what?” He worked on the slits for a while, but finally gave up. Joe and Chet each took a turn. Even Miss Johnson, intrigued by the idea, tried her hand at it.

Hours dragged by. The prisoners became hungry and discouraged. They took turns pounding on the secret panel but doubted that their signals would be heard by anyone.

“It's eleven P.M.,” groaned Chet. “We've been gone from your house fourteen hours!”

Back home, meanwhile, Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude were frantic with worry. They had not thought much about the boys' absence until evening. Mr. Hardy had gone out again and could not be reached. Unable to stand the strain any longer, Mrs. Hardy finally went to the telephone and called Mrs. Morton.

“Hello,” she said, trying to seem calm. After a few pleasantries she asked, “Is Chet there?”

“No, he's not, Laura. Isn't he with Frank and Joe?”

Mrs. Hardy revealed with a sinking heart that Chet had left the house with her sons directly after breakfast and she had not heard from any of them since.

“It's unusual for them not to telephone if they're going to stay out late,” Mrs. Hardy said. “But I'm sure they'll be home soon,” she added, in order not to alarm Mrs. Morton more than was necessary.

“Oh, I hope so,” Chet's mother replied anxiously. “Those boys sometimes get into such dangerous situations. Please let me know the minute you hear from them.”

“I'll phone you if I get any news,” Mrs. Hardy assured her friend.

She had barely said good-by when the telephone rang. It was Chief Collig.

“Mrs. Hardy,” he asked brusquely, “are Frank and Joe there?”

“No, Chief. Is anything wrong?”

“Then let me speak to Fenton,” Collig went on, pretending that he had not heard her anxious question.

“He's not here, either. Oh, wait a minute,” she added, hearing a key in the lock. “Fenton's just coming in the door.”

Mrs. Hardy called her husband to the telephone.

“Thank you, dear. Who is it?” he asked.

“Chief Collig.”

Mr. Hardy's eyebrows lifted as he took the phone. “Yes, Chief?” As he listened to Collig, his few grew grave.

“Have you tried the hospitals?... They're not there?... I'll be right over.”

The news was disturbing. The officer had reported that the boys' overturned convertible had been found in a ditch some miles out of Bayport. There had been no sign of either Frank or Joe, and no report of the accident.

Laura Hardy's hand flew to her mouth to stifle a cry. Aunt Gertrude began spluttering about her dire predictions coming true. “This detective work is too risky for boys.” As she took off her glasses to wipe them, her hands shook.

“When did you last hear from the boys?” Mr. Hardy asked his wife. Upon being told, his face clouded. “Well, I'm going to police headquarters.”

“You know something you're not telling me,” his wife cried, grabbing his arm as he was about to go out the door.

“I have a hunch the car was stolen,” he replied. “I want to drive to the spot where it was abandoned and see if I can pick up any clues.”

Aunt Gertrude wailed, “Hurry! Hurry! They've probably been kidnapped!”

The detective was out of the house before Mrs. Hardy could voice any further questions, and rushed to headquarters.

Collig was not scheduled to be on duty, but when the report of the overturned Hardy car had come in, the chief had rushed to his office.

When Mr. Hardy arrived, he jumped up from his leather chair, his forehead creased with frown lines. “This really has me worried, Fenton.”

“Come on. Hop in my car,” the detective said.

They sped to the scene of the accident, about five miles west of Bayport. With flashlights, the two men carefully examined the rough ground for any sign of a clue. There were no footprints.

“That's strange,” Collig grunted. “We haven't had any rain to wash 'em away, either!”

Mr. Hardy did not speak. Slowly he walked back along the road in the direction from which the car had come. Reaching a spot about one hundred feet from the convertible, he played his flashlight over the area and found a set of footprints.

“Here's your answer,” he called out. “Pretty daring person.”

It was the detective's belief that the driver of the car had jumped and let it go on to wreck itself. Obviously he was neither one of his sons nor Chet Morton.

“It's a real relief to know that,” Mr. Hardy concluded, “but it doesn't find the boys. I'm going back to town now and start a search.”

Collig had his own plan of operation, so the men separated after their return to police headquarters. Mr. Hardy drove at once to 47 Parker Street and examined the house carefully. When it yielded no results, he continued on to various spots which he had had under surveillance in connection with the television thieves. But the outcome of his investigation was discouraging.

Tired and worried, he finally went home at eight in the morning. Refreshing himself with a hasty breakfast and some coffee, he asked his wife to pack some sandwiches, then started out again. Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude, who had slept only fitfully, asked what he intended to do next.

“I'm driving to the Mead house,” he replied, masking his concern. “I've an idea the boys found out something over there and are still sleuthing around the place.”

He did not tell the two women his real fears. By now he was convinced that his sons and Chet were in the hands of the very men he was trying to capture!

 

 

 

 

WITHIN an hour after Mr. Hardy had left home on his search for Frank and Joe, the doorbell rang. Hoping the caller would have good news, Aunt Gertrude dashed to answer it. A lean man in his thirties stood outside.

“Is this the Hardy house?” he asked, smiling, and took off his hat. Learning that it was, he added, “Are Frank and Joe at home?”

“No,” Aunt Gertrude replied.

“When do you expect them?”

“Suppose you tell me your name and why you wish to see them.”

“I'm John Mead.”

Aunt Gertrude reeled. She put one hand to her forehead and grasped the door with the other.

“You seem surprised to hear that,” the stranger remarked. “Is there something peculiar about it?”

“I—I—We thought you were dead!”

The caller laughed. “Me dead? I'm very much alive. What gave you that idea?”

By this time Gertrude Hardy had steadied her nerves. She had heard enough about the mystery her brother and the boys were trying to solve to know that the person who stood before her might be one of the suspects in the case. She was hesitant about inviting him into the house; yet she was fearful of letting him go.