The Secret Panel (5 page)

“Don't any of the doors at the mansion have locks on them?” Chet asked in awe.

“Oh, yes,” Mr. Whittaker said, smiling. “They all do, but they're cleverly concealed.”

“Do you know where?”

“No. He installed them himself.”

After thanking the locksmith for the information and agreeing to do what they could to help in the search for Mike Batton, the boys left the shop.

“Now what?” Chet asked.

“We could go over to Mrs. Stryker and see if she's heard any more from Lenny,” Frank suggested.

“Good idea,” Joe agreed. “Want to come along, Chet?”

“Sure do.”

Frank drove to a shabby, run-down section of Bayport. They located the Strykers' apartment building, and Chet stayed in the car while Frank and Joe went inside. They found the place to be clean and tidy. Lenny's mother greeted them.

“Have you any news of my boy?” she asked, her eyes lighting up hopefully.

Frank shook his head. “I'm afraid not. We do have a clue, though. A doctor came to our house this morning and said he had been kidnapped last night to take care of a young man who had been shot in the leg.”

“It must have been Lenny!” the woman cried out. “Where is he? I'll go at once.”

“Dr. Gardner couldn't tell us where he had been taken because he was blindfolded. However, he gave us a good clue. Don't worry, Mrs. Stryker. The doctor said the boy he treated was all right. If it's Lenny, we'll find him.”

“Does the name Whitey Masco mean anything to you?” Joe asked.

The woman shook her head. “Nothing. Who is he?”

“Just a name that came up. Probably has nothing to do with Lenny,” Frank assured her. Then the boys left.

When they reached the car, Chet was not in it. They spied him at a nearby street intersection. He was looking up intently at the traffic light, his head cocked to one side. When he saw Frank and Joe, he ran toward them.

“Well,
that
one doesn't sing,” Chet declared as he got into the car.

“Let's investigate some others,” Joe said.

The three boys drove without success from one traffic light to another. Just as they were about to stop for the day, Frank cried, “Listen!”

A traffic signal hung high above the pavement at the intersection of two wide streets. A distinct humming sound came from it as the automatic timer changed the lights.

“Now we're getting somewhere!” Joe cried excitedly. “Dr. Gardner said he was driven for about ten minutes from a singing signal. Which direction shall we take first?”

It was decided to go north at the rate of thirty miles an hour, as the physician had estimated.

“Stop!” Joe called.

Chet's face broke into a broad smile. They were directly in front of a roadside restaurant.

“Well, fellows,” he said, “you two can go hunting for kidnapping gangsters and secret panels all you like. I'm going to eat!”

A sign advertising lunches and dinners swung from a post in front of a small white cottage. Flowered curtains hung at the windows and rose-bushes were in bloom along the walk.

“Doesn't look like a hideout for thieves,” said Joe, disappointed.

Frank pointed out that the attractive front might be only a cover for some sinister doings inside. He insisted they find out, adding:

“Guess we all could eat, anyway. Let's go in. I'll telephone and tell Mother we won't be home for lunch.”

The woman who owned the restaurant prepared a delicious meal for the boys, while they looked around. They saw the entire cottage, even the basement, for the owner proudly showed them her preserve closet. There was nothing the least bit suspicious about the house.

As the boys were driving away some time later, Chet, almost too full to speak, congratulated Frank on his cleverness in arriving at such an inviting destination.

“Only our stop didn't net us anything except a good meal,” Frank reminded him.

He drove back to the humming traffic light, then headed in a westerly direction. At the end of ten minutes, the boys came to a ball field. They returned once more to the signal, and Joe pointed out that the easterly direction would take them directly into the bay.

“Our last chance to find out where Dr. Gardner was taken is to drive south,” he remarked.

As they reached a congested business section of Bayport ten minutes later, Frank suggested that they separate. “Joe, suppose you take this street. I'll go over to Wallace. Chet, how about you taking Schuyler Street?”

Chet started off enthusiastically, but after being shooed out of a laundry, icily dismissed from a beauty shop, and practically thrown out of a soda bottling factory, he was ready to quit. He walked back to the car. Joe, who had had no better luck, was waiting for him.

“Frank must be on a hot trail,” Joe decided, when half an hour went by and his brother had not returned.

At that moment Frank was hiding in the dimly lighted cellar of a warehouse. He had followed a tip given to him by a small boy—that rough-looking men had been seen leaving and entering the building with large packages, at all hours of the day and night.

Frank was watching the operator who had just stepped from a freight elevator. Reaching the far wall of the cellar, the man leaned down and evidently worked a catch. A large door slid open and he disappeared behind it. He returned almost immediately, however, closed the door, and went back to the elevator.

As soon as it had clanged upward, Frank came out of his hiding place and approached the sliding door.
Perhaps this was the secret panel!

He found the catch and slowly pushed against it with his knee. The door opened. The place beyond was in total darkness.

Whipping out his flashlight, Frank played its beam around the room. Then, muttering in disgust, he quickly left the basement. He made his way from the building and returned to the car.

“Did you find anything?” Joe asked eagerly.

“Yes. A huge refrigerator. It was empty except for the elevator operator's lunch!”

The others laughed when Frank related how he had thought Lenny Stryker might be hidden in the warehouse.

“That reminds me,” Chet said, looking at his watch. “I'd better go. I have to pick up some groceries on the way home.”

Frank sighed. “The humming signal clue seems to have petered out,” he declared. “I guess there's no use doing any more about it now.”

The Hardys stopped at a supermarket where Chet made his purchases, then drove their friend home. As they headed toward their own house, Joe had an idea.

“It's still early. Why don't we go for a swim and combine a little business with pleasure?”

“What's on your mind?”

“How about diving for Mr. Mead's key?”

“Swell,” Frank agreed. “We'll stop at the house and get our swim trunks.”

Frank parked the car in front of their home, instead of going into the garage. Aunt Gertrude, sitting on the porch, remarked about this at once. She wanted to know where the boys were going, and why.

Joe's reply that they were working on a mystery satisfied her for the moment. But when they could not find their swim trunks, and had to ask Miss Hardy about them, she eyed her nephews distrust-fully.

“Whoever heard of solving a mystery in a bathing suit!” she scoffed. “I declare, what excuses boys won't think of nowadays to escape doing chores around the house.”

Joe and Frank smiled as she found their trunks for them, and with a disapproving look on her face, watched them go off.

Frank drove to the boathouse where the Sleuth was moored. He and Joe hung their clothes on hooks, donned their trunks, and headed the craft out into Barmet Bay. It took them some time to locate the place where they thought Chet's ill-fated boat had gone down.

“I'll go over first,” Frank offered.

He made a clean, deep dive from the stern of the
Sleuth.
Joe watched the spot where his brother had submerged. When more than a minute had passed and there was no sign of Frank, he became concerned.

Joe leaned far over the side of the boat and looked down into the clear water. Then he stood up and studied the surface of the bay.

Frank was nowhere in sight!

 

 

 

 

His heart pounding with fright, Joe dived over the side of the boat and into the bay. He went straight to the bottom, and swam around searching for his brother.

Finally, when he felt his lungs would burst, Joe had to come up for air. He looked around when his head broke the surface. Still no sign of Frank. Sick at heart, Joe climbed into the
Sleuth,
gazing about frantically.

Suddenly his pulse quickened. In the distance he saw a swimmer cutting the water with smooth, fast strokes. As the figure grew closer, Joe gave a sigh of relief.
Frank!

Panting, Frank grabbed the side of the boat and scrambled aboard.

“Where have you been?” Joe asked anxiously. “You gave me an awful scare!”

“There's no sign of Chet's dory below us,” Frank told him. “So I swam around trying to find it. Guess I came up for air when you dived for me. I went farther than I realized. Sorry I worried you.”

“That's okay. Did you see the
Bloodhound?”

“No, but I'm sure it's somewhere near here.”

Joe started the engine of the Sleuth. Frank gazed down through the water as they made their way slowly. No sunken boat was visible.

“Guess we'll have to give up,” he said with a sigh. “But sure wish I hadn't lost the key. Hey, hold it, Joe!”

“See something?” Joe cut the motor.

Both boys leaned over the side of the Sleuth. Below them, on the bottom of Barmet Bay, lay a boat. It was impossible from the surface to identify it as Chet's. Hopefully Frank dived into the water. Half a minute later he reappeared, reporting that it was indeed the
Bloodhound,
but that he had not found the lost key.

After talking the matter over, they proceeded to map out a plan for the search. It was decided that Frank would hunt around the bow of the sunken dory, while Joe would take the stern section.

“Then we'll try midships and the engine,” Frank suggested.

The boys took turns. Their first attempts brought no results, and Frank's search of the middle part of the
Bloodhound
did not yield the key, either. They knew that if it had fallen into the shifting sand there would be no chance of finding it. The area around the engine was their last hope.

Joe shot down through the water and grasped the flywheel of the dory's motor. Feeling around quickly with his free hand, he came upon something wedged tightly between the engine and a crossbeam. Pulling it out, he swam quickly to the surface.

“I found it!” Joe yelled jubilantly, and handed the key to Frank.

Joe wanted to go immediately to the Mead house to try it, but his brother reminded him that Chief Collig did not want them to enter the place without a police escort.

“I'd like to take a really good look at this old boat while we're here, anyway,” Frank said. “Maybe we can find some identification and get Chet's money back.”

“Good idea,” Joe agreed. “You swim along one side, and I'll take the other. Suppose I go first.”

Joe found nothing, so Frank went over. A few seconds later he came to the surface.

“A mark is carved on the gunwale,” he said excitedly. “It looks exactly like that strange Y we saw on John Mead's ring!”

Joe was over the side in a flash to look at the carving himself. He came up, climbed into the
Sleuth,
and started the motor.

“Let's go tell Chet about this,” he urged as they raced along. “Maybe it'll help us to find that guy.”

Reaching the boathouse, they scrambled into their clothes and drove home. Joe went immediately to the telephone and called Chet to ask him if he had heard from the former owner of the
Bloodhound.
Their friend ruefully admitted that he had not.

“I'm afraid I really got gypped,” he said woefully.

“Well, we've picked up a clue for you,” Joe said, trying to cheer him up. He told about the odd mark on the dory and the fact that it seemed to be the same as the Y symbol on John Mead's ring. Chet was amazed, but could figure no connection. His description of the boat seller certainly did not fit the man who had nearly crashed into the Hardys on the road.

“Maybe they both belong to some secret society and the Y is their insigne,” he suggested.