The Secret Panel

by Franklin W. Dixon

  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.

  The man disappeared behind the sliding door

  “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!

  CHAPTER VI

  The Strange Symbol

  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.

  Where was Frank?

  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.

  “Possibly,” Joe agreed.

  He had hardly hung up the telephone when it started to ring. It was a long-distance call from Mr. Hardy. The detective said he would not be home that night; he was following a new lead on the television thefts.

  “How are you making out?” he asked.

  Joe related the day’s events, admitting that, up to the moment, the clues they had run down had brought no results. His father took a different view, however, saying the elimination of false clues was a battle half won.

  “Don’t be discouraged, son,” he advised. “And visit the Mead house again. I’m certain that if you keep trying you’ll find a keyhole somewhere.”

  Encouraged by the advice, the boys told Mrs. Hardy their plans and drove to police headquarters. Chief Collig was just coming down the front steps as they pulled up.

  “Have you solved the Mead mystery?” he asked, walking over to their car.

  “Wish we had,” Frank responded. “That is why we’re here. We’d like to go there again.”

  The chief frowned. “I can’t spare any of my men right now, Frank, and I’d rather you wouldn’t do it alone.”

  “We’ll be all right, Frank assured him. ”You know we don’t take any unnecessary chances.”

  “Well, tell you what. Go ahead, but call me when you’re finished. If I don’t hear from you within a couple of hours, I’ll send a squad car.”

  “Fine. And thanks a lot, Chief.”

  Frank started the car, and soon the boys pulled into the Mead driveway. Frank concealed the car far behind the house.

  “Just in case,” he said.

  “Suppose we take different doors to work on,” Joe suggested. “If you find a way in, yell!”

  Frank gave the okay sign, and Joe hurried to the ornate door which faced the water. He surveyed the uniquely carved design critically. There was a keyhole hidden somewhere in the carving. But where?

  Closely inspecting the door, Joe started at the right of the panel, pushing at each ridge of the symmetrical design. His search yielded nothing. He tried the left side, without success.

  For half an hour he pushed and pulled, growing more puzzled each minute. Finally he tried combinations pressing with both hands on sections of the raised design. Suddenly his efforts were rewarded. Two pieces of molding moved. A keyhole!

  “Frank!” he called elatedly. “I’ve found one!”

  The tall, dark-haired boy came running. “Great!” he said. “Here, try the key!”

  Joe did. A look of disappointment spread over his face. It did not fit.

  “Well,” he decided, “I suppose it belongs to another door. Come on!”

  They walked to the massive front door which Frank had worked on, and once more went over the intricate design. The upper and lower halves were outlined with a wide border, each containing an inset. At first glance the top inset seemed to depict a huge turtle.

  Frank, standing at a little distance, suddenly had an idea. “Say, Joe, that turtle’s legs look almost like the strange Y symbol!”

  Joe stepped back a few yards. “You’re right! The two front feet and the right hind one do form a Y, sort of. Wonder if there’s an answer here.”

  Frank pressed his palm against the arched back of the turtle. Suddenly the reptile’s right hind foot moved to the side, revealing a large keyhole.

  “Look!” he said excitedly, taking the key from Joe and inserting it. “Success!”

  Holding his breath, Frank turned the key. There was a clicking sound and the door swung inward on hidden, noiseless hinges.

  “Here goes!” Frank whispered as he pocketed the key and stepped over the threshold.

  CHAPTER VII

  The Mysterious Mansion

  WITH a similar thrill of discovery, Joe followed Frank into the dark Mead mansion.

  When their eyes became accustomed to the dimness of the shuttered house, the boys gazed around. They were in a large, carpeted entrance hall. The walls were solidly paneled in carved wood, and the Hardys’ flashlights revealed that the inside of the front door had the identical turtle design as the outside.

  Slowly they went from room to room, peering through the open doorways. Library, living room, dining room—all were tastefully decorated. But the house smelled musty and the furniture was draped with dust sheets, producing a gloomy effect.

  “This place hasn’t been lived in for a long time,” Joe said. “If Mead—or whoever that man on the road was—stayed here, it must have been in the garage!”

  “Who was that guy, anyhow?” Frank speculated. “Now that we know the key he had fits this house, it makes things more complicated than ever.”

  Joe agreed. Idly he touched an electric switch on the wall. The dining room suddenly was filled with light. Both boys jumped. “The electricity is on!” Joe said in surprise.

  “But why would the power company leave it on in a house that’s been closed for five years?” Frank said slowly.

  The boys did not speculate further about this, however, because their attention was drawn to the doors and windows. As on the exterior, there was not a sign of hardware on any of them. Locks, latches, bolts, hinges—all must have been ingeniously hidden.

  “Let’s check out the rest of the place,” Joe suggested, snapping off the light switch.

  Frank was intrigued by the library with its huge fireplace and hundreds of books. Since he wanted to pause and look at them, Joe said he would go upstairs alone.

  “Locks and Keys by John Mead,” Frank read aloud, noting a handsomely bound volume on a shelf. He removed the dust cover from a reading lamp, switched it on, and sat down in an armchair to glance through the pages.

  Instantly his eyes focused on a picture of the author in the front of the book. He did not look at all like the man the boys had encountered! He was elderly, with white hair and a mustache.

  “Obviously the deceased owner of this house,” Frank decided. He noted that there was no chapter which told how to install concealed hardware.

  There was, however, much in the book on the history of locks and keys, and soon Frank became completely absorbed in the subject.

  He learned that in Biblical times keys were made of wood and were so heavy that they had to be carried over one’s shoulder; that later the makers of metal keys received the name of locksmith because actually they were blacksmiths who forged keys; and that the invention of burglarproof locks was barely a hundred years old.

  Presently Frank was interrupted by a distant voice saying, “We’d better go now.”

  “All right, Joe. Just a minute,” he replied. But the minute had dragged into five when suddenly the lamp’s bulb went out.

  Frank got up and hurried into the hall. He clicked on the switch, but this time the lights did not flash on.

  “That’s funny,” he thought. “The main fuse must have blown. Hey, Joe!” he shouted up the dark stairway. “Joe!”

  There was no reply.

  “Maybe he went outside,” Frank said to himself.

  Playing his flashlight over the carved design on the inside of the front door, he pressed the turtle’s body. At once the door swung inward, and he walked out.
r />   Joe was not around the house, so Frank hurried to the convertible. But he was not there, either. After looking over the grounds, going as far as the waterfront, Frank decided that his brother still was in the mansion.

  Meanwhile, Joe was having his own difficulties. He had paused in a den to look at some hunting trophies which hung on the walls. Switching on a lamp, he gazed in admiration at several fine specimens. In moving about, he accidentally closed the door leading into the hall. It locked!

  “Now that was stupid of me,” he muttered, looking for the combination to open it.

  Suddenly the lamp went out. To his chagrin, Joe realized that he had left his flashlight on a table in the downstairs hall. And now he could not see the design on the door well enough to work on it.

  He hurried to one of the shuttered windows, through which rays of sunshine filtered, and lifted the sash. “Well, that’s a break,” he thought.

  Getting the shutters open was another matter. Though no fastener was visible, they were locked. Joe ran his fingers over the surface hunting for a secret spring, but found none. Next he took a penknife from his pocket and inserted one of its blades in the crack between the two shutters. Suddenly there was a click, and they opened.

  Looking out, he saw his brother standing below. “Hey, Frank!” he yelled.

  The older boy looked up in amazement. “So that’s where you are! I’ve been looking all over for you. Come on down. We’d better go now, or the chief will send a car for us.”

  Joe leaned from the window and surveyed the wall of the mansion. There was no possible way for him to climb to the ground, and the drop was too far to be made safely.

  “I can’t get out,” he announced.

  “What?”

  “The door to this room is locked,” Joe explained, “and I left my flashlight downstairs. Come on up and see if you can open it from outside.”

  “Okay.”

  Frank reentered the house and quickly found the room where Joe was imprisoned. He played his flashlight over the door panels, scrutinizing every detail of the ornate floral design.