The Secret Of The Old Mill thb-3

by Franklin W. Dixon

They knew it would only add to their concern.

  Mr. Hardy was as puzzled as his sons. "It's a funny thing," he said. "At this point it's impossible to tell which 'case' the person is referring to. If I knew, it might shed light on either one."

  The detective grinned and changed the subject. "Right now, I want you all to come for a drive and have a look at the boys' surprise."

  "Swell!" Frank and Joe exclaimed in unison.

  While Aunt Gertrude and Mrs. Hardy were getting ready, Frank and Joe went out to the car

  with their father. Quickly the boys related their afternoon's experience, concluding with the

  arrow incident.

  The detective looked grim. "Whoever is responsible for these warnings is certainly keeping close tabs on us."

  Mr. Hardy and his sons speculated for a few minutes on the fact that the pedal found in front of the house apparently had belonged to Ken's bike.

  "I think Joe and I should go back tonight to the place where we had the picnic," Frank told his father. "In the darkness we'll have a better chance to sleuth without being seen. And there might be some clue we missed this afternoon."

  "I suppose you're right," agreed his father. "But be cautious."

  As Aunt Gertrude and Mrs. Hardy came out of the house, conversation about the mystery

  ceased.

  Everyone climbed into the sedan and Mr. Hardy drove off. Frank and Joe, seated alongside him,

  were in a state of rising suspense. Was the surprise the one thing they wanted most of all?

  CHAPTER VIII

  The Strange Mill Wheel

  A FEW minutes later Mr. Hardy was driving along the Bayport waterfront.

  "Is the surprise here, Dad?" Joe asked excitedly.

  "That's right."

  Mr. Hardy drove to a boathouse at the far end of the dock area and parked. He then invited the others to follow him. He walked to the door of a boathouse and unfastened the padlock.

  Frank and Joe held their breaths as Mr. Hardy swung back the door. For a moment they stared

  inside, speechless with delight. Finally Joe burst out, "Exactly what we had hoped for, Dad!" and put an arm affectionately around his father.

  "What a beauty!" Frank exclaimed and wrung Mr. Hardy's hand.

  Rocking between the piles lay a sleek, completely equipped motorboat. It nudged gently

  against clean white fenders as the waves from the bay worked their way under the boathouse

  door.

  The boys' mother exclaimed in delight, and even Aunt Gertrude was duly impressed by the

  handsome craft.

  "This is the same model we saw at the boat show," Joe said admiringly. "I never thought we'd own one."

  "She even has the name we picked out," Frank observed excitedly. "The Sleuth!"

  Shiny brass letters were fitted on the bow of the boat, with the port of registry, Bayport,

  underneath them.

  Mr. Hardy and his wife beamed as their sons walked up and down, praising every detail of the

  graceful new craft. It could seat six people comfortably. The polished fore and aft decks carried gleaming anchor fittings, and the rubbing strakes were painted white. The Sleuth seemed to be

  waiting to be taken for a run!

  "May we try her out now, Dad?" Joe asked.

  "Of course. She's fueled up."

  Aunt Gertrude shook her head. "The Sleuth's an attractive boat, all right. But don't you two start doing any crazy stunts in it," she cautioned her nephews. "And be back for supper."

  When the adults had left, Frank and Joe climbed aboard and soon had the Sleuth gliding into

  the bay.

  The boys had no difficulty operating the motorboat. They had gained experience running their

  friend Tony Prito's boat, the Napoli, which had similar controls.

  Taking turns at the wheel, the brothers ran the boat up and down the bay. "Terrific!" Joe shouted.

  Frank grinned. "Am I glad we stuck to our agreement with Dad, and saved up to help buy this!"

  For some time the boys had been putting money toward a boat of their own into a special bank

  account.

  Mr. Hardy had promised that when the account reached a certain sum, he would make up the

  necessary balance.

  Now, as the Sleuth knifed through the water, Frank and Joe admired the way the stern sat

  down in the water when the boat gathered speed. Joe was impressed with the turning circle

  and the fact that no matter how sharp the twist, none of the spume sprayed into the cockpit.

  "Wait until Tony and Chet see this!" Joe exclaimed, when they were pulling back toward the boathouse.

  "Speaking of Tony-there he is," Frank said. Their dark-haired classmate was standing on the dock, shouting and waving to them.

  Joe, who was at the wheel, brought the Sleuth neatly alongside. He turned off the engine as

  Tony rushed up.

  "Don't tell me this dreamboat is yours?" he demanded in amazement.

  "Nothing but," Joe said proudly.

  Tony and the brothers inspected the boat carefully, comparing her various features with the

  Napoli, They lifted the battens from the Sleuth's cowling and admired the powerful motor

  underneath.

  "She's neat all right," said Tony. "But I'll still promise you a stiff race in the Napoli!"

  "We'll take you up on it after the Sleuth's broken in," Joe returned, laughing.

  Tony became serious. "Say, fellows, something happened today in connection with my dad's

  business that I want to tell you about. Your mother said you were down here," he explained.

  "What's up?" Frank asked.

  Tony's father was a building contractor and also had a construction supply yard where Tony

  worked during the summer. "Today I went to the bank, just before it closed, to deposit the cash and checks we took in this week," he said. "The teller discovered that one of the bills was a counterfeit!"

  "A twenty-dollar bill?" Frank guessed.

  "Yes. How'd you know?"

  The Hardys related Chet's experience. Tony's dark brows drew together. "I'd like to get my hands on the guy making the stuff!" he said angrily.

  "So would we!" Joe stated.

  The Hardys learned that the head teller had told Tony he would make a report to the Bayport

  police and turn the bill over to the Secret Service, "Did he explain how he could tell that the bill was a fake?" Frank asked.

  "Yes," replied Tony, and from his description, the Hardys were sure that the bill had come from the same batch as the one passed to Chet.

  "Think back, Tony," Frank urged. "Have you any idea who gave it to you-or your father?"

  Tony looked doubtful. "Three days' trade-pretty hard to remember. Of course, we know most of the customers. I did ask Mike, our yardman, who helps with sales. He mentioned one

  purchaser he didn't know."

  Frank, eager for any possible lead, carefully questioned Tony. The Hardys learned that three

  days before, just at closing time, a faded green panel truck had driven into the Prito supply

  yard. "Mike remembers there were no markings on the truck-as if the name might have been

  painted out."

  "Who was in it?" Joe prompted.

  "A young boy-about fourteen-was with the driver, Mike says they bought about fifty dollars'

  worth of old bricks and lumber. The boy paid him in assorted bills. One was a twenty. Our other cash customers had given smaller bills."

  "What did the driver look like?" Frank probed.

  "Mike said he didn't notice-the fellow stayed behind the wheel. There was a last-minute rush at the yard, so the boy and Mike piled the stuff into the back of the truck. Then the driver gave the boy money to pay the bill."

  Frank and Joe wondered the same thing: Had the man driving the truck passed the bogus bill

  deliberately? If so, was he the one who ha
d fooled Chet? "It seems funny he'd go to so much trouble to dump one phony twenty-dollar bill," Joe said.

  Frank agreed and added, "Besides, what would a person in league with counterfeiters want

  with a pile of old bricks and lumber?"

  He turned to Tony. "Did Mike notice anything in particular about the boy?"

  "He was tall and thin. Mike thinks he was wearing a striped shirt."

  Frank and Joe exchanged glances. "Could be Ken Blake!" Joe declared. Briefly, the Hardys explained their first encounter with the boy.

  "He might have been helping pick up the load for Elekton," Frank reasoned. "But why would a modern plant want secondhand building material? And why wouldn't they have the purchase

  billed to them?"

  "What's more," his brother put in, "why didn't the driver get out and help with the loading?

  Unless, perhaps, he wanted to stay out of sight as much as possible."

  "Too bad Mike didn't notice the truck's license number," Tony said. "Naturally he had no reason to at the time."

  "Was there anything unusual about the truck besides the fact it wasn't marked?" Frank asked his chum.

  Tony thought for a moment. "Mike did say there was a bike in the back. He had to move it out of the way."

  "Ken rides one," Joe remarked.

  "Well, Dad will be glad if you two pick up any clues to these counterfeiters," Tony said. "He's hopping mad at being cheated, and Mike feels sore about it."

  "We'll keep our eyes open for that green truck," Frank assured him. "The whole business sounds suspicious-though the bill could have been passed accidentally."

  "Let's question Ken Blake," Joe proposed.

  He and his brother housed the Sleuth, and the three boys started homeward. On the way they

  continued to speculate on the counterfeiting racket.

  "Let me know if I can help you detectives," Tony said as he turned into his street.

  "Will do."

  That evening, when it grew dark, Frank and Joe told their mother and aunt that they were going out to do some investigating. Before they left, the boys had a chance to speak to their father in private about Tony's report of the counterfeit bill and green truck and their own hunches.

  Mr. Hardy agreed that the purchase of lumber and bricks seemed odd, but he felt that until

  more positive evidence could be obtained, it was best not to approach Elekton officials on the matter.

  "I guess you're right, Dad," said Frank. "We might be way off base."

  The detective wished them luck on their sleuthing mission. The boys decided to make the trip in the Sleuth. They rode their motorcycles down to the boathouse, parked them, then climbed

  aboard the new boat. Joe took the wheel and soon the sleek craft was cutting across the bay

  toward the mouth of Willow River.

  When they entered it, Joe throttled down and carefully navigated the stream. Meanwhile,

  Frank shone his flashlight on the wooded banks.

  "There's the cave-ahead!" he whispered.

  Joe ran the boat astern a few yards and Frank dropped anchor. The brothers waded ashore,

  carrying their shoes and socks.

  When they reached the mouth of the cave, Joe said, "Let's investigate this place first."

  They went into the cave and moved forward to the tunnel. One glance told them that the

  tunnel had become impassable-it was filled with water.

  "Must have been the cloudburst," said Frank, as they emerged from the cave. "We'll have to wait until the ground dries out. At least we can take a look through the woods and the area

  around the mill for clues to the bowman."

  Shielding the lenses of their flashlights, so that the light beams would not be easily detected by anyone lurking in the vicinity, the boys began a thorough search of the wooded section. As they worked their way noiselessly uphill among the trees, the only sound was the eerie rattling the wind made in the leaves and branches.

  Frank and Joe shone their lights beneath shrubs and rocks, and even crawled under some fallen

  trees.

  They found nothing suspicious. They were approaching the edge of the woods and could see

  the outline of the mill beyond. The old wheel creaked and rumbled.

  Suddenly Frank whispered hoarsely, "Look! Here's something!"

  Joe joined his brother, and together they examined the leather object Frank had picked up.

  "An archer's finger guard," he said.

  "It may be a valuable clue to the arrow warning," Joe said, as Frank pocketed the guard. "Let's go up to the mill," he proposed. "Maybe the men there have seen something suspicious."

  As the boys crossed the clearing toward the gatehouse, they saw that it was in darkness.

  "Probably everyone has gone to bed," Frank remarked.

  For a moment the brothers stood wondering what to do next. "Something's missing," Joe said in a puzzled voice. "I have it! The mill wheel has stopped turning."

  "Maybe it was switched off for the night," Frank observed.

  The boys were eager to question the occupants, but decided not to awaken them.

  "Let's walk around the mill," said Frank, "and look through the woods on the other side."

  The boys had just passed the north corner of the building when, with a creaking groan, the

  wheel started to turn again.

  "There must be something wrong with the mechanism," Frank deduced. "The wheel hasn't been used for so many years that adapting it to work the generator may have put a strain on

  it."

  "We'd better let the men know it's acting up," Joe said.

  The boys retraced their steps to the mill door. As they reached it, the wheel stopped turning.

  Frank and Joe stood staring off to their left where the mass of the motionless wheel was

  outlined against the night sky.

  "Spooky, isn't it?" Joe commented.

  Frank nodded, and knocked on the door. There was no response. After a short wait, he knocked

  again-louder this time. The sound echoed in the deep silence of the night. Still no one

  answered.

  The Hardys waited a while longer. Finally they turned away. "Must be sound sleepers," Joe commented.

  "Well, maybe they'll discover what's wrong tomorrow."

  Frank and Joe were about to resume their search for clues when they heard a loud crashing

  noise from the woods which bordered Willow River.

  The boys dashed ahead to investigate. Entering the woods, they made their way stealthily

  forward, flashlights turned off. Silently they drew near the river.

  After a few minutes they stopped, and listened intently. The sound was not repeated.

  "Must have been an animal," Joe whispered.

  Just then they heard a rustling sound behind them and turned to look. The next instant each

  received a terrific blow on the back of the head. Both boys blacked out.

  CHAPTER IX

  Tracing a Slugger

  WHEN Frank regained consciousness, his first thought was of his brother. He turned his

  throbbing head and saw that Joe was lying next to him.

  "Joe!" he exclaimed anxiously.

  To his relief, Joe stirred and mumbled, "W-what happened?"

  "Someone conked us on the head-"

  Frank broke off as he became aware of a gentle rocking motion. He sat up. Was he still dizzy or were they moving? When his mind and vision cleared, he knew they were certainly moving.

  "Hey!" he said. "We're on the Sleuth!"

  Astonished, Joe raised himself and looked around. They were indeed aboard their boat-lying on

  the foredeck and slowly drifting down Willow River toward the bay. The anchor lay beside

  them.

  "A fog's rolling in," Frank said uneasily, observing white swirls of mist ahead. "Let's start 'er up before visibility gets worse."

  The boys wriggled into
the cockpit and Joe pressed the starter. It would not catch. While Joe

  stayed at the controls, Frank climbed to the foredeck and lifted the cowling from the engine. He quickly checked to see if the distributor wires were in place. They were. There did not seem to be anything visibly wrong with the engine, but when he lifted the top off the carburetor, he

  found it empty.

  A quick check of the gas tank revealed the cause of the trouble. The tank had been drained.

  "Fine mess we're in," he mumbled. "What was the idea?"

  "The man who hit us on the head can answer that one," Joe said bitterly. "He sure did a complete job-even took both the oars!"

  "We'll have to tow her," Frank said tersely, "to make more speed and guide her,"

  While Joe stripped to his shorts, Frank quickly led a painter through one of the foredeck fair-leads.

  "Take this painter," Frank said, handing Joe the rope. "Make it fast around your shoulder and swim straight ahead. I'll unhinge one of the battens and use it as a paddle and try to keep her straight. In a few minutes I'll change places with you."

  The Hardys knew that keeping a dead weight like the Sleuth moving in a straight line would be a tough job. However, with Joe swimming ahead and Frank wielding the batten, they managed to

  make fairly steady progress.

  It was slow, backbreaking work, and before they reached the bay, the boys had changed places

  three times. Their heads were pounding more than ever from the physical strain. Also, the fog

  had grown so dense that it was impossible to see very far ahead.

  Frank, who was taking his turn in the water, did not know how much longer he could go on.

  Suddenly Joe shouted from the boat, "There's a light! Help! Help! Ahoy! Over here!" he directed at the top of his lungs.

  Gradually the light approached them. Frank clambered back into the Sleuth as a Harbor Police

  boat, making its scheduled rounds, pulled alongside.

  "You're just in time!" Frank gasped to the sergeant in charge. "We're exhausted."

  "I can see that. You run out of gas?" the police officer asked.

  "Worse than that. Foul play," Frank replied.

  "Tough luck," the sergeant said. "You can tell your story when we get to town."

  The officer gave orders to his crew, and a tow-line was put on the Sleuth. The boys were given blankets to throw around themselves.