Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
The Secret Panel (6 page)
“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!
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
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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 roomâall 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 Meadâor whoever that man on the road wasâstayed 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.”
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, hingesâall 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.
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.
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.
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.
“How'd you get in?” he called out.
“It was open,” Joe replied.
Frank pushed and pulled at each flower of the pattern. Suddenly one of the blooms slid aside, revealing a small latch. Frank lifted it with a finger and the door swung inward.
“Whew! I'm glad to get out of here,” Joe said in relief. “What happened to the lights?”
“I don't know. A fuse must have blown.”
As Joe retrieved his flashlight and followed Frank from the house, he asked him what he had found in the library.
“Some excellent books on locks and keys,” Frank replied. “One by John Mead. I'll tell you about it as we drive home.”
Joe listened to his brother attentively, and made no comment until Frank mentioned that he was sorry to have been interrupted in his reading.
“Who interrupted you?” Joe asked.
“You!”
“What do you mean?”
“You said we'd better go.”
“I never said that!”
“Someone did!” Frank said, looking surprised. “I distinctly heard a voice call out, âWe'd better go now.' ”
“Good grief!” Joe ran his fingers through his hair. “There must have been two other persons in the house!”
“Two or even more,” Frank added dryly.
“Which means they have a key, too, and know how to use it!”
“I wonder if they knew we were there,” Frank said. “We hid the car, and unless they saw us without our noticing them ...”
“We just can't be sure,” Joe muttered. “They must have switched off the power, too.”
“It could have been the guy who called himself John Mead,” Frank went on. “And someone else, of course.”
“Why didn't we see their car?” Joe wondered.
“They could have arrived after us and left before we did.”
Joe sighed. “More problems.”
Frank drove on, deep in thought. As they approached an intersection, the traffic light changed and he jammed on the brakes. Neither of the boys spoke as they waited for the green signal.
Suddenly Joe asked, “Frank, do you hear what I hear?”
“It hums!” Frank said. “Maybe this is the singing light Dr. Gardner was talking about!”
“Look, why don't we start out at once and drive ten minutes in various directions? Maybe we'll find Lenny Stryker!”
“Good idea. But let's call Chief Collig first and tell him we're out of the Mead house.”
Frank parked in front of a phone booth not far from the humming traffic light and soon had the chief on the line. He reported everything they had experienced and told him about their latest clue.
Chief Collig had no news concerning Lenny and wished the boys luck in their search.
When Frank returned to the car, he said, “We can't go east because of the bay. And we should save the direction toward town until last. We can look around there after dinner.”
“Right. Let's go west first and see what's down this road.”
In exactly ten minutes the boys stopped in front of an open pasture in a farming section.
“No hideout here,” Joe said, disappointed.
Frank drove back to the singing light and then headed north. Five minutes later they passed the Mead property and gazed intently into the grounds. There was no sign of anyone. In another five minutes they reached a tiny village which consisted of a general store, a garage, a church, and a few homes. Frank parked the car.
“Peaceful-looking place,” he remarked. “I wonder if we'll find a clue here.”
They decided to investigate the garage first. Inside the barnlike building, a youth in overalls was washing a car.
“Where's your boss?” Joe spoke up.
“Dunno.”
While Joe questioned the mechanic about the town's residents and newcomers, in an effort to find a lead about Lenny and the gang of thieves, Frank wandered into the small office adjoining the garage.
As he peered around, he noticed a sheet of paper lying on the desk. It was crinkled, as if from dampness, and a corner was torn off. Frank picked it up. It contained a typed list of various appliance and television dealers in the area. Two stores in Bayport and a warehouse in Southport had an X mark after the names.
Frank gasped. Those were the places that had been robbed within the last two weeks!
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