The Disappearing Floor Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  CHAPTER I - Weird Screams

  CHAPTER II - Telephone Tip

  CHAPTER III - The Purple Stone

  CHAPTER IV - The Jigsaw Face

  CHAPTER V - Spook Hound

  CHAPTER VI - Symbol in Brass

  CHAPTER VII - A Fast Fade-out

  CHAPTER VIII - Rock Hounds’ Shadow

  CHAPTER IX - Secret Cruiser

  CHAPTER X - The Ghostly Figure

  CHAPTER XI - A Parcel of Gems

  CHAPTER XII - The “Seacat” Clue

  CHAPTER XIII - Snoop Camera

  CHAPTER XIV - Tigers’ Lair

  CHAPTER XV - Puzzling Reports

  CHAPTER XVI - Riddle With Three Answers

  CHAPTER XVII - The Second Specter

  CHAPTER XVIII - A Strange Machine

  CHAPTER XIX - Jewel Cache

  CHAPTER XX - Trapped!

  THE DISAPPEARING FLOOR

  Once again Frank and Joe Hardy accept the challenge of a puzzling case when their famous detective father asks the boys to assist him in tracking down a notorious jewel thief and his accomplices. The trail leads to the outskirts of the Hardys’ home town and to a weirdly guarded mansion on the old Perth estate.

  With their chubby, ever-hungry friend Chet Morton, Frank and Joe tackle another mystery—one which has baffled the town of Bayport for many years: What caused the sudden death of Old Man Perth’s nephew who inherited the mansion when his uncle died?

  A disappearing floor, a huge, savage-looking hound, a galloping ghost, a college professor’s startling invention are just a few of the strange elements that complicate the boys’ efforts to solve both mysteries.

  Before Frank and Joe finally discover the mysterious circumstances under which Perth’s nephew died and also bring the jewel thieves to justice, the young detectives need all their sleuthing instincts to extricate themselves from one of the most harrowing situations they have ever faced.

  “Frank! The room has no floor!”

  Copyright © 1992, 1964, 1940 by Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved.

  Published by Grosset & Dunlap, Inc., a member of The Putnam & Grosset

  Group, New York. Published simultaneously in Canada. S.A.

  THE HARDY BOYS® is a registered trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Grosset & Dunlap, Inc.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-07633-0

  2008 Printing

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  CHAPTER I

  Weird Screams

  “HEY, Frank! Isn’t that the black car Dad told us to watch for?” exclaimed Joe Hardy.

  A sleek foreign sports car with a dented trunk had just whizzed past the Hardy boys’ convertible as they drove through the downtown section of Bayport.

  “Sure looks like it!” Frank speeded up in pursuit.

  Dark-haired Frank Hardy, eighteen, and his blond brother Joe, a year younger, had been cruising the streets on an errand for their detective father. The August evening was warm, and the boys had put down the top of their convertible.

  A few blocks farther, the sports car stopped for a red light. The Hardys pulled up behind the trim vehicle. In the glow of a nearby street light they were able to scrutinize the automobile more closely.

  “That must be the right car,” Frank muttered. “It’s not likely there would be two of the same model in Bayport with dented trunks.”

  The lone occupant of the sports car was the man at the wheel. He wore a dark hat. Frank and Joe could see only the back of his head.

  “Did Dad give you any details on the case when he phoned?” Joe asked, as the sports car spurted forward on the green signal.

  Frank toed the accelerator and shook his head. “No, he didn’t have time—it was just a hurried call from New York.” Mr. Hardy had said that before leaving Bayport he had spotted a car like the one the boys had just seen. He thought he had recognized the driver as a notorious jewel thief named Noel Strang, and had told his sons to look up the criminal’s photograph in Mr. Hardy’s private criminal file.

  The boys’ father formerly was an ace detective in the New York Police Department. He had moved to the town of Bayport to open his own agency and soon had become known as the ablest private investigator in the country. Frank and Joe had inherited Fenton Hardy’s detective abilities and often helped him on his cases.

  The boys drove on, staying behind the sports car which now sped into a residential area. The streets here were less well lighted, but the boys were able to keep their quarry in view without tailing it too closely.

  “Looks as though he’s heading out of town,” Joe remarked.

  “Did you get the license number?”

  “Yes. I jotted it down at the traffic light.”

  In a few moments the black sports car shot out of the Bayport area. Soon it disappeared from view around a bend in the road. Frank switched off his headlights, hoping to make the convertible less noticeable. But the driver of the other car seemed wary of pursuit. As the convertible rounded the bend, its driver increased his speed. The distance between the cars was widening.

  “He must have spotted us!” Joe said.

  “He’s sure opening her up,” Frank agreed. “That baby looks powerful! Good thing we tuned up this engine last week.”

  The convertible’s speedometer needle rose as Frank gunned the engine. Slowly the gap began to close. They were approaching another bend in the road. Suddenly the sports car’s exhaust belched out a thick purplish mass.

  “It’s a smoke screen!” Joe cried out. “He’s using a fogger attached to the exhaust pipe!” A split second later the boys’ eyes began to smart and water.

  “Good night!” Frank exclaimed.

  Hastily he switched on their headlights again, but the beams could not pierce the thick pall of acrid smoke that enveloped the road. The convertible was almost at the sharp bend!

  Frank slammed on the brakes. Half blinded, he could only guess at the location of the white line. He spun the steering wheel and the car slewed wildly across the pavement. With a jarring thud it finally came to rest on the far shoulder of the road.

  “Jumpin’ jiminy!” Joe sat quivering with shock, trying to steady his nerves.

  Frank, also shaken, drew a long breath. “Good thing there was no car coming the other way or we’d be junk by now!”

  “Can we risk getting back on the road?”

  “We’d better not,” Frank decided. “I can’t see a foot away from us. If there’s any traffic coming, we’d be asking for a crash.”

  Joe agreed and added, “Let’s make sure we’re clear of the pavement.”

  Clutching handkerchiefs over their noses and their tear-streaming eyes, the boys climbed out. In the smoke and darkness, it was impossible to determine their exact position, but Frank checked with his foot and found that they were well off the pavement. The convertible had landed against a hillside bordering the road.

  Frank and Joe chafed at the delay, but there was nothing to do except wait for the smoke to clear. Meanwhile, they clambered up the hillside, coughing and choking, to reach clear air.

  “Did you notice the smoke’s color?” Joe gasped. “That was no ordinary smoke screen!”

  “It’s a smoke screen!” Joe cried out

  “Right. Sort of a combination of smoke and tear gas.”

  After a few minutes the murk had dissipated enough for the boys to return to their car and swing back onto the road.

  “Not much chance of finding that man now,” Joe said glumly.

  “Let’s keep our eyes open, anyhow. There are houses along here and a few turnoffs. We might spot the car
parked somewhere.”

  The Hardys followed the road for several miles but did not see the sports car. Disappointed that they had lost their quarry, Frank and Joe turned around and headed for Bayport.

  Halfway back to town, they saw a flashlight being waved frantically from the roadside. “Wonder if there’s been an accident,” Frank said.

  “I don’t see any car,” Joe replied. “Must be a hitchhiker.”

  Frank slowed to check. The person who was signaling immediately jumped into the glare of their headlights. He was a chunky, round-faced youth about their own age.

  “Chet Morton!” Joe exclaimed in surprise.

  The stout boy looked excited as he flagged them down. Frank braked to a halt and Joe flung open the car door. “What’s wrong, Chet?”

  “Joe! Frank! Boy, what a lucky break you two happened along!” Chet was puffing and trembling and looked pale. He was wearing hiking shorts and had a knapsack slung over his shoulders.

  “Just see a ghost?” Frank asked as their friend climbed into the back seat.

  “I d-d-didn’t see a ghost—but I sure heard one! ”Chet replied.

  Frank and Joe exchanged puzzled looks. “What do you mean, you ‘heard’ a ghost?” Frank asked.

  “Just what I said. It screamed at me.” Chet shuddered. “O-oh, it was horrible!”

  “Are you kidding?” Joe put in.

  “Do I look as if I’m kidding?”

  “No,” Frank said. “You look as if you’d been scared out of your wits. How about telling us the whole story?”

  Chet explained that he had been on a rock-collecting hike. Late in the afternoon he had stopped to eat a picnic snack and then had dozed off.

  “Snack my eye!” Joe chuckled. “You probably stuffed yourself so full you couldn’t move, and dreamed about this ghost.”

  “All right, all right,” Chet retorted indignantly. “So I like to eat. Do you want to hear my story or don’t you?”

  “Go ahead,” Frank urged.

  “Well, I slept longer than I expected to,” Chet went on. “When I woke up, it was dark. I was somewhere over in the hills west of here. I had trouble finding my flashlight. Then I saw a funny-looking tiled surface.”

  “Tiled surface?” Joe repeated. “What do you mean by that?”

  Chet shrugged. “I don’t know what else to call it. It was flat—like a floor, about ten feet square—and inlaid with little colored tiles. But the funny thing is, there was nothing else around except trees and shrubs.”

  The colored tiles, Chet added, formed a curious design resembling a dragon.

  “I went over to get a closer look at it,” Chet continued, “and wow! Out of nowhere came a horrible bloodcurdling shriek!”

  “So you scrammed, I suppose,” Frank said, grinning.

  “You bet I did! The voice shrieked after me, but I didn’t catch what it said.” Chet’s eyes bulged with fright at the recollection. “I kept running till I hit a dirt lane, and followed that out to this road. I was hiking home, then you guys came along.”

  “How about taking us back there?” Joe said.

  “You think I’m nuts? Honest, if that wasn’t a spook, it must have been some bloodthirsty lunatic!”

  “Oh, come on!” Frank urged. “Maybe it was just someone playing a trick on you. Let’s find out.”

  Chet was unwilling, but finally gave in. He directed Frank to a dirt lane turnoff which the Hardys had passed about fifty yards back. Frank drove slowly along the lane until Chet said, “Right here! I remember that big oak tree!”

  Frank stopped the convertible. The boys took flashlights and climbed out. They went up a slope which gradually flattened. The area was wooded with hemlock and cypress trees, and the ground between them was overgrown with weeds and brush.

  “There’s Chefs trail,” Joe said, shining his flashlight on some trampled grass. “It leads over that w—”

  A hideous scream split the darkness! Then came a weaker scream, followed by a hoarse, croaking voice. “Th-th-the floor!” It sounded like the gasp of a dying man!

  Chet froze in terror, but Frank and Joe immediately ran toward the sound, playing their beams back and forth amid the undergrowth.

  “Over here, Joe!” Frank exclaimed suddenly.

  Joe ran to his brother’s side and saw a man lying face down on the ground. Frank turned him over gently. The man was big and balding, with thin, sandy-colored hair. His face looked deathly pale. Frank tried his pulse as Chet came lumbering up.

  “Is he d-d-dead?” Chet stammered.

  “No, but his pulse is weak,” Frank murmured. “His skin feels clammy, too. Looks as if he’s suffering from shock.”

  The Hardys could detect no signs of injury or broken bones.

  “What’ll we do with him?” Joe asked his brother.

  “Better get him to a hospital.”

  The boys carried the limp figure to their car and laid him on the back seat. Chet sat up front with the Hardys. Frank swung the convertible around and sped toward Bayport.

  As they reached a wooded area on the outskirts of town, their passenger revived and sat up. “Please—stop the car!” he begged weakly.

  Frank pulled over. “We were taking you to the hospital,” he explained.

  “You were unconscious,” Joe added. “What happened?”

  “I’ll—I’ll tell you in a moment,” the man said. “Right now I feel woozy. I think the motion of the car was making me sick. Would you mind if I get out and walk up and down a bit?”

  “No—go ahead,” Joe said sympathetically.

  Chet leaned back and opened the door. As soon as the man’s feet touched the ground, he slammed the door. His face contorted into an ugly expression.

  “If you boys know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your mouths shut about this!” he snarled. “And I’m warning you—don’t try to follow me!”

  He darted off into the darkness of the surrounding trees!

  CHAPTER II

  Telephone Tip

  THE three boys were stunned by the man’s unexpected threat and actions.

  “Of all the creeps!” Chet spluttered when he found his voice. “How’s that for gratitude?”

  “I’m going after that guy!” Joe exploded. He yanked open the door and started to jump out, but Frank stopped him.

  “Hold it, Joe! You’ll never catch him now. Besides, he may be armed.”

  Joe realized the wisdom of his brother’s advice and reluctantly climbed back into the car. The neighborhood was run down. It was poorly lighted and had numerous vacant lots and small factory buildings. The stranger already was out of sight and doubtless could find plenty of hiding places if pursued.

  “I’d sure like to know what that fellow was afraid of,” Joe muttered as they drove off. “Also, how he came to be lying back there, unconscious.”

  “So would I,” Frank said. “We’d better notify the police.”

  “Look, fellows, I—uh—I’m pretty tired,” Chet said uneasily. “Could you drop me off home first?”

  “What’s the matter?” Joe teased. “Afraid the police may hold you as a suspect?”

  “I told you I’m bushed!” Chet retorted. “Besides, you Hardys are always getting mixed up with crooks and mysteries. That kind of stuff makes me nervous!”

  Frank and Joe grinned in the darkness. It was true that they had worked on a number of exciting cases since their first one, The Tower Treasure. On their most recent adventure they had solved the mystery of The Twisted Claw.

  After dropping Chet off at the Morton farm, the Hardys drove to Bayport Police Headquarters. Here they found Chief Collig working late. The husky man smiled broadly as they walked into his office.

  “You boys busy on another case?”

  “We’re helping Dad,” Frank explained. “But something else came up.” He told about the unconscious man who had later revived in their car and fled after threatening them.

  Collig agreed that while the episode was strange, apparently no crime h
ad been committed. He telephoned the fugitive’s description to the police radio dispatcher to be flashed to all prowl cars, with orders that the man be picked up for questioning.

  Frank told him about the boys’ pursuit of the black sports car and the smoke grenade that had forced them off the road.

  “Noel Strang, eh?” The chief frowned. “I’ve heard about him. Slick operator, but he’s not on the ‘Wanted’ list right now. Do you know why your father is after him?”

  “No, we don’t,” Frank said. “Dad just asked us to trail him and try to get a line on what he’s up to.”

  “We got the license number,” Joe added. “But we’d like to know if the man we were following was Strang. We didn’t get a good look at him.”

  Collig jotted down the number. “I’ll check it with the Motor Vehicle Bureau. I appreciate your stopping by.”

  The boys went outside to their convertible. As Frank felt in his pocket for the car keys, his expression changed to one of annoyance. “I’ve lost my pocketknife, Joe. Wonder if it dropped out back there when I was bending over that fellow?”

  “Could be,” Joe said. “We can search for it tomorrow. I want to take a look at that tiled square Chet told us about.”

  “Same here!”

  Frank took the wheel and drove off through the late-evening traffic. Suddenly a red light flashed on their dashboard short-wave radio. Joe picked up the microphone.

  “Joe Hardy here.”

  “Good evening, son.” Fenton Hardy’s voice came over the speaker.

  “Dad! When did you get home?”

  “Just arrived. Where are you fellows now?”

  “We’re downtown in the car. In fact, we’re headed for home.”

  “Good. This case I’m working on looks pretty tough and I may need your help. I’ll have to leave again first thing in the morning, so I’d like to fill you in on the details this evening.”

  “We’ll be there pronto, Dad!”

  A short time later the convertible pulled into the driveway of the Hardys’ large, pleasant house on a tree-shaded street. The boys jumped out and hurried inside.

  Fenton Hardy, a tall, rugged-looking man, was in the dining room having a cup of coffee. Seated at the table with him were Mrs. Hardy and the boys’ Aunt Gertrude, his unmarried sister.