The Secret of the Old Mill Read online

  The man looked at Oscar Smuff as though he were crazy. So did the cashier. Other people quickly crowded around.

  “What’s the matter?” someone called out.

  The Hardys and Chet hurried forward, as the man pulled his arm away from Smuff’s grasp and demanded angrily, “What’s the meaning of this?”

  “You know very well what’s the meaning of this,” Smuff blustered, and grabbed the man’s arm again. “Now, miss”—Smuff turned to the cashier—“let me see the bill this man just gave you.”

  The woman was too surprised to refuse the request and handed the bill to the amateur detective.

  Smuff took the money. The Hardys stepped up and peered over his shoulder. The bill was a five-dollar one. Suddenly the expression on Smuff’s face changed to confusion and concern.

  “Oh—er—a five—” he stuttered.

  He dropped his hold on the man’s arm and stared down at the floor. “Awfully sorry,” he muttered. “It’s been—a—mistake.”

  Both the man and the cashier looked completely bewildered. The next moment Smuff whirled and dashed from the store.

  The Hardys and Chet rushed after him. They were overwhelmed with curiosity as to what Smuff thought the man had done. The boys soon overtook the would-be detective.

  “What’s up?” Joe demanded. “Looking for somebody suspicious?”

  Oscar Smuff reddened when he realized the boys had witnessed his entire performance.

  “Never mind,” he said sharply. “I’ll bet even you smart-aleck Hardys have made mistakes. Anyhow, this is different. I’m helping the police on a very special, very confidential case.”

  As he made the last statement, Smuff shrugged off his look of embarrassment and assumed an air of great importance.

  “Well, I can’t waste precious time gabbing with you three.” Smuff turned and rushed off down the street.

  The boys watched his bustling figure as he disappeared into the crowd. “I wonder what kind of case ’Detective’ Smuff is working on?” Frank mused.

  “I do too,” Joe said, as Chet finally led the way into the Scientific Specialties Store.

  Mr. Reed, the shop owner, stood behind the counter. He was a plump, pleasant man with a shock of white hair that stood erect on his head.

  “Have you come for your microscope, Chet?” he asked. As he spoke, the man’s head bobbed up and down and his white hair waved back and forth as though blown by the wind.

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Reed,” Chet said enthusiastically. “My friends, Frank and Joe, are looking forward to trying out the microscope just as much as I am.”

  Joe smiled a little skeptically, but Frank agreed with his chum. Chet pulled out his wallet and emptied it of ten- and twenty-dollar bills. “Here you are, Mr. Reed. I’ve been saving for a long time so I could get the best.”

  “And the best this is.” Mr. Reed smiled. “I’ll get the microscope you want from the stock-room.” The proprietor picked up the money and disappeared into the back of the store.

  While they waited, Chet pointed out the various instruments on display in the showcase. The Hardys were surprised at how much Chet had learned about microscopes and their use.

  After waiting five minutes, Chet grew impatient, “Wonder what’s keeping Mr. Reed,” he said. “I hope he has my ’scope in stock.”

  At that moment Mr. Reed returned. There was a look of concern on his face.

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t got the model.” Chet groaned.

  Mr. Reed shook his head. When he spoke, his voice was solemn.

  “It’s not that, Chet,” he said. “I’m afraid that one of the twenty-dollar bills you gave me is a counterfeit!”

  CHAPTER III

  An Unexpected Return

  “COUNTERFEIT!” Chet burst out. “Counterfeit! It can’t be. I just drew the money out of the bank this morning.”

  The Hardys, nonplused, stared at the twenty-dollar bill Mr. Reed was holding.

  “I’m sorry, Chet,” Mr. Reed said sympathetically. “But just a few days ago all the store-keepers in town were notified by the police to be on the lookout for fake twenties. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have checked it. I can’t understand, though, why the bank didn’t detect it.”

  Frank’s mind raced. “Wait a minute!” he exclaimed. “Chet, what about the man you made change for at the station?”

  “You’re right, Frank!” Joe put in. “He must have passed Chet the phony twenty!”

  “You mean he gave it to me on purpose?” Chet asked indignantly.

  “It’s possible,” Frank said. “Of course it would be pretty hard to prove whether he did it intentionally or not.”

  “What did the man look like?” Joe questioned Chet. “We got only a glimpse of him running for the train. He was medium height and stocky, but did you notice anything else about him?”

  Chet thought for a few seconds. Then he said, “I do remember that the man had a sharp nose. But he was wearing sunglasses and a slouch hat, so I didn’t notice much else.”

  The Hardys tried to fix a picture of the man in their minds. Meanwhile, Chet looked gloomily at the bogus bill.

  “What luck!” he complained. “Here I am cheated out of twenty dollars and the microscope.”

  “I’m sorry, Chet,” Mr. Reed said. “I wish there was something I could do about it.”

  “Don’t worry, Chet,” said Joe. “You’ll get the microscope, anyway.” He turned to his brother. “How much money do you have with you?” he asked. “I have five-fifty.”

  Frank emptied his pockets, but all he had was three dollars in change and bills.

  “We’ll lend you what we have,” Joe offered. “Eight-fifty.”

  Although Chet protested, the Hardys insisted, and Mr. Reed added, “You can take the microscope along and pay me the balance when you can.”

  Frank and Joe put their money on the counter, while Mr. Reed went to wrap the instrument.

  “Thanks. You’re real pals,” Chet said gratefully.

  When the store owner returned with the package, Chet said, “I’ll go right down to Dad’s office and borrow the balance. We’ll get back here later this afternoon. Thanks very much, Mr. Reed.”

  The boys were about to leave when Frank had a sudden thought.

  “Mr. Reed,” he said, “would you let us borrow that counterfeit bill for some close study? We’ll be sure to turn it over to Chief Collig.”

  “Swell idea,” Joe said.

  The proprietor, who was familiar with the Hardys’ reputation as sleuths, readily assented. Frank put the bill in his pocket and the boys left the store.

  They hurried back to Chet’s car and drove to Mr. Morton’s real-estate office several blocks away. The office was on the street level of a small building. They entered and were greeted pleasantly by Mr. Morton’s efficient secretary, Miss Benson.

  “Hello, boys. Enjoying your summer vacation?”

  “Yes, thanks, Miss Benson,” Chet said, eying his father’s empty desk. “When will Dad be back?”

  “Your father’s gone for the day, Chet,” she replied. “He decided to go home early.”

  “That’s funny,” Chet mused. “Dad usually stays until five at least.”

  “We have time to drive out to the farm before we meet the train,” Joe said. “Let’s go.”

  The Morton farm was on the outskirts of Bayport. When Chet swung the car into the driveway, Joe noticed with pleasure that Iola, Chet’s sister, was waving to them from the front porch. Dark-haired Iola, slim and vivacious, was Joe’s favorite date.

  When they told her about the counterfeit bill, she exclaimed, “What a shame!”

  Joe agreed emphatically. “And we’d sure like to get a lead on the man who passed it to Chet.”

  “Sounds as if you Hardys are in the mood for some sleuthing,” Iola said with a twinkle in her eye.

  “What’s this about sleuthing?” asked attractive Mrs. Morton as she came outside and joined the group.

  The boys quickly explained. T
hen Chet asked his mother, “Is Dad around?”

  Mrs. Morton smiled. “He isn’t here right now, Chet. He’s attending to an important job.”

  Chet looked disappointed until his sister giggled and said, “Dad’s not too far away.” Iola winked at her mother and they both began to laugh.

  “Your father’s important job is at his favorite fishing spot,” Mrs. Morton told Chet.

  “Fishing!” Chet exclaimed. “He never goes fishing during the week!”

  “He did this time,” said Mrs. Morton. “I guess the good weather was too much for him to resist.”

  A few minutes later the boys were in the jalopy and driving down a country road bordered by woods. A half mile farther, Chet stopped and turned off the Queen’s engine. The sound of rushing water could be heard.

  “This is the spot,” Chet announced, and they started off through the woods.

  The boys soon came to a clear running stream and spotted Mr. Morton seated contentedly on the bank. He was leaning against a tree, holding his rod lightly between his knees and steadying it with his hands.

  Just as the boys called a greeting to him, the line began to jerk and almost immediately the rod bent till the tip was close to the water. Mr. Morton leaped to his feet and shouted, “Just a minute, fellows! I’ve hooked a lulu!”

  Mr. Morton was an expert. He let the fish take just enough line to bury the hook properly, then he very gently braked the reel with his thumb.

  So intent was Mr. Morton on his fishing, he was not aware that his son was now rushing down the slope toward him. Suddenly Chet slipped on a moss-covered rock and fell forward. He lost his grip on the box containing the microscope and it flew toward the water. Joe, behind Chet, leaped forward and grabbed the box.

  “Whew!” Chet exclaimed, regaining his balance. “Good work, Joe! Thanks a million!”

  The three boys joined Mr. Morton, who was busy landing his catch, a fine, smallmouthed black bass. He held up the fish for them to admire. “Isn’t it a beauty, boys?” he said.

  “Terrific, Dad,” Chet replied, still out of breath from his near tumble. “And I have something to show you.”

  He unwrapped the package and held out the microscope. Mr. Morton put the fish in his creel, then studied the instrument closely.

  “It’s a topnotch one, son,” he declared. “And just the model you wanted.”

  “Yes, Dad. Only there’s a slight problem connected with it.”

  “Oh—oh.” Mr. Morton chuckled good-naturedly. “I should have known from the look on your face. You didn’t have enough money, after all. Well, how much do you need?”

  “That isn’t all there is to it,” Chet hastened to inform him, and told about the counterfeit bill.

  Mr. Morton’s face darkened. “I hope we’re not in for a flood of phony bills.”

  Frank nodded. “Especially since these are very clever imitations.”

  Chet’s father handed over twenty dollars in small bills.

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “From now on, Chet, be careful about making change for strangers,” Mr. Morton cautioned.

  “I will,” his son promised fervently. “Getting cheated once is enough!”

  Chet paid the Hardys the money they had lent him. Then he said to his father, “I sure was surprised when Mother told me you were fishing —in the middle of the week.”

  Mr. Morton smiled broadly. “I’ve been working hard the past year on the big sale of land to Elekton Controls,” he said. “I thought it was time to take an afternoon off and do some thinking while the fish were nibbling.”

  “Is that the property in back of the plant they just finished building?” asked Frank.

  “That’s right.” Mr. Morton pointed upstream. “You can just see the top of the main building from here.”

  “The property you sold has the old Turner mill on it,” Joe remarked. “Quite a contrast. A company that makes top-secret control parts for space missiles in a modern building right next to an ancient, abandoned gristmill.”

  “I suppose they’ll tear the old place down,” Frank remarked.

  “No, Elekton has decided to use it,” Mr. Morton went on. “I suggested to them that the old mill would make an attractive gatehouse for the plant’s rear entrance. After all, it’s a historic place, built by the settlers when this whole area was inhabited by Indians. The company has renovated the old mill a bit, restoring the old living quarters and adding modern facilities.”

  “Is someone living there?” Joe asked with interest.

  “I understand a couple of their employees are,” Mr. Morton replied. Then he continued, “They’ve even repaired the wheel, so it’s turning again. Hearing the rushing water and the grinding of the wheel’s gear mechanism brought back memories to me.”

  “About the Indians, Dad?” Chet joked.

  “Not quite, son.” His father smiled. “But I can remember when the mill produced the best flour around here. Your grandmother made many a delicious loaf of bread from wheat ground in the Turner mill.”

  “That’s for me!” Chet said.

  Everyone laughed as Mr. Morton reminisced further about having seen the mill in full operation when he was a boy. Suddenly he and the Hardys noticed that Chet had fallen silent. There was a familiar, faraway look in his eyes.

  Joe grinned. “Chet, you’re turning some new idea over in your mind.”

  “That’s right,” Chet said excitedly. “I’ve been thinking that maybe I could get a summer job at Elekton.”

  Mr. Morton exchanged amazed glances with the Hardys at the thought of Chet’s working during the summer vacation! But, with growing enthusiasm, Chet went on:

  “I could earn the twenty dollars I owe you, Dad. Besides, if I am going to be a scientist, I couldn’t think of a better place to work.”

  “Elekton’s a fine company,” his father said. “I wish you luck, son.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” Chet smiled broadly. “See you later. I have to go now and pay Mr. Reed the money I owe him.”

  On the drive back to town, Chet told Frank and Joe that he was going to apply for a job at the Elekton plant the next day.

  “We’ll go along,” Joe offered. “I’d like to see the plant and the old mill.”

  “Swell,” said Chet.

  When they reached the shopping area in Bayport, Chet drove directly to Mr. Reed’s store. The three boys had just alighted from the parked car when Chet excitedly grabbed his friends’ arms.

  “There he is!” the chubby boy exclaimed. “Right down the street—the man who gave me that phony twenty!”

  CHAPTER IV

  The Shadowy Visitor

  “THERE he goes! Across the street!” Joe said excitedly. “Let’s ask him about the counterfeit bill!”

  The three boys broke into a run, dodging in and out of the crowd of afternoon shoppers. The Hardys kept their eyes trained on the stocky figure of their quarry.

  But their chase was halted at the corner by a red traffic light against them. The street was congested with vehicles and it was impossible for the boys to get across.

  “What luck!” Joe growled impatiently.

  It seemed to be the longest red light they had ever encountered. When it changed, the three-some streaked across the street—but it was too late. The stocky man was lost to sight. The Hardys raced down the next two blocks, peering in every direction, but to no avail.

  Disappointed, Frank and Joe went back to Chet, who had stopped to catch his breath.

  “We lost him,” Joe reported tersely.

  Frank’s eyes narrowed. “I have a hunch that man who passed the bogus twenty-dollar bill to Chet knew it was counterfeit. That last-second dash for the train was just a gimmick to make a fast getaway. But his showing up here in Bayport a couple hours after he took the train out of town is mighty peculiar.”

  Joe and Chet agreed. “He probably got off in Bridgeport,” Frank went on. “That’s the nearest big town.”

  As the boys walked back toward the Scientifi
c Specialties Store, they speculated about the source of the supply of bogus money.

  “Maybe it’s Bridgeport,” Frank said. “That could be one of the reasons he took the train there—to get a new supply, or palm off more.”

  “You mean they might actually make the stuff there?” Chet asked.

  Frank shrugged. “Could be,” he said. “I hope no more counterfeit bills are passed in Bayport.”

  “There probably will be,” Chet said ruefully, “if this town is full of easy marks like me.”

  “Let’s keep a sharp lookout for that fake-money passer from now on,” Joe said, “and other clues to the counterfeit ring.”

  “Who knows,” Chet put in, “it could turn out to be your next case.”

  As soon as Mr. Reed had been paid, the boys drove to Bayport Police Headquarters. Chet decided to take his microscope into headquarters and show it to Chief Ezra Collig. The keen-eyed, robust officer was an old friend of Fenton Hardy and his sons. Many times the four had cooperated on cases.

  “Sit down,” the chief said cordially. “I can see that you boys have something special on your minds. Another mystery?”

  He leaned forward expectantly in his chair.

  “It’s possible, Chief,” replied Frank as he handed over the counterfeit bill. Quickly the Hardys explained what had happened, then voiced their suspicions of the man who had just eluded them.

  “Have there been any other reports of people receiving fake bills?” Joe asked the officer.

  Chief Collig nodded. “Chet’s not the first to be fooled,” he replied. “Since the Secret Service alerted us to watch for these twenty-dollar bills, we’ve had nearly a dozen complaints. But we’ve instructed the people involved not to talk about it.”

  “Why?” Chet asked curiously.

  “It’s part of our strategy. We hope to trap at least some of the gang by lulling them into a feeling of false security.”

  The boys learned that Chet’s description of the stocky stranger tallied with what the police had on file.

  “He’s a slippery one,” the chief added. “It sounds to me as if the man wears a different outfit each time he shoves a bill.”