The Secret Panel Read online

  “You have another big day ahead of you,” Mrs. Hardy said. “Better go to bed early.”

  Frank and Joe followed her advice, and their mother also retired at ten o’clock. It was past midnight that she was awakened by the doorbell.

  She called out to the boys, who had heard it too and had come from their room. “I’ll see who it is,” Joe offered, putting on his robe and bedroom slippers.

  As he spoke, the bell rang again. This time the caller kept a finger on the button. Frank and Joe hurried downstairs.

  Mrs. Hardy was right behind them and warned the boys to be cautious. Before opening the door, Frank snapped on the porch light and looked out the glass panel.

  Joe peered over his shoulder. “Do you know her?” he asked his brother, pointing to the visitor.

  Frank shook his head.

  Outside stood a strange woman, fidgeting nervously. She wore a faded pink hat over her short blond hair. A black coat had been thrown carelessly over her slim shoulders. As Frank slowly opened the door, she pushed it in excitedly.

  “Where’s Mr. Hardy?” she cried in a shrill, hysterical voice. “I’ve got to see him right away!”

  CHAPTER IV

  The Traffic Signal Clue

  THE distraught woman continued frantically, “I’ve got to see Mr. Hardy. Right away. Where is he?”

  Mrs. Hardy turned on a light in the living room and led the visitor to a chair.

  “Please sit down,” she said kindly. “Mr. Hardy isn’t here at the moment, but perhaps we can help you.”

  “Oh, no! Only Mr. Hardy can help me,” the stranger cried. “He’s got to help my Lenny. I’ll spend every cent of my savings if I have to.”

  “Lenny is your son?” Frank asked.

  “Yes. He’s a good boy. In all his eighteen years he never did wrong.”

  “Where is he?” Joe inquired.

  “That’s just it. I don’t know.”

  “Have you been to the police?”

  The woman gave a shriek. “Police? I should say not! They wouldn’t understand. They might put Lenny in jail. That never happened to a Stryker and it’s not gonna happen now!”

  As the woman paused for breath, Frank inquired if she was Mrs. Stryker. The caller nodded, adding that she was a widow and Lenny was her only child.

  “I’m sorry you’re in trouble,” said Mrs. Hardy. “When Mr. Hardy returns tomorrow—”

  The caller wrung her hands. “Tomorrow? I was hoping he could do something tonight. You see, I got a message from Lenny just a little while ago, and something ought to be done right away. He said the gang nearly got caught, and he’d been shot in the leg.”

  “Shot!” chorused the three Hardys, and Frank added, “What Lenny needs is a doctor.”

  “He needs a detective too!” Mrs. Stryker moaned. She did not know where Lenny was, and was afraid he would not receive proper care. “That’s why I want Mr. Hardy to find him.”

  “Did your son give you any hint about where he is?” Joe asked eagerly.

  “I think so. I’ll tell you all I know.”

  The boys leaned forward in their chairs, waiting intently for the woman’s story. She told them her son had acted mysteriously lately, and that she suspected he had fallen into bad company. He had gone out earlier that night. Then, at eleven-thirty he had telephoned, saying he had been shot.

  “And you don’t have any idea whom he went out with?” Frank inquired.

  “No. But Lenny mumbled some funny words on the phone,” Mrs. Stryker explained. “Two of them sounded like ‘secret panel.’ Then the connection was cut off.”

  Secret panel!

  Frank and Joe looked at each other. It was a clue, all right, but where could one start to investigate? Though the boys quizzed Mrs. Stryker for fifteen minutes, she could shed no more light on the subject. At last she stood up to go, disappointed because the Hardys could give her no immediate help.

  “But you promise to tell Mr. Hardy about it the minute he comes in tomorrow?” she begged.

  “Yes, we will,” Frank assured her.

  The woman wrote down her address and went out into the night.

  “Poor soul,” Mrs. Hardy said, and all three went upstairs and back to bed.

  Fenton Hardy arrived home before breakfast the next morning and listened attentively to the story of Lenny Stryker. His face grew grave.

  “It seems this boy has really gotten himself mixed up with a rough crowd.”

  “You sound as if you know who they are, Dad,” Frank remarked.

  “I have a suspicion,” Mr. Hardy began. “Come on. I’ll tell you about it over breakfast.”

  As the family sat down at the dining-room table, they heard the screech of brakes and the slam of a car door. Moments later the bell rang.

  Frank answered it and was surprised to see their father’s close friend Dr. William Gardner.

  “Is your Dad home?” Dr. Gardner asked quickly. He was middle-aged and seemed very agitated. As Mr. Hardy came into the hall, he went on, “I’ve just talked to the police, Fenton, and Chief Collig thought you ought to know, too, about what happened.”

  “Suppose we go to my study, Bill.”

  The detective led the way upstairs and motioned Frank and Joe to follow.

  “Thank you,” Dr. Gardner said and sat down in a chair. “My troubles are over; at least I hope they are. But something must be done to punish the culprits.” He lowered his voice. “Last night I was kidnapped!”

  “What!” Frank exclaimed.

  “Yes,” the doctor went on. “I was leaving the hospital about ten-thirty when two men came up and ordered me into a car at gunpoint. They promised I wouldn’t be harmed if I did as I was told.”

  “What did they look like?” Joe inquired.

  “I have no idea,” Dr. Gardner replied. “Everything happened too fast. I really didn’t notice.”

  He told how he had been blindfolded, then driven some place in the car, forced to get out and enter a building. When the blindfold was removed, he found himself in a room with several masked men.

  “They were taking no chances,” remarked Mr. Hardy.

  “Right. Even the patient I was to treat had his face covered,” Dr. Gardner went on.

  “Where was the bullet?” Frank asked excitedly.

  “In his right leg.”

  The Hardys exchanged quick glances. Could the patient have been Lenny Stryker? To their questions the physician replied that the man’s leg was the only part of his body he had seen uncovered, and that there was no distinguishing mark on it which could be used as a means of identification.

  “All I can say is that he’s very young, and has a lot of grit. He didn’t cry out once!”

  “What did the room look like, Bill?” Mr. Hardy questioned. “Would you say you got into it through a panel?”

  “I could see very little in the room. It was dark except around the patient. One of the men held a lamp so I could work,” Dr. Gardner replied. “It seemed as if the room had no windows, or if there were any, they were well covered. As for the secret panel, I really couldn’t say.”

  “Tell me about how long you spent riding to and from the place, and if you noticed anything unusual on the way,” Mr. Hardy requested.

  Dr. Gardner was thoughtful for a minute. “I don’t know how accurate I may be,” he mused, “but I’d say we went about thirty miles an hour. One thing does come to mind. About ten minutes before reaching the place, we stopped briefly.”

  “What for?”

  “A traffic light, I think. I noticed a humming sound as we waited—almost a singing noise. It could have been the signal. Sometimes they do hum, you know. It was the same on the trip back to the hospital, where they finally let me go. Is this information at all helpful?”

  “It’s a good clue,” Mr. Hardy said enthusiastically. “Suppose you follow it, boys.”

  “All right,” Joe answered. “First thing this morning!”

  Dr. Gardner wished the Hardys luck on the search.
After he had gone, Mr. Hardy called Chief Collig, who told him that he had advised all the hospitals in the area to warn their staffs to be on guard. The police chief said he would inform the Hardys the minute he heard of any new development. Then the detective turned to his sons.

  “Stop by Mrs. Stryker’s house sometime today and tell her I’ll try to find Lenny,” he said. “It looks as if he may be involved with the same gang I’m hunting for.”

  Frank and Joe stared in surprise.

  “There’s a wanted criminal by the name of Whitey Masco, who’s been in hiding for a long time,” Mr. Hardy went on. “He was involved in some bank robberies and is suspected to be the mastermind of a big gang.”

  “What makes you think Lenny has anything to do with him?”

  “Last night another appliance warehouse was broken into. Just as the thieves were leaving, the watchman, whom they had knocked out earlier, regained consciousness and saw someone running away. He fired a shot, and it’s just possible he hit Lenny Stryker.”

  “Why didn’t the thieves take the guard’s gun?”

  Mr. Hardy smiled. “Maybe they gave that job to Lenny and he couldn’t handle it. Well, we’d better eat breakfast and start on our projects.”

  He led the way back to the dining room. “I have an appointment with an FBI man, and you have—”

  Just then someone slammed the kitchen screen door, and a cheery voice called out, “Hello.”

  It was Chet. He sniffed the air, looked at a platter of bacon and eggs, and grinned.

  “Hi, Chet. You’re just in time,” said Joe. “I bet you haven’t had a thing to eat for an hour.”

  Chet pretended not to hear the gibe. He walked into the dining room and drew up a chair.

  “Good morning, everyone,” he said brightly.

  As the family greeted him, he went on, “I’ve had my breakfast, but I could eat one of those bananas.” He reached into the fruit basket. Everyone laughed.

  The Hardys were just finishing breakfast when the doorbell rang. Frank went to answer it. To his surprise he found his Aunt Gertrude standing outside.

  “Well, let me in!” she said, giving him a quick kiss before he picked up her suitcase. “Where is everybody?”

  Without waiting for an answer, the unpredictable Miss Hardy went on, “They’re still at the breakfast table, I’ll bet!” She strode into the dining room and greeted the others.

  “Laura, how can you stand to have meals at all hours? Well, things will be different now that I’m here!”

  Frank, Joe, and even Chet knew this only too well. Aunt Gertrude, though she loved her famous brother’s family, always made a point of trying to improve their habits.

  The tall, energetic spinster ruled with an iron fist, at least on the surface, and the boys had learned not to argue with her.

  “Hello, Gertrude,” Mrs. Hardy said with a smile as her husband got up to greet his sister. “We didn’t expect you home until tomorrow. Tell us, how did you get here? We would have come for you if we had known your plans.”

  Miss Hardy, who had been away for two weeks visiting friends, said that she had decided to return earlier than planned.

  “I called a couple of times from the airport, but couldn’t get you. Your telephone was forever busy. So I took a taxi. Thought I’d surprise you.”

  “Well, let me help you unpack.”

  Joe picked up his aunt’s suitcase and followed the two women to Aunt Gertrude’s room, when the telephone rang. Frank answered.

  It was Ben Whittaker, the locksmith. “Can you come over right away?” He sounded distressed.

  “What’s up?” Frank wanted to know.

  “I’ll tell you when you get here. Please hurry!”

  “Okay.” Frank hung up, and when Joe came downstairs, told him of the strange conversation.

  “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go!” Joe said.

  Briefly, Frank explained their errand to his parents. Chet had not eaten all he would have liked to, but he thought it wise to leave with his pals. Any moment now Miss Hardy might start trying to reform his eating habits!

  The three boys went outside and scrambled into the convertible. A moment later they were on their way. When they arrived at Mr. Whittaker’s shop, they found the locksmith in a state of extreme anxiety.

  “Mike Batton hasn’t come back. I phoned his house, and they told me that he’s moved out. Nobody knows where he’s gone!”

  CHAPTER V

  A Futile Search

  FRANK and Joe listened to the shopkeeper’s surprising announcement and were startled when he continued:

  “Even worse, I’ve discovered that all the money we took in yesterday is missing from the cash register!”

  “Oh, oh,” Joe said. “Looks as if Batton is a thief, all right.”

  “Yes,” the locksmith went on. “I’ve notified the police. But the thing I’m most upset about is that my reputation is at stake. I’ve been in business for forty years and nobody ever had any reason to question my integrity before. And it’s all Mike Batton’s doing!”

  “What happened?” Chet asked.

  “Mrs. Eccles phoned a few minutes ago and wants her money back. Furthermore, Batton changed another lock yesterday, for the Petersons, and they report that a valuable bracelet and a hundred dollars in cash are missing!”

  Frank suggested that surely his customers would realize he was not responsible for the loss of their valuables. To take the worried man’s mind off his troubles, Frank asked him if he knew John Mead, who had owned the mansion that had no locks.

  “I did,” Mr. Whittaker replied. “Nice man. That was a terrible accident. He and the chauffeur were killed instantly.”

  “Please tell us about him,” Joe said.

  “Well, at one time he was a partner in a big hardware concern in New York,” the locksmith revealed. “He once told me he vowed to build himself a house without a single lock or keyhole when he retired. He was so tired of looking at locks he never wanted to see another one in his whole life!”

  Whittaker went on to say that he had spent several evenings at the Mead mansion with the hardware manufacturer, discussing locksmithing problems. Mead had been extremely clever and inventive, but a little eccentric. He had never mentioned having any family, and no will had been found after his death. So far as Whittaker knew, no one had claimed the estate.

  “Don’t any of the doors at the mansion have locks on them?” Chet asked in awe.

  “Oh, yes,” Mr. Whittaker said, smiling. “They all do, but they’re cleverly concealed.”

  “Do you know where?”

  “No. He installed them himself.”

  After thanking the locksmith for the information and agreeing to do what they could to help in the search for Mike Batton, the boys left the shop.

  “Now what?” Chet asked.

  “We could go over to Mrs. Stryker and see if she’s heard any more from Lenny,” Frank suggested.

  “Good idea,” Joe agreed. “Want to come along, Chet?”

  “Sure do.”

  Frank drove to a shabby, run-down section of Bayport. They located the Strykers’ apartment building, and Chet stayed in the car while Frank and Joe went inside. They found the place to be clean and tidy. Lenny’s mother greeted them.

  “Have you any news of my boy?” she asked, her eyes lighting up hopefully.

  Frank shook his head. “I’m afraid not. We do have a clue, though. A doctor came to our house this morning and said he had been kidnapped last night to take care of a young man who had been shot in the leg.”

  “It must have been Lenny!” the woman cried out. “Where is he? I’ll go at once.”

  “Dr. Gardner couldn’t tell us where he had been taken because he was blindfolded. However, he gave us a good clue. Don’t worry, Mrs. Stryker. The doctor said the boy he treated was all right. If it’s Lenny, we’ll find him.”

  “Does the name Whitey Masco mean anything to you?” Joe asked.

  The woman shook her
head. “Nothing. Who is he?”

  “Just a name that came up. Probably has nothing to do with Lenny,” Frank assured her. Then the boys left.

  When they reached the car, Chet was not in it. They spied him at a nearby street intersection. He was looking up intently at the traffic light, his head cocked to one side. When he saw Frank and Joe, he ran toward them.

  “Well, that one doesn’t sing,” Chet declared as he got into the car.

  “Let’s investigate some others,” Joe said.

  The three boys drove without success from one traffic light to another. Just as they were about to stop for the day, Frank cried, “Listen!”

  A traffic signal hung high above the pavement at the intersection of two wide streets. A distinct humming sound came from it as the automatic timer changed the lights.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere!” Joe cried excitedly. “Dr. Gardner said he was driven for about ten minutes from a singing signal. Which direction shall we take first?”

  It was decided to go north at the rate of thirty miles an hour, as the physician had estimated.

  “Stop!” Joe called.

  Chet’s face broke into a broad smile. They were directly in front of a roadside restaurant.

  “Well, fellows,” he said, “you two can go hunting for kidnapping gangsters and secret panels all you like. I’m going to eat!”

  A sign advertising lunches and dinners swung from a post in front of a small white cottage. Flowered curtains hung at the windows and rose-bushes were in bloom along the walk.

  “Doesn’t look like a hideout for thieves,” said Joe, disappointed.

  Frank pointed out that the attractive front might be only a cover for some sinister doings inside. He insisted they find out, adding:

  “Guess we all could eat, anyway. Let’s go in. I’ll telephone and tell Mother we won’t be home for lunch.”

  The woman who owned the restaurant prepared a delicious meal for the boys, while they looked around. They saw the entire cottage, even the basement, for the owner proudly showed them her preserve closet. There was nothing the least bit suspicious about the house.