The Secret Of The Old Mill thb-3 Read online

  generous portions of deep-dish apple pie.

  "This is more super than usual," Chet declared, trying hard to be cheerful.

  The boys finished their pie, but without appetite. When they refused second helpings, however, Aunt Gertrude demanded suspiciously, "Are you ill-or what?"

  "Oh, no, Aunty," Joe replied hastily. "Just-er-too much detecting."

  "I can believe that!" Miss Hardy said tartly.

  The evening dragged on, tension mounting every minute. The boys tried to read or talk, but

  their concern for the detective's safety made it impossible to concentrate on anything else.

  Eleven o'clock! Where was their father? Frank and Joe wondered.

  "Aren't you boys going to bed soon?" Mrs. Hardy asked, as she and Aunt Gertrude started upstairs.

  "Pretty soon," Frank answered.

  The three boys sat glumly around the living room for a few minutes until the women were out

  of earshot.

  "Fellows," said Chet, "I caught on that you're sure your dad is working on an important case for Elekton, and it's a top-secret one-that's why you couldn't say anything about it."

  "You're right," Frank told him.

  Chet went on to mention that his father had heard of various problems at Elekton-production

  stoppages caused by power breaks, and, before the buildings were completed, there were

  reports of tools and equipment being missing.

  "This ties in with our hunch about the secrecy of Dad's case," Frank said. "The company must have suspected that major sabotage was being planned, and retained Dad to try and stop it."

  Talking over their speculations helped to relieve some of the tension the boys felt and made

  the time pass a little faster as they waited for news of Fenton Hardy.

  "I wonder how the saboteurs got into the plant?" Joe said, thinking aloud. "Both the gates are locked and well guarded. It seems almost impossible for anyone to have sneaked in the

  necessary amount of explosives-without inside help."

  A sudden thought flashed into Frank's mind. He leaped to his feet. "The green truck!" he exclaimed. "It was unmarked, remember? It could have been carrying dynamite-camouflaged

  under ordinary supplies!"

  "That could be, Frank!" Joe jumped up. "If so, no wonder it was in such a rush! I'll phone the chief right now and give him the truck's license number."

  Frank went with Joe to the hall telephone. As they approached the phone, it rang. The bell,

  shattering the tense atmosphere, seemed louder than usual.

  "It must be Dad!" exclaimed the brothers together, and Chet hurried into the hall.

  Frank eagerly lifted the receiver. "Hello!" he said expectantly.

  The next moment Frank looked dejected. He replaced the receiver and said glumly, "Wrong

  number."

  The Hardys exchanged bleak looks. What had happened to their father?

  CHAPTER XIV

  Prisoners!

  THE HARDYS' disappointment in discovering that the telephone call was not from their father

  was intense. Nevertheless, Joe picked up the receiver and dialed police headquarters to report the truck's license number.

  "Line's busy," he said.

  Joe tried several more times without success. Suddenly he burst out, "I can't stand it another minute to think of Dad perhaps lying out there hurt. Let's go back to Elekton and see if we can learn something."

  "All right," Frank agreed, also eager for action, and the three rushed to the front door.

  Just as they opened it, the boys saw the headlights of a car turning into the driveway.

  "It's Dad!" Joe barely refrained from shouting so as not to awaken Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude.

  The detective's sedan headed for the garage at the back of the house. Heaving sighs of thankful relief, the boys quietly hurried through the house into the kitchen to meet him.

  "Are we glad to see you, Dad!" Frank exclaimed as he came into the house.

  His father looked pale and disheveled. There was a large purple bruise on his left temple. He

  slumped wearily into a chair.

  "I guess I'm lucky to be here." Mr. Hardy managed a rueful smile. "Well, I owe you boys an explanation, and now is the time,"

  "Dad," Joe spoke up, "you are working on the sabotage case for Elekton, aren't you?"

  "And you were in the lab building during the explosions?" Frank put in.

  "You're both right," the detective replied. "Of course I know I can depend on all of you to keep the matter strictly confidential. The case is far from solved."

  Mr. Hardy was relieved that Frank and Joe had kept their fears for his safety from his wife and sister. He now revealed to the boys that for the past several hours he had been closeted with

  Elekton's officials.

  Suspecting that the saboteurs had inside help, the detective had screened the records of all

  employees.

  He and the officials had found nothing suspicious.

  "I'll submit a full report to the FBI tomorrow morning, and continue a search on my own."

  When Joe asked if the eight-and-one pattern referred to the saboteurs' schedule, his father

  nodded. "In the other plants, the sabotage took place eight weeks plus one day apart.

  "In each of those plants," the detective went on, "the damage occurred right after closing time.

  Figuring the schedule would be exactly right for an attempt on Elekton in a couple of days, I

  started a systematic check of the various buildings. I planned to check daily, until the saboteurs had been caught here or elsewhere. At my request, one company security guard was assigned

  to assist me. I felt that the fewer people who knew what I was doing, the better. That's how I ruined the saboteurs' plan in Detroit.

  "Nothing suspicious occurred here until today when I took up a post in the section of the building where the experimental work is being conducted. After all the employees had left, and the dim night-lights were on, I went toward the east lab wing to investigate."

  Mr. Hardy paused, took a deep breath, and continued, "Just as I reached the lab, I happened to glance back into the hall. Things started to happen-fast."

  "What did you see, Dad?" asked Joe, and all the boys leaned forward expectantly.

  The detective went on, "Hurrying down the hall from the west lab were two men in work

  clothes, one

  carrying a leather bag. I knew there weren't supposed to be any workmen in the building. I

  stepped out to question them, but the pair broke into a run and dashed past me down the

  stairs."

  "Did you see what either of them looked like?" Frank asked.

  "I did catch a glimpse of one before they broke away. He had heavy features and thick

  eyebrows. But just as I was about to take off after them, I smelled something burning in the

  east lab and went to investigate. The first thing I saw was a long fuse sputtering toward a box of dynamite, set against the wall.

  "I didn't know if it was the kind of fuse that would burn internally or not, so I took my penknife and cut it close to the dynamite. Professional saboteurs don't usually rely on just one explosive, so I started for the west wing to check the lab there."

  Mr. Hardy leaned back in his chair and rubbed the bruise on his temple. In a low voice he said,

  "But I didn't make it. I was running toward the hall when there was a roar and a burst of flame.

  The explosion lifted me off my feet and threw me against the wall. Though I was stunned, I

  managed to get back to the east wing. I reached for the phone, then blacked out.

  "I must have been unconscious for some time because when the firemen found me and helped

  me out of the building, the fire had been put out."

  "You're all right now?" asked Frank. "Yes. It was a temporary blackout from shock. What bothers me is that I had the sabot
eurs' pattern figured out-only they must have become

  panicky, and moved up their nefarious scheme two days."

  Joe looked grim. "I wish we'd been there to help you capture those rats!"

  Chet asked Mr. Hardy if he would like a fruit drink. "I'll make some lemonade," he offered.

  "Sounds good." Mr. Hardy smiled. As they sipped the lemonade, Frank and Joe questioned their father about his theories.

  "I'm still convinced," said Mr. Hardy, "that one of those men works in the plant. How else would he have known when the watchman makes his rounds and how to disconnect the electronic

  alarms? But I can't figure how the outside accomplice got in-those gates are carefully guarded."

  At this point, Frank told his father about the green truck. "We suspected at first it might be connected with the counterfeiters. Now we have a hunch the saboteurs may have used it."

  Fenton Hardy seemed greatly encouraged by this possible lead. Joe gave him the license

  number, which Mr. Hardy said he would report to Chief Collig at once.

  When Mr. Hardy returned from the telephone, he told the boys the chief would check the

  license number with the Motor Vehicle Bureau in the morning and by then he also would have

  some information about the print on the archer's finger guard.

  The next morning after breakfast Frank said he wanted to take another look at the warning

  notes.

  "Why?" Joe asked curiously as they went to the file.

  Frank held up the "arrow" warning, and the one received by Chet. "I've been thinking about the printing on these two-seems familiar. I have it!" he burst out.

  "Have what?" Joe asked.

  "This printing"-Frank pointed to the papers -"is the same as the printing on Ken's envelope addressed to Victor Peters. I'm positive."

  Excitedly the brothers speculated on the possible meaning of this clue. "I'd sure like to find out," said Joe, "who addresses the envelopes Ken delivers, and if they're always sent to Mr.

  Peters in the Parker Building. And why-if he doesn't have an office there. And who is Victor

  Peters?"

  "If the person who addresses the envelopes and the sender of the warnings are the same,"

  Frank declared, "it looks as though he's sending something to a confederate, under pretense of having work done for Elekton. I wonder what that something could be?"

  "At any rate," Joe added, "this could be a link either to the counterfeiters or to the saboteurs.

  Which one?"

  The boys decided to go out to the mill again, in hopes of quizzing Ken Blake. Just then their

  father came downstairs. Frank and Joe were glad to see that he looked rested and cheerful.

  Mr. Hardy phoned Chief Collig. When the detective hung up, he told his sons that the license

  number belonged to stolen plates and the fingerprint to a confidence man nicknamed The

  Arrow.

  "He's called this because for several years he worked at exclusive summer resorts, teaching archery to wealthy vacationers, then fleecing as many of them as he could. After each swindle, The Arrow disappeared. Unfortunately, there's no picture of him on file. All the police have is a general description of him."

  Frank and Joe learned that the swindler had a pleasant speaking voice, was of medium height,

  with dark hair and brown eyes.

  "Not much to go on," Joe remarked glumly.

  "No, but if he is working for Elekton, he must be pretty shrewd to have passed their screening."

  Mr. Hardy agreed, and phoned Elekton, requesting the personnel department to check if

  anybody answering The Arrow's description was employed there.

  The brothers then informed their father about the similar lettering on the warnings and Ken's

  Manila envelope.

  "A valuable clue," he remarked. "I wish I could go with you to question Ken." The detective explained that right now he had to make his report of the explosion to the nearby FBI office.

  When he had left, Frank and Joe rode off to the mill on their motorcycles.

  At the gatehouse the guard had unexpected news. "Ken Blake isn't working here any more,"

  Mr. Markel said. "We had to discharge him."

  "Why?" asked Joe in surprise.

  The guard replied that most of the necessary jobs had been done around the mill grounds. "Mr.

  Docker-my coworker-and I felt we could handle everything from now on," he explained.

  "I see," said Frank. "Can you tell us where Ken is staying?"

  Markel said he was not sure, but he thought Ken might have been boarding in an old farmhouse

  about a mile up the highway.

  When the brothers reached the highway, they stopped. "Which way do we go? Mr. Markel

  didn't tell us," Joe said in chagrin.

  "Instead of going back to find out, let's ask at that gas station across the way," Frank suggested.

  "Someone there may know."

  "An old farmhouse?" the attendant repeated in answer to Frank's query. "There's one about a mile from here going toward Bayport. That might be the place your friend is staying. What does he look like?"

  Frank described Ken carefully. The attendant nodded. "Yep. I've seen him ride by here on his bike. A couple of times when I was going past the farm I noticed him turn in the dirt road to it."

  "Thanks a lot!"

  The Hardys cycled off quickly. Soon they were heading up the narrow, dusty lane, which led to a ramshackle, weather-beaten house. The brothers parked their motorcycles among the high

  weeds in front of it and dismounted.

  "This place seems deserted!" Joe muttered. Frank agreed and looked around, perplexed. "Odd that Ken would be boarding in such a rundown house."

  Frank and Joe walked onto the creaky porch and knocked at the sagging door. There was no

  answer.

  They knocked again and called. Still no response.

  "Some peculiar boardinghouse!" Joe said. "I wouldn't want a room here!"

  Frank frowned. "This must be the wrong place. Look-it's all locked up and there's hardly any furniture."

  "I'll bet nobody lives in this house!" Joe burst out.

  "But the attendant said he has seen Ken riding in here," Frank declared. "Why?"

  "Let's have a look," Joe urged.

  Mystified, Frank and Joe circled the house. Since they were now certain it had been abandoned, they glanced in various windows. When Joe came to the kitchen he grabbed Frank's arm

  excitedly.

  "Somebody is staying here! Could it be Ken?"

  Through the dusty glass the boys could see on a rickety table several open cans of food, a

  carton of milk, and a bowl.

  "Must be a tramp," Frank guessed. "I'm sure Ken wouldn't live here."

  In turning away, the young detectives noticed a small stone structure about ten yards behind

  the house. It was the size of a one-car garage. Instead of windows, it had slits high in the walls.

  "It probably was used to store farm equipment," Frank said. "We might as well check."

  They unbolted the old-fashioned, stout, wooden double doors. These swung outward, and the

  boys were surprised that the doors opened so silently. "As if they'd been oiled," Frank said.

  "No wonder!" Joe cried out. "Look!"

  Inside was a shabby green panel truck! "The same one we saw yesterday!" Joe exclaimed.

  "What's it doing here?"

  The boys noticed immediately that the vehicle had no license plates. "They probably were

  taken off,"

  Frank surmised, "and disposed of."

  Frank checked the glove compartment while Joe looked on the seat and under the cushion for

  any clue to the driver or owner of the vehicle. Suddenly he called out, "Hey! What's going on?"

  Joe jumped from the truck and saw with astonishment that the garage doors were swinging

 
; shut.

  Together, the boys rushed forward but not in time. They heard the outside bolt being rammed

  into place.

  "We're prisoners!" Frank exclaimed.

  Again and again the Hardys threw their weight against the doors. This proved futile. Panting,

  Frank and Joe looked for a means of escape.

  "Those slits in the wall are too high and too narrow, anyway," Frank said, chiding himself for not having been on guard.

  Finally he reached into the glove compartment and drew out an empty cigarette package he

  had noticed before. He pulled off the foil. Joe understood immediately what his brother had in mind. Frank lifted the truck's hood and jammed the foil between the starting wires near the

  fuse box. "Worth a try," he said.

  "Ignition key's gone. If we can start the engine-we'll smash our way out!"

  Joe took his place at the wheel and Frank climbed in beside him. To their delight, Joe gunned

  the engine into life.

  "Here goes!" he muttered grimly. "Brace yourself!"

  "Ready!"

  Joe eased the truck as far back as he could, then accelerated swiftly forward. The truck's wheels spun on the dirt floor and then with a roar it headed for the heavy doors.

  CHAPTER XV

  Lead to a Counterfeiter

  C-R-A-S-H! The green truck smashed through the heavy garage doors. The Hardys felt a terrific

  jolt and heard the wood splinter and rip as they shot forward into the farmyard.

  "Wow!" Joe gasped as he braked to a halt. "We're free-but not saying in what shape!"

  Frank gave a wry laugh. "Probably better than the front of this truck!"

  The boys hopped to the ground and looked around the overgrown yard. No one was in sight.

  The whole area seemed just as deserted as it had been when they arrived.

  "Let's check the house," Joe urged. "Someone could be hiding in there."

  The brothers ran to the rundown dwelling. They found all the doors and windows locked. Again

  they peered through the dirty panes, but did not see anyone.

  "I figure that whoever locked us in the garage would decide that getting away from here in a hurry was his safest bet."

  "He must have gone on foot," Joe remarked. "I didn't hear an engine start up."