The Secret Panel

Table of Contents

 

 

 

 

ANOTHER exciting mystery begins for Frank and Joe Hardy when they help a stranger who has had an accident with his car. The man introduces himself as John Mead, owner of a nearby estate. After he continues on his way, Frank finds an odd-looking house key which belongs to Mead. But when the Hardys try to return to it, they learn that John Mead died five years ago! They are even more amazed when they find that the intricately carved doors in the dead man's deserted mansion have no visible knobs or keylocks.

While working on this mystery, the boys assist their detective father in tracking down a highly organized ring of thieves who are robbing warehouses of television and stero equipment.

What happens when Frank and Joe discover that there is a link between Mr. Hardy's case and the mysterious Mead mansion will keep the reader on edge with thrills and suspense.

Copyright © 1974, 1969, 1946 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 : 978-1-101-07639-2

2008 Printing

 

 

 

 

“STOP!”

Eighteen-year-old Frank Hardy jammed on the car brakes.

“What's the matter with that driver?” his brother Joe asked excitedly.

Racing down the hill toward them was a car evidently out of control. It zigzagged wildly from one side of the road to the other. Any moment it might crash head-on into the boys' convertible!

“Better back up!” Joe cried. “Look!”

The oncoming automobile swerved sharply, then dived into a ditch. At the same moment the left front wheel came off and rolled down the hill. Afraid that the wheel might bounce up on their open car, the boys scrambled out and jumped a fence to safety. The heavy wheel missed their convertible by inches and toppled over.

“Whew, that was a close one!” Frank remarked. “I wonder if the driver was hurt.”

“We'd better find out,” urged Joe, starting to run. He was blond and a year younger than his dark-haired brother.

When the Hardys reached the car, the driver, a lean man in his thirties, was still holding the steering wheel and seemed badly shaken.

“Are you all right?” Frank asked.

The stranger nodded slowly. “I think so. But I was never so scared in my whole life.” He spoke with a British accent.

“I can imagine,” Joe said.

“Shouldn't have let that boy in the garage change the tire,” the man continued. “His boss was out and obviously he didn't know what he was doing. I might have been killed!”

Frank and Joe agreed. “Can we help you fix the car?” Frank asked.

“That'd be awfully decent of you. My name's John Mead.”

The boys introduced themselves.

“The sons of the famous detective?” Mead asked, surprised. “I just read something in the paper about your father.”

Joe nodded, then went to retrieve the wheel. Mead got out of the car and with Frank surveyed the lopsided automobile.

“I think we can get her back on the road,” Frank observed. “Hey, Joe, give us a hand, will you?”

Together they righted the car, then Mead got a jack and tools out of the trunk. Soon they had the wheel fastened again, and the Englishman started the engine.

“It's running fine,” he said, relieved. “You chaps have been a great help. Thanks a lot. My home is on the north shore of Barmet Bay, a couple of miles from Bayport. Will you come and see me some time? I should be back in a week or so.”

“We'll do that, sir,” Frank replied with a grin. “Good luck!”

He and Joe pushed Mead's car out of the ditch, then the stranger drove off.

Joe stretched. “That's enough heavy work for one day,” he said. “We're supposed to be on summer vacation!” Suddenly he stopped short. “Hey, Frank, take a look at this!”

“What is it?”

“A key. Sure looks funny.”

Frank examined the large, strange-shaped object that Joe had picked up from the spot where the car had turned over.

“It must belong to Mead,” he said. “Maybe we'd better take it over to his house later.”

“He won't be there for a week, Frank.”

“I know, but someone else might. Come on. Let's go.”

On the way home they talked about the Englishman. “Did you notice the odd signet ring he was wearing?” Frank asked. “It reminded me of a square with three spokes.”

“It did look strange,” Joe commented.

When they arrived home they were greeted at the door by their father. Fenton Hardy was a tall, well-built man in his early forties. He had resigned from the New York Police Department years before, and attained fame as an expert detective when he went into private practice.

His sons were following in the elder Hardy's footsteps and in spite of their young age were excellent sleuths in their own right. Now, as they accompanied their father to his study, they sensed that something had gone wrong. Mr. Hardy frowned deeply as he sat down behind his desk.

Frank dropped into a soft upholstered chair. “What's the matter, Dad? You don't look too happy.”

“New case, I bet,” Joe put in.

“Right,” Mr. Hardy said, looking at a typewritten sheet in his hand.

“Can you tell us about it?” Frank asked.

“Yes. I'm investigating a series of burglaries. Television and stereo equipment. Mostly stores and warehouses.”

“Must be an organized gang,” Frank observed.

“No doubt. What baffles me is the way they get in. All of the places have good burglar alarms, but they never go off. On the other hand, there is no evidence that the alarm systems were tampered with.”

“Need help?” Frank offered.

“Not right now.” Mr. Hardy grinned. “But I'll let you know if I do!”

Frank and Joe were always eager to assist their father on his cases, but often had uncovered mysteries of their own, starting with
The Tower Treasure,
and most recently the baffling
ShortWave Mystery.

Frank stood up. “Well, we have an errand to do.” He pulled the key they had found at the scene of the accident from his pocket. “Look at this, Dad,” he said. “Strange, isn't it?”

“It's odd all right,” the detective remarked, examining the ornamental piece of metal. “It must fit a very unusual lock. Where did you get it?”

Frank filled his father in on their adventure, then asked, “Do you know the Mead place?”

“No, I don't.”

“Well, we'll go over and see if someone's home.”

“Good idea. On the way you can drop off this envelope for Chief Collig, okay?”

“Sure thing, Dad.” Frank took the envelope and the boys left.

At police headquarters they found Chief Collig at the teletype machine, scanning the latest reports.

“Hi, fellows,” he greeted them, sitting back in his chair. He was a vigorous, middle-aged man with iron-gray hair, who worked closely with the Hardys on their various cases. “What's up?”

Frank handed him the envelope. “Dad asked us to deliver this.” He paused for a moment, then asked, “Do you happen to know the Mead place?”

“Yes. Why?”

Frank told how they had met John Mead and found the odd key after he had driven away.

“There's something funny going on here,” the chief said slowly. “John Mead has been dead for five years and his house has been closed ever since!”

Frank and Joe stared in amazement. “But we saw—” Joe began.

“I don't know who the man was,” Collig said firmly, “but it couldn't have been John Mead. He locked up his house for the winter five years ago and headed for Florida. He and his chauffeur were killed in an automobile accident on the way. No one else lived in the house.”

“Perhaps a son—” Frank suggested.

Collig shook his head. “Mead was a bachelor. There was no will, and apparently no relative to claim the estate. So it's been vacant ever since his death.”

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by a telephone call. While waiting for the chief to finish speaking, Frank and Joe discussed the strange situation. If no one lived at the Mead place, who was the man they had met on the road?

“Maybe a con man,” Joe suggested.

“He didn't look like one,” Frank mused.

“That doesn't mean anything.”

“You're right. I say we go over there and check the place out.”

When Chief Collig finished his telephone conversation, the boys told him their plan.

“Tell you what,” the chief replied, “I'll send one of my men with you. Somehow I have the feeling that there's something very wrong about this whole thing and I don't want you to go alone.” He turned to the intercom and pressed a button. A moment later he spoke into the transmitter.

“Riley, are you busy? I want you to take a trip with Frank and Joe Hardy before you go on your beat.” The chief waited for an answer, then said, “Fine. They'll be down right away.”

The Hardys thanked Chief Collig and hurried to the door.

“Let me know what you find,” the chief called after them.

Con Riley was no stranger to the Hardy boys. They had worked with him on past mysteries.