Hardy Boys 25: The Secret Panel by Franklin W. Dixon

Author:Franklin W. Dixon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-12-23T16:00:00+00:00

A man was picking the lock on the Hardy’s back door

Still suspicious, Joe asked the fellow his name and was told it was Mike Batton. Frank staved out with the workman while Joe went inside and telephoned the Whittaker shop. Ben answered. Yes, Whittaker reported, Mike Batton worked for him. and on his desk pad was an order to change the lock on the Hardys’ back door at once.

“Will you please describe Mike Batton,” Joe requested.

Mr. Whittaker’s description fitted the young man perfectly. Joe went outdoors again.

“Okay, Batton,” he said. “You win. But I’m sure there’s some mistake. Since you haven’t started your work yet, don’t bother with the lock.”

“That’s okay with me,” the workman growled, and went up the walk to the street without looking back.

“What did you find out?” Frank asked his brother.

Joe told him what Ben Whittaker had said, and added, “His story seems to be on the level, but I’m still not satisfied. I wish Mother would come home so we could ask her.”

But Mrs. Hardy did not return, and after eating lunch, the boys became impatient.

“Why don’t we go down and see Mr. Whittaker?” Frank suggested. “I’d like to find out more about Batton. There’s just no sense in anyone trying to change a lock without even opening the door!”

“Right!” agreed Joe. “And say, we might ask Mr. Whittaker about the Mead place. Maybe he’s seen the strange doors there, and knows whether the key we have fits any hidden locks in them.”

The Hardys started down the street. They had gone only three blocks when their chubby friend Chet Morton jumped out of a yellow sedan which stopped briefly and then went on. He was munching an apple.

“Hi, fellows,” he greeted them. “I was on my way to your house. Phil gave me a ride. Going anywhere special?”

“Well, sort of,” Joe replied. “Why?”

“Put it off,” Chet insisted importantly. “I’ve got something to show you.”

“What is it?”

“Come with me to Water Street and you’ll see,” Chet said mysteriously.

Frank winked at Joe. They were always secretly amused by their friend’s great enthusiasm for any new interest. Chet lived on a farm just outside of Bayport, and when he was not helping the Hardys on a mystery, he was constantly developing any one of a dozen different hobbies.

Frank and Joe wondered what Chet was up to this time.

At Water Street their friend turned down a lane leading to the shore of Barmet Bay. Frank and Joe followed as he walked onto a dilapidated dock, stopping at the edge.

“There she is,” Chet said proudly, pointing. “Pretty swell, eh?”

Chained and padlocked to a pile was a heavy dory. It was nicked and scarred, and badly in need of paint. Altogether, the boat did not look very seaworthy. It had a motor, but the Hardys guessed from its age that it would not run.

“My craft’s not as fancy as the Sleuth,” Chet declared, “but I can go fishing now any time I want.”

The Sleuth was the Hardys’ sleek, powerful speedboat. They had paid for it with reward money they had received for successfully solving a past mystery.

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