"Dunno. I change a lot of tires."

"The one I mean was a front wheel," said Frank, trying to jog the young man's memory. .

"Don't remember," was the laconic reply.

"Where's your boss?" Joe spoke up.

"Dunno."

The Hardys were becoming exasperated. Thinking they might wake up the dull fellow, Frank told him about the wheel coming off Mr. Mead's car and how it nearly caused an accident.

"Are you sure you don't know a Mr. Mead?"

"Nope."

While Joe endeavored to find out who lived in the town, and whether any strangers had moved in 86 lately, Frank wandered into the office of the garage. His gaze fell upon a handsomely bound book which lay on the desk. It seemed so out of place there that he picked it up and glanced inside. A notation pasted on the flyleaf quickened his pulses.

Property of Hamilton Museum.

This was one of the museums which had been robbed recently! Frank instantly recalled two significant facts. This garage was only a five-minute run from the Mead home. The man on the road who called himself John Mead said he had had a wheel changed by a stupid boy!

Hurrying back into the garage with the book in his hand, Frank asked whose property it was. The helper replied that someone had dropped the book there, but would say no more.

Fortunately the owner of the garage came down the street at this moment. Mr. Bilks was more cooperative. He told the Hardy boys that some men had stopped for gasoline a few days before. After they had driven off, he had found the book on the ground.

"Do you know what this book is?" Frank asked him excitedly.

"I tried to read a little of it," Mr. Bilks grinned, "but it was beyond me. Ain't even written in English, is it?"

Frank smiled and told the man the book was in Latin. The boy went on to say that the volume was 87 very old and rare, and had been stolen recently from the Hamilton Museum.

"You mean it's worth a lot of money?" the startled man blinked.

"I believe so," Frank replied. "I think you ought to turn it over to the constable and have him put it in a safe."

"I sure will," Mr. Bilks answered quickly. Then, as a thought struck him, he asked, "Those men that stopped for gas-were they thieves?"

"They probably were," Joe answered, "and if any of them come back here be sure to call the police."

Mr. Bilks promised to follow Joe's suggestion. Then he went to the telephone and asked the constable to come over at once. When the officer appeared, the Hardy boys had a long talk with him and endeavored to find out if there was any spot in the village where the thieves might be hiding.

The constable, a Mr. Pickens, a.s.sured the boys he knew every hole and corner in the town. He said that there certainly were no gangsters living there. The man rather pompously suggested that he would not allow such a thing.

"Of course not," Frank agreed. "I'd like to ask you one more question. My brother and I heard recently about a room without windows which you enter through a secret panel. Do you know of any such room around here?"

The officer looked intently at the youth, saying rather tartly he knew every inch of the town. There 88 was no secret panel in it. Confident that there were no more clues to be picked up which might lead to Lenny Stryker or the hide-out of the museum thieves, Frank turned the car about and sped back toward Bayport.

Joe counted the minutes after they pa.s.sed the humming signal light again. Ten minutes later Frank stopped in one of the residential sections of the town. They decided to wait until after dinner to investigate the area. It was lucky that they did so, because when they reached home Aunt Gertrude was putting the finishing touches to dinner and insisted it be eaten at once. When the meal was over, and her nephews announced they were going out to do a little more sleuthing, Aunt Gertrude sniffed.

"The idea! When I was your age, I was in bed by nine o'clock!"

"What a lot you must have missed," remarked Joe teasingly. "Or maybe nothing happened after nine o'clock when you were our age."

"Plenty happened," said his aunt. "But decent folks had nothing to do with it. They got their sleep. I declare, I don't know what the present generation is coming to. They'll all be nervous wrecks before they're thirty!"

Aunt Gertrude might have said more, but the boys hurried from the house and went back to the section which was ten minutes' drive from the humming traffic light. After spending twenty minutes walking around and making inquiries, the Hardys were sure 89 this was not the place to which Doctor Lyall had been taken.

"What say we run out to Chet's?" Joe suggested. "We could do that and even be in bed by nine o'clock," he grinned.

"And if one lola Morton should coax you to stay longer you might even forget to be home by nine o'clock," Frank teased his brother.

"Oh, cut it out," said Joe, turning red. He was very fond of Chet's sister, although he would not admit it.

When the brothers reached the Morton farm Chet's mother and sister came out to the front porch and greeted the Hardys rather excitedly. Mrs. Morton said her son had been trying to get them on the telephone before leaving the house, but that he had been unable to wait.

"What's up?" Joe inquired.

"I don't know exactly," lola replied. "Chet was kind of mysterious."

"Yes, and very excited too," Mrs. Morton added. "He didn't say much, but was eager to get in touch with you boys."

"Where is he now?"

"Well, I'm not sure," their stout chum's mother answered. "But he did say that we should keep on trying to get hold of you two boys and, if we did, to ask you to come to 47 Packer Street."

The Hardys had never heard of 47 Packer Street. Neither Mrs. Morton nor lola could tell them why 90 Chet had gone to the address. He merely had said it was very important that he go there at once. He was to meet a man on some special business in which the Hardys were concerned.

"Chet didn't mention the kind of business?" Joe asked Mrs. Morton.

"No, he didn't. I got an idea it was some kind of ease you're working on."

"We'd better get going," Frank urged his brother.

The Hardys jumped into their roadster, bade Mrs. Morton and her daughter a hasty good-bye, and drove off quickly. They wondered what was up. Had Chet got on the trail of the man who had sold him the battered boat? Or had he somehow picked up a clue to the whereabouts of Lenny Stryker or the museum thieves?

CHAPTER XI.

Trapped!

packer street was narrow. It led to Bayport's waterfront. A street lamp revealed Number 47 as a dilapidated house.

"Do you suppose this is the place Chet meant?" Frank asked his brother, surveying the closed windows and drawn shades.

"It sure seems funny," said Joe. "I don't like it."

The Hardy boys got out of their roadster and gazed about, but Chet did not put in an appearance. As the brothers were wondering what to do, a short, stocky man walked slowly up the alleyway from the back of the house. Joe nudged his brother and whispered: "Look! I'll bet he's the man who sold Chet the boat."

"Could be," Frank agreed in a low voice, realizing the description given by the stout boy fitted the stranger perfectly.

On impulse Joe accosted the man as he reached the sidewalk. The boy said he was looking for a friend of his and wondered if the stranger had seen him around. The man shook his head.

"Haven't seen anybody. Been too busy." He started up the street.

"We were to meet him here," Frank spoke up, detaining the stocky fellow. "Are you sure he didn't come to this house?" Frank's eyes bored into the stranger.

The man looked intently at Frank, then asked why the boys were meeting their friend at this place. Taking a shot in the dark, Frank replied that it was because they were trying to find the person who had sold Chet a dory.

"And we think you're that person!" Joe added.

The Hardys expected the man to deny the accusation, but to their surprise he burst into laughter. "Oh, so that's it," he said. "Sure I sold your friend a boat. And I've been trying ever since to find him. I want to get it back."

"You-you want to get it back?" Frank cried in amazement.

The stocky stranger, an innocent look on his face, seemed surprised at the boy's question. "What's the matter with that?" he said. "I never should have sold it to him in the first place. And I'll pay him a handsome profit to get it back, too. Where can I find him?"

For a moment the brothers had no answer. Then their suspicions were aroused anew.

There was 93 something very funny about this whole business. They were sure Chet had given his name and address to the man.

"Well, where is your friend?" the man repeated.

"I don't know," Frank replied evenly. "But we'll give him your message when we see him.

Where can Chet get in touch with you?"

The fellow gave a start but recovered his poise immediately. "Come into the house and I'll get you one of my cards," he invited.

Frank and Joe looked at each other. Was all this on the level, or were they walking into a trap? Whispering into Joe's ear in a barely audible voice, Frank warned: "Watch your step!"

They followed the man up the porch and into the hall. He snapped on a flashlight and apologized for the condition of the house, saying his furniture at the moment consisted only of the pieces in his office at the rear. Keeping their ears tuned for any unusual sounds, Frank and Joe followed the man down the hall, and waited as he unlocked a door.

"The light's on the other side of the room," the stranger said, opening the door.

As the boys strained their eyes to see into the dark room, two fists suddenly shot out, catching each of them under the chin. Taken off guard, the brothers lost their balance and sprawled on the floor.

The door was slammed shut and locked from the outside. Hasty footsteps retreated up the hallway 94 and the front door was closed swiftly. The stocky stranger smiled and muttered to himself.

"That'll take care of those fresh kids for a while. I suppose they'll get out of that place, but not before I finish that little job I have in mind!"

In the dark back room Frank Hardy sat up and rubbed his chin ruefully.

"Joe, are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes, Frank. And you?"

"I'm all right. But that sure was some wallop. Gosh, we're saps!"

"I'll say we are. I------ " "

Just then there came a loud groan from someone else in the room. Chills ran down the spines of the Hardy boys.

Frank got up, and though still a little groggy from the blow he had received, felt around for his flashlight, which had dropped from his pocket. At last he located it and snapped on the light. In the corner of the room lay Chet Morton, bound and gagged! The boy's eyes were closed.

"Chet!" yelled the brothers, and hurried to his side.

Quickly they pulled the handkerchief from his mouth, untied the cords which bound his wrists and ankles, and rubbed them vigorously. Chet soon regained consciousness.

"Wh-where am I?" he gasped. Then, recognizing the Hardys, he added, "Thank goodness you came."

"Tell us what happened," Joe demanded.

Frank said he thought they ought to get out of the house before hearing Chet's story. At any instant the stocky stranger might return and even bring some pals with him!

But getting out of the room was not so easy as it seemed. Its one window was high up, and apparently the lock was rusted shut. The only other exit to the room was through the door to the hall. Frank and Joe threw their weight against the door, and a few seconds later the upper half of it gave way. Joe reached his hand through to feel for a key in the lock but there was none. Another heave against the door, however, and there was an opening large enough for the three boys to crawl through. Helping Chet to the front entrance, they left the house.

The street was quiet. No one was in sight. The Hardys knew it would be hopeless to try pursuing the stranger, so they headed for the Morton farm. On the way Chet told them he had received a mysterious telephone call. He had been warned that the speaker would not take "No" for an answer. Chet was to go at once to 47 Packer Street to see about the dory he had bought.

"When I got there that man said he wanted the boat back right away," Chet related. "At first I didn't let him know it was at the bottom of the bay."

"What did you tell him?" Joe asked.

"I said I didn't want to sell it. At that the fellow glared at me and said I certainly was was going going to sell it back to him.

96 "He tried to stick some money in my hand and I didn't know what to do. I was hoping you fellows would come to help me out, so I kept putting him off. He got madder by the minute."

"What was he md about?" Frank asked, perplexed.

Chet shrugged. "I don't know. But finally I had to tell him the dory had sunk, and, boy, did he rave! He stomped around the room like a mad bull. I tried to get out but he had locked the door. Finally he yelled that he would fix me, and the next thing I knew, he gave me a terrific wallop on the head. Gosh, it still hurts!"

Frank and Joe promised Chet they would renew their efforts to find the fellow. Now that they had met him face to face, it would be easier for them.

After reporting the affair to the police, the Hardys drove on to their own home. They discussed the strange affair from every angle, but came to no conclusion. Why had the man gone to the trouble of enticing them into the empty house when it would have been so much easier for him to have let them go?

Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude had retired. The boys were just ready for bed when they heard their father's key in the front door.

"Let's go talk to him," Joe urged his brother, and ran down the stairs. "h.e.l.lo, Dad! How did you make out?" he asked eagerly.

The famous detective said he was a bit discouraged so far as the museum robberies were concerned, but he was working on a new angle which might lead somewhere. It had to do with fingerprints.

"And now, boys, suppose you tell me what you've been doing. I can see by your eyes that there's something important in the wind." He led his sons into the den.

It took some time for Frank and Joe to relate their experiences after finding the humming traffic light: the strange happenings at the Mead home; the book from the Hamilton Museum, which they had found in the garage and turned over to the constable; Chet's adventure and their own part in the happenings at 47 Packer Street. Mr. Hardy rubbed his chin thoughtfully.