FENTON HARDY TAKES A HAND




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Franklin W. Dixon

Hardy Boys Mystery Stories: Volume Twenty-Two

The Flickering Torch Mystery

Copyright, 1943, by Grosset & Dunlap, Inc

 

This is the original 1943 text

 

In the 1943 original, the Hardy Boys solve the mystery of Asa Grable's missing silk moths and the theft of construction materials. The 1971 revision is completely different.

 

CHAPTER I

THE SCIENTIST'S REQUEST

 

When Frank Hardy answered the doorbell that morning, he had no idea that its shrill ringing was a summons to excitement, adventure and peril. The man who stood on the broad veranda of the Hardy home looked mild-mannered enough-a small, elderly person with a clipped white mustache and silver-rimmed spectacles.

''Is this where Fenton Hardy lives?''

"Yes," said Frank pleasantly. "My father is busy just now. Does he expect you?''

"Well, no," admitted the caller. He added cautiously, "It's Fenton Hardy, the private detective, I want to see. This is his house?"

"This is the right place. Come in anyway, Mr.–"

"Grable. My name is Asa Grable," said the man meekly as he stepped into the hall. "I know I haven't an appointment and I hesitate to intrude–but perhaps your father can spare me a minute. It's very important.''

Frank showed the caller into the living room, excused himself, and went into the library. There he found his father packing papers into a brief case. Fenton Hardy, tall and middle-aged but still youthful in appearance, glanced up in surprise when he heard the name of the man in the other room.

"Asa Grable, the scientist?"

"He didn't say. But he seems mighty eager to see you, Dad.''

Fenton Hardy looked at his watch.

"Your mother and I are leaving on a trip," he said. "I counted on getting away by ten o'clock. But I'll try to spare a few minutes. Show him in, Son."

Strange visitors at strange hours were no novelty in the Hardy household. Fenton Hardy, who had earned a brilliant reputation in his younger days as an outstanding detective on the New York police force, now was known the length and breadth of the country as one of the best private detectives in the United States. He was a busy man, for his services were in constant demand. He had established a practice of his own in the city of Bayport, on the coast, where he lived with his wife and his two sons, Frank and Joe.

As the caller went to the library, Frank returned to the kitchen, where he and Joe had been helping their Aunt Gertrude do some baking. Their only help consisted of sampling batches of cookies as they came from the oven.

"Not one more! Not one!" their relative was saying.

Aunt Gertrude was a maiden lady of uncertain years and unpredictable temper. She had an income and a disposition all her own, and she spent her life visiting relatives far and wide. Her present visit at her brother Fenton's home had just begun.

Aunt Gertrude never would have admitted it, but Frank and Joe were her favorite nephews; she secretly adored them and publicly scolded and corrected them on all possible occasions. As for the Hardy boys, they had long since learned that Aunt Gertrude's peppery manner concealed a great depth of affection.

"These cookies are delicious," said Frank.

"Well, then, you may have one more," grumbled Aunt Gertrude, gratified. She nibbled at a cookie herself, as Frank and Joe reached for the pan. "I have baked worse," she said.

"Impossible, Aunty," declared Frank.

"What's that?" She glared at the boy over her spectacles. "It's impossible to bake worse cookies?"

"Oh, no, Aunt Gertrude," gulped Frank, floundering. "I mean–I never tasted worse cookies–I mean you couldn't bake worse ones–"

"What?"

"I mean they're the best I ever tasted."

Aunt Gertrude gave him a stern look, full of suspicion.

"Then why don't you say what you mean? Who was that at the door?"

Aunt Gertrude had a disconcerting way of always jumping from one train of thought to another.

"It was a Mr. Grable. Asa Grable. I think he's a scientist."

"Asa Grable, the bug man?"

"I don't know. Dad seemed to recognize his name.''

"It's the bug man, I'll be bound," declared Aunt Gertrude.

"You mean he catches bugs?" asked Joe. "What kind of bugs?"

"How should I know? All I know about Asa Grable is that he has something to do with bugs." Aunt Gertrude turned sharply on Frank. "He didn't bring any with him, did he?" she demanded.

"I didn't see any," laughed Frank.

Aunt Gertrude sighed with relief. "I hate the nasty things. Scientist or no scientist, I'll chase him out of the house if he brings any of his bugs here.''

The boys heard their father calling them from the library. They found Asa Grable and Fenton Hardy engaged in an earnest discussion.

"–I know they're a little young, but I think you'll find they can handle it for you, Mr. Grable, '' their father was saying. '' It won't be the first time my sons have taken over one of my cases. And solved it, too!''

''I was hoping you would be able to undertake the case yourself," said Grable in a disappointed voice. "It's very important to me.''

Fenton Hardy turned to his boys.

"I'd like you to meet Mr. Asa Grable, the well-known entomologist. He has come to me with a problem. As you know, I'm already working on a very important case, and I have to leave Bayport right away. I've told Mr. Grable about the success you two have had in solving mysteries, and I'm trying to persuade him to let you take over this one for me."

The caller blinked doubtfully. He could not be blamed for hesitating to entrust his problem to a couple of boys.

This attitude was nothing new to Frank and Joe Hardy. Though they had inherited a good deal of their father's deductive ability and had solved many mysteries, it was difficult to convince strangers that these two lads, still of high school age, were thoroughly competent in detective work.

"I daresay the boys are very clever," said Asa Grable, "but this is important to me, and after all–"

"They're not amateurs," intervened Fenton Hardy. "I give you my word that they've had more training and experience than I had at their age. If the case is still unsolved when I come back from my trip, I'll take over."

Frank spoke up. "Dad, you haven't forgotten that Joe and I have promised to work at the State Experimental Farm this month? They're short of help. Do you think we'd have time to take Mr. Grable's case?"

The scientist looked interested. "The Experimental Farm? Why, that's very near my place. Where do you plan to stay?"

"We've arranged to board at a farmhouse belonging to a Mrs. Trumper," Frank told him.

"Right next door to me!" exclaimed Grable. ''You'll be close at hand.'' He seemed more interested now. ''It might work out after all.''

"I could arrange with the Farm Superintendent to give my sons a little time off," Fenton Hardy said. "Why not tell them your problem anyhow, Mr. Grable? If you'll excuse me, I have to see Mrs. Hardy about our luggage."

He left the library. Asa Grable pursed his lips, stroked his mustache, and stared at the two Hardy youths over the tops of his spectacles. Apparently his decision was favorable.

"Probably you boys have never heard of me before," he began, "but in the scientific world I'm fairly well known. I'm an entomologist. My life work has been the study of butterflies and moths. A number of years ago, while traveling in the Orient, I became interested in silkworms, and I've specialized in experimental work with them ever since."

"You brought some to this country?" asked Joe.

Asa Grable nodded. "I brought back grubs, small mulberry trees-everything I needed for my work. I may say the experiments have been very successful." He coughed modestly. "In fact," said Mr. Grable, "I've been able to develop a species of super silkworm. From its cocoon I can produce a silk thread stronger than any yet known."

Frank whistled softly. "Sounds pretty good. Especially in these times, Mr. Grable."

"In view of the shortage of good silk," agreed the scientist, "the discovery has very large possibilities. Parachutes, balloons–" He took off his spectacles and rubbed them carefully with his handkerchief. "I have been working on something else, also. I'm afraid I can't tell you about that. So far I have kept it secret. However–" He looked up briskly and smiled. "I haven't come here looking for help in solving that problem. What bothers me is that some of my silkworms, moths and cocoons have vanished."

"Stolen?" asked Frank.

Asa Grable frowned. ''I don't know. That's the trouble. I can't be certain they were stolen. I have been very careful. My experiments are important to the nation–in fact, they will be important to the entire world when they are completed-so I've taken a great many precautions. My greenhouses are always locked."

"Locks can be picked," observed Joe.

"Certainly. For that reason I even installed a burglar alarm system. So far the alarm has never sounded."

"But your silkworms disappear!" asked Frank, puzzled.

"Perhaps they died," Joe suggested.

Asa Grable shook his head. "I understand them so well and I know my greenhouses so thoroughly I think I could put my finger on every worm, moth and cocoon at any time. But they disappear. And I can't understand it."

"We'd like to help you, Mr. Grable," said Frank. "We could at least keep a watch on your place, and maybe we could pick up a few clues for Dad to follow, when he comes back."

This was tactful. The scientist was made to feel that they merely would hold the fort until Fenton Hardy could devote his whole attention to the affair. Secretly they hoped to solve the mystery themselves!

"Very well," said Asa Grable, after thinking it over. "I doubt very much that you'll discover anything, but–well, until your father comes back, I'll let you take the case."

Fenton Hardy hurried into the room, carrying his hat. A light overcoat hung over his arm.

"Well," he said, "has anything been decided?"

"I'm going to let your boys take the case," replied Asa Grable. He shook his head. "But I'm afraid they won't solve it."

"They may surprise you," smiled the detective proudly. "I'm sorry I have to leave you, but it's almost traintime." He turned to his sons. ''Go and say good-by to your mother, and then come back and talk to Mr. Grable again."

The boys went into the hall, where they found their mother ready for the journey. Aunt Gertrude was busy giving Mrs. Hardy large quantities of advice from the depths of her traveling experience.

"–and don't worry about Frank and Joe," the good lady was saying. "I'll see that they get plenty to eat, and that they're in bed every night by nine o'clock."

Frank grinned.

"Sorry, Aunt Gertrude," he said. "You're going to keep house alone. Joe and I are going to work at the Experimental Farm."

"I know that," she snapped. ''But you'll be home every night by seven o'clock or I'll know the reason why."

"We're going to live at a farmhouse out there. Mrs. Trumper's place. We have a mystery to handle," Joe informed her proudly.

Aunt Gertrude bristled. "I shan't stay here alone. And you're not living at any farmhouse without me to look after you. If you're going to this Mrs. Trumpet's place–"

"Trumper," said Frank.

"Well–Trumper, Bumper, Bugle or whatever her name is, I'm going, too."

The Hardy boys groaned inwardly. Mrs. Hardy smiled and kissed them good-by.

"I think that will be the best arrangement all around," she said. "Aunt Gertrude would be lonesome here by herself."

Fenton Hardy picked up a suitcase. The boys seized the other bags, and carried them outside. A taxi was waiting at the curb. Fenton Hardy used the trains for his longer trips nowadays instead of his car. On the sidewalk he beckoned Frank and Joe aside.

"I haven't told you anything about this job I'm working on," he said quietly, "because until today I didn't know much myself. But there's no harm in letting you in on a little. I'm trying to round up a gang that has been stealing supplies from State and Federal jobs-road construction, new buildings, and so forth. So you see now, I really had to turn down Asa Grable."

"Big stuff," said Frank. "Have you some good leads?"

Fenton Hardy did not look optimistic. "So far,'' he admitted,"I've been up against a brick wall. There is only one clue-a flickering torch."

"A flickering torch!"

"I think it's a signal to warn various members of the gang when they think they're in danger. If you should see a flickering torch, be on the lookout for trouble."

"We'll remember it," Joe assured him.

Fenton Hardy had time for no more. The taxi driver said they would miss their train if they didn't hurry. A few moments later the car sped down the street, Mrs. Hardy waving good-by to her sons.

"Well," said Aunt Gertrude grimly, "I'd better get busy and do some packing. And some more baking. Mrs. Trumpet probably won't have a thing that's fit to eat."

"Mrs. Trumper," corrected Frank.

They went into the house. The boys returned to Asa Grable in the library. As they entered the room the telephone rang, and the older boy answered it.

"Frank Hardy speaking," he said.

"Is Mr. Asa Grable there?" asked a man's voice.

"Mr. Grable?'' Frank was surprised. "Yes, he's right here."

He handed the telephone to the elderly scientist, who looked astonished. "Impossible," he muttered. "No one knew I was coming here." He picked up the telephone. ''This is Mr. Grable," he said.

The boys heard the metallic rasp of a deep voice, but they could not distinguish the words. As the elderly man listened, he turned pale.

"But–now listen here–'' he faltered. There was a click. The connection had been cut off.

The scientist set down the instrument. His hands were shaking. He looked up at the Hardy boys.

"I–I'm sorry," he said. "It won't be necessary for you to come to the greenhouses after all."

''You don't want us to come?'' gasped Frank.

Asa Grable shook his head. He was agitated and disturbed.

"No," he said, looking for his hat. "It–it was all a mistake. Forget everything I've told you. I won't need you after all."

 

CHAPTER II

PLANNING A DISGUISE

 

The Hardy boys were completely mystified.

Obviously, Asa Grable's sudden change of attitude had something to do with the strange telephone call. They felt sure that the mystery had not been solved. If that were the case, the scientist would have been relieved and pleased, instead of trembling with agitation.

Frank said kindly, "I think you need us now more than ever, Mr. Grable."

"Why do you say that!" demanded the scientist. " I tell you it's all been a mistake. There's no need for any investigation."

"You've been threatened, haven't you?"

Asa Grable looked up sharply.

"How do you know?"

"Am I right?"

The trembling man hesitated. Then he said, "Yes–you're right. That telephone call–I'm afraid to have you go any further with the matter."

"If you've been threatened, I certainly think you'd better let us help you, Mr. Grable," said Joe seriously.

Threats to themselves or their clients were nothing new to the Hardy boys. Ever since they undertook their first case, "The Tower Treasure," they had been pitting their wits against unscrupulous rascals. The boys achieved their first fame as detectives when they solved the mystery surrounding a strange old tower in their hunt for a valuable stamp collection.

It had been the lifelong ambition of the lads to follow their father's profession. Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude had hoped that they might study law and medicine, respectively.

"One detective in the family is enough," the boys' aunt used to say.

It was soon apparent, however, that the natural talents of Frank and Joe lay in only one direction, and it became an accepted fact in the Hardy household that they would be detectives and nothing else. Already their fame had spread beyond Bayport, as seen in their most recent case, "The Clue of the Broken Blade."

The Hardy boys also had developed great ingenuity in judging character. Frank saw that Asa Grable, while a brilliant man in his own line, was timorous and a little eccentric-the sort of person who had to be persuaded, even against his own will.

"Whether you engage us or not," the boy smiled, "we'd like to look into this affair, Mr. Grable. After all, we're going to be living next door to you. You don't want to lose the results of all your experiments just because someone threatens you, do you?"

He had hit the right note. Asa Grable straightened.

"No," he said. "The work is too important. It means too much. I–I suppose you're right.''

"Well, then," declared Joe, "we're going to work on the case."

The elderly scientist thought it over. "But it will mean trouble for me, great trouble, if you are seen near my greenhouses."

"Was that the warning you received?"

"Yes."

"Do you know who telephoned?''

Asa Grable did not answer the question one way or the other. He said, "If you make any investigations at all, I'd rather you stayed out of sight. If you could be disguised–"

"You don't want anyone to know detectives are inspecting your greenhouses," said Frank. "All right, suppose we come around dressed as farmers from the Experimental Station?"

''Very well, very well,'' said Asa Grable hastily. He put on his hat. "I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't have come at all. It's only going to lead to trouble." He made for the door, muttering to himself. He was evidently badly shaken by the surprising telephone call.

Frank and Joe saw him to the front door. The elderly scientist did not wait long enough to shake hands. He scuttled out of the house, looked up and down the street timidly, and then made off in a great hurry.

"There goes a badly frightened man," said Joe.

"He certainly got a scare when he answered that telephone. Somebody doesn't want Fenton Hardy meddling around the Grable place."

"Or Fenton Hardy's sons, either," Joe said. "Maybe that wasn't a bad idea about the disguise. If the man who telephoned is the thief and doesn't see any of us around there, he may think Mr. Grable changed his mind about hiring a detective."

"And if he thinks that," declared Frank, "he may not be so cautious in his robberies. Let's get busy on those disguises,'' he added enthusiastically.

Aunt Gertrude came into the hall. "When are we leaving?" she wanted to know. "What clothes should I take with me?"

"You'll need a sunbonnet, Aunty," said Joe. "After all, if you're going to live on a farm, Mrs. Trumper will expect you to help with the work."

"Pitching hay, milking the cows–"

"Hay! Cows!" shrilled Aunt Gertrude. "I've never milked a cow in my life! I'm scared to death of the things."

"You'll get over that," Frank assured her. "You won't mind milking the little cows–the ones that give the cream for the half-pint bottles. But those big ones they have that fill the quart bottles–"

Aunt Gertrude saw the twinkle in the boy's eyes. "I might have known you were teasing. Where are you going?" she asked, as the brothers moved toward the front door.

"We have some shopping to do," Frank told her. "We have to get overalls and things."

"I'll be packed by the time you come home," Aunt Gertrude said. She headed upstairs. "I think I'll just take along a couple of old dresses in a parcel. I won't need many clothes on a farm."

The Hardy boys went outside and got their bicycles. They rode to the business section of Bayport and went into a large hardware store. While waiting for a salesclerk, they tried on blue jeans and straw hats. Frank studied the effect in front of a mirror, then took a pitchfork from a rack of farm implements, and posed proudly.

''I reckon these here duds is just what I been lookin' fer," he drawled.

"You'd look right natural in a cornfield," grinned Joe. "All you need is a false face, and you'd be able to hire out as a scarecrow anywhere."

At a near-by counter a studious-looking young man, about twenty-five years old, was talking earnestly to the clerk.

"We haven't a magnifying glass of that type in stock just now," the salesman was saying, "but we can order it for you, Mr. Jenkins."

"All right. Send it out to me at Grable's when it arrives."

Grable's! Both Hardy boys ducked behind a pile of garden tools. They did not want to be seen by anyone from the scientist's place. The young man turned away and left the store without noticing them.

The clerk came over to the Hardy boys. He smiled when he saw the straw hats and overalls.

"What's the idea, fellows! Going to a masquerade?"

"Going to work," said Frank. "How about a couple of red shirts to go with these outfits?"

''And a couple of red bandannas,'' added Joe.

The man said he would try to find shirts to fit them.

"I've been selling everything today but hardware," he remarked. "Archibald Jenkins just ordered a magnifying glass."

"I heard him ask you to send it to Grable's," said Frank. ''Is that Asa Grable 's place?''

The clerk nodded. "That's the place. Jenkins is the right-hand man out there; in fact, I'd say he is the head man."

"I thought the old scientist ran it."

The clerk laughed. "Asa Grable is the owner, but he couldn't get along without Archibald Jenkins. He makes the old man step around, but then I guess the scientist needs somebody to look after him."

A big, burly man, black-haired and puffy-faced, swaggered up to the counter.

"How about a little service around here?" fie demanded roughly. "I'm in a hurry." He pushed Joe out of the way and planted his elbows on the counter. "I want a drum of kerosene and some wire.''

Joe planted his own elbows on the counter. "And we," he said to the clerk, "want shirts. Red ones. Right away, seeing we were here first."

"Mr. Cronin," the clerk said, "if you'll just wait until I serve these two boys–"

He had found the red shirts, and now went over to gather up the overalls and straw hats the boys had picked out. Cronin glared at the brothers.

"So I got to wait for a couple of kids, eh! Holding up a government job–"

"Why didn't you say so?" demanded Frank. "We would have waited for the government."

He went over to help the clerk wrap up their package. As he paid for it, he said in a low voice:

"Polite, quiet-spoken customer. Who is he?"

"He's a tough one,'' said the clerk. ''That's Hefty Cronin. He works with the construction gang on the new highway.''

As the boys left the store, the burly man glared at them in annoyance. They mounted their bicycles and started for home.

The Hardy residence, on the corner of High and Elm Streets, was a comfortable old stone building in a quiet residential section of Bayport. Usually traffic was very light on Elm Street at this hour of the day. The boys pedaled along, chatting about their journey to the Experimental Farm, and wondering how Aunt Gertrude would enjoy life at Mrs. Trumper's.

Suddenly a big truck roared noisily out of a side street. It was traveling at a high rate of speed. It turned into Elm, swinging wide.

Joe glanced back over his shoulder. The driver did not seem to be trying to avoid hitting them.

"Look out, Frank!" he cried suddenly. "Jump!"

 

CHAPTER III

A RUNAWAY

 

The heavy truck roared straight toward the two Hardy boys.

Joe, on the inside, swung his bicycle swiftly over the curb as he yelled. Frank, without looking back, bore hard on the handle bars and jumped, dragging his machine after him. He tumbled over the curb, just as the truck boomed past. As the boys glanced up, they saw a puffy, unshaven face in the window of the cab.

"–gave you wise guys a scare, huh?" bellowed Hefty Cronin with a malicious grin.

Frank sat up, rubbing a bruised knee. It had been a close call. Joe, straddling his bicycle at the curb, was speechless with indignation.

"I almost believe that rat would have run us down!" he stormed. "Just wait till I meet Hefty Cronin again! Trying to give us a scare, eh?"

"He succeeded," Frank said.

The boys did not think the truckman had tried to run them down deliberately, but on the other hand, it was a dangerous trick to play. Had either boy given way to panic, had one of the bicycles swerved the wrong way, there could have been a fatal accident.

When they reached home, they found a visitor in the kitchen. A fat, red-cheeked, roly-poly youth was sitting beside the table, within convenient reach of a jar of Aunt Gertrude's cookies. His mouth was full, and he was munching placidly.

"Now these cookies," he was saying to the woman, "are very like some my grandma baked last year. She entered them in a contest at the State Fair." He took a gingersnap from the jar and examined it critically. "Yes, this looks exactly the same as hers." He popped it into his mouth. "Tastes the same, too-except that these are better. Don't tell my grandma I said that, though," he grinned.

"You say she entered her cookies at the State Fair?" queried Aunt Gertrude.

"Won first prize," declared Chet Morton, the fat youth.

Miss Hardy beamed at him with pleasure. He could have had the entire jar of cookies right then. The lad winked at the Hardy boys and reached for another.

"Hi-ya, fellows. I just came around to say good-by. I hear you're going farming."

"You ought to join us, Chet," said Joe.

A pained expression crossed the fat youth's face. "Farming," he pointed out, "is hard work."

"Honest toil never hurt anyone!" declared Aunt Gertrude.

"I spent a week end at my uncle's farm last year and had to pitch hay," said Chet. "I was stiff and sore for three days afterward. Don't tell me honest toil can't hurt."

"You'd be able to reduce," said Frank. "A month out at the Experimental Farm, and you'd probably lose about thirty pounds. It would make a new man of you."

"I don't want to be a new man, thank you," replied Chet. He got up from the chair and moved over to the icebox. "I promised your aunt I'd help her, seeing she's in a hurry to get packed. So I guess I'll clean out the icebox."

Chet cleaned it out thoroughly. When the Hardy boys came downstairs a few minutes later, after packing the purchases they had made at the store, Chet had the contents of the icebox out on the kitchen table. He was nibbling at the last of a small ham and tucking a banana in his pocket.

"No sense in letting good food go to waste," he observed. "I'm glad I came around. You would have had to throw out this stuff."

Chet's fondness for food was well known. He was a good-natured youth, a great favorite with his chums, and he had shared in many of the Hardy boys' adventures.

"I'll miss you fellows," he said wistfully.

"We have a mystery to solve, and we may need your help," grinned Joe. "Be ready for a call."

"Well, don't make it midnight like you did once before," their chum replied. "You know, disturbing a man's sleep–" he winked at Aunt Gertrude.

Joe backed the car out of the garage. The boys discovered that Aunt Gertrude's idea of light luggage consisted of a steamer trunk, two bulging suitcases, two parcels wrapped in brown paper, a knitting bag, a shopping bag, and a shoe box full of sandwiches.

"Just going away for a day or so, I see," remarked Chet gravely, with a wink at his chums.

"Oh, we'll be away a good deal longer than that," declared Aunt Gertrude, "but I couldn't see any sense carting along a whole lot of baggage. I'm just taking what I really need."

The main electricity switch was cut off, the windows were closed, the house and garage were locked, and Aunt Gertrude and most of her belongings were stowed in the rear seat. Farewells were shouted, and the car pulled away. The last the boys saw of Chet, he was standing thoughtfully on the sidewalk, digging another cookie out of his pocket.

Their drive along the river into the country was without incident. The Hardys pulled up at last before a tree-shaded farmhouse set well back from the road on a lane. It was a big, rambling, old-fashioned building with a homey air. Mrs. Trumper herself was a thin, shy woman in her late fifties.

"I'm glad you came with the boys," she told Aunt Gertrude in a soft voice. ''There's plenty of room and I get lonesome at times without anyone to talk to.''

The boys carried the luggage into the house. Aunt Gertrude, after regarding Mrs. Trumper closely a few minutes, decided she was going to like her hostess. When she was shown to a neat, sunny room with a fine view of green fields and meadows, she decided she would like the Trumper farm, too.

"We're going to report to the Experimental Farm right away," Frank said, when the boys came downstairs. They had put on their blue jeans and straw hats.

"Those nice new outfits won't stay clean very long," remarked Mrs. Trumper. She had settled herself on the front porch with her knitting. Aunt Gertrude had found a comfortable rocking chair and the two ladies were in the process of getting acquainted.

"Don't be late for supper!" ordered Miss Hardy.

The boys set off across a field to the grounds of the big Experimental Farm. They skirted a field of corn, heading toward the big red-roofed barns and the main buildings. A man working beside one of the stables directed them to the office of the superintendent. This man, busy making out a report, looked up from his desk.

"Oh, yes," he said. He took a typed sheet from a drawer and studied it for a moment. "You're the boys from Bayport. I didn't expect you until tomorrow." He smiled a little at the brand new work clothes. "I don't know just what you can do today. Better come around in the morning."

"Yes, sir," said Frank. "Do we report to you?"

"I'll assign you to the underwater section. When you show up in the morning, any of the men will direct you. We're doing some experimental work in growing plants without soil. Chemical stuff."

"Plants without soil?" asked Joe in surprise.

"We put chemicals in the water. You'll be amazed at some of the results we get,'' said the superintendent. "In the meantime, just look around, and take in all you can. Care for horseback riding?"

"Yes, indeed," replied Frank.

"Ask one of the stablemen to saddle a couple of horses for you, and you can use them for getting about while you're here."

The superintendent returned to his typewriter. "Sorry I haven't time to show you around myself. Your father telephoned about your having some time off, and I'm sure you can take care of yourselves.''

The boys left the office and made their way back to the stables. The man who had directed them to the superintendent quickly saddled two horses.

"This is a pretty big farm, as you'll find," he said. "For a long time we used cars in getting around from one section to another, but now the men ride horseback a good deal."

Frank meanwhile was busy rubbing some dirt and grime on his overalls.

"What's that for?" the stableman asked in surprise.

"Our clothes are a little too new. People won't think we're farmers, if we look as though we had just stepped out of a store window!"

The stableman laughed. "You won't need to go to that trouble by this time tomorrow," he prophesied.

Joe grimed up his jeans and dropped his straw hat on the ground for good measure, adding an artistic touch by way of a smudge ol dirt on his face. Then he hoisted himself into the saddle. The horses trotted out of the yard into the lane.

"I have an idea," Frank said quietly.

"The Grable place!"

"You guessed it. I think this is a good chance to go over there and look around."

Fifteen minutes later the boys rode up the driveway of the scientist's property. The sun gleamed on the slanting glass roofs of the greenhouses back of the man's home. At the entrance to the driveway was a large sign, which read:

STRICTLY PRIVATE–KEEP OUT

"But that doesn't mean us, thank goodness," grinned Frank. ''Here is Asa Grable himself.''

The elderly scientist was coming down the lane. At first glance he did not recognize the boys.

''Afternoon, Mister,'' drawled Frank. ''Mind if we come in and have a look at your livestock?"

"Just happened to be passin' thisaway and reckoned we'd like to drap in," piped up Joe.

Asa Grable stared at them. Then he smiled as he recognized the boys. He glanced around, and his expression changed when he saw a man coming down the path from the house.

''Not at all, boys,'' said the scientist. ''What's your names and where do you come from?"

"I'm Hank and this is Lem," said Frank. "We work over yonder to the Experrymental place."

Asa Grable gave no sign that he recognized them. He unlocked the padlock of the big gate, and showed them where to tie their horses. The Hardy boys dismounted. Frank gave Joe a nudge as the man from the house approached.

"Archibald Jenkins," he whispered.

They wondered if by any chance Jenkins would recall them as the two boys who had been in the Bayport hardware store when he ordered the magnifying glass.

"What's the trouble, Mr. Grable?" he asked as he came up.

"No trouble at all, Archie," replied the scientist mildly. "Just a couple of boys who want to look around.''

"I don't like the idea of letting strangers have the run of the place," said Jenkins. "What's the use of having locks and signs if we're going to let everyone in?"

Apparently the man had no idea who the boys were.

"We don't aim to make no trouble," said Frank. "We just heard this was a right interestin' place to visit."

"It is," answered Asa Grable. "Very interesting. Come along, boys, and I'll show you around."

He led the way toward one of the larger greenhouses. The brothers hoped they might have an opportunity for some private conversation with Asa Grable, but that hope was doomed. Archibald Jenkins followed closely at their heels. Perhaps he was afraid his employer might unwittingly reveal some of the secrets of his work; perhaps he was just naturally officious. Whatever the reason, he did not let the boys out of sight or hearing during the whole hour of their visit.

They found the tour of the place very absorbing, however. Asa Grable had spent a great deal of money on the premises. His greenhouses contained scores of mulberry trees and Oriental plants. The objects of his special pride, of course, were the silkworms. He showed the boys the cocoons, and the moths, thousands of which were flying about in the glass enclosures.

"As you know," explained Asa Grable, "the silkworms live on mulberry leaves, so we have to watch temperatures closely or the plants would die and the insects would have nothing to eat."

In one house the cocoons were about four inches long, and the white moths were huge.

"I didn't know they growed so big," Frank said. "Why, I reckon them fellows has a wing-spread of close to eight inches."

Asa Grable smiled. "The average cocoon is three inches long, and the moth has a wing-spread of only six inches. But these Grable silkworms are–"

Archibald Jenkins, hovering near by, spoke up irritably. "After all, Mr. Grable, these boys are strangers," he said. "I don't think they should be told about our work here."

Joe paid no attention, and asked quickly, "How much silk would you get from one of them there cocoons? A couple yards?"

"If you should unwind the fiber from that worm there, it would be about fifteen hundred feet long," Asa Grable told them. "Three hundred more than the average."

The boys whistled in surprise. They were beginning to realize the tremendous importance of Asa Grable's work. But Archibald Jenkins apparently decided that they had heard enough. He persuaded the scientist to cut short the visit on the pretext that some cocoons in a small greenhouse marked "secret" were in need of attention. Reluctantly the elderly man led the boys back to where their horses were tethered at the entrance. Even then Jenkins remained close at their heels. However, Mr. Grable was able to say in a low voice:

"Lost some more cocoons last night. Some of the prize ones."

Frank nodded to indicate that he had heard the remark.

"Well, Mr. Grable," he said in a loud voice, "we're sure much obleeged to you for showin' us around this here farm. It's been right entertainin' to see all them bugs and worms and butterflies."

"Butterflies!" snorted Jenkins. "They're moths."

"Look like butterflies to me," piped up Joe, swinging into the saddle. "Maybe we'll come around and pay you a visit some other time.''

Asa Grable assured them that they would be welcome, although his assistant gave them a sour look. The boys rode away.

"Well," said Frank, when they were out of earshot, "what do you think?"

"The place seems well protected," Joe replied. "If there are thieves around, I don't think they would find it very easy to get in. The greenhouse doors seem quite secure.''

"The only bad feature, as I see it," Frank said, "is that if a man gets into one greenhouse he can get into them all, just by going from building to building.''

The layout, they had observed, was in the form of a hollow square. The courtyard in the middle was covered from building to building by several layers of cotton material like cheesecloth, which would prevent the escape of any moths when the inner windows of the greenhouses were open.

"I think we had better watch the place tonight," Joe decided. "If we see anything suspicious, we can tell Mr. Grable.''

The boys stabled their horses in the Trumper barn and, after a hearty supper, waited until dark before setting out again. They walked down the road in the direction of the greenhouses, and went past the entrance to the lane. Frank decided it would not be wise to go any closer, as they did not wish to run into Archibald Jenkins and arouse that young man's suspicions.

They found a side road running parallel to the property, and made up their minds to investigate it.

This was not much more than a lane bordered by trees. On one side was a high fence. In the moonlight the boys could see the glass roofs of the Grable greenhouses just across the field.

"It would be an easy matter for a thief to climb this fence and reach the place from the back,'' Joe said. '' In the darkness he wouldn't be seen–"

"Joe!" interrupted his brother quickly. "Look!"

The boy wheeled around. Frank was pointing across the meadows on the opposite side of the road.

"What's the matter? I can't see anything–"

"Wait! Look! Now–now don't you see it?"

Joe saw a flashing gleam of light. It broke out for an instant, flickered out, shone again.

"A flickering torch!" he exclaimed.

 

CHAPTER IV

BROKEN GLASS

 

The Hardy boys remembered that their father had told them to be on the lookout for a flickering torch–the only clue he had uncovered so far in the mystery of the stolen government supplies!

Excitedly, they gazed into the gloom. They saw the light once again. It flickered for a moment, then disappeared.

"We'd better look into this!" Joe said, starting off.

"It's a long walk. That light may be a mile away.''

"We'll ride. Let's go back and get the horses.''

They hurried to the Trumper barn, saddled the horses, and set out again. When they reached the spot from which they had seen the mysterious light, they set out across the field. At the end of it they found a road which led toward the flickering torch. The path suddenly turned, the moon hid behind a cloud, and the boy were in darkness.

"We've lost the torch," said Frank in disgust.

"I see it!" cried Joe suddenly. Beyond a turn in the road ahead, a yellow gleam of light shone through the trees.

They urged their horses forward. The light gleamed again and again. But when the boys clattered around the bend in the road, the mystery was a mystery no longer.

They came upon a stretch of highway under construction. Several smudge pots stood on the newly-paved section of the road. They flickered fitfully in the darkness.

"Well," muttered Joe, disappointed, "that's that. We came all this distance for nothing."

Frank was looking down at the smudge pots. "The first light we saw wasn't made by one of these, I'm sure," he said. "These are flickering, but they're not moving. That first light was higher from the ground, and it moved."

"As if someone waved it in the air?"

"Right. And it was a long, narrow light. These flames are round and squatty."

"Think we ought to ride on a little farther?" Joe asked.

"Now that we're here, we may as well."

The boys rode past the smudge pots onto the rough right-of-way of the highway under construction. They followed it until they came to a dirt road. This led directly to the cliffs overlooking Barmet Bay.

"I think that light was over there," said Frank, so they turned the horses in that direction.

Reaching the cliffs, they reined in. Far below they could hear the waves crashing against the rocky base of the embankment. Off down the bay they could see the twinkling lights of Bayport.

"End of the trail," said Frank, "and not a sign of a torchbearer. I guess we may as well go back."

They made good tune back to the paved road. Although they kept a sharp lookout, they saw no further sign of the nickering light. When they came in front of the Grable greenhouses, Frank reined in his horse.

"No sign of anyone over there," he remarked. "What do you say we walk across the field and look around?"

Joe swung out of the saddle. "That's what we started out to do this evening. Let's go." he urged.

The brothers tied their horses out of sight and scrambled over a fence and through a field. Cautiously they skirted the scientist's cottage and made their way toward the silkworm enclosures. The moon came from behind a cloud and shone eerily on the slanting glass roofs. It was well after eleven o'clock. Mr. Grable's home was in darkness.

They proceeded slowly when they came to a fence near one of the greenhouses. They slipped through it like shadows. Silently they picked their way forward. Suddenly Frank stopped, grasped his brother's arm.

"Listen!"

They halted, motionless. In the distance they could hear the rattle of a latch, the creak of hinges. From the direction of the Grable cottage they saw a flash of light. Someone had opened a door. The door closed, the light vanished.

Then the boys heard footsteps. Someone was coming from the cottage, stealthily approaching the greenhouses.

The brothers moved back into the deep shadows of a tree. In the dim light they saw a figure cross the road.

Then a brilliant beam of light stabbed the darkness. The man who had left the cottage had switched on a flashlight. Had it been directed a few yards to one side the Hardy boys would have been full in its glare. As it was, the probing beam missed them. The man came nearer–so close, that they could recognize him in the moonlight.

Archibald Jenkins!

He walked very quietly. They saw the beam of his flashlight pick out the doorway of one of the large greenhouses. But the man passed it, and went around the side of the building.

Frank moved quietly after him. Joe followed. They looked around the corner of the building and saw the flashlight some distance ahead. On tiptoe, the Hardy boys went on in pursuit.

"Do you suppose he's only making a tour of inspection?" whispered Joe.

There was something about the man's stealthy manner that aroused their distrust. Was it possible that this trusted employee, Asa Grable's right-hand man, was at the bottom of the whole affair?

The flashlight went out. They caught a glimpse of the shadowy figure at the far end of the greenhouse. Then it disappeared–

Crash!

The noise of shattering glass broke the stillness. In the quiet night it sounded very loud. To the Hardy boys it seemed as if part of the greenhouse might have caved in.

Someone came racing around the far corner of the greenhouse, heading straight toward them. Frank and Joe flattened themselves against the side of the building. They hoped they would not be noticed, but could see whoever was fleeing from the scene of the accident.

Archibald Jenkins whizzed past them. They could hear his heavy breathing. He was so close to the boys that they could have reached out and touched him. Obviously, he had not seen them. He scurried around the front of the greenhouse and ran toward the cottage.

"Maybe he's going to phone the police," whispered Joe.

"And maybe he's in cahoots with the thief and he's clearing out before that crash brings everyone on the place."

They saw him open the cottage door, and waited to see if anyone on the place had been aroused. Not a person put in an appearance.

Then the boys hurried down the path beside the greenhouse, in the direction from which Archibald Jenkins had come. There, at the back, they saw that several panes of glass were missing.

"They fell inside, that's why no one else heard the crash,'' said Joe.

Leaning against the side of the building, with its top end against the broken framework, was a ladder. Frank did not waste time wondering how it got there. If Archibald Jenkins, who had keys to the greenhouses, chose this strange method of gaining entrance to the place, the boy wanted to know the reason why. But, on the other hand, the man had had no ladder when he first passed the brothers a short time before. Frank swung his flashlight inside. He could see no one.

"Come on, Joe!" he said urgently. "Let's get inside this place and look around."

He extinguished the flash, and by the light of the moon climbed up swiftly. At the top he swung himself over and dropped through the opening. The distance was only a few feet and he landed in soft earth. A moment later Joe swung down from the ladder, and dropped beside him.

"It was easier getting into this place than it's going to be getting out of it," Joe whispered as he struck the ground.

The greenhouse was dark. The moon had gone behind a cloud again. Frank was about to turn on his flashlight, when something like a gloved hand brushed against his face.

Startled, Frank leaped to one side. The ground seemed to give way beneath his feet. He felt himself falling, and uttered a cry of alarm. The flashlight flew from his hands. He reached out frantically, trying to regain his balance. He missed, and pitched headlong into the darkness.

 

CHAPTER V

"BOOTS"

 

Fortunately, it was only a short drop. Frank landed heavily in soft earth. He lay there a moment, half-stunned.

He heard Joe calling anxiously, "What happened? Where are you? My flash won't work."

Frank's breath had been knocked from him by the fall, but he finally gasped, "I'm all right."

He managed to get to his knees. His groping hands encountered a flight of steps. Then he realized that he had tumbled down the entrance to a cellar. He was bruised and shaken, but otherwise unhurt.

"Don't move, Joe," he warned his brother. "I fell into a hole."

His searching fingers encountered a metallic object. It was the lost flashlight. Frank snapped it on, got to his feet, and made his way up the steps.

"You might have broken your neck!" said Joe, greatly relieved at finding his brother safe.

"Whoever left that trap door to the cellar open–"

Again Frank felt something soft brush past his face. But this time he gave a low chuckle.

"A friendly moth!" he said. "What a difference in one's imagination when a light is on!"

Joe suddenly remembered the broken panes of glass. "Mr. Grable's valuable moths will escape through that hole in the roof!" he said.

"We'll have to do something about it," replied Frank. "If there's any way we can block that opening–"

The beam of the flashlight fell on a big brown object on the floor. It was a cardboard box. Joe pounced on it.

"This will do the trick." He broke open the carton and tore off a section large enough to cover the spot where the glass had been broken. The boys fitted it into the framework, until the aperture was blocked entirely.

"I suppose that by this time any burglar who might have been in here is gone," remarked Frank thoughtfully.

"Just the same, we ought to look around," said Joe. "That cellarway you fell into, for instance–"

The brothers searched the entire place thoroughly, with the exception of locked closets, but found no clues to an intruder. Finally they made their way toward one of the outer doors. Frank snapped off his flashlight.

"I hope we don't walk into the arms of Jenkins!'' said Joe.

They paused by the door, peered out into the yard. There was no sign of anyone. Mr. Grable's cottage was in darkness.

"The coast seems clear," Frank whispered, carefully opening the door.

Br-r-r-ringgggg!

With startling suddenness, the brassy clamor of an alarm bell shattered the night silence. It broke out so abruptly that the boys jumped.

"The burglar alarm!" gasped Joe. He plunged across the threshold after Frank and slammed the door.

They had hoped the closing of the door would stop the noise, but the bell rang steadily. It created a fiendish uproar, its clang echoing from all corners of the property.

"The quicker we get away from here, the better for us," Frank cried.

They heard a yell from somewhere off in a field, then the thud of running footsteps. Workmen from one of the cottages, no doubt. The Hardy boys did not look back. They reached the fence, flung themselves over it, and ran to the road. They heard the clatter of the alarm bell finally die away.

"I wish there were some way to tell Mr. Grable we're responsible," said Frank, as they reached the horses.

"We might telephone," offered Joe, and this was what they did as soon as they reached Mrs. Trumper's.

Jenkins answered the call, and seemed unwilling to summon his employer. He finally did, however. It took a full minute for Frank, speaking in a disguised voice, to make the elderly scientist understand.

"Oh, thank you, thank you," he said at last. "Everything is all right here."

The boys sat down to discuss the evening's happenings in whispered tones. The more they thought of the strange events of the past hour, the more they were convinced that Mr. Grable's troubles lay very close to home.

"I think Archibald Jenkins will bear watching," said Frank.

Joe agreed. ''He's not a very loyal assistant, leaving that big hole for the valuable moths to escape through,'' he added. ''If Jenkins broke the glass by accident, why would he run away?"

"It's my opinion something frightened him," said Frank.

Joe nodded. "You mean the burglar? Maybe. If so, he's a fine kind of guard. On the other hand, it might be that he and the burglar were about to do some thieving, when one of them broke the glass by accident, and both ran away.''

"We can try to keep an eye on Archibald," said Joe, "but that won't be easy, because he is keeping an eye on us. "

The boys crept quietly up the stairs to bed, thankful that Aunt Gertrude was not sitting up waiting for them. But there was no escaping that watchful lady at breakfast. She had fire in her eyes.

"At what outrageous hour," she demanded sternly,'' did you two come in last night?''

"It was pretty late, Aunt Gertrude," admitted Frank meekly.

"Late!" she snorted. "It must have been mighty near morning. What will Mrs. Trumpet think of the Hardy family if you boys go gallivanting around the countryside until all hours?"

Mrs. Trumper came into the dining room just then, carrying a great platter of ham and eggs.

"Wait until they've worked at the S. E. F. for a few days," she chuckled. "They'll be so tired, they'll want to be in bed at sundown."

"What's the S. E. F?" asked Aunt Gertrude.

"The State Experimental Farm, of course. That's what everyone calls it hereabouts." Mrs. Trumper looked up at the clock. "And I think these lads had better hurry and eat their breakfast. We don't want them to be late."

The very thought that the Hardy boys might be late for their first morning at work agitated Aunt Gertrude so much that she forgot to ask them why they had been so late getting to bed the previous night. She hovered over them like a motherly hen, while they ate generous quantities of ham, eggs and hot cakes. Then she sent them on their way with a perfect hurricane of advice against getting their feet wet, and standing out in the hot sun!

Frank and Joe returned the horses to the S. E. F. stables. On foot they found the underwater farming section without difficulty, and reported to the foreman in charge of all work in that area. He was a lanky, elderly man named Warren, who nodded briefly when they introduced themselves.

"The S. E. F. director told me about you." He summoned a short, shaggy-haired man in high boots and overalls. "Boots! Come over here a minute."

It appeared that "Boots" was the shaggy-haired man's nickname. His rubber boots were so huge that they seemed to be a good three-quarters of his costume. He shambled over, and at first sight, the Hardys had a feeling that they and Boots were not going to get along. The man stared at them in a surly manner and grunted: "Yeah?"

"These lads are going to work in your underwater section," said Warren. "I'll be away a few days, so I'll turn them over to you. Show them what they're to do, will you?"

The foreman hurried away. The shaggy-haired man inspected the boys grumpily.

"So!" he muttered. "I'm to be nursemaid to a couple of kids, am I?"

"If you'll just tell us what we're to do," smiled Frank, "I think you'll find we can perform a full day's work."

Boots gestured toward a long row of metal tanks, half full of water. ''They put chemicals and stuff in there,'' he grunted. ''Plants grow. Also weeds." He jerked his thumb toward some hip boots hanging from the wall of a near-by shed. "You put them on over them overalls and you pull weeds."

The Hardy boys each picked out a pair and put them on. Then they waited for further instructions. The man sat down on the edge of a tank and regarded them sourly.

"Well," he said, "get to work."

"Which are the weeds and which are the plants?" Frank asked.

Boots sniffed disagreeably. ''I knew you two wouldn't be any good the minute I laid eyes on you. If you don't know the difference between weeds and good plants, what are you workin' here for?"

Frank and Joe saw that they were not going to get far with the unpleasant man. He had taken a dislike to them from the beginning, and it was evident that he had made up his mind not to give them any help. The younger boy climbed into the nearest tank and began pulling at the slimy weeds.

"Now look what you're doing!" shouted Boots angrily.

"I'm pulling weeds."

"You're pullin' up good plants."

"Well, then, how are we to know the difference?" spoke up Frank.

"You won't be here long enough to make it worth while showing you anything," grumbled the man.

"Is that so?" said Frank, climbing into the tank beside his brother. "We'll just have to hope we clean out weeds instead of plants."

Boots scowled. It was evident that he thought the boys would give up. But they went to work industriously, pulling up everything that looked like a weed.

"Now you see here," growled Boots angrily, "I'm not going to have these good plants pulled up. Get out of that tank, both of you."

"It's your job to show us the right way to do this work,'' Joe reminded him. "If we're doing it wrong, it's not our fault.''

''We'll see about that,'' stormed Boots. "I'll tell the director to fire the pair of you.''

He strode away, muttering to himself. The Hardy boys watched him go. Then Joe climbed slowly out of the tank.

"I still think I'm right about those weeds," he said. "The big green vines are the good plants.''

Frank clambered out. "I think Boots is bluffing. I don't believe he went to get the director at all."

"He certainly doesn't want us here. He deliberately tried to make us angry so we'd quit."

"He'll have to try harder." said Joe quietly. "We came here to work and nobody is going to stop us!"

He was just about to enter the tank again, when the boys heard a wild yell a little distance away.

" Whoa, there! Whoa! " roared a man's voice. And someone else shouted, "Look out! Runaway!"

Then came the thunder of horses' hoofs. Charging directly toward the boys was a big black horse, riderless, with reins dangling loosely from its neck. A stableman dashed in pursuit, waving his arms and shouting:

"Look out! Runaway horse!''

Joe, though hampered by the heavy hip boots, leaped forward into the middle of the roadway. The galloping steed thundered toward him in a cloud of dust. The boy sprang at the frightened animal, grabbing the reins. But the horse did not stop. It pounded on, dragging the boy with him.

"Joe!" yelled his brother, aghast. "Oh, he'll be trampled to death!" he thought wildly.

 

CHAPTER VI

AN UNPLEASANT MEETING

 

Joe clung to the reins with both hands, thinking that the weight of his body would bring the horse to a stop. He hung on desperately, swinging within a few inches of the deadly steel-shod hoofs as the horse thundered on.

"He'll be killed!" shouted the stableman.

Frank gazed in horror. There was nothing he could do. Joe's daring gamble to stop the runaway had failed. It seemed that at any moment he would lose his grip on the reins and be trampled underfoot.

Then, across a field, raced a sleek, bay horse with a blue-clad figure in the saddle. The animal took a fence at a bound, wheeled in swiftly beside the runaway, and galloped alongside. The man in blue leaned forward, reached out, and seized the runaway horse by the bridle. The next instant the two animals pulled to a stop, rearing and plunging.

Joe was flung clear. He rolled over and over in the roadway, sprawled out at the base of the fence. He struggled slowly to his knees, and got to his feet as his brother ran up to him.

"Are you hurt?" Frank asked breathlessly.

Joe rubbed some dirt from his eyes. He sho



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