The Secret Panel by Franklin W. Dixon Read Free Book Online Page A

guy, anyhow?” Frank speculated. “Now that we know the key he had fits this house, it makes things more complicated than ever.”
    Joe agreed. Idly he touched an electric switch on the wall. The dining room suddenly was filled with light. Both boys jumped. “The electricity is on!” Joe said in surprise.
    â€œBut why would the power company leave it on in a house that’s been closed for five years?” Frank said slowly.
    The boys did not speculate further about this, however, because their attention was drawn to the doors and windows. As on the exterior, there was not a sign of hardware on any of them. Locks, latches, bolts, hinges—all must have been ingeniously hidden.
    â€œLet’s check out the rest of the place,” Joe suggested, snapping off the light switch.
    Frank was intrigued by the library with its huge fireplace and hundreds of books. Since he wanted to pause and look at them, Joe said he would go upstairs alone.
    â€œLocks and Keys by John Mead,” Frank read aloud, noting a handsomely bound volume on a shelf. He removed the dust cover from a reading lamp, switched it on, and sat down in an armchair to glance through the pages.
    Instantly his eyes focused on a picture of the author in the front of the book. He did not look at all like the man the boys had encountered! He was elderly, with white hair and a mustache.
    â€œObviously the deceased owner of this house,” Frank decided. He noted that there was no chapter which told how to install concealed hardware.
    There was, however, much in the book on the history of locks and keys, and soon Frank became completely absorbed in the subject.
    He learned that in Biblical times keys were made of wood and were so heavy that they had to be carried over one’s shoulder; that later the makers of metal keys received the name of locksmith because actually they were blacksmiths who forged keys; and that the invention of burglarproof locks was barely a hundred years old.
    Presently Frank was interrupted by a distant voice saying, “We’d better go now.”
    â€œAll right, Joe. Just a minute,” he replied. But the minute had dragged into five when suddenly the lamp’s bulb went out.
    Frank got up and hurried into the hall. He clicked on the switch, but this time the lights did not flash on.
    â€œThat’s funny,” he thought. “The main fuse must have blown. Hey, Joe!” he shouted up the dark stairway. “Joe!”
    There was no reply.
    â€œMaybe he went outside,” Frank said to himself.
    Playing his flashlight over the carved design on the inside of the front door, he pressed the turtle’s body. At once the door swung inward, and he walked out.
    Joe was not around the house, so Frank hurried to the convertible. But he was not there, either. After looking over the grounds, going as far as the waterfront, Frank decided that his brother still was in the mansion.
    Meanwhile, Joe was having his own difficulties. He had paused in a den to look at some hunting trophies which hung on the walls. Switching on a lamp, he gazed in admiration at several fine specimens. In moving about, he accidentally closed the door leading into the hall. It locked!
    â€œNow that was stupid of me,” he muttered, looking for the combination to open it.
    Suddenly the lamp went out. To his chagrin, Joe realized that he had left his flashlight on a table in the downstairs hall. And now he could not see the design on the door well enough to work on it.
    He hurried to one of the shuttered windows, through which rays of sunshine filtered, and lifted the sash. “Well, that’s a break,” he thought.
    Getting the shutters open was another matter. Though no fastener was visible, they were locked. Joe ran his fingers over the surface hunting for a secret spring, but found none. Next he took a penknife from his pocket and inserted one of its blades in the crack between the two shutters. Suddenly