Reluctantly the carnival man handed over a ten-dollar bill. Frank nudged Joe, and suggested they speak to the lock picker.

"Maybe he's on the level, but I don't like his looks," he said.

"Neither do I."

Several people had gathered around the fellow, but he walked away rapidly and the crowd turned back to watch the next contestant. Frank and Joe, however, ran after the man to compliment him on his feat.

152 "It sure was a swell exhibition," Joe grinned. "I bet that faker never intended to pay out any money."

The lock picker did not reply. He kept on walking toward the entrance gate.

"I'll bet you're a locksmith," Frank spoke up. "Gee, you must be a good one."

Still the stranger did not speak. The Hardys were not discouraged by his att.i.tude. They trotted along, one on each side of him. Finally Frank said: "You got a car?"

"No."

"Then how about letting us give you a ride? We're leaving."

"Okay," the unfriendly man replied.

At this moment Chet Morton came running up after his friends. "Hi, fellows!" he yelled.

Frank and Joe were in a panic. They did not want their stout friend to give away their ident.i.ty. If, by any chance, the lock picker was connected with the gang they and their father were trying to apprehend, it would be fatal for him to know who they were.

Frank fell back a step, turned, and put a finger to his lips. Chet caught on at once. But the Hardy boy's precaution did them no good. As they reached the parking s.p.a.ce beyond the entrance gates, a newcomer to the fair ran straight into the group. Smiling affably, he said in a loud voice: "Well, if it isn't Frank and Joe Hardy!"

153 The man with them muttered something, and dodged behind a parked automobile. In a moment he had zigzagged his way out of sight. Frank, Joe and Chet dashed after him, but with the confusion of cars coming and going, the lock picker managed to escape. The three boys hunted for some time but did not find him.

"I'm sorry he got away," said Frank. "But in a way, I'm glad this happened. Otherwise we might not have suspected him. Now I could almost bet he's mixed up with that gang of museum thieves."

Suddenly a sickly expression came over Joe's face. Frantically he began to look through all his pockets.

"What's the matter?" Chet asked him.

"My wallet! It's gone!"

The others did not have to ask whether Joe thought the stranger had taken it. So the man was a pickpocket as well as a lock picker! Joe swore by all the cats and dogs in Bayport that he would find the fellow and get his money back!

Frank began to examine the ground near by. In a moment he was down on his hands and knees, inspecting a heelprint plainly visible in the dust.

"If I'm not mistaken, we're in luck," he said. "Look here! That guy who just got away-his heel mark is like one we photographed at 47 Packer Street, I'll bet anything."

Joe dropped to his knees. He agreed with his brother, and suggested they go home at once and 154 compare the picture of the heelprint with the one they had just seen.

"Want to come along, Chet, or are you going back to the fair and win some more money?"

His chum looked sheepish. He decided to accompany Frank and Joe, and a little later was very glad he had. Upon their arrival at the Hardy house, he found Aunt Gertrude removing a lemon meringue pie from the oven.

At once Chet's interest in matching footprints became nil. He lingered in the kitchen to praise Miss Hardy: first, for her attractive appearance; then, as an excellent housekeeper; and finally, as the country's best cook. Aunt Gertrude was not fooled by his build-up; neither was she averse to compliments. Secretly she agreed entirely with Chet, and without questioning his remarks, cut a very large slice of the freshly baked pie for him.

Chet was wondering how much more he might wheedle out of the Hardy boys' aunt, when to his dismay she picked up the pie, set it in a. a. closet, locked the door, and dropped closet, locked the door, and dropped the key into her pocket. At this moment Frank and Joe dashed in.

"They match!" Frank cried. Then he spied what was left of Chet's feast. "Oh, Aunt Gertrude------"

"What matches?" his relative asked him.

Frank laughed. "I'm going to make a bargain with you, Aunty," he said. "You give me a piece of pie and I'll tell you what matches."

"I don't believe in bribes," said Miss Hardy, try155 ing to be stern with this cajoling nephew of hers.

"Oh, Aunty," Joe said, "our information couldn't be paid for in pie."

"And just to show you what good sports we are," Frank said, "we'll tell you. A footprint we saw at Harlington matches one in Bayport."

Aunt Gertrude stared at her nephew. She knew he was teasing her. As Miss Hardy could do a little of this herself, she informed the boy that, unlike the footprints, there was not another pie in the world that could match hers.

"Oh, we know that!"

Miss Hardy unlocked the closet door, cut pieces of the pie for her nephews, and once more locked up what remained of it. While they were eating, Mr. Hardy came into the kitchen. A longing smile spread over his face. His sister did not fail to catch it. She went to the closet, unlocked the door, and gave her brother a large piece of the pie. Then, muttering something about there not being any dessert left for dinner, she shooed everyone from the kitchen so she could start a second one.

Frank and Joe reported to their father the discovery they had just made about the matching footprints. He became interested at once and suggested that perhaps the secret panel for which the boys were hunting might be found in Harlington.

"I believe you should drive over there at once and investigate," he told them. "I'd like to go along, but I have to wait here for an important phone call."

156 The three boys left the house and drove to Har-lington. As they had done before, each boy took a certain section of the town for his investigation, planning to meet later in front of the post office. Chet soon finished his work, and when Frank showed up an hour later, Chet was sitting on the curbstone, his head against a lamppost.

"What's the matter with you?" the Hardy boy asked. "You look almost sick."

"I'm sick with hunger," his chum replied. "Do we have to wait for Joe before we eat?"

Frank ignored the question. "Did you find out any thing for us?"

"Nope," Chet answered. "People just laughed at me when I asked them if there was a secret panel any place around here. One deaf guy thought I was talking about a sneak with a piano."

Frank laughed. He reported no better luck. Joe, joining them finally, excitedly said a couple he had met were sure they had seen a kidnaper's car go through the village last night.

"The man said just as it pa.s.sed them a woman popped up in the back seat and screamed. A fellow beside her clapped his hand over her mouth, and the driver put on more speed. I'll bet she was Miss Johnson, the nurse."

"Which way did the car go?" Frank asked eagerly.

"Down a street called Midland Place. I investigated every house on it, but there didn't seem to be anything suspicious about any of them."

157 "It's worth hanging around here to find out what we can just the same," Frank advised.

"It is if we eat," Chet spoke up.

"It's a good thing Aunt Gertrude can't hear you," Joe told the stout boy. "But I agree.

What say we go into this drugstore, Frank, and get him a sandwich?"

"Sandwich!" yelped Chet. "I want a full dinner."

"The place can oblige," Frank said, pointing to a sign on the window.

The boys went inside and ordered food. They kept close watch of all customers and pa.s.sers-by on the street. As they were eating dessert, Joe said suddenly: "Well, what do you know? Look!"

Through the doorway came three laughing girls: Chet's sister lola, Gallic Shaw, and Helen Osborne, who Chet thought was nice because she never laughed at him. At once the boys pulled another table up to their own, and the girls sat down.

"Chet will treat you all to a full-course dinner," Joe announced with a wink.

"Eh, what's the matter with you fellows?" the stout boy asked. Having spent most of his money at the fair, he was worried.

"You're safe, Chet," laughed Gallic. "We stuffed ourselves with hamburgers at the fair."

"But I could drink a soda," lola said, a twinkle in her eye.

In the end everyone decided to have a soda. They 158 had just begun to drink them, when Frank nudged Joe.

"That tall man at the counter over there!" he whispered excitedly. "He's the lock picker!"

"The one who stole my wallet!" Joe's voice rose a little. He started from his seat.

"Sh!" said Frank, pulling his brother down. "Do you see what he's buying? Bandage and antiseptic! He might lead us to Lenny Stryker and Miss Johnson!"

The Hardy boy turned to the others. "Listen," he said tensely, "all of you keep your heads down toward your soda gla.s.ses! And don't act surprised at anything you see in the next few minutes. After I leave the store, you follow me in the car, Joe!"

CHAPTER XIX.

Chet in Difficulty.

amazed, but without question, Frank Hardy's friends obeyed his instructions. Faces went down toward their soda gla.s.ses, but each person kept an eye on the boy's movements.

Quickly Frank crossed the store to a counter of novelties. Without thought to size or color he picked up a peaked cap, a pair of dark spectacles, and a small mustache. Hastily paying for them, he put on the disguise and dashed for the front door. Coming in was his friend Tony Prito.

"Hi, Tony!" he called.

The other boy stared at him without recognition. Before he could say anything the fellow with the mustache and goggles told him to have a soda; that the stout boy across the store would pay for it.

Reaching the street, Frank posted himself just around the corner. A moment later the lock picker, carrying his package of bandage and antiseptic, appeared and walked rapidly up the street. Frank followed.

159.

160 As the fellow paused by an automobile, Frank wondered if he could possibly get into the back and spy on him without his knowing it. Luck favored the youth, because the man suddenly decided to go to a near-by stand and buy a newspaper. Frank quickly opened the rear door and lay down on the floor of the car.

The stranger returned, got in, and drove off without seeing the boy. Frank's heart pounded wildly. He hoped Joe was following him, but he did not dare raise his head to find out.

At the next street intersection the driver pulled up to the curb. A short, stocky man, who evidently had been waiting for him, jumped into the front seat. When the Hardy boy ventured to look up, he caught his breath. The newcomer was none other than the crook who had sold Chet Morton the battered boat!

"I thought you were never coming, Jeff," he said to the driver. "Did you have trouble?"

"No. But I certainly ain't goin' to be the errand boy any more. It's too dangerous. If you want the job, Griff, you can have it." Frank smiled. The schemer's name was Griff, and his friend the lock picker was Jeff! Here was a really worth-while clue.

"Which way you going?" Griff asked, as the car evidently reached the edge of Harlington.

"Haven't you learned to keep your mouth shut yet?" Jeff snapped at him. "The less you say the better. You never know who's listening."

161 "Well, who could be listening in an empty car out on a country road?" Griff demanded angrily. Then, bothered by Jeff's remark, he looked over his shoulder toward the back seat.

"Well, what in the name of-*" he exploded.

Jeff yanked on the brake, demanding to know what the trouble was. He too turned around. By this time Frank had pulled himself up to the back seat. Deciding his only chance now was to play a part, he grinned in a silly way at the two men.

"Don't mind me," he said in a high, false voice. "I love to ride. And wadda you think?

n.o.body ever asks me!"

The two men looked at each other, then back at the moron in their car.

"Please go on," the boy pleaded. "And go real fast, too. I like to go fast!"

Jeff's eyes closed until they were mere slits. His jaws snapped shut.

"Get out!" he shouted.

"Why, what have I done?" Frank asked in his high voice. "You wouldn't put me out when I've only been ridin' five minutes."

The man called Griff was inclined to be lenient, but Jeff would not have it that way.

Leaning back, he opened one of the rear doors. Griff, taking the cue, gave Frank a shove and he landed at the side of the road. While Griff was closing the door, Jeff threw the car in gear and sped down the highway.

Coming along behind them was Joe Hardy in 162 the roadster. Frank jumped in beside his brother and they raced after the fleeing automobile. At a crossroads the boys lost time trying to decide which way the suspects had gone. Tire tracks indicated they might have taken a road which led directly to the bay, so Joe followed these to the end.

"I'm afraid they got away," he said in disappointment as they neared the water. Just ahead was the public dock of the Bayport Steamship Company, and some distance from sh.o.r.e was an outgoing ferry.

"You mean the car went on that boat?" Frank asked.

"Yes."

While Frank removed his disguise, Joe inquired at the office about the ferry's destination. The boys' worst fears were confirmed. The Hardys could not possibly drive to its next stop across the bay before the boat would dock and the suspects' car vanish.

In disgust the brothers returned home and tumbled into bed. A sound night's sleep refreshed their minds, and in the morning they were ready for action again. As they were dressing, the older boy suddenly snapped his fingers.