Free The Secret Panel by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

reached up on a wall shelf. There was no sign of the incoming power line.
    Joe noticed a wooden panel on the wall. “Hey, Frank,” he said, “have a look at this!”
    Frank came over and studied it carefully. He placed his hands on the bottom of the panel and pushed. It slid open!
    â€œFuses!” he cried, beaming his flashlight inside.
    â€œI wonder why the cover is off,” Joe remarked. “Usually fuse boxes have a metal cover.”
    â€œI don’t know,” Frank replied. He reached up and touched one of the oblong handles. The basement was flooded with light. At the same instant Frank received an electrical shock and fell to the floor unconscious!
    Joe leaped to his brother’s side and felt for his pulse. The beat was weak but steady.
    â€œThank goodness he’s alive!” he murmured, and quickly administered first aid. In a few moments Frank opened his eyes, wondering what had happened.
    Joe told him and suggested they go upstairs where Frank could lie down on a sofa.
    When they reached the kitchen, Frank was so weak he sat down in a chair. He told Joe to look around the house alone while he rested. The younger boy nodded and started off.
    Going from room to room, he tried the lights. In some places they flashed on, in others they did not.
    Joe was just about to step into the library, which was dark, when he heard a loud groan.
    â€œFrank!” he thought, conscience-stricken, and rushed back to the kitchen.
    His brother still sat in the chair and was deadly white. He admitted feeling awful. Joe insisted they leave at once, and helped Frank to the car.
    By the time they reached home Frank felt much better. “I’m made of pretty tough stuff,” he said with a faint grin.
    â€œYou were lucky!” Joe agreed. “If the current had been more powerful you—” He broke off. “Hold it,” he warned as he pulled open the kitchen screen door. “Something’s the matter here!”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Frank asked.
    The words were hardly out of his mouth when he, too, became aware of women’s loud voices in the front hall. Aunt Gertrude seemed to be consoling someone. A moment later the boys recognized the other speaker as Mrs. Stryker.
    â€œMy son’s honest and I want him back!” she cried out. “Nobody seems to be doing anything for me!”
    â€œYou have no right to talk about my brother and my nephews that way!” Miss Hardy replied with spirit. “They’re the best detectives in this state; in fact, the best in the whole United States!”
    Despite the seriousness of the situation, Frank and Joe looked at each other and grinned. This was high praise from their aunt. High praise which she would not have voiced had she known they were listening.
    Winking at Frank, Joe turned around and slammed the kitchen door. Then, with a “Hello, anybody home?” he stalked into the front hall.
    Frank followed. “Have you had any word from Lenny?” he asked Mrs. Stryker.
    The woman shook her head, remarking that she had heard from no one. “Those racketeers have things fixed so he can’t let me know where he is,” she said sadly. Then she added, “I thought you and your father were working on his case for me. But all I get are promises!”
    â€œTry not to worry,” urged Frank. “I have a hunch Lenny will be coming home soon.”
    â€œYou have?” Mrs. Stryker asked eagerly. “Oh, you must know something you’re not telling me!”
    The Hardys had to admit that they really were no closer to the solution of the mystery, but they were hopeful that clues they had gathered would lead them to the gang.
    â€œClues, clues, you told me that before!” Mrs. Stryker said.
    â€œWe’ll do everything we can,” Joe assured her.
    After she had left, the boys held a conference. Aunt Gertrude insisted upon being present, and advised her nephews that the