Free The Disappearing Floor by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

those judo slams we’ve takent Besides, this floor feels spongy. It must have been padded in case of an accident.”
    Frank peered in all directions. “Looks as though we’ve lost our spook for good.”
    â€œThen let’s search this tunnel,” Joe proposed.
    Chet gulped uneasily. “How do you know what we’ll find at the other end?”
    â€œWe don’t. That’s why we want to find out.”
    â€œB-b-but you said yourself that someone may have opened this by remote control,” Chet said shakily. “How do we know the crooks aren’t using the tunnel right now? And—and they may even be trying to lure us into a trap!”
    Joe chuckled and aimed his flashlight into the tunnel entrance. “There’s some kind of phone in there, hanging on a hook—probably an intercom to the house. Want me to call and ask?”
    Frank looked serious. “I think Chet has a point, Joe. Maybe one of us should stay here —outside the tunnel—in case of emergency.”
    â€œOkay, you two flip a coin. Me for the tunnel!”
    Frank spun a nickel, caught it, and slapped the coin on the back of his other hand. “Winner goes with Joe. You name it, Chet.”
    â€œUh—well—heads.”
    Frank shone his beam on the coin. “Heads. Guess you’re elected, Chet. But look—you don’t have to go! Why don’t you stay here and I’ll—”
    â€œNothing doing,” Chet protested bravely. “I won the toss, so I’ll go.” With the look of a condemned man en route to the electric chair, the pudgy youth climbed down the metal ladder. He could smell the dank, musty passageway.
    Joe was already inside the tunnel entrance. “Come on!” he called back over his shoulder.
    As Chet followed Joe into the tunnel, his bulky form brushed the intercom phone off its hook. Instantly a red light flashed on, evidently a signal to indicate that the circuit was now “live”—no doubt a buzzer was ringing at the other end of the line!
    Chet clutched Joe. They stared at the unit as if it were a rattlesnake about to strike.
    Suddenly a voice crackled from the phone. “Hello ... hello!” Joe snatched up the instrument as the voice went on, “Is that you, Waxie?”
    Joe responded in a curt, flat tone, “Yeah?”
    â€œWell, what do you want now?” the voice inquired irritably. “What did you come back for?”
    Joe glanced helplessly at Chet; then, snatching at the first inspiration that came into his head, he replied nasally, “Orders.”
    â€œOrders? What’s the matter with you, Waxie? You gettin’ absent-minded? The boss gave you all the dope—about the disappearing floor—” The voice broke off as if the speaker had suddenly become suspicious. “Wait a minute! What’s going on out there? Who is this?”
    Joe dropped the phone and gave Chet a shove. “Come on! Let’s go!” he muttered urgently. “Now we’ve really stirred up a hornet’s nest!”
    The boys scrambled up the ladder and told Frank what had happened. All three ran for the car. In moments Frank was gunning the motor and the convertible was roaring off down the lane.
    â€œWhat a bad break!” Joe grumbled as they turned onto the main road.
    â€œIt was my fault,” Chet admitted, “and I’m sorry. But I sure learned something—namely, not to get mixed up in any more of your nutty cases! So next time count me out!”
    The Hardys chuckled and Joe apologized for his remark. Between them, the two young sleuths managed to make Chet change his mind by telling him they could not get along without him.
    The mantel clock in the living room was just chiming nine when Frank and Joe arrived home. A note propped on the dining-room table explained that their mother and Aunt Gertrude had gone to visit a neighbor down the street.
    The boys got apples and milk