Free Passport to Danger by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

square. Still facing out, his hands behind his back, he tried to see the small square of wood in his mind as he worked. He pushed the edge of the square to the right, then to the left, then to the right again. Nothing.
    Then he moved his fingers to the bottom of the square and pushed up. At first it didn’t budge. Smiling at a young woman who was leaving the room, he tried to push the square up again. At last he felt the wood give. It slid upward and he heard a quiet click.
    The left side of the panel behind him gave way slightly, just enough for him to feel it. For a second he thought he smelled something old and musty. He held his breath, not daring to move. Okay, it’s open, he thought. Now what?
    He turned to face the wall and looked down at the panel. It extended from the floor to about halfway up the wall, and the whole left side looked as if it had caved in slightly along the edge. While the left side leaned away slightly, the right side was sticking out a little bit. Suddenly this made sense to Joe. It revolves, he thought.
    He turned back around. There were only three people in the room with him, and they were all men who looked like they were in their thirties. A guard stood not far away in the main gallery. He was a different guard from the one who’d been there before.
    Okay, Joe told himself. Time to rumble. He took a deep breath and then he yelled.
    â€œMy wallet!” Joe called out. “That man took my wallet!”
    The three men in the room with him jumped when he yelled. The guard rushed over to Joe and asked in heavily accented English, “What did you say? What happened?”
    â€œThat man!” Joe said loudly. “Did you see him? He ran right by you. Wild, long red hair.” Joe ruffled his own hair, and then gestured down his chest. “And a long red beard. Bright red. You couldn’t have missed him!”
    As he talked Joe led everyone out of the room and into the main gallery.
    â€œBut, monsieur, I did not see—,” the gallery guard started.
    â€œYou all saw him, right?” Joe said to the three men that had been in the room. They looked a little startled when he addressed them; he figured they might not understand English.
    â€œHe was not too big,” Joe continued, spinning a description of his fake pickpocket, “with a green sweatshirt that had a yellow lightning bolt on it. He knocked into me and stole my wallet,” Joe said. “Come on—let’s get him, before he robs someone else.” He motioned to the three men and the guard to join him. Then he took off through the main gallery, running.
    The three men and several others joined Joe in the chase. When he looked around, he saw the guard not far behind, talking into his pocket intercom.
    Another guard joined the chase, as well as a few more visitors. Some of the crowd parted to let them through. Some stood still in shock while Joe wove in and out. When they reached the crowded main gallery, Joe slowed down dramatically, and the guards and other chasers zoomed past.
    Joe ducked into a side room and waited until the posse he had gathered all ran by. Then he slipped back to the room with the secret panel. When he got there, it was completely empty. Good—the security camera is still off, he noted. He raced to the corner and crouched down. With a slight push, the left side of the panel swung back and the right side swung out—just like a revolving door.
    Joe slipped through the opening and wrestled his backpack through behind him. He pushed the panel back in place from the other side and took a deep breath.
    â€œWhoa… ,” he whispered. The air was rank. It smelled like rotting meat. Still resting on his heels, he spun around to face total blackness. “Well, wherever I am, it stinks.”
    He reached into his backpack and pulled out the night goggles. Through them, the strange area where he was crouched glowed a sci-fi green. He was relieved to see that