Frank handed the flashlight to his brother, then groped his way to the trapdoor. He managed to place one foot on the top rung of the ladder beneath the opening.
It held beneath his weight, although the ladder creaked warningly.
Cautiously, step by step, he descended.
There was the utmost need for silence. From the position of the flash of light that he had seen through the crack in the boarded window, he judged that the workroom of the counterfeiters was about midway in the mill, immediately below the deserted room into which he was now descending. The mill widened out toward the bottom, and Frank judged that the locked stone room on the ground floor and the room above were those used by the men.
He reached the bottom of the ladder at last, touching the floor without a sound. He whispered back to Joe, and in a few seconds a faint noise from above told him that his brother was also descending into the dark room.
The rumble of machinery was louder and came from directly beneath his feet. Also he could hear a muffled murmur of voices. He had not been mistaken. The workroom was immediately beneath.
Joe reached the bottom of the ladder in silence. Frank groped for the flashlight. He switched it on.
The room in which they were standing was a low-ceilinged, bare chamber, on the far side of which was a doorway that led to a flight of stairs. Frank stepped cautiously over to the door and peered down the stairs. They led to a landing a short distance below, and continued from there to the bottom of the mill. The room beneath the one in which they were standing evidently opened onto the landing.
Frank made a mental note of all these features so that he would have a good idea of the layout of the building in case it became necessary for them to make a hurried retreat.
He heard a whisper from behind him.
He turned quickly.
Joe was crouching on the floor, peering through a crack in the boards. He motioned to Frank to come over.
XXIII
The Alarm
Frank crouched on the floor beside his brother.
He switched off the flashlight. The room was in darkness. Immediately he could see a glow of light through one of the cracks in the flooring.
By crouching close to the floor he could see through the cracks into the room beneath.
At the sight he saw he almost gave an exclamation of triumph. There were three men in the room, the three men of the mill—Uncle Dock, his companion, and Markel. They were standing beside a machine that looked like a small printing press. Their sleeves were rolled up and they were wearing inky aprons.
The printing press was rumbling steadily and Markel was feeding it with small sheets of peculiar greenish paper.
But it was what was heaped on a low table beside the press that particularly attracted the attention of the Hardy boys.
There they saw neat bundles of crisp, new bills. They were heaped high on the low table, each bundle in a thin, paper wrapper, and their denominations ranged from five to fifty dollars.
“They’re printing counterfeit money!” whispered Frank.
Joe nodded. A tingling excitement possessed them. In spite of the fact that they knew the bills were counterfeit there was something fascinating in the sight of those hundreds of crisp, green bills.
Their view of the room was limited, but by moving from side to side they were gradually able to take in all the details of the little chamber. Above the constant rumble of the press they could hear the voices of three men.
“Once we get this shipment sent out we’ll be on easy street,” said Uncle Dock.
“If we can get it all placed,” grumbled Markel.
“We’ll get it placed all right,” said the other man. “We haven’t had any trouble so far. Burgess and his crowd have put over their part of the deal pretty well.”
“It’d be better if they’d stay away from Bayport,” said Markel. “First thing we know, they’ll be figuring the money is coming from here.”
“Why should they?” said Uncle Dock. “It’s being sent around to the other towns as well as Bayport.”
“That fool Paul Blum mighty near gave the game away.”
“He can’t say anything. He doesn’t know where the stuff is coming from. I think he has an idea we’re round the mill, but he isn’t sure. He won’t give us away.”
“Just the same,” said Markel, “I’ll be relieved when the whole thing is over and we can get out of here. This patent breakfast food story is all right for a while, but country people are too curious. The farmers are talking because we won’t do any milling for them.”
“Let ’em talk. We’ll be out of here by the end of the week. That last photoengraving you made for us is a good one. It would take an expert to tell it from the original. We’ll make fifty thousand dollars from that shipment of tens alone.”
“It’s good enough,” admitted Markel, evidently pleased with the compliment, “but I’ve said all along that our paper is too thin. It should have just a little more body to it. But it’s too hard to imitate. The genuine banknote paper is a bit heavier.”
“What’s the matter with you tonight, Markel?” asked Uncle Dock. “You have been nervous and jumpy all evening. First of all, you think you see someone sneaking around the mill. Now you’re afraid we’re all going to be pinched. By the end of the week we’ll be out of here and living on the fat of the land. This is the biggest counterfeiting deal that has ever been put across in the United States. I’d imagine you’d be feeling proud of yourself. By the time it is all over we should be worth a quarter of a million dollars each.”
“All the more reason for being careful. You have to watch your step in a game like this.”
“And haven’t we watched our
