“It was a good idea to take over the mill, I’ll admit. But the sooner we’re out of here, the better.”
“Well, the last batch of bills will be run off tonight. We’ll clear out tomorrow morning and send down for the machinery as soon as we can.”
Frank nudged his brother. So the counterfeiters were planning an early escape!
They peered through the cracks in the floor and watched the three men moving about as the press rumbled and bill after bill was added to the pile on the table.
“Easier way to make money than working,” remarked Uncle Dock, with a satisfied smile.
“I’m going to take a trip around the world with my share,” said the second man.
“What are you going to do, Markel?”
“I’ll follow the horses. I’m going to visit every race track in America this year. I’ll double my money.”
“You’ll lose every cent of it.”
“No chance.”
Uncle Dock smiled.
“Wait and see. Smarter men than you have lost all their money on the horses.”
Frank and Joe had heard enough and had seen enough to know that there was no further doubt as to the nature of the activities of the three men of the mill. They had seen the counterfeiting plant in operation and from the conversation of the three men there was no doubt but that this was the plant that had been responsible for flooding the East with spurious bills in the past few weeks.
The counterfeiters were evidently running off a last shipment of bills before closing up the plant and moving away. It behooved the Hardy boys to act quickly.
“Where will we go when we clear out?” they heard Markel say.
“We’ll separate,” answered Uncle Dock. “We’ll meet in New York.”
“Where?”
“We’ll meet Burgess at his apartment. You remember the address don’t you?” Uncle Dock gave an address in the Forties, and Frank instantly registered it in his memory. It might come in useful in case the counterfeiters slipped through their hands.
He got up slowly from his cramped position, and Joe followed his example. Frank led the way toward the door that opened on the landing.
“We’d better get out of here,” he whispered.
“What will we do?”
“We’ll go to Bayport for help. We can’t tackle these fellows alone.”
“How will we get out? There’s no use trying to get out by the roof. We might break our necks trying to reach that tree again.”
“We can go down the stairs,” said Frank quietly.
“And out the front door?”
“It’s probably only bolted on the inside. If we can get past the door of that workroom we should be all right.”
“Come on, then.”
Frank led the way. He stepped out on the landing. Both boys were wearing light sneakers that made little noise.
Step by step, they descended the stairs. Step by step, they drew closer to the landing that led to the counterfeiters’ room. They could hear the muffled sound of the printing press and the vague voices of the three men.
They reached the landing at last. A streak of yellow light shone from beneath the door of the workroom. The stairs led on toward the bottom of the mill.
Each lad held his breath as he traversed the dangerous distance to the next flight of stairs. Here, if anywhere, they were in danger of being heard.
But the low voices within the room continued; the steady rumble of the press went on without interruption. Frank gained the top of the steps. Joe followed.
They went slowly down the stairs. Frank could see the dim outlines of the mill machinery in the large room below, with the dark shape of the door in the distance. Once they gained the door they would be comparatively safe.
The thought had hardly crossed his mind when his foot struck suddenly against some solid object.
There was a slight noise, the object moved, then it went clattering down the stairs with an uproar that seemed to awaken the echoes from one end of the mill to the other.
He had kicked over a pail that had been left lying on the steps!
The noise would not be unnoticed—he knew that. With a bound, he had reached the bottom of the steps. There was no time to seek escape by the door, for already he could hear someone running across the floor of the workroom above. They must hide, and hide quickly.
Joe was close behind him.
Frank turned and sped through an open doorway close at hand. The boys found themselves in a gloomy stone room in which several large pieces of machinery could be dimly distinguished in the faint light.
From the floor above they could hear voices. A door opened. Frank glanced back and he could see a beam of light against the wall by the stairs.
“I’m certain I heard a noise!” they heard Markel saying. “I’m going to find out what caused it.”
XXIV
Trapped
The Hardy boys could see little chance of escape.
Markel was coming down the stairs. They could hear his heavy boots as they clattered on the steps.
Frank glanced around the room. There was one window, but it was boarded up. There was but one door, the one through which they had come.
Markel had reached the foot of the stairs by now. They heard him give a grunt of surprise as he picked up the pail.
“This was what did it,” he called back to someone on the landing. “It fell down the stairs.”
“Well, what of it?” Uncle Dock called down to him.
“Someone must have knocked it over.”
“Couldn’t have been anyone,” sniffed Uncle Dock. “There’s nobody around. It’s just your nerves.”
“Pails don’t fall downstairs unless somebody knocks them over,” said Markel stubbornly.
“Ask Lester. Perhaps it was him.”
They heard Markel go into another room. For a few moments there was silence. Then Markel came out again.
“He’s asleep—or shamming. I didn’t waken him. But I’m going
