In turning away, the young detectives noticed a small stone structure about ten yards behind
the house. It was the size of a one-car garage. Instead of windows, it had slits high in the walls.
'It probably was used to store farm equipment,' Frank said. 'We might as well check.'
They unbolted the old-fashioned, stout, wooden double doors. These swung outward, and the
boys were surprised that the doors opened so silently. 'As if they'd been oiled,' Frank said.
'No wonder!' Joe cried out. 'Look!'
Inside was a shabby green panel truck! 'The same one we saw yesterday!' Joe exclaimed.
'What's it doing here?'
The boys noticed immediately that the vehicle had no license plates. 'They probably were
taken off,'
Frank surmised, 'and disposed of.'
Frank checked the glove compartment while Joe looked on the seat and under the cushion for
any clue to the driver or owner of the vehicle. Suddenly he called out, 'Hey! What's going on?'
Joe jumped from the truck and saw with astonishment that the garage doors were swinging
shut.
Together, the boys rushed forward but not in time. They heard the outside bolt being rammed
into place.
'We're prisoners!' Frank exclaimed.
Again and again the Hardys threw their weight against the doors. This proved futile. Panting,
Frank and Joe looked for a means of escape.
'Those slits in the wall are too high and too narrow, anyway,' Frank said, chiding himself for not having been on guard.
Finally he reached into the glove compartment and drew out an empty cigarette package he
had noticed before. He pulled off the foil. Joe understood immediately what his brother had in mind. Frank lifted the truck's hood and jammed the foil between the starting wires near the
fuse box. 'Worth a try,' he said.
'Ignition key's gone. If we can start the engine-we'll smash our way out!'
Joe took his place at the wheel and Frank climbed in beside him. To their delight, Joe gunned
the engine into life.
'Here goes!' he muttered grimly. 'Brace yourself!'
'Ready!'
Joe eased the truck as far back as he could, then accelerated swiftly forward. The truck's wheels spun on the dirt floor and then with a roar it headed for the heavy doors.
CHAPTER XV
Lead to a Counterfeiter
C-R-A-S-H! The green truck smashed through the heavy garage doors. The Hardys felt a terrific
jolt and heard the wood splinter and rip as they shot forward into the farmyard.
'Wow!' Joe gasped as he braked to a halt. 'We're free-but not saying in what shape!'
Frank gave a wry laugh. 'Probably better than the front of this truck!'
The boys hopped to the ground and looked around the overgrown yard. No one was in sight.
The whole area seemed just as deserted as it had been when they arrived.
'Let's check the house,' Joe urged. 'Someone could be hiding in there.'
The brothers ran to the rundown dwelling. They found all the doors and windows locked. Again
they peered through the dirty panes, but did not see anyone.
'I figure that whoever locked us in the garage would decide that getting away from here in a hurry was his safest bet.'
'He must have gone on foot,' Joe remarked. 'I didn't hear an engine start up.'
The Hardys decided to separate, each searching the highway for a mile in opposite directions.
'We'll meet back at the service station we stopped at,' Frank called as the boys kicked their motors into life and took off toward the highway.
Fifteen minutes later they parked near the station. Neither boy had spotted any suspicious
pedestrians, 'Did you see anybody come down this road in a hurry during the past twenty
minutes?' Joe asked the attendant
'I didn't notice, fellows,' came the answer. 'I've been busy working under a car. Find your friend?'
'No. That farmhouse is apparently deserted except for signs of a tramp living there,' Joe told him.
The Hardys quickly asked the attendant if he knew of any boardinghouse nearby. After a
moment's thought, he replied: 'I believe a Mrs. Smith, who lives a little ways beyond the old place, takes boarders.'
'We'll try there. Thanks again,' Frank said as he and Joe went back to their motorcycles.
Before Frank threw his weight back on the starter, he said, 'Well, let's hope Ken Blake can give us a lead.'
'If we ever find him,' Joe responded.
They located Mrs. Smith's boardinghouse with no trouble. She was a pleasant, middle-aged
woman and quickly confirmed that Ken was staying there for the summer. She was an old
friend of his parents. Mrs.
Smith invited the Hardys to sit down in the living room.
'Ken's upstairs now,' she said. 'I'll call him.'
When Ken came down, the Hardys noticed that he looked dejected. Frank felt certain it was
because of losing his job and asked him what had happened.
'I don't know,' Ken replied. 'Mr. Markel just told me I wouldn't be needed any longer. I hope I'll be able to find another job this summer,' he added. 'My folks sent me here for a vacation.
But I was going to surprise them-' His voice trailed off sadly.
'Ken,' Frank said kindly, 'you may be able to help us in a very important way. Now that you're not working at the Elekton gatehouse, we hope you can answer some questions-to help solve a
mystery.'
Frank explained that he and Joe often worked on mysteries and assisted their detective father.
Ken's face brightened. 'I'll do my best, fellows,' he assured them eagerly.
'Last week,' Joe began, 'a shabby green panel truck went to Pritos' Supply Yard and picked up old bricks and lumber. Our friend Tony Prito said there was a boy in the truck who helped the
yardman with the loading. Were you the boy?'
'Yes,' Ken replied readily.
'Who was the driver?' Frank asked him.
'Mr. Docker, the maintenance man at the mill. He said he'd hurt his arm and asked me to help load the stuff.' Ken looked puzzled. 'Is that part of the mystery?'
'We think it could be,' Frank said. 'Now, Ken -we've learned since then that one of the bills you gave the yardman is a counterfeit twenty.'
Ken's eyes opened wide in astonishment. 'A-a counterfeit!' he echoed, 'Honest, I didn't know it was, Frank and Joe!'
'Oh, we're sure you didn't,' Joe assured him. 'Have you any idea who gave Docker the cash?'
Ken told the Hardys he did not know. Then Frank asked: 'What were the old bricks and lumber used for, Ken?'
'Mr. Docker told me they were for repair work around the plant. After we got back to the mill, Mr.
Markel and I stored the load in the basement.'
'Is it still there?' asked Frank.
'I guess so,' Ken answered. 'Up to the time I left, it hadn't been taken out.'
The Hardys determined to question Markel and Docker at the first opportunity. Then Frank
