The Secret of the Old Mill

The afternoon express from the north steamed into the Bayport station to the usual accompanying uproar of clanging bells from the lunch room, shouting redcaps, and a bellowing train announcer.

Among the jostling, hurrying crowd on the platform were two pleasant-featured youths who scanned the passing coaches expectantly.

“I don’t see him,” said Frank Hardy, the older of the pair, as he watched the passengers descending from one of the Pullman coaches.

“Perhaps he stopped at some other town and intends coming in on the local. It’s only an hour later,” suggested his brother Joe.

The boys waited. They had met the train expecting to greet their father, Fenton Hardy, the nationally famous detective, who had been away from home for the past two weeks on a murder case in New York. It appeared that they were to be disappointed. When the last of the Bayport passengers had left the train Fenton Hardy was not among them.

“We’ll come back and meet the local,” said Frank at last.

The brothers were about to turn away and retrace their steps down the platform when they saw a tall, well-dressed stranger swing himself down from the steps of the nearest coach. He was a man of about thirty, dark and clean-shaven, and he hastened over toward them.

“I want to pay a fellow a dollar out of this five,” remarked the stranger, as he came up to the boys. “Can you change the bill?”

“Oh, we don’t know. Just around the country.”

“Yeah? Not goin’ down by the old mill, are you?”

“Turner’s old mill?” asked Joe. “Down by the deserted road?”

“That’s the place. Down by the river.”

“Well, we hadn’t thought particularly about going down there. Why do you ask?”

The straw waggled more violently than ever. Mr. Stummer took a long drag at the pipe, which was in imminent danger of going out.

“Oh, I dunno,” he said, with a reflective sigh. “Just thought I’d say somethin’ about it. I wouldn’t go down there if I was you.”

“Why not?” inquired Frank. “I know the place is deserted and it’s almost falling down, but we can keep out of danger, can’t we?”

“It ain’t deserted now.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s three fellows running the mill now. Funny fellows they are. Been there for a couple of weeks.”

The boys looked at one another in surprise. Turner’s flour mill was located on a wild part of the Willow River. It had once been on a main road, but the construction of a new highway had left it on a deserted loop which was now seldom traversed. The mill had been abandoned for several years and seemed to have outlived its usefulness. No one had ever expected that the mill wheel would turn again.

“Are they running it as a flour mill?” asked Frank.

Stummer nodded.

“They don’t do much outside grindin’. I sent ’em some of my wheat, but their prices was too high.

He turned to the passenger.

“What time is your train leaving?”

“About ten-thirty.”

“There’s no train leaving Bayport at that time,” said Frank flatly.

“That’s the time my train leaves,” insisted the stranger, beginning to look somewhat flustered.

“The earliest train is at noon,” put in Joe.

“I tell you, this train leaves at ten-thirty. I just have time to catch it.”

“I’m afraid you’re going to miss it,” said Frank. “I’m going to turn back to Barmet.”

“Turn back?” shouted the man in consternation. “What are you going to do that for?”

“I don’t like the looks of this affair,” said Frank. “Considering that this is supposed to be nothing more than a practical joke, those two men on shore seem to be making quite a fuss over your escape.”

“They’re hoping they can persuade you to turn back. Then they’ll have the joke on me after all.”

“They’re going to have it anyway,” said Frank, with determination. “I’ve changed my mind about taking you to Bayport. We don’t want your ten dollars.”

“But you’ve got to take me to Bayport!” exclaimed the stranger, in high excitement. “I must catch my train.”

His bullying manner nettled Frank.

“This is our boat, and if we want to turn back we can turn back,” he told the passenger. “We didn’t ask you to come with us.”

“But you promised to take me to Bayport,” stormed the stranger. “I’ve got to be there in time to catch that train.”