The Disappearing Floor Read Free

jumped out and hurried inside.
    Fenton Hardy, a tall, rugged-looking man, was in the dining room having a cup of coffee. Seated at the table with him were Mrs. Hardy and the boys’ Aunt Gertrude, his unmarried sister.
    The detective greeted Frank and Joe with a warm smile. “Sit down, boys, and I’ll tell you what this case is all about.”
    Mr. Hardy explained that he had been asked by a group of insurance underwriters to investigate a series of jewel thefts. The latest had occurred in New York the day before.
    â€œWe heard a news flash on that, Dad!” Joe exclaimed.
    â€œUndoubtedly all the thefts have been pulled by the same gang,” the detective went on. “And there’s an odd feature. On every job, the guards or other persons involved seem to have lost their memory for a short period of time while the robbery was taking place.”
    â€œYou mean they passed out?” Frank asked.
    Fenton Hardy shrugged. “None of them recalls passing out. But they all report a sensation of coming to, or snapping out of a deep sleep, as if they had lapsed into unconsciousness without realizing it.”
    Gertrude Hardy, a tall, angular woman, pursed her lips and frowned shrewdly. “If you ask me, they were gassed,” she declared. “Some kind of nerve gas, probably—squirted at the victims through a blowpipe.”
    Frank and Joe tried hard not to grin. Their aunt had definite opinions and never hesitated to express them.
    â€œThey may have been gassed,” Mr. Hardy agreed. “But if so, it’s strange that police experts were unable to discover any traces in the atmosphere afterward.”
    â€œMaybe the crooks sucked it all back into their blowpipes,” Joe said mischievously.
    Aunt Gertrude gave him a withering look. “Making fun of me, are you? Well, maybe you have a better theory, young man!”
    Laura Hardy, a slim and pretty woman, exchanged a fleeting smile with her husband. Both knew that Aunt Gertrude loved to talk about detective cases with her brother and the boys, even though she pretended to disapprove of such dangerous work.
    â€œMatter of fact, we got gassed ourselves tonight,” Frank put in quietly. He told about their chase of the black sports car, but glossed over the part about skidding across the road.
    â€œHmm.” Fenton Hardy knit his brows. “Do you think the driver could have recognized you—maybe from seeing your pictures in the paper?”
    Frank shook his head. “I doubt it, although he may have glimpsed us in his rear-view mirror when we passed a street light. I think that when he spotted a car tailing him, he used the smoke screen to shake us.”
    â€œWhy, that man’s a menace!” Aunt Gertrude blurted out indignantly. “Why didn’t you radio the police at once? Mark my words, you’ll—”
    The ringing of the telephone interrupted Aunt Gertrude’s prediction. Joe jumped up to answer it.
    â€œLet me speak to Fenton Hardy,” said a curt, muffled voice.
    â€œWho’s calling, please?” Joe asked.
    â€œNone of your business! Just tell him to get on the phone if he wants to learn something important!”
    Fenton Hardy strode quickly to Joe’s side and took the receiver. “All right, I’m listening.”
    â€œAnother jewel heist has been planned. It’s going to be pulled aboard a yacht named the Wanda. She’s due in at East Hampton, Long Island, late tonight or early tomorrow morning. Got that?”
    â€œI have it,” the detective replied. “But who is this speaking?”
    â€œA friend. And don’t bother trying to trace the call!”
    There was a cutoff click at the other end of the line. Mr. Hardy hung up thoughtfully and told the boys what the informer had said.
    â€œI’d better follow up that tip-off,” he added. “I’ll drive down to East Hampton.”
    â€œAre you sure that’s wise,