The Apeman's Secret by Franklin W. Dixon

ruefully. “He snatched up a bench and looked as if he were ready to break it over my head! I ran back out the door and across the road to my house and phoned the police. Unfortunately, the nut was gone by the time they arrived.”
    The vandalism was evident in the smears defacing the walls, drawings scattered about the floor, and several three-dimensional exhibits, such as a collection of toys based on comic strip characters, smashed as if with a fist or stick.
    â€œI haven’t even assessed the total damages yet,” Tappan concluded. “Frankly, I was so upset that when the police and a local reporter finished looking over the situation, I just locked up and went home.”
    â€œDid the police find out how the guy got in?”
    â€œYes, through a rear window.”
    A broken pane and damage to the frame and sill indicated that the window had been levered open by the intruder.
    As Frank stood eyeing the broken window, a sudden thought flashed through his head. “Have you received some work by an artist who’s now dead, named Archie Frome?” he asked the museum director.
    Tappan looked puzzled at the question. “Why, yes. It arrived just a couple of days ago, a whole crateful of his work. I haven’t even had time to unpack it and go through it yet. Why?”
    â€œIs it still here?”
    Tappan’s expression changed from puzzled to startled. “I—I don’t know. I’ll go see!”
    He led the way to a storage room behind the museum office and went directly to a large crate. To his obvious dismay, the top of the crate had been pried off and the contents looked somewhat disordered, as though someone might have gone through them.
    â€œGood night!” Tappan exclaimed. “How did you know?”
    â€œJust a shot in the dark,” said Frank. “Is there any way of telling what’s been taken?”
    â€œI’m not sure. Let me see.”
    As the museum director examined the contents of the crate, it soon became obvious that the drawings and other artwork were arranged in large file folders, with each folder labeled according to the year in which the work had been done.
    â€œOne whole year’s work is missing!” Tappan exclaimed.
    â€œWhat date?” Frank asked.
    â€œSix years ago.”
    The Hardys were thoughtful as they thanked the museum director and started back to the motel in their car a short time later.
    â€œBoy, what a weird case!” Joe remarked with a frown as they sped along the moonlit highway. “Do you suppose that artwork in the crate was the real motive for the break-in?”
    â€œI’d be willing to bet on it,” Frank said. “Whatever was in that missing folder may have been the same thing the thief who tried to rob Frome’s house was after. That time he was out of luck because Frome’s big wolfhound scared him off. But this time he found what he was looking for.”
    â€œSo the damage to the museum exhibits was just a cover-up to mislead the cops!”
    â€œMaybe, but we can’t be sure of that, Joe. Remember, the faker who’s posing as the Apeman has vandalized other places, too, where there was no artwork involved, like that movie theater in Shoreham and the disco at Bayport.”
    â€œTrue.” Joe pinched his lower lip thoughtfully and continued frowning. “Speaking of the Alfresco Disco—do you suppose there’s any connection between this case and the Noah cult? Or was it just a coincidence, the amulet turning up at the disco after the fake-Apeman raid?”
    Frank shrugged and shook his head. “You’ve got me there.”
    â€œHey, wait a minute!” Joe snapped his fingers excitedly. “I just remembered something.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œDo you remember that TV news show a couple of months ago that told about the Children of Noah? It was a whole hour-long program on religious cults that seem to cause trouble between