The Clue in the Embers (6 page)
Read The Clue in the Embers Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
“What do you mean?” Frank was mystified.
“I borrowed it this afternoon to use for buttons I took off a suit. Let me see if it's still in my sewing machine.”
Aunt Gertrude found the box. “I didn't think you'd mind,” she said apologetically. “But I needed somethingâ”
“Mind!” Frank exclaimed. “You might have done us a great favor, Aunty.”
Miss Hardy looked blank. “Why? This isn't worth much, it's just a wooden box!”
“I'm not so sure. We'd better have a closer look at it. This box could have been the object of the man's search,” Frank replied.
“What makes you think so?” Mrs. Hardy asked.
“It's the only souvenir from Tony's collection that was in our possession,” Frank explained. “The intruder at the museum might have seen Mr. Scath give it to me. If it is of value to him he might have come for it.”
“Possibly,” his mother agreed as Frank eyed the curio in his hand.
“You know,” Joe said, “this looks like Central American mahogany to me. The same as the charred bits we analyzed.”
Frank nodded. He examined the box carefully. Using pressure on each side, he tried to find out if it had a secret compartment.
“Here!” he exclaimed triumphantly a moment later. “It has a false bottom!”
With his thumbnail, Frank pried out a thin piece of wood built in above the bottom of the box. Wedged in it was a large, engraved golden coin!
“Wow!” Joe exclaimed. “Must be one of the medallions!”
“Now we know for sure the thief was after the box,” Frank said. “Good thing Aunt Gertrude put it in her sewing machine!”
Mrs. Hardy studied the coin. “It looks like real gold,” she said.
“And see!” Frank pointed. “It has the large opal Wortman spoke about!”
The stone was set on one of the lines crossing the medallion. “It doesn't look like a cheap stone to me,” Frank added.
“Tony's uncle thought it had a special meaning,” Joe said. “I have an idea that these engraved lines may form a map of some kind.”
“What did Wortman say was on the other medallion?” Mrs. Hardy asked.
“A word,” Frank replied. “Texichapi.”
As Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude examined the gold coin, Joe said, “Perhaps these lines show the exact spot where a treasure is buried in a place called Texichapi. Remember what Torres told Dad.”
“Let's look up Texichapi,” Frank suggested and went for the atlas.
The boys studied the entire area from Mexico to the tip of South America. Their search yielded nothing. Nor was there any place in the world with that name.
“Apparently,” Frank concluded, “Texichapi means something else. How about a secret password?”
Mrs. Hardy smiled. “It could be the name of a person. Some ancient king for instance, who was buried with a ransom in jewels.”
Aunt Gertrude snorted. “Huh! Sounds to me like one of those peppery, fire-spitting South American recipes!” she exclaimed.
Everyone laughed and Frank said, “Probably the answer to the riddle depends on having both medallions. In the meanwhile, I think we ought to make a sketch of the exact position of these lines and where the opal is placed and also memorize it.”
“Good idea,” Joe said.
“While you're doing that,” said Mrs. Hardy, “I'll warm up your supper.”
The boys concentrated on the lines for several minutes, then tried drawing them on paper. It was necessary for both Frank and Joe to do this again and again until they had memorized the lines perfectly.
While the boys ate a late dinner, Mrs. Hardy remarked that she thought they ought to notify the police of the attempted burglary.
“I know as detectives you would like to solve this yourself, but as law-abiding citizens of Bayport we're duty bound to report it,” she insisted.
“You're right,” her sons agreed. Frank arose from the table and was about to call headquarters when the telephone rang.
“I'll take it,” Aunt Gertrude called from the hall. A moment later she said, “It's Fenton! He's on his way home. Says he wants someone to meet him at the airport at nine o'clock.”
“I'll go,” the brothers chorused, then Frank said, “You pick him up, Joe. Drop me at the police station and I'll talk to Chief Collig personally.”
“How about this medallion?” Joe asked. “Don't you think we ought to give it to Tony? After all, it belongs to him.”
“You're right. Take it along and show Dad, then leave it at Tony's.”
Joe put the medallion into his pocket and started for the garage. Frank followed directly and the boys set off on their errands.
“Whatever you do,” Frank warned as he hopped out at police headquarters, “watch yourself.”
Joe headed the car toward the airport. Halfway there he remembered that the highway was closed because of repairs. That meant he would have to take the lonely road that led past the museum.
The night was warm and the air still. “Like the night we brought Tony's stuff to the museum,” Joe thought as the convertible purred along. He came to the building and slowed up. “Most of Tony's inheritance is in there now. But the most valuable piece may be the medallion I have,” he mused, fingering the outline of the object in his sports shirt pocket.
As he drove along, there were fewer trees and the countryside became flatter. “About one more mile and I'll be at the field. It'll be great to see Dad and tell him firsthand all the new developments,” Joe said to himself.
The road took a long bend to the right and then straightened out. As the car approached the highway, its headlights picked up a frightening sight. Several yards ahead a man lay at the edge of the road. Joe wondered if he was the victim of a hit-and-run driver.
The brakes screeched as he slowed his car. Near the prostrate figure, another person staggered forward, shielding his face from the glare of the headlights and signaled Joe to stop.
“What happened?” the Hardy boy asked as he jumped out to help.
“Don't know,” the man mumbled in reply. Now Joe could dimly see his faceâenough to learn that he wore a mustache.
Suddenly the roadside victim leaped to his feet. He too shielded his face so completely that Joe could see only his eyes.
Too late Joe realized that this was a trap. He tried to jump back into the car, but the man nearest him let go a powerful blow that sent him reeling against the left fender.
Recovering his balance, Joe lashed out at his assailant, but the next instant the other man struck him from behind. Quick as lightning, Joe whirled and connected with a smash that sent his adversary sprawling on the pavement.
If only a car would come by, there might be some hope for him. But none did.
“If I could get back behind the wheel, I'd have a chance to drive away!” Joe thought desperately.
He got one foot inside the car, but his assailants closed in again. They yanked him out and twisted his arms.
“Let go!” Joe cried out in pain.
He managed to tear away from their grip for a second, but one of the thugs shot a smashing blow to his chin. The boy blacked out!
When he came to seconds later he was gagged and a kerchief was tied over his eyes. He was bound hand and foot and lay in a thicket.
Joe realized that not once during the struggle had either of the men spoken a word. Even now, when a hand started to frisk him, not a sound came from his enemies.
To Joe's dismay, he felt the hand go into the pocket that held the medallion!
CHAPTER IX
The Peculiar Ping
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LYING bound and gagged in the underbrush off the highway, Joe struggled to loosen the cords that cut into his wrists. Somewhere nearby in the darkness, his assailants were talking. They seemed to be very excited. Joe strained to hear what they were saying.
“They're speaking Spanish!” he thought, catching a phrase or two that he could understand. He heard one of them say, “Now we can find the place.” A moment later the other broke out fiercely, “I want that fortune!”
The talk was suddenly drowned out by the sound of a car engine roaring to life. The men probably had concealed their car in the thicket along the road.
Joe wondered how they knew he would be passing this very spot. He concluded that they must have been eavesdropping at the open windows of the Hardy house when plans for going to the airport were made.
He heard his own car being driven off the road into the brush. Then came the sound of footsteps as the man returned. The driver of the getaway car stepped on the gas and sped off.
His motor made a strange pinging sound, which registered clearly in Joe's mind. “If only I could tail those men!” Joe said to himself.
At the airport, meanwhile, the plane from Washington had landed. Mr. Hardy, a tall, handsome man in his forties, looked around for a member of his family. Failing to see one, he went to the waiting room. No luck there. He inquired at the main desk if there was a message for him.
“Sorry, Mr. Hardy. We have no message for you,” the clerk told him.
The detective shrugged. “I guess I'll just have to wait. Maybe there was a delay in traffic.”
Ten minutes later Mr. Hardy decided to call home.
“I'm so glad you're back, Fenton,” his wife said. “We've had a lot of excitement here, the kind we don't need!” She went on to tell him of the attempted burglary, but stopped herself short. “But you've already heard this from Joe,” she concluded.
“Dear,” Mr. Hardy said with a chuckle, “that's what I'm calling about. Joe's not here!”
“But he left in plenty of time to meet you,” Mrs. Hardy said, worried.
Mr. Hardy tried to reassure his upset wife, saying that Joe might have had trouble with the car. Then he asked, “Is Frank there?”
Frank had just returned from his talk with Chief Collig. He came to the phone. “Hello, Dad.”
“Do you know what route Joe was taking out here?” his father asked.
Frank told him of the detour, adding that Joe would have had to use the lonely road past the Howard Museum. “Dad, we found one of those medallions and Joe had it with him. Maybe he's been waylaid!”
“I don't like this. Take my car and start a search. I'll grab a taxi here and investigate from this end.”
“Okay, Dad. I'll start right away.”
Mr. Hardy collected his luggage and hurried from the building. Hailing a taxi, he briefly told the driver what had happened, then directed the man to the spot where he and Frank were to meet.
They set off along the highway over which there was now a heavy mist. Inch by inch they searched the roadsides with the taxi's spotlight, but there was no sign of Joe or the convertible.
“My son should be meeting us at any moment,” Mr. Hardy said to the driver, “unless he found something.”
At that moment the headlights of a car appeared from the direction of Bayport.
“This must be Frank. Blink your lights at him,” Mr. Hardy said.
The taxi driver flicked his headlights several times and the approaching car answered the signal.
“Is that you, Dad?” Frank called as he pulled alongside.
“Yes. Any luck?”
“None. But I haven't examined the last hundred feet of roadside.”
“Then we'll do that together,” Mr. Hardy called out. “Turn around and move on slowly. We'll come directly behind you. Keep your eyes on the left side. I'll watch the right.”
At a snail's pace, the cars headed out along the highway. Over fifty feet had been covered when suddenly Mr. Hardy saw the glint of a shiny surface in some high bushes.
“Stop!” he told the driver. As the taxi backed slowly, the spotlight picked up the glint again. Revealed in the glare was the windshield of the boys' convertible !
“Blow your horn!” Mr. Hardy directed. The taxi's powerful horn blasted several times. Hearing the signal, Frank returned to the cab in reverse.
He backed the sedan behind the taxi, leaped out, and, with his father, thrashed through the brush. They quickly examined the convertible and the ground around it. There was no trace of Joe. But several sets of footprints were evident in the moist earth.
“Joe must have been ambushed,” Mr. Hardy said angrily. “And they've either kidnapped him or left him nearby. We'll scour the whole area.”
With flashlights, the two walked along both sides of the road, penetrating the clumps of underbrush. A few seconds later Frank discovered the trussed-up figure of his brother. Joe was still trying to fight free from his bonds and the gag, but his efforts were futile.
“Joe!” Frank cried out joyfully.
He removed the gag, and with his pocketknife severed the cords from Joe's wrists and ankles. Exhausted from his ordeal and his mouth as dry as paper, Joe could scarcely speak.
When they reached the taxi, the driver grinned. “I'm sure relieved that you're all right, boy. Whatever happened?” Realizing Joe could not talk, he reached under the seat and brought out a Thermos bottle of water.
The water revived Joe considerably and he gave a sketchy account of the holdup but did not mention the stolen coin. Mr. Hardy paid the taxi-man, included an extra amount for his time and trouble, and the man drove off.
“Now, Joe,” Mr. Hardy said, “I'm sure that there's more to your story. Are you up to giving us the details?”
Joe nodded, saying he felt much stronger. He told about the ambush. “And now they have the medallion!” he moaned. “We've got to get it back for Tony! One of the men had a mustache. He might have been the blowgun man or Torres. There's just one other clue,” Joe added, and explained about the ping in the enemies' motor.
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