The Clue in the Embers

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “What are you guys doing in the city?” the sailor was saying. He did not at all seem curious about where Joe had gone.

  “Just came up for a short visit,” Frank replied noncommittally. “We were on our way to the airport when we saw you.”

  “Have you found my medallions?” Wortman asked.

  Frank shook his head. “Not yet.” “I’ll be glad when I ship out,” Wortman went on. “That curse business is getting under my skin. I’ve had nothing but bad luck lately.” He scratched his head. “You know what? I think it might have been the cause of old Mr. Prito’s death!”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Frank told him. “And stop worrying about the curse. It’s nothing but a superstition.”

  “I’ll try,” Wortman said, unconvinced.

  The boys assured him that they would keep on searching for the medallions, then Joe said, “Sorry to have kept you from your friend.”

  “Friend?” Willie asked, puzzled.

  The Hardys exchanged glances. If the suspect had been with him, why didn’t Willie want to admit it? Or had the mustached man been following the seaman unknown to him? At that moment it seemed as if the latter possibility were true, so they did not pursue the subject. The boys said good-by and returned to Tony.

  “Didn’t learn a thing,” Frank said. He flagged a taxi, and when they were settled inside, told Tony about their brief conversation with Wortman.

  When they arrived at the airport, the boys were informed that they had just time to make the flight to Bayport.

  It was late afternoon when the plane circled the Bayport field and landed. The boys drove back to town in the Hardys’ convertible with Frank at the wheel.

  When they reached Tony’s house, Joe removed the curios from the Hardys’ bags and helped his friend carry his luggage and the other articles to the front door.

  “Phone us if you find anything developed while we were away,” Joe said.

  Tony nodded. “And I’ll take these things to the museum right away.”

  Frank and Joe waited until. Tony had everything inside his house, then drove home. Mrs. Hardy greeted them at the door and said no telephone calls had come during their absence.

  “It’s been quiet and very lonely here with all my menfolk away,” she said wistfully as Joe gave her a bear hug. “And please give Aunt Gertrude and me a little of your time. There are a lot of jobs around here that need my sons’ attention.”

  For the next thirty-six hours the boys remained at home, cutting grass, weeding, and doing other chores. Tony called to tell them that everything had been quiet at the museum. Mr. Scath would be ready to confer with the boys soon.

  At seven-thirty the morning of the second day after their return from New York, the boys were shaken out of a sound sleep by a frantic hammering at the front door.

  “Who’s there?” Joe called through the screened bedroom window.

  A figure ran onto the lawn. It was Chet Morton. “Hurry out!” he cried.

  Frank and Joe raced down the stairs and flung open the door.

  “Look!” Chet said breathlessly, pointing.

  On the floor of the porch a foot from the railing stood a six-inch-high, cone-shaped pile of ashes!

  CHAPTER VIII

  An Amazing Discovery

  THE mysterious enemy’s latest warning struck fear into Chet’s heart. “This must be the work of that fire guy in the museum!” the chubby boy exclaimed. “And now he’s—he’s threatening you both personally.”

  “We’ve already been threatened personally,” Frank replied. He told of the warning Tony had been given by Valez over the phone. “And this makes me think Valez was the person in the museum.”

  “Maybe he’s putting a curse on you,” Chet quavered. “The—the medallion curse!”

  “Could be,” Frank agreed, smiling. “But he may find it’ll backfire.”

  Joe asked Chet what had brought him there so early. Chet explained that he was driving into town to buy a replacement part for one of the tractors on the Morton farm. “And I had an idea that I would be able to get some breakfast here if I left early!”

  “Didn’t you have any before you left?” Joe asked with a grin.

  “Sure I did,” Chet answered jovially, “but it was only a little one.”

  “Little one! I’ll bet you polished off a dozen eggs!” Joe needled him.

  As Joe and Chet watched, Frank got a small box and swept the ashes into it. “I’ll get dressed and then take these to our lab and analyze them. You fellows may as well start eating. I smell blueberry muffins baking.”

  Joe and Chet went to the dining room. “Where’s Frank?” Mrs. Hardy asked.

  When Joe explained what his brother was doing, she sighed. “Oh dear! I’m afraid this enemy you’ve made is a dangerous one.”

  “Indeed he is,” Aunt Gertrude stated crisply. She would have gone on, but the boys’ mother, sniffing, said, “Gertrude, I’m sure the muffins are done.”

  Chet was eating his sixth muffin by the time Frank returned. Dashing into the room he announced that the photomicrographs showed the burned material to be bones!

  Chet almost choked on the muffin. “Maybe this is a warning that we’ll all be roasted alive!”

  “Take it easy, Chet.” Frank grinned. “The bones were from a chicken.”

  “I wouldn’t care if they were a pelican’s,” Aunt Gertrude said. “Your enemies must mean them as a final warning. Why don’t you drop the case?”

  “We can’t back down now, Aunty. We must clear up the mystery.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Miss Hardy conceded, and the boys’ mother said she agreed.

  After breakfast Chet went on his way to buy the tractor part. Joe phoned Tony to tell him about the latest warning and to find out if he had had any further word from Valez.

  “Not a peep,” Tony answered. “Do you think he’s the one who left the ashes on your porch?”

  “If he was,” Frank replied, “it means he’s still in Bayport. Want to come on a search for Valez?”

  “You bet. Why don’t you pick me up?”

  The three boys spent the entire day sleuthing. After consulting the police records and learning nothing, they went to hotels, motels, and rooming houses. No one could help them.

  “I sure hope we discover a lead soon,” moaned Tony as they let him off at his house.

  The Hardys drove home and put the car in the garage. When they entered the kitchen, Joe found a pinned-up note near the refrigerator telling them that Mrs. Hardy and her sister-in-law had gone out for dinner. The boys’ supper was on the stove, ready for warming. Also, their father had phoned to say he was still in Washington but might be home later that night.

  “Let’s turn on the TV news before we eat,” Frank said, and headed for the living room. As he led the way through the dining room, he stopped in his tracks. Then he pointed to the floor, crying, “Look at those buffet drawers!”

  The four large drawers had been pulled out and their contents dumped out. Silverware and linen lay scattered on the floor.

  “A burglary!” Joe exclaimed.

  The boys dashed into the living room and the hall. These, too, were a shambles!

  Frank and Joe ran through the house. From top to bottom every drawer in the place had been pulled out and rifled with one exception. The files in Mr. Hardy’s second-floor study had not been broken into, probably because the intruder had not been able to force the lock.

  “Joe,” Frank said presently, “do you realize that nothing seems to be missing? Not silver, jewelry, or anything valuable. What was the housebreaker after?”

  “Something he didn’t find, that’s sure.”

  Frank had just about concluded that the mysterious person was connected with one of their father’s cases rather than their own when an idea suddenly occurred to him. He hurried back to their bedroom.

  “I know what that fellow was after and he got it!” Frank called as he opened his closet door.

  Joe dashed in.
The cigarette-type box from Tony’s collection of curios was missing from the shelf!

  “Maybe it wasn’t so worthless after all,” Frank reflected. He was about to add something else when he was interrupted by a car turning into the driveway.

  “That’s mother and Aunt Gertrude,” Joe said. “Let’s go down and tell them what happened.”

  The women were alarmed and shocked about the burglary, but after a quick check they confirmed that nothing had been stolen.

  “Except for our curio box,” said Joe.

  “Oh that!” Aunt Gertrude said. “Perhaps it wasn’t taken after all.”

  “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 something—”

  “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 face—enough 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 real
ized 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

  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.