The Melted Coins

by Franklin W. Dixon

  The sounds of conversation sank immediately. Frank and Joe listened intently, their hearts pounding. Even though the voices inside were mumbled and unintelligible, the boys dared not speak.

  Then the caller became annoyed and raised his voice once more. “Now look, give it back!”

  “I don’t have it here,” Chidsee replied pettishly.

  “Where is it?”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll get it!”

  “We need it now, uncle or no uncle. Don’t forget, I have a deal cooking. You better shape up or else!”

  Just then the phone rang. The stranger picked it up, and after a crisp “hello” talked low. The Hardys could barely make out what was being said.

  “A couple of Senecas have been spying on us,” he said. There was silence for a few seconds. “We’ve got to be careful and wind this up fast.”

  Silence once more. Then the door slammed and the visitor was gone.

  Frank tugged his brother’s arm and they hurried around to the front to get a look at the man. But he was already in his car and sped off into the night.

  Frank and Joe returned to their room by way of the window and discussed the case.

  “That sounded a lot like the guy who visited Lendo Wallace tonight,” Joe remarked.

  “It must have been,” Frank agreed. “He said that the Senecas were spying on him.”

  “And he probably knows that Rod Jimerson and others are suspicious of Wallace because he’s done nothing about the mask thefts.”

  “What’s wrong with Wallace, anyway?” Joe asked, frowning. “We know he’s made some kind of deal with the fellow who’s also a buddy of Chidsee’s—but what is it?”

  Frank shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe he’s stealing the missing masks himself! He might even have taken Spoon Mouth!”

  “He must need money awful bad,” Joe said, “to betray his own people.”

  “I don’t know. Come on. Let’s hit the sack,” said Frank. “I’m weary.”

  In pajamas once again, the boys were soon fast asleep.

  When they opened the draw curtains the next morning, the sun streamed into their room. They had slept until nine o’clock! Yawning and squinting, Joe glanced down the motel facade to Chidsee’s suite. The Cadillac was gone.

  “They’ve flown the coop already, Frank,” he reported, and opened the door. The maid walked by. Joe beckoned to her. “Have Mr. Chidsee and his chauffeur left?” he asked.

  The chubby woman, carrying a vacuum and a dustcloth, said Yes. She was going to make up the rooms for the day.

  Joe said quickly, “My brother and I will be dressed in a minute, and we might have company later. Will you make ours first?”

  “Sure. I’ll be right back.” The maid left. Frank and Joe quickly splashed cold water on their faces, put on their clothes, and walked out. Casually they sauntered to Chidsee’s suite. The door stood ajar.

  “Okay, Joe. Now’s our chance,” Frank said and slipped into the living room.

  Joe followed close behind. Quickly they took in the scene. Crushed cigarette butts littered the floor, empty soda cans stood on the table, and in the adjoining room the beds were unmade and towels strewn about.

  “Neat people,” Joe commented sarcastically as they scouted the place for possible clues. Nothing turned up in the living room, and the bedroom proved equally void of any personal belongings.

  Joe checked the blotter on the writing desk. No ink marks were on it. Frank, meanwhile, picked through the wastebasket. As he took out a folded newspaper, a crumpled piece of paper fell out from between the pages.

  Then they heard footsteps outside. Frank quickly pulled Joe into the bedroom. The footsteps stopped in front of the apartment door.

  “Maybe it’s the maid,” Joe said. “Wouldn’t it be embarrassing if she found us here?”

  “It sounded like a man’s steps,” Frank replied, “and it would be even more embarrassing if it’s Chidsee himself.”

  “Let’s try the bathroom window,” Joe advised.

  They heard muffled voices, then someone walked away from the suite. The boys listened intently for a moment, then went back into the living room. Frank picked up the piece of paper, hastened to the desk, and spread it flat.

  On the paper, written in pencil, were the words Prof called, and a phone number.

  Frank whistled softly. “What a clue, Joe!”

  Just then the boys heard a noise behind them. They wheeled around to see Lendo Wallace framed in the doorway. His hand went to the knife in his belt!

  CHAPTER X

  Surprise Connection

  STARING at them in the doorway, Lendo Wallace seemed more startled than the Hardys. Had the Indian expected to see Elmont Chidsee?

  “What are you doing here?” he finally asked.

  “Looking around,” Frank replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Wallace’s hand dropped from the knife haft and he stepped toward the Hardys with an inquisitive stare. “This isn’t your room, is it?”

  “No. It belongs to Elmont Chidsee and his chauffeur.”

  “I assume you were looking for him,” Joe put in. “Chidsee and his buddy who was here last night, perhaps?”

  His bold approach had the desired effect. Wallace’s eyes widened and his lips moved but he said nothing. As he turned to go, Joe shot another question.

  “Why the knife in your belt, Mr. Wallace?”

  “I’m going to cut a tree; that is, cut a mask in a tree.” The Indian’s voice seemed less hostile.

  “I understand that’s an ancient art with the Six Nations,” Frank said, trying to draw out the Seneca.

  It seemed to be the right approach. Lendo Wallace relaxed a little and began to talk about the art of carving false faces. As he spoke, all three walked from Chidsee’s apartment and stood outside.

  “Each mask,” Wallace said, “is designed to chase certain evil spirits.”

  “I’ve seen a very frightening one,” Frank remarked. “It had a crooked nose and a sideways mouth.”

  “You mean Old Broken Nose. He’s quite fierce, especially with the horsetail hair.”

  “So that was it,” Frank thought. “The streaming white hair which scared Chet actually was a horsetail!” He probed deeper with his next statement.

  “A friend of ours was frightened by a Broken Nose mask one night!”

  Wallace looked blank. Frank concluded that he was not the one who had been at the Rideaus’ barn during their first visit.

  Wallace continued with his favorite subject. “Young Indians don’t care about masks any more,” he said sadly. “They aren’t interested. You send them out to cut some wood and they don’t know willow from bass.”

  Joe looked at the Indian’s jalopy. It was the same year as Chet’s. “We have a friend who has a car just like this,” Joe said with a grin. “Does yours backfire much?”

  For the first time Wallace smiled. “Enough to scare horses,” he replied.

  Now the chill was thawing more. Frank asked Wallace what he did for a living. The Indian told him that he made snow snakes—long sticks which boys hurled over the ice in a game; also lacrosse sticks, turtle-shell rattles, and headdresses.

  “Our people play a lot of lacrosse,” he said. “The game originated with Northern Indians. This work keeps me busy all winter, and I sell my wares in the summertime.”

  Suddenly animation left the man’s face as if a switch had been turned off. He fixed both boys with his gaze and said icily, “Why were you spying on me last night?”

  Frank and Joe were taken aback. So he had seen their faces at the window! Yet he had not given them away!

  Caught flat-footed, they fumbled for a reply, but Wallace spared them the effort. He jumped into his car, started the motor, and sped out of the motel drive onto the main highway.

  Frank shook his head. “Joe, that man is an enigma.”

  “You said it! I certainly can’t figure him out, but I’m beginning to think he’s a thief. Did you see how neatly he set us
up for that question about spying?”

  “He’s no fool. He toyed with us. And he’s got some connection with Chidsee!”

  Chagrined, the Hardys returned to their own room. The maid had just finished and excused herself as she brushed past them on their way in.

  Frank sank into a chair while Joe flopped down on the bed.

  “Score for Lendo Wallace,” Frank said ruefully. “You can’t win ’em all!”

  “What I want to know,” Joe said, “is why he didn’t tell his visitor who we were.”

  “Well, he’s obviously playing some kind of double game!”

  “Maybe he likes us,” Joe said with a chuckle.

  “Maybe he does. His hostility could be a front, you know.”

  “Oh, sure! The heart of gold underneath it all!” Joe said sarcastically, but his brother reminded him that the Indian seemed to be in some serious trouble.

  “Even if we could help him, he’d never let us,” Joe stated.

  “I know,” Frank replied. “But Wallace’s problem might be the key to the whole Spoon Mouth affair.”

  “Well,” Joe said, “at least we have one clue.”

  “Right. Let’s follow it up right away,” Frank said. He pulled the crumpled note from his pocket. Both studied the phone number on it.

  “What’s your guess?” Frank asked, walking to the telephone.

  “I’d say Zoar College,” Joe replied half-jestingly.

  “How about Chidsee’s rich uncle?” Frank shot back. “What’ll I say if he’s the guy at the other end of the wire?”

  “That’s your problem,” Joe replied cheerfully. “Maybe you could ask him to pay damages since his lovable nephew threw us off the motorcycle!”

  Frank dialed the number. What would he say?

  “I’ll have to play it by ear,” he thought as the phone rang at the other end. Then someone lifted the receiver and a woman’s voice said, “Hello?”

  “Er—hello,” Frank replied. “I have a message here to call this number. Is this 677-3408?”

  “That’s right,” the woman replied. “Whom do you wish to speak to?”

  “Well, thank you, I think I must have the wrong—”

  “Aren’t you one of the Hardy boys?” the woman interrupted.

  “Yes—er—Frank Hardy. Who are you?”

  “Mrs. Rideau, of course. I didn’t realize you had our telephone number.”

  “Neither did I,” Frank replied drily.

  Luckily Mrs. Rideau did not seem surprised at the whole thing. She seemed rather excited, however. “Frank, I’m so glad you called.”

  “Why is that, Mrs. Rideau?”

  “The doctor and I need your help as detectives.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “The Indians have tried to break into our house twice since you left. Please, can you come to Hawk Head as soon as possible?”

  “Sure. But we have no car. Right now we’re at the Sunset Motel, and it might take us a little while to get there!”

  “There’s a bus,” Mrs. Rideau said. “It stops near the motel. What happened to your car?”

  “That’s a long story. Do the local police know about the Indians?” Frank asked.

  “Yes, we notified them.”

  “Good. Joe and I will get over as soon as we can.” Frank hung up and turned to Joe. He shook his head slowly. “How about that!”

  “The prof referred to in the phone message is one of Mrs. Rideau’s tenants!” Joe exclaimed, “And he’s connected with Elmont Chidsee, who’s connected with Zoar College!”

  “It’s likely, therefore, the prof teaches at Zoar,” Frank completed the train of thought.

  “I wonder if he’s the one who came to see Wallace and later Chidsee last night,” Joe said.

  “We can’t be sure about anything. Anyway, going back to the Rideaus will give us a chance to talk to their tenants, and perhaps we can identify the voice!”

  The boys quickly packed their bags and wrote a note for Chet, saying that if he returned before they did, he should stay and wait for them.

  Frank phoned the motel manager and told him they would be out of town for a while, but wanted to keep their room. He added, “And if Chet Morton comes back, don’t let him get away!”

  Then he inquired about the Hawk Head bus, and was informed that one would pass the Sunset Motel in exactly half an hour. When he had hung up, Frank snapped his fingers.

  “Listen, Joe. Half an hour will give us time to go to Lendo Wallace’s place.”

  “What for?”

  “Well, we suspect he’s in trouble. So I’m going to offer our help.”

  “You know he’ll turn you down.”

  “We can give it a try, right?”

  “Okay.”

  They left their room, putting their bags just inside the door for handy pickup when they returned from Wallace’s house. Then they hiked along the road briskly, and turned down the lane to the Indian’s shack.

  “Mr. Wallace!” Frank called out. There was no reply. Obviously the Indian was not home.

  The Hardys walked up to the front door. It was covered with a chalk drawing of Old Broken-Nose. Under it was a warning message:Hardys: Danger ahead! Leave Yellow Springs

  at once!

  CHAPTER XI

  Footsteps in the Dark

  “THAT’S a strange kind of warning,” Frank said. “It doesn’t threaten us, just says get out because there’s danger ahead.”

  “Sounds more like a friend than an enemy,” Joe had to admit.

  “That’s Wallace for you,” Frank went on, glancing about to see if anyone were observing them. “He’s inscrutable. You don’t know if he’s for you or against you.”

  As Joe stood fascinated by the twisted countenance of the Indian mask, Frank put his hand on the doorknob and turned it. The hinges squeaked as the door opened an inch or so.

  “He doesn’t keep the place locked,” Frank remarked.

  “In that case, maybe he’s hiding around here and watching us,” Joe said.

  “Could be,” Frank replied. “But we have no time to look for him now.” He glanced at his watch. “We’d better go or we’ll miss the bus.”

  Frank closed the door, gave the leering face final glance, then trotted alongside his brother back to the motel. They grabbed their bags and walked to the road in time to see the bus coming in the distance.

  When they got aboard the near-empty vehicle, they thrust their luggage on a seat, then sat back to watch the scenery.

  “This is the life,” said Joe. He laced his fingers behind his neck, leaned back, and closed his eyes. “No hot-rod hoods, no vandals, no creeps...”

  He was jerked out of his reverie by a poke in the ribs. “Forget it,” said Frank. “Look out the window!”

  Joe opened his eyes in time to see a sleek Cadillac gliding past at a speed well above the limit. He groaned.

  “There goes our boy Elmont,” said Frank. “I wonder where to.”

  “He just can’t bear to be away from us,” Joe muttered. “Or maybe he’s on his way to his uncle for another handout.”

  Frank had serious thoughts about Chidsee. His car, too, was headed in the direction of Hawk Head. Might trouble be brewing there? Was he on his way to the Rideau house to contact the professors?

  Frank’s thoughts drifted away as the humming tires and the passing scenery lolled him into a drowsy mood. He felt his head nod and dozed.

  All of a sudden the bus brakes screeched and the Hardys were pitched forward, banging their heads on the seats in front of them.

  Joe’s first thought was the Cadillac. Had it deliberately tried to wreck the bus?

  The few other passengers, two of them thrown in the aisle, protested with shouts of anger. The Hardys left their seats and walked to the front.

  “What happened?” Frank asked the embarrassed driver, who shook his head in disgust. He pointed to the roadside, where a flock of geese were waddling up the slope.

  “That’s what!” he r
eplied. “They don’t care if anyone’s coming! I’d have had a fine bill to pay if I had sent their feathers flying.”

  Frank and Joe took their seats again and Frank said, “See? Never a dull moment in Indian country.”

  “Oh, quit the corn, Frank,” Joe said.

  “Well, Chet would have liked it,” Frank said in mock protest.

  “Which reminds me,” Joe went on, “he should be arriving at the motel any moment with our car. I hope he doesn’t run into Wallace alone.”

  “Don’t worry. He’ll probably spend his time at Mrs. Jimerson’s, eating her corn soup till he busts!”

  Finally, as the bus passed over the brow of the hill, the brothers saw Hawk Head in the distance. They were let off in the center of town and walked briskly toward the Rideau house. When they approached the place, the two dogs leaped playfully on them and they had to fend off their powerful bodies like defensive linemen on a football team.

  “Down, fellows!” Frank ordered.

  The German shepherds obeyed, and barking, circled the boys as they walked toward the doorway. Joe glanced up at the second floor. A curtain on one of the windows parted slightly.

  “Don’t look now, Frank, but someone’s playing peekaboo upstairs,” he said.

  “I wonder if they do that every time somebody comes to the house,” Frank muttered.

  The noise brought Mrs. Rideau to the door. “Oh, I’m so glad you came so soon,” she said. “Doctor and I are having such trouble.” She ushered the Hardys into the living room, where her husband sat at a table, examining a pile of coins with a magnifying glass.

  “Hello, boys,” he greeted them. “Have you been thinking over my idea of investing in coins as the safest possible business venture?”

  “To tell the truth, Dr. Rideau,” Joe said, “we’ve been pretty busy on a few other things.”

  The doctor frowned and put the magnifying glass aside. “You’re not too young to think about investing for the future. What did you say your father does?”

  “He’s a detective,” Frank replied.

  “Ah—well. I hope he has some investments in the fruit of our mints.”

  Mrs. Rideau steered the conversation away from her husband’s favorite subject.

  “Dear, I was telling them about our troubles.”