Chapter VI: Part 6

Consequently it wasn't difficult for Bob Dexter to secure a place of observation near the room where Jolly Bill Hickey had elected to stay for a time.

"I don't know how long I'll be here," Bill had said to Mr. Beel, when Bob drove him to the place the morning of the discovery of the crime on Storm Mountain.

"Stay as long as you like--we'll try and make you welcome!" Mr. Beel had said with the bluff heartiness that characterized him when greeting a new guest.

"And you're sure no one will object to my wooden leg?" asked Jolly Bill.

"Huh! I'd like to see 'em!" snapped out the proprietor. "You got just as good a right to have a wooden leg as another man has to have two of flesh and blood, I reckon."

"Thanks. I'll do my best not to make any trouble."

So had Jolly Bill taken up his residence, and his reference to having a "few shots left in the locker" to pay his way was amply borne out, for he met his weekly bills with great regularity.

"There's a little cubbyhole of a room next to his," Mr. Beel had said when Bob broached his new tactics. "It used to be used to store drummers' trunks in, when Cliffside did a bigger business than it does now. You can get in there and look over the transom if you like."

"Well, I'll try it. Maybe it will be a longer session than I anticipate. But don't let it be known that I'm there."

"I won't, Bob. You can slip in any time you like. I'll furnish you with a key. And you'll have a good excuse in being here."

"Yes--arranging for the annual banquet of the Boys' Club."

For there was such a function, and it was always held at the Mansion House, the club house not being large enough. Bob had gone to the trouble of getting himself appointed a member of the Banquet Committee, and though it was still some weeks before that affair would take place, it gave sufficient excuse, in case he was questioned, to account for his presence in the hotel.

Thus it was arranged and Bob, deserting his friends and relatives for the time being, took up his quarters in the little cubbyhole of a room, adjoining that which harbored Jolly Bill and his wooden leg.

Just what Bob hoped to find out or prove he hardly knew in his own mind. Certainly he did not tell Ned or Harry, for he couldn't. It was all so vague--merely a suspicion.

"What's got into old Bob lately?" asked Harry of Ned, a few days after the futile chase of the milk train.

"Oh, he's working on that Storm Mountain mystery, you can depend on that."

"Has he said anything to you about it?"

"Nothing special. Bob never does when he's following close on a clew. But he said he might not see us for a few days."

"Well, I guess we'd just better let him alone."

"Sure. He won't thank us for butting in, and if he wants any help he knows we'll give it to him."

"Sure."

Thereupon the two chums had gone off nutting again, leaving Bob Dexter to his own devices.

Taking advantage of the fact that there were few late arrivals in the Mansion House, which, unlike the Railroad hotel, did not keep open all night, Bob made his entry as an unregistered guest in his little room about two o'clock one morning. Mr. Beel was the only one around at the time.

"Good luck to you, Bob," the proprietor had said, as he watched the lad enter his room quietly. "He's in there," and he motioned to the apartment of Jolly Bill and his wooden leg.

Bob's first activity, after settling himself, was to mount on a chair and examine, as best he could in the feeble light of one electric bulb in his room, the transom over the door between his apartment and that of Jolly Bill.

At one time these two rooms had formed part of a suite, but when there was little call except for single rooms, the transom had been closed and painted black to prevent surreptitious views from one room to the other.

"And the paint's on my side," exclaimed Bob. "That makes it easier. I'll scrape a peep-hole in the morning, after Jolly Bill goes out."

Bob was concentrating his efforts and suspicions on this wooden-legged sailor now, since all efforts to trace the man with the iron hook, and his companion, had failed.

Bob did not sleep very well the remainder of that night. His mind was too filled with the possibilities that might follow his action. But toward morning he fell asleep, and the early winter sun was quite high when he opened his eyes.

"Gosh," he exclaimed in a whisper. "I ought to have been up long ago. Wonder if he's gone out?"

He listened but could hear no sound from the next room.

"I wish I hadn't gone to sleep," mused Bob, rather chagrined at himself. "Maybe he's flown the coop and gone out on the milk train."

But he was reassured, a little later, by hearing the voice of Jolly Bill himself. The voice followed a knock on his door--evidently a summons to arise--for there were no room telephones in the Mansion House. A chambermaid or bell boy had to come up and knock on the doors of guests to arouse them in case they requested such attention.

"All right I All right!" sounded the voice of the man with the wooden leg. "All right! I'm getting up! Got lots to do to-day!"

This was rather amusing, from the fact that since he had arrived in Cliffside Jolly Bill had done nothing in the line of work--unless digging worms to go fishing could be so called.

"All right! I'm on the job, too!" said Bob, silently to himself. Quickly he mounted to a chair which raised him so that he could look through the transom over his door. He moved silently. He did not want Bill to know, if it could be avoided, that there was a guest in the next room.

With the point of a knife blade, Bob removed a little of the black paint on his side of the transom. It gave him a peep-hole and he applied his eye to it.

Rather a mean and sneaking business, this of spying through peep-holes, the lad thought. The only consolation was that he was going through it in a good cause--his desire to bring criminals to justice and aid Hiram Beegle.

To Bob's delight he found that he had a good view of the interior of Jolly Bill's room, and he had sight of that individual himself, sitting on the edge of his bed and vigorously stretching himself as a preliminary to his morning ablutions.

Bill's wooden leg was unstrapped from the stump, and lay on a chair near him, as did the heavy cane he used to balance himself, for he was a stout man.

"It couldn't be better--if it works out the way I think it will," mused the lad. Eagerly and anxiously he watched now for the next move on the part of the old sailor. For it was on this move that much might depend.

Having stretched himself, and rubbed his eyes to remove therefrom as much as possible of the "sleep," by a process of dry washing, Jolly Bill prepared for his day's activities by reaching out for his wooden leg.

"Now," whispered Bob to himself, as he stood gazing through his peep-hole in the painted transom, "am I right or am I wrong? It won't take long to tell if things work out the way I expect they will. Steady now!" he told himself.

Jolly Bill pulled his wooden leg toward him as he sat on the bed. He must strap it on before he could begin stumping about to begin his day of "work," whatever that mysterious occupation was.

And then, as Bob watched, the old sailor, with a look toward the window, to make sure the shades were pulled down, plunged his hand into the interior of his wooden leg.

This artificial limb, like many of its kind, was hollow to make it lighter. There was quite a cavity within.

Another look toward the curtained window, but never a glance did Jolly Bill bestow on the painted transom over the door between his room and the cubbyhole. Why should he look there? No one had occupied it since he had been in the Mansion House. And it was unoccupied when Bill went to bed last night. He had made sure of that as he always did. But Bob had come in since.

And then, as the young detective peered through his peep-hole, he saw a sight which thrilled him.

For, from the hollow interior of his wooden leg, Jolly Bill pulled out the brass-bound box that had been so mysteriously stolen from the strong room of Hiram Beegle--the strong room which was locked in such a queer way, with the key inside and the criminal outside.

Jolly Bill held up the brass box, and smiled as he observed it.

"I guess," he murmured, "I guess it's about time I had another go at you, to see if I can get at what you mean. For blessed if I've been able to make head or tail of you yet! Not head or tail!"

And, sitting on the bed, his wooden leg beside him, Jolly Bill Hickey began fumbling with the brass box.

The eyes of Bob Dexter shone eagerly.

*CHAPTER XXIII*

*SOLVING A PUZZLE*

Many a detective, amateur or professional, having seen what Bob Dexter saw through the scratched hole in the painted transom, would have rushed in and demanded the box which held the secret of the buried treasure. But Bob knew that his case was only half completed when he discovered who had the box.

Up to within a few days ago he had suspected the mysterious and missing Rod Marbury. But with the linking up of that character with the organ grinder, and the departure of the latter with the hook-armed man, Bob had to cast some new theories.

Now he had succeeded beyond his wildest hopes, but still he was not ready to spring the trap. There were many things yet to be established.

True, there was the brass box, and as Bill, with his wooden leg not yet strapped to his stump sat looking at it on the edge of his bed, Bob could not but believe that it was the treasure box willed to Hiram Beegle, and stolen from that old sailor.

The half-whispered, exulting words of Jolly Bill himself as he eagerly eyed the box proved it to be the one sought. But Bill's words also indicated that there was still some mystery connected with the casket--some secret about it that needed solving.

For the wooden-legged man had said:

"I've not been able to make head or tail of you--not head or tail!"

That indicated a failure to ascertain the hiding place of the gold buried by Hank Denby.

"But Bill's had a try for it," mused Bob as he watched the man. "That digging of fish worms was only a bluff. He was digging to see if the treasure might not be buried on Hiram's place.

"And that story of monkey nuts--that was bluff, too. The Italian, or whatever Rod is, was digging for the treasure. But he didn't have whatever is in the box to guide him. Now I wonder what's in that box?"

Bob did not have to wait long in wonder, for the wooden-legged man, after fumbling with what seemed to be a complicated lock or catch, opened the brass-bound box, and took out a folded paper. That was all there was in the box it seemed, bearing out Hiram's story to the effect that Hank had left him directions for finding the treasure--a most peculiar proceeding. But then the whole story of digging up the treasure on the South Sea island was peculiar--like a dream, Bob thought. Sometimes he found himself doubting the whole yarn.

But there was a paper in the brass box, that was certain, and Jolly Bill had gone to considerable trouble, not to say risk, in securing it. He had played his cards well, not to have been suspected by Hiram, Bob thought.

"But if Bill, smart as he is, can't make head or tail of that paper, which tells where the treasure is buried, how can Hiram do so?" mused Bob. "He hasn't as much education as Bill has. They were all common sailors, though Hank may have been the best educated--he probably was. But he would know Hiram couldn't solve any complicated directions for digging up buried treasure, so he would have to leave him simple rules to follow.

"Now if Bill can't make head or tail of it, how could Hiram be expected to?" That was bothering Bob now more than he liked to admit. But he was far from giving up the quest. He must watch Bill.

The one-legged sailor, unconscious that he was being observed in his "undress uniform," was eagerly looking over the paper. He held it right-side up, and upside down. He turned it this way and that, and held it up to the light. But all to no purpose as indicated by his slowly shaking head.

"No, I can't make head or tail of you, and that's a fact," he said with a sigh. "I'll have to get help on this. But I don't want to if I don't have to. If I could only get Hiram to talk he might give me the lead I want. I'll have another go at Hiram, I guess. He doesn't suspect anything yet."

Bill returned the paper to the little casket, closed the lid with a snap and then put the brass box back in the interior of his wooden leg. Having done this Bill proceeded to get dressed for the day.

And Bob Dexter prepared to make so quiet an exit from the Mansion House that the old sailor would not know he had been there. To this end Bob left before Bill was downstairs, slipping out the back way as arranged with Mr. Beel.

In first planning his work looking to the discovery of the thief who had taken Hiram's box, Bob Dexter had in mind a very spectacular bit of play. It was based on some of the stories of celebrated detectives--real or imagined sleuths.

How Bob had come, by a process of elimination, to suspect that Jolly Bill was the thief, I think you can reason out for yourselves. If not I shall disclose it to you. Sufficient now to say that Bob did suspect Jolly Bill, and with good reason, though there was one big gap in the sequence of steps leading to the crime. And that was to learn how the key had been put back in the room where the unconscious Hiram lay. But of that more later.

As I say, Bob had in mind a daring bit of work as soon as he discovered for a fact that Bill had the box. This was nothing more or less than a false alarm of fire at the Mansion House. Bob reasoned that if the cry of fire were to be shouted Bill, and all the other guests, would at once rush to save that which they considered most valuable. And that if Bill kept the brass box locked somewhere in his room, he would rush to get it out, Bob fully believed.

However the discovery that the sailor kept the box in what, to him, was the best hiding place in the world, namely his wooden leg, made it unnecessary for Bob to go to the length he had planned.

Bill, himself, had given away the secret. The box was always with him. It was only necessary to take off his wooden leg and the secret of the treasure would be laid bare, so to speak.

"That is I'll get the directions for finding the gold," mused Bob. "But whether I can make any sense of the directions is another matter. However, well have a try."

Bob's first act, after emerging from the hotel by the back way, was to go home and get a good breakfast. He was just in time to eat with his uncle who was preparing to leave for his office.

"Well, Bob, you're quite a stranger," said Mr. Dexter, smiling.

"Yes," admitted the lad. "But I'm going to be at home more, from now on."

"I do hope so," sighed his aunt. "I'm so worried about you, Bob! You aren't going to get into danger, are you?"

"No, indeed, Aunt Hannah."

"Well, I know one thing he's going to get into next week," said Uncle Joel dryly.

"What's that?" asked Bob.

"School," was the laconic reply. "School opens next week."

"I shan't be sorry," replied Bob. "I'll clean up this case and be glad to get back to my books. There's a lot of fun at school."

But there yet remained considerable work to be done on the Storm Mountain mystery and the solving of the secret of the log cabin. To this end the young detective visited Hiram Beegle in the lonely shack that morning. To the old sailor Bob told certain things, and certain things he didn't tell him. But what he said was enough to cause Hiram to sit down and write Jolly Bill a letter, a letter worded as Bob suggested.

Whether it was this letter, or because he wanted to see his old messmate is not certain, but, at any rate, Jolly Bill Hickey called at the log cabin next day. And Bob Dexter was there.

So, also, were Bob's chums, Ned and Harry. None of the lads, however, was in evidence, being in fact, concealed in the strong room--that same room which had been so mysteriously locked after the theft of the brass box.

Bob had given up, for the time being, any attempt to solve the mystery of the key. He found it better to concentrate on one thing at a time, and the principal matter was to get Hiram into possession of the treasure that was rightfully his.

"What do you want us to do, Bob?" asked Ned as, with Harry, he sat in the strong room, waiting the development of the plot.

"Well, well have to be guided pretty much by circumstances," Bob answered. "Jolly Bill is coming here, and Hiram is going to talk to him. Bill doesn't know we're here. At least I hope he doesn't. Perhaps you'd just better leave it to me. Follow me when I go out and back me up."

"Sure well do that," promised Harry.

So they waited and, in due time, Bill came stumping up the path. He had engaged a taxicab, or one of the decrepit autos in Cliffside which passed for such, and so rode up to the log cabin in style. At Bob's suggestion, Hiram had offered to pay for the taxi, in order to insure Bill's presence.

"Well, here I am, old timer! Here's your old friend Jolly Bill Hickey! Here's your old messmate!" greeted the one-legged man as he clapped Hiram heartily on the shoulder. "We must stick together, messmate. You've had hard luck and I've had hard luck. Now well stick together."

"He'll stick Hiram all right, if he gets the chance," whispered Ned.

"Quiet," urged Bob, who was listening at the keyhole of the strong room, the door of which was closed, but not locked.

After some general conversation, during which Bill emphasized his friendship for Hiram, the one-legged man asked:

"Haven't you any idea, Hiram, where old Hank would be likely to bury that treasure of his? If you had you could go dig it up, you know, without waiting to find the box with the map in. If you had an idea, you know, I could help you dig. I only got one leg, that's true, but I can dig. Look how I dug the fish worms."

"Yes, you did dig worms, Bill," admitted Hiram gently. "And I don't see how you did it. It must have hurt your leg--I mean the stump where your wooden leg is fastened on. Why don't you take off your wooden leg, Bill, and rest yourself. Come on, take off your wooden leg."

"What's that!" cried Bill, with more emphasis than the simple request seemed to call for. "Take off my leg? I guess not! I only take it off when I go to bed."

"Well, take it off now, and go to bed," urged Hiram. He was following a line of talk suggested by Bob, though the latter had not disclosed the reason therefor.

"What--take off my wooden leg and go to bed--in the morning?" cried Bill. "You must be crazy, Hiram! What's gotten into you?"

"I want to see you take off that wooden leg, Bill," was the mild reply. "I'd like to see that wooden leg off you."

"Well, you aren't going to see it off me!" snapped out Jolly Bill, who was anything but that now. "I'm not going to take off my wooden leg to please any one! There's something wrong with you, Hiram. I can tell that."

His voice was suspicious. Bob looked toward his silent chums. The time to act was approaching.

"You won't take off your wooden leg, Bill?" asked Hiram.

"Not for anybody--not until I go to bed!" declared the other vigorously.

"Well, then, it's time you went to bed!" cried Bob, as he swung open the door and walked out into the main room of the log cabin, closely followed by Ned and Harry.

"Wha--what--what's the meaning of this?" cried Jolly Bill, when he could get his breath. "What--why, it's my friend Bob!" he cried, with seeming pleasure as he arose and stumped forward with extended hands. "My old friend Bob. Shake with Jolly Bill!"

"We'll shake your leg--that's all we'll shake!" cried Ned, taking his cue from what Bob had said.

"And you might as well go to bed now," added Harry.

Jolly Bill was standing near a couch, and suddenly, with a gentle push, Harry sent him backward so that he fell, full length on this improvised bed.

So sudden was the push, gentle as it was, that it took away the breath of Jolly Bill. He gasped and spluttered on the couch, trying in vain to raise his head, for Ned was holding him down. And as a horse cannot rise if you hold his head down, so, neither, can a man, and Bill was in just this situation.

"Let me up, you young rascals! Let me up! I'll have the law on you for this! I'll call the police! What do you mean? Hiram, what's the game? You asked me here to talk about the treasure--you said you might divide it, and now--stop! stop!" yelled Jolly Bill.

And well might he yell "stop!" for he felt many hands fumbling at his wooden leg. Hands were unbuckling the straps that held the wooden limbs to his stump. And Hiram's hands were among these.

"Stop! Stop!" angrily cried Bill. "What are you doing to me?"

"Taking off your leg--that's all," answered Bob quietly as he finally pulled the wooden member away from its owner. "But it isn't going to hurt you, Jolly Bill. This is all we want--now you may have your leg back again!"

As Bob spoke he pulled from the hollow interior of the wooden limb the brass-bound box. At the sight of it Hiram raised a cry of delight.

"That's mine! That's mine!" he shouted. "It was stolen from me! It holds the secret of the buried treasure. And you had it all the while, Bill Hickey. You tried to rob me! Give me that box! Scoundrel!"

Bob, with a smile, passed it over. Nor could he cease smiling at the look of chagrin in the face of Jolly Bill Hickey. That individual seemed in a daze as he fumbled at his wooden leg and looked within the hollow of it.

"Empty! Gone!" he gasped.

"Yes, Bill, the jig is up for you," remarked Bob. "You had your try at solving the puzzle, but you couldn't make head or tail of it, could you? Not head or tail!"

At hearing repeated to him the very words he had used in reference to the brass box, Bill turned pale.

"Wha--what's it all about? Who are you, anyhow?" he gasped and there was a look of fear on his face as he gazed at Bob.

"He's just an amateur detective, that's all," chuckled Harry.

"But I guess he's solved this mystery," added Ned.

"No, not quite all," admitted Bob with a smile. "We have yet to find the treasure. Bill had a try at it, but he couldn't locate it. Now we've got to solve the puzzle. Do you mind opening that box, Mr. Beegle? It isn't difficult. The difficulty lies inside, I think.

"And don't try any of your tricks, Bill Hickey," he sternly warned the wooden-legged sailor, who was still holding his artificial limb with a look of wonder on his face. "If things turn out all right, and Hiram doesn't want to make a complaint against you, we'll let you stump off. But if you cut up rough--we'll have the police here in no time."

"I'm not going to cut up rough," said Bill, humbly enough, "But you won't make anything out of that," he added, as Hiram drew a folded paper from the brass box. "I tried. I might as well admit it, for you seem to know all about it," he went on. "I tried but I couldn't make head or tail of it. There's no sense to it. I don't believe there is any treasure. I believe Hank used it all up himself and then left this silly paper to tease you, Hiram. It's a lot of bosh!"

And when Bob Dexter and his chums glanced at the paper they were inclined to agree with Jolly Bill, who now was far from what his name indicated.

For written in a plain, legible hand in black ink on what seemed to be a bit of old parchment, was this strange message:

It will not do to dignify, or, let us say, to magnify a sun
spot. For ten million years thousands of feet have, to give them
their due, tried to travel east or west, and have not found ten
of these spots. The sunny south of the Red Sea makes a gateway
that entices many away from their post of duty. In summer cows
eat buttercups and they fatten up a lot.

"Whew!" ejaculated Ned as he read this. "What does it mean?"

"Reads like some of the stuff we have to translate in High School," added Harry.

"It's a puzzle, that's what it is," said Bob. "But we'll have to solve it. Now, Mr. Beegle----"

"Look out--there he goes!" cried the sailor, as he jumped toward the door. But he was too late to intercept Bill Hickey who, having strapped on his wooden leg, was now pegging away at top speed down the trail from Storm Mountain.

*CHAPTER XXIV*

*THE TREASURE*

"Let him go," suggested Bob with a laugh. "His game's played out and he knows it. No use arresting him and having a long-drawn out case in the police court. That is if you're satisfied, Mr. Beegle?"

Hiram looked a bit disappointed at the escape of Jolly Bill. The old sailor was accustomed to seeing punishment meted out to those who deserved it. And certainly Bill deserved something in this line. But, after all, Hiram was a bit of a philosopher.

"If he isn't taking away any of my treasure with him, I don't mind letting him go," he said, as he stood in his doorway and watched Bill stumping off down the rugged trail.

"No, he won't take any of the treasure with him," said Bob. "I'll guarantee that. But whether we can find it or not is another question. Bill tried his best and didn't succeed."

"I don't see how anybody could succeed with this to work on," complained Ned as he looked at the seeming jumble of words which had been written down by Hank Denby, to guide his heir to the buried treasure, and to keep others from finding it. It looked as if he might succeed in keeping it even from the one entitled to it. "There's no making any sense of this," concluded Ned, dubiously.

"Oh, we haven't had a real try at it yet," said Bob, cheerfully. "Let's go at it systematically. But first I'd like to clear up a few loose ends. Do you know anything about this man with the hook arm, Mr. Beegle? The one who calls himself Jake Dauber, and who went off with Rod in such a hurry?"

"No, he's a stranger to me," answered the old sailor. "He wasn't one of us in on the secret of the treasure. But he might have had some deal with Rod to help him get my share away from me. And when Rod couldn't, this man with the hook got tired and took Rod off on some other trick."

"Perhaps," admitted Bob. "But in the light of what has come out, Mr. Beegle, do you still think it was the organ grinder who attacked you on the road and tried to take the box away from you? And do you think he visited you here in the cabin, and made his way into your strong room while you were looking at this paper," and Bob indicated the cipher, for such it was.

"I don't know what to think," admitted the old sailor with a puzzled shake of his head. "I certainly didn't see any one like an organ grinder attack me on the road that day you found-me, Bob. And, as I say, I didn't see the man who got in here, made me senseless and took this box."

"I think it's pretty safe to assume," said Bob, as he sat down at a table and spread the mysterious square of parchment out in front of him, "it's pretty safe to assume that Jolly Bill was the guilty man in both instances. He sneaked out on you from the bushes, Mr. Beegle, and struck you down before you had a chance to get a good look at him. You assumed that it was Rod because you had him in your mind.

"Then, finding that his first assault wasn't a success, Bill tried other tactics. He sneaked up here in the night, and saw you in the room, looking over the paper from the brass box. He made use of some mysterious chemical, I think--something that overpowered you and made you fall unconscious. He could have tossed a sponge, saturated with it, into the room while you were intent on studying this cipher, Mr. Beegle. Then, when the fumes had blown away, after having knocked you out, he entered, took the box away with him, locked you in and put the key back."

"But how did he do that?" demanded the sailor. "I can understand all but that part of the key."

"We'll come to that in time," said Bob. "I'm not worrying about that. The main mystery is solved. We know who stole the brass box, and we have it back--with the cipher, or map, if you want to call it that, which tells where the treasure is buried."

"But does it tell?" asked Ned. "It isn't exactly a map. But does it tell about the treasure?"

"Of course it does!" declared Bob.

"Then you're smarter than I give you credit for being if you can make head or tail of this," commented Harry.

"We'll see," and the young detective smiled. "At any rate we have cleaned up the loose ends. Jolly Bill was the robber, and as many another criminal has done, instead of fleeing he remained on the spot to throw suspicion off, which he succeeded in doing very well. Then came Rod on the scene, disguised as an Italian organ grinder to see if he couldn't get at the treasure after Hank Denby died. It was a good game but it didn't work."

"Rod was always up to tricks like that," said Hiram. "He would play them on board the ships we sailed in. I think he had some Italian blood in him, for once, when we were at an Italian port, he was as much at home as any of the natives, and he could talk their lingo, too. But I didn't know him in his false beard and wig. He was always smooth-shaven."

"It wasn't a false beard nor wig, either," said Bob. "He just let his hair and whiskers grow. He was clean shaved when he and the man with the iron hook took the milk train. Well, we'll let them go. They don't figure in this mystery any more."

"Unless they've already dug up the treasure and skipped out with it," suggested Ned.

"It couldn't have been done," declared Bob. "Rod was only digging at random in the bramble patch, though why he hit on that is more than I can tell. But we'd better get to work on this."

"I'll say you had!" exclaimed Harry. "And there's a long trail ahead of you--a long, long trail."

However, Bob Dexter went to work with a certain system in mind. He had made a sort of study of puzzles, ciphers and the like, and knew certain fundamental rules governing them. That the secret of the treasure was a comparatively simple one he felt convinced.

"One of the things to do is to see if this paper contains any secret writing," he said. "I mean certain words may be written in with a chemical so as to remain invisible until heated or treated with other chemicals.

"Now Mr. Denby wouldn't be very likely to make a complicated affair--one that would need other chemicals to bring out the writing. He would know that Mr. Beegle, here, couldn't have such chemicals at hand. Consequently the simplest way would be the one he would select--that is heat. Let's see if, like the cipher in Poe's 'Gold Bug,' heat will bring out anything."

They held the parchment near the flame of a candle, but aside from producing rather an unpleasant odor, nothing developed. The writing remained the same.

"The next thing," said Bob, "is to pick out from this mass of words certain ones that mean something. As it stands it might be just part of an essay on astronomy or geography. Now in ciphers of this kind certain key words are used, say beginning with the second or third from the start of the message, and then letting the words follow in a certain numerical sequence. Let's try that."

He and his chums tried--over and over again they picked out certain words, setting them down on separate sheets of paper, but all they got were meaningless, jumbled sentences.

"Perhaps it's certain letters in certain words," suggested Ned.

"Maybe," agreed Bob. "We'll try that way."

But that was of little use, either, and finally, in despair, the young detective turned to Hiram, who had done little toward helping solve the riddle, and asked:

"Did Mr. Denby ever say anything to you about how you were to proceed to search for the treasure?"

"Well," remarked Hiram slowly, "he said he'd leave me something in his will, and he left me that," and he motioned to the box.

"Yes, I know!" exclaimed Bob, impatiently. "But did he ever tell you how to use what he left you? He knew he was going to leave the directions to you in a cipher. Now did he give you the key to it?"

"You mean this brass key?" and Hiram held up the big one that locked his strong room.

"No, I mean some sort of directions for solving this puzzle."

The old sailor arose and went to the strong chest in the corner of the strong room. He brought back an envelope.

"He gave me this letter, some years ago," he said. "It just tells me that he's going to leave me the gold as my share, being the only survivor that kept the agreement Here's the letter."

Bob eagerly read it. As Hiram had said, it contained just that information, and nothing more. But at the end of the letter were these words:

"Don't destroy the envelope."

"Now what did he mean by that?" asked Bob, puzzled. "Is there anything else in the envelope? Let's look, Harry."

He took from his chum the envelope that had contained the letter. Looking inside Bob gave a cry of surprise and exultation.

"I've found it! I've got it!" he cried "What?" asked his chums.

"The key to the cipher! Look!"

With his knife Bob slit the envelope down each end. It was of thick, manila paper, and on the inside of what was the front there were marked off in black ink a number of small oblong spaces, placed here and there irregularly.

"I don't see how that's going to help any," observed Ned.

"You don't? Just wait a minute!" cried Bob.

With his knife he cut away from the envelope the loose flap and the back, leaving an oblong piece of opaque, manila paper, marked off in those queer blank spaces. Then Bob began to cut out the spaces along the black border lines until he had a piece of paper containing fifteen oblong holes. The holes were at irregular places, and arranged in lines.

There was one space on the first line, two on the second, three on the third, five on the fourth and two each on the fifth and sixth lines.

"It's getting more complicated than ever!" sighed Harry.

"On the contrary it's getting clearer and clearer," cried Bob. "Give me the cipher," and he reached for it. "How many lines in it, Ned?"

"Just six," was the answer.

"Exactly the number of lines represented by these cut-out spaces. Now look!"

Bob placed the piece of envelope over the parchment containing the seemingly meaningless message. Only the words now showed that could be read through the cut-out openings. All the others were covered by the opaque manila. And these words stood out like a message in flame.

"Listen!" read Bob:

"Dig ten feet due east and ten south of Red gate post in buttercup lot."

For a moment no one spoke. Then Ned cried:

"The buttercup lot! That must be Mr. Denby's pasture near the bramble patch. Why, Rod was away off! He was in the wrong lot!"

"That's right!" exclaimed Bob. "I think this gives us the secret of the treasure."

They looked again at the message as revealed by the cut-out key. There was no doubt as to its meaning. Hank Denby had adopted a very simple form of cipher, yet one almost impossible to solve if one hasn't the key-paper. He had put in several points of the compass, and a number of measurements in his queer message and one might have dug for a long time without hitting on the right spot. But now it was easy.

"So that's why he didn't want me to destroy the envelope!" murmured Hiram, as he saw to what use it could be put. "Well, I'm glad I saved it all these years. Oh, he was a cute one, Hank was!"

"Do you think he planned it all this way?" asked Ned.

"He must have," asserted Bob.

"It was leaving a good deal to chance," was Harry's opinion. "Just supposing Hiram hadn't saved that envelope?"

"In that case we'd be out of luck," Bob said. "But I think Mr. Denby must have known Hiram would save the key to the cipher. If he hadn't thought that he'd have made up some other way of letting it be known where the treasure was buried."

"Maybe it's all a joke," murmured Ned. "I mean, maybe there isn't any treasure buried after all. How'll we know?"

"Well, let's get busy!" suggested Bob. "Let's see if the story of the cipher is borne out. Let's dig for the treasure!"

"That's the idea!" cried Hiram. "Wait, I'll get some shovels. We'll go to the buttercup lot. Hank always called it that, for it's fair like a plate of butter in the summer time, with yellow flowers. But he never pastured any cows there. I wondered at him writing about cows."

"You should worry now!" joked Ned. "You'll be a rich man in a little while, if things turn out right."

Then they set out to dig up the treasure.

*CHAPTER XXV*

*THE KEY TRICK*

Hank Denby had been a thrifty man after settling down in Cliffside following his life on the sea. Few there were who knew him well--not even his own lawyer, Judge Weston. And perhaps even fewer knew of his early association with Hiram Beegle and that the two had formed a quartette which had dug for treasure on the mystic South Sea isle.

But such was the case, strange as it may seem. The four had found the old pirate's treasure, they had made an agreement, doubtless influenced by the dominant mind of Hank Denby, and they had done just as he said.

"But you got to give him credit for being honest," declared Hiram, on their way to the buttercup lot. "Hank did just as he said he would do."

"I believe that," stated Bob. "The thing of it was that Jolly Bill and Rod didn't live up to their agreement, and, in consequence, they forfeited their rights to that share of the treasure which Hank was keeping for them. So much the more for you, Mr. Beegle."

"Yes, I hope so. But I'm going to pay you boys for your trouble," he insisted.

"Trouble? There wasn't any trouble!" laughed Ned.

"We've had a lot of fun out of it," added Harry. "But maybe, after all, there won't be any treasure."

"No treasure! What do you mean?" cried Hiram.

"Well, that fellow Rod, or whatever his name was--going off in such a hurry with that hook-armed man--they may have found out where the stuff was buried and have dug it up ahead of you. Their going off in such a hurry and secretly in the night looks bad."

"No, I don't believe so," spoke Bob. "Rod had an idea where the treasure was, I'll say that, though how he got the hint is more than I can figure out. He just must have reasoned that Hank would bury it somewhere on his own premises, and the bramble patch looked like a good place to hide gold."

"He made up a good story about it--wanting to plant monkey nuts!" laughed Harry.

"He sure did," agreed Bob. "He had me fooled for a time. And when I saw Jolly Bill digging for worms, I thought he was on the right track. Though it didn't seem reasonable to suppose that Hank would bury the stuff on Mr. Beegle's land."

Thus talking and speculating on the mystery, they reached the pasture lot spoken of as the buttercup pasture. But the field was now sear and brown, the buttercups of summer long since having died.

They had brought with them spades and shovels, and also a tape line. This was necessary to measure off the distance from the red gate post.

"But is there a red post?" asked Harry, as they approached the lot. "I don't seem to remember one."

"There's a gate, anyhow," observed Ned, "or what's left of one. And maybe the posts were painted red, once upon a time."

This they found to be the case, though there was but a faint trace of red left on the weather-beaten wood now. But there was only one post which had any vestige of color on it, and this made their task simpler. The other post had long since rotted away.

With tape line and compass, the latter being one that Hiram Beegle always carried with him, a distance ten feet due east was measured off from the red gate post. Then the same distance was measured off due south. When this had been done, and stakes driven in at each of these points, Ned suddenly uttered an exclamation of disgust.

"What's the matter?" asked Bob.

"Why, we're as badly off as we were before," declared Ned. "Look, we've got _two_ places to dig. Which one contains the treasure?" and he indicated the south mark and the east.

"Maybe there's treasure under each one," suggested Harry.

"That's it!" cried Bob. "I was waiting for one of you to suggest that, for it occurred to me as soon as I saw that the cipher gave us two points. It's either that--treasure at both places, divided to make it less easily found, or else we've got to draw a line from the two points, making a triangle and then dig at the middle point of the longest line. But we'll try the two points first."

With beating hearts they began digging at the south point first. The ground was soft, the early frosts not yet having penetrated deeply, and as the brown soil was tossed out, shovelful after shovelful, each one was eagerly looked at.

They took turns, making an excavation large enough to stand in, and going deeper gradually. They had gone down five feet, and there was, as yet no indication of hidden wealth. Ned climbed out of the hole and dubiously shook his head.

"Looks like a hoax to me," he said.

But Bob, whose turn was next, had not taken out more than three shovelsful of earth than he uttered a cry of delight.

"I've struck something!" he shouted.

Quickly he began tossing out the soil, and, a moment later, there was revealed the rusted top of an iron box. It did not take long to uncover the chest--a veritable strong box--and haul it up on top of the ground. The chest was closed with a heavy padlock, but it was so rusted that a few blows from a spade shattered it.

The lid was pried back, on squeaking hinges and there, revealed in the light of the sun, was, what seemed to the boys, millions of dollars in gold--old gold coins of a bygone age.

"We've found it!" shouted Harry, capering about. "We have it!"

"That's the treasure all right!" added Ned. "You're a millionaire, Mr. Beegle!"

"Not so loud!" cautioned Bob. "You don't want all Cliffside rushing out here. Go easy!"

His chums calmed down and then an examination of the gold was made. Bob's keen eyes soon estimated that there wasn't anything like a million dollars--only a few thousands at most, but it was a fortune to the old sailor.

"But we've got another hole to dig!" said Ned, somewhat disappointed at finding the gold to total less than had been hoped for. "Maybe that'll run higher."

They soon uncovered a second iron chest, which contained about the same amount of old gold, and some ornaments which, Bob said, might be sold for a large sum as antiques. So, take it all in all, it was a very tidy little fortune that was dug up that day.

While Bob and Harry remained on guard, Ned and Hiram went to the village to get a horse and wagon to haul the stuff to the local bank. For Hiram did not share Hank's distrust of these institutions and declared that he wasn't going to run any more chances.

That there was a sensation in Cliffside, when it became known that the long-buried pirate treasure had been dug up, and that Bob Dexter had been instrumental in locating it, you can well believe.

"That boy's got stuff in him! I always said it!" declared Chief Duncan who was not at all peeved because he had not solved the mystery. "Mark my words, the police of the big cities will yet hear of Bob Dexter."

"But he can't tell how that key got back in the locked room," sneered Caleb Tarton, who was a little miffed that he had had no part in unraveling the tangle of the case.

"Maybe he will," said the chief. "Give him time. They only just got the treasure."

And when the gold had been safely put in the bank vaults, after Judge Weston had confirmed Hiram's right to it, Bob and his chums paid another visit to the log cabin. They found Chief Drayton there talking to the old sailor.

"I could 'a' figgered all this out if they'd give me time," declared Mr. Drayton. "Gosh, but when I got to act as postmaster, pound keeper and be my own constable I ain't got any too much time t' be chief of police. I'm goin' t' talk t' th' selectmen 'bout it at next meetin'. I want a helper, that's what I want."

"Yes, you need one!" chuckled Hiram.

"But, anyhow, I know one thing!" declared Mr. Drayton. "You locked that door yourself, Hiram. That key was never put back in from the outside."

"Oh, yes, it was," said Bob, quietly.

"It was? How?" cried Ned and Harry.

"It couldn't be!" insisted Chief Drayton. "Chuckin' it down the chimbley wouldn't do it."

"Not exactly _chucking_ it," said Bob, still quietly. "But the chimney was used. I'll show you how it was done. Mr. Beegle, do you mind going in your strong room, and lying on the floor just in the position you were in when you recovered consciousness after you were robbed?"

"Sure I'll do that," agreed Hiram.

The others watched him take his place. Then they went outside on Bob's request and watched him solve the key trick. The lad climbed up in the tree that grew beside the log cabin, and in a minute he was on the roof, beside the chimney.

"I'm dropping down the flue a piece of fish line with a piece of lead on the end to carry it," he said, suiting the action to the word. "Now go inside again."

They entered the room, where Hiram was lying on the floor, waiting for what was to happen next. Dangling in the fireplace was the weighted string.

The fish line extended up the chimney flue, coming out at the top, where Bob fastened it temporarily.

The young detective then removed the lead weight and pulled the slack of the cord across the floor, until the end was close to the hand of Mr. Beegle as the sailor lay on the floor. With a small nail, passed through a knot he tied in the end of the cord, Bob fastened the line lightly to the floor.

"We now have," he said, "a cord extending from this point up through the flue and out of the chimney at the top. Now if you will all remain here you'll see the conclusion of the experiment."

They waited expectantly while Bob went outside. Presently they heard him up on the roof.

"Watch now!" he called down the flue.

A moment later there was a tinkling, metallic sound and sliding down the string came the big brass key of the strong room. It was guided down the chimney, and out from the fireplace, the ashes of which it cleared, across the room, until it fell on the floor, close to Mr. Beegle's hand. There was a twitching of the cord that was fast to the little nail driven lightly into the floor. Out came the nail on the string. The cord was pulled up out of the chimney, leaving the key on the floor beside Mr. Beegle.

"Gosh!" gasped Ned.

"Easy as pie!" murmured Harry. "When you know how it's done."

"That was how the key trick was worked," said Bob, as he joined his friends. "I got the idea after I'd seen that fellow in the circus movie slide down the inclined wire," he added. "And I also saw a little hole in the floor near where Hiram lay the night he was made unconscious. It was a hole left by the nail Bill drove in for his string.

"If a man could slide down a wire, I said to myself," a key could be made to slide the same way. I tried it with a string, passing it through the hole in the hand-end of the key, and it worked fine.

"This is what Jolly Bill did. He sneaked up, used his gas bomb, or whatever it was that overpowered Mr. Beegle, slipped in the open door of the strong room, and took the brass box. Then, to make the robbery seem mysterious, he came out and locked the door. To get the key inside he climbed the tree and slid the key down the cord he had previously prepared. Twitching out the cord and nail left not a trace except the tiny hole in the floor, of how the key got inside the locked room without an opening. The chimney flue did the trick. Though when we tried dropping the key down, finding that it only stayed in the ashes, I was puzzled for a time."

"But could Jolly Bill climb up in a tree with his wooden leg?" asked Harry.

"Oh, he was pretty nimble--I watched him use a spade," said Bob.

"And was there an elephant here?" Ned wanted to know.