THE MYSTERY BOYS ADD A MEMBER
As Cliff came up the steps with his Peruvian letter both strangers acted
together; each made a grab. Cliff stopped.
“Look here!” he challenged, “You wait until I open this!”
He put the letter behind him. They saw that on the steps he was in a
position to turn and elude them. Retreating a step the Spaniard nodded
and the Indian stood aside, his arms folded. Tom and Nicky were already
beside Cliff, ready to help him.
Flanking him they accompanied him as he mounted to the porch and faced
the men. The chums formed a tableau; it might have been called “United
we stand.”
But they held the pose for only an instant! As they passed him the
Indian, with catlike agility, moved back and then stepped down to the
point Cliff had just vacated. He, then, was on the steps. They saw that
they had lost a point of strategic advantage for the Indian blocked the
way of escape to the yard.
Cliff, about to strip open the letter, paused.
“What are you trying to do?” he demanded.
He discovered the answer at once. The Spaniard made a spring toward
Cliff, hand reaching, fingers clutching at the letter. The Indian opened
his arms to block any leap toward the steps and Cliff saw that he was
almost trapped. But not quite!
Nicky stuck out a foot to trip the springing man. Tom made a tackle but
the Spaniard swerved. That swerve enabled Cliff to snatch away the
letter. Like a shot Cliff stepped backward, turned and in several quick
strides reached the cottage door. He swung it open, dashed in, slammed
the door. The Spaniard, baffled, said something under his breath and
paused.
Tom and Nicky promptly executed a backward movement that drew them up,
side by side, before the door. Both aggressors stared and showed that
they were baffled.
Cliff appeared at the sitting room window which he lifted.
“You just cool down until I see what is in this that you are so afraid
to have me see,” he exclaimed.
The Spaniard, however, seemed to have recovered. There were neighbors,
perhaps some of them were watching. Whatever was to be done must be done
at the instant. He muttered something to the Indian and made a spring
toward the window. He caught the lower edge before Cliff could slam it
down, gave Cliff a push. The young man stumbled back and caught his foot
on a chair; he saved a backward fall only by supple contortion.
At the same time Nicky and Tom sprang from the door to catch the
Spaniard but found their coat collars in the powerful grip of the copper
colored one behind them. He swung them off their balance and started to
run them toward the steps, backward, scratching, clawing, trying to
break his hold.
As Cliff recovered himself, still clinging to his letter he saw the man
scramble into the room. He made a fresh clutch at the envelope but Cliff
sent it spinning into a corner, then felt powerful fingers grasp his
arm.
At the same time a small automobile turned into the street. Nicky
shouted, “Mr. Whitley!” as Tom, fighting ferociously, tore loose from
his captor. He made a stroke but the Indian flung them both away at the
top of the steps and vaulted the porch rail at one end with a shout as
the car brakes screamed and the tires smoked. Before the car was at a
standstill its occupant, his strong face set and intent, was coming with
long strides up the path.
“Let him go,” Tom called as the rescuer swerved to pursue the Indian.
Tom saved Nicky a nasty fall down the steps and turned to see how Cliff
was faring, shouting to the newcomer to come with him. Nicky, catching
his equilibrium, went with them through the cottage door.
Within, Cliff was striving to hold back while his captor, who clung to
Cliff as Cliff clung to him, pulled steadily and surely to where he
could reach for the letter on the floor.
Cliff felt that he must act swiftly; he heard the noise on the porch but
could not tell what had happened. He used a jui-jitsu trick taught him
by a young Japanese student at Amadale, and the Spaniard, with a
muttered word, crumpled for an instant; it was enough; Cliff had caught
the letter and put the table between them by the time his adversary was
up.
He was trapped; Cliff blocked the window; three were entering the door.
Nevertheless, with a final, futile snatch at the object in Cliff’s hand,
the Spaniard caught up a chair and sent it sidewise against the legs of
his advancing attackers; in their scuffle and scramble he avoided them,
got to the door and was gone before they could right themselves.
“Don’t chase him,” Cliff panted. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Whitley.
Everything is all right. They wanted this letter—but they did not get
it!”
They all observed one another. Mr. Whitley was the youngest instructor
at Amadale; he taught history and was a great friend of Cliff. His
method of teaching made him popular with all the youths and boys at the
Academy. His classes were more like round-a-camp-fire gatherings, with
chats and anecdotes, than like cold, matter-of-fact history lessons. The
boys all liked and respected Mr. John Whitley. He was hardly more than
twenty-four and had a companionable manner and clear honest eyes. His
sense of fairness made him mark examinations so justly that no student
ever complained of favoritism.
“What is it all about?” he asked, “If that is any of my affair.”
Cliff promptly began to tell about the arrival of the two men, their
strange question followed by the coming of the letter.
And while he talked he began to make signs that were not noticeable to
anyone who did not understand them. In actual fact his gestures were
part of the secret signs of an order to which the three chums had
pledged themselves. They could carry on communication that each
understood but without giving away to others the secrets they discussed.
Thus, when Cliff scratched his ear with the middle finger of his left
hand, he called for a secret council; when his chums folded their arms
quietly it signified that they understood and that the lodge was
convened.
Cliff talked to Mr. Whitley, told him everything up to the rescue. In
the meanwhile he had appealed to his chums to judge the advisability of
admitting Mr. Whitley to their secrets. Nicky, who was more excitable
than Tom, forgot that they were carrying on their communication
secretly.
“Make him take the oath—and—and everything!” he cried.
Naturally, unaware that they had decided to accept him, Mr. Whitley was
surprised at Nicky’s cry. Cliff explained.
“We have a secret order that we call The Mystery Boys!” he said, “we can
talk together by signals so no one else understands. Each one of us has
a mystery and that is why we formed the order. I don’t know what became
of my father, since he went to Peru, and Tom’s sister has been missing
for years, and Nicky has an old cipher in his family. These mysteries
kind of drew us together and we formed ourselves into a band——”
“‘The Mystery Boys!’” broke in Nicky.
“We have secret signs so that we can carry on a conversation right in
front of you—as we just did while I told you some things,” Cliff
explained, “you see, Mr. Whitley, we have sworn not to tell our secrets
to anyone who was not under the Oath of the Oracle——‘by the sacred
Emblem’,” he quoted, “‘Seeing All, I see nothing; Knowing All, I know
nothing; Telling All, I tell nothing!’”
“I don’t quite see,” began the mystified instructor—what this has to do
with the two men, he would have added, but Tom spoke up.
“We have decided that we need your help,” he said, “we have talked it
over together and we want you to know all about Cliff’s mystery and
advise us—but we can’t break our oath.”
“Oh! That clears it all up. Very well. I am willing to help Cliff, that
is certain. If I have to promise things and join your order, I am
willing. But can we not dispense with all but the promises just now and
discover what is in that letter?”
“Let’s!” urged Cliff, “I want to see what it is.”
“Well——‘On the Sacred Emblem’——” Mr. Whitley, who had a good memory,
repeated the oath solemnly, his hand on a curiously cut Egyptian scarab,
the sacred beetle of the ancient Egyptian mysteries which Cliff produced
from among his father’s collection in a cabinet.
“Now,” he added, “let’s see the letter, Cliff.”