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.