THE _ROCKET_ RACES THE _SPEEDAWAY_
Lanky Wallace made a move as if would leap out and throttle the
fellow for making such an accusation.
Frank’s arm restrained him, though, and the chief of police quickly
signaled for all of them to be quiet.
“Marmette, you’re not telling the truth. That young fellow knew
nothing about this. If he had known as much as you say, he would have
had the police on us by this time.”
The leader of the little gang spoke menacingly to the prisoner. There
was no answer from Jed Marmette, and he continued:
“You’ve hidden that box somewhere. No use to lie out of it. Come
across, or you go down in the river. No more foolishness!”
These were tense moments. Frank Allen wondered why the chief did not
step forward and take command of the situation, for he was surely
backed by a crowd large enough to take these three prisoners.
What had Jed Marmette done with the jewels? Was it possible that he
had seen the boys or was this merely a ruse which had risen suddenly
in his mind?
“I tell you those young fellows were up here in their boat—I seen
’em! And there were five of them—too many for me to stop. They went
into the barn, two of them, while the other three watched outside.
And they got away with the box. I seen ’em!”
Frank was startled by the things this fellow Marmette was telling.
Then, he had really seen them! He had known they were there—had seen
them go into the barn—else how would he have known they were five?
What would the chief think now? But what was the use of worrying
about it? Frank knew where the jewels were buried, under the grape
arbor, and it would be an easy matter to recover the metal box just
as soon as these fellows were taken prisoner.
“You’re lying, Marmette! You can’t pull that stuff on us. We’ll put
him aboard, fellows, and throw him in. Get that other rope ready. Is
everything ready to go?”
The leader was preparing to settle matters for Jed Marmette.
“Throw up your hands—all of you!”
Into the small circle cast by the lantern’s light stepped the chief
of police, his revolver drawn. The other police were directly behind
him, all with drawn weapons. It had been done so quickly that even
Frank, behind them, did not realize that the chief had given his
signal to act.
The four conspirators turned at the sound of the voice. The fellow
with the lantern made a move toward the boat, still holding the light.
“Halt! Stand where you are or I’ll fire!” commanded Chief Berry. The
fellow stood still. “Now, get your hands up, all of you!”
This command was obeyed.
“Boys, while I keep them covered, you take the ropes and tie them.
Slip the handcuffs on those two big fellows, and tie the one with the
lantern. Hang the lantern where we can have light.” The chief was in
full control of the situation.
“Chief,” whispered Frank while the men performed their duties. “Let
us four go up there and get the box of jewels. I know where they are
buried—in the grape arbor!”
“Sure,” the chief acquiesced in the scheme. “Take the boys and go
along. Here is a box of matches and here is a flashlight,” and he
slipped a long cylinder out of his pocket, handing it to Frank.
Immediately the four boys started along the trail leading to the
barn, through the barnyard, and thence up toward the grape arbor by
the dilapidated old farmhouse. The flashlight helped them on the way.
Not a word passed between the boys as they filed, Indian fashion,
through the long weeds. It was only when they reached the grape arbor
that anything was said. It was Frank who spoke:
“I wonder why Marmette tried to pull such a stunt as that? Yet, of
course he didn’t know we were standing there listening to all of it.”
“Just the same, Frank,” Lanky argued the matter, “if we had not been
there his story would not have gotten him anywhere. That fellow
didn’t believe it—wasn’t he going to drown Jed?”
At this moment they were at the entrance to the grape arbor. Frank
flashed the light under the dark place and saw that the stone was
still in place!
Frank started the work post haste.
“Paul, you and Ralph pull that flagstone aside. There is a new hole
right there and the box is in there.”
The two boys heartily grabbed the stone and laid it aside. One of
them stooped and started pulling aside the dirt with his hands, but
Frank halted him.
“You can’t get it away quickly enough that way. The hole is deep.
Lanky, find a spade or a stick of wood.”
In only a moment or two Lanky Wallace found a sharp stick that could
be used for the purpose, and went at the work of uncovering the metal
box with a willing vim.
Pound after pound of the soft earth came out of the hole, but there
was no evidence of the box containing the jewels.
Frank was becoming nervous with the excitement of this search, and,
particularly, because there was as yet no indication of success.
“Push the stick straight down to see how far it goes before it
strikes the box!” he hoarsely called to the boys.
Lanky sent the stick downward, then pushed on it with his foot, but,
despite the stick’s length of about a foot and one-half, it struck
nothing to impede its progress.
“That box isn’t there, fellows!” said Frank. “I know the hole was not
that deep. Jed Marmette took it out and has hidden it somewhere else!”
Just now it came forcibly home to Frank Allen that the boys had
been seen by Jed Marmette. Of course, he knew they had not taken
the jewels, as well as Marmette knew it, but Marmette had used this
fact as his excuse for not having the jewels, and, unthoughtedly,
unknowingly, he had evidenced to Frank that, having seen the five
boys on the place and having feared they would come back or send back
to get the metal box, he had dug it up and placed it in some other
spot after they had gone.
The three boys looked askance at Frank.
“What’ll we do?” he took the question from their lips before they had
done so. “We’ll go into the house and see what evidences there are
there of Jed’s having placed it somewhere around inside.”
With this all four of them trooped into the small farmhouse, and
their nostrils were struck by the odors of dankness, of old coffee,
of burned grease, showing that this ill-kept man did not permit the
fresh air that nature so freely gave to every living being to pass
through the house.
The beams of the flashlight darted here and there, and Frank handed
his supply of matches to Lanky to use so that they could get a better
light. In a few seconds Paul saw an oil-lamp, which was immediately
lighted, and with this as an aid they stood at the center of the back
room and carefully studied the general features.
Nothing in this room gave the boys any indication of a hiding place,
and Frank led the way, holding the lamp, into the next room, a
combination of bedroom and general living room. Two broken chairs,
a wobbly old table, a box used for a washstand or dresser and a cot
were the only pieces of furniture.
All four of the boys stood, rather breathless, at the doorway and
peered in.
“What’s that?” Frank nodded his head toward the broad, old-fashioned
fireplace. “Go over there and see what those ashes are. It looks to
me like burned string lying there.”
Lanky was the first to get there. He knelt and studied the hearth
closely, not disturbing anything with his hands.
“This is a piece of burned string, Frank,” he said, “and it looks
as if this is the ash of a piece of paper. Looks to me as if he had
burned the wrapper around the box.”
“Yep, look here!” It was Paul Bird who had found something else.
“Here is a little fresh earth, yellow, too!”
The lamp was brought close, and all four of the boys on their knees
looked carefully and closely at the little specks of brown or yellow
on the floor. There was no mistaking it—it was damp earth from
outside under the grape arbor!
“I don’t think that this was brought in on his feet,” ventured Ralph
West, “for I don’t see any heel print right here, and the heel would
have brought it in.”
For a long minute the four boys looked here and there along the
floor, at the hearth, at the fresh particles of earth, and at each
other.
“Let us go through everything in this room,” said Frank decisively.
“I believe he has unwrapped the box, burned the paper and string, and
has hidden the box somewhere in the house, so that he could guard it
more closely.”
With this the boys, having set the lamp on one of the wooden boxes,
started a search of the room. Under the cot, behind the boxes, back
of the clothes hanging on the hooks along the wall opposite the
fireplace, they looked closely for a metal box. But to no avail.
Several minutes were passed in this search.
From here the search spread into the kitchen, or combination kitchen
and dining room. Into all sorts of boxes and tin cans and cardboard
containers they went, finding particles of food in all these places.
A looking glass on one wall was brought down for fear the jewel-box
might rest behind it.
The search was getting nowhere, excepting failure.
“Let’s look in the stove,” said Lanky Wallace, as he reached for the
lid-lifter and started to raise part of the top.
“That gives me an idea!” cried Frank, wheeling on his heel and
looking toward the bedroom which was now dark.
Grabbing up the lantern he strode into that room, the other boys
directly and very breathlessly behind him. What kind of idea had
their leader now? They instinctively felt it was a good one, and
probably a winner—but what was it?
“That box was black. All such document boxes are black—they are made
of thin iron and are japanned, as they call it.”
Frank was starting the disclosure of his idea by setting down a
premise on which to work logically to his conclusion.
“Now, if it is black, then the logical place to hide it is where
everything else is black. Is that right?”
“Up the flue!” exclaimed Lanky Wallace happily.
Before Frank could answer, before he could turn to make an
investigation, the lean lad had dived past him to the fireplace, had
stooped to the hearth, and a long arm was reaching far up the flue—on
to the ledge which is formed at the top of all fireplaces, and out of
there, covered with soot, bringing down a perfect storm of the black,
sifting, fine powder, he brought a metal box!
He shook it. There was no doubt. It was black—it was metal—and it
contained a great many pieces of things which seemed to be small.
Frank took it and looked at the lock. It was locked, he ascertained.
Was this the thing they wanted? Every circumstantial indication
pointed to an affirmative. But he thought they should be sure, rather
than take back a box full of something else than jewels.
He remembered seeing an old case-knife on the kitchen table, and one
of the boys brought it quickly.
With this they pried open the top, tearing the lock loose, and opened
the cover. There, exposed to their gaze in the dim yellow glow of the
oil-lamp, lay diamonds, sapphires, rings, necklaces, all sorts and
kinds of jewels and fancy pieces of women’s jeweled wear! The loot
from the Parsons’ safe!
They had expected this—yet they gasped in surprise and delight.
“Come on, fellows. We’ve got what Jed Marmette stole from his
thieving friends, and we’ve found the jewels for Mrs. Parsons. This
is all too good to be true! Let’s get back to the chief.”
Frank took the box, tucked it under his arm, and indicated that they
should turn out the oil-lamp while he switched on his flashlight.
Out of the house they trooped, a happy crowd of boys, all but the end
of the mystery solved—in fact, the mystery itself was solved, the
trial and conviction of these thieves being the only thing left.
The flashlight darted hither and yon as the four boys found the trail
and started for the barnyard.
Bang! A shot rent the air just as they got to the barn. It came from
the direction of the crowd on the river bank!
All was quiet for a moment, then they heard the call of one man.
“Halt! Halt, or I’ll kill!”
Another crack of a weapon tore through the air.
The boys stopped dead in their tracks at the first shot, as they
heard the command to halt. But started on a wild run for the river
bank when the second shot was fired.
Crashing and breaking through the weeds and brush, they came to the
little cleared place, where they saw the entire party looking toward
the river.
The chief was just taking aim to fire again. The motor boat was
already out from shore, its motor had started, and the occupant was
turning it downstream!
“What’s the matter? Who is it?” cried Frank.
“It’s Fred Cunningham! He was the third one. He got away and is on
that motor boat!”