“Luis must have burned some of his brother’s mahogany pieces,” Frank stated.
“But why the chicken bones?” asked Joe. “Unless,” he added thoughtfully, “he didn’t have any of Eduardo’s wood pieces handy at the time. He probably figured we wouldn’t know the difference.”
Around the corner, where Mr. Hardy had parked his car, the trio met Sam Radley. The assistant reported that the mustached man had not been back to the apartment while either he or his relief man was on duty.
When the Hardys returned home Aunt Gertrude told the boys that Tony Prito had called. He had told her that Mr. Scath had estimated the collection to be worth about two thousand dollars and had asked him to take away the things he wanted.
“You’re supposed to go over there with Tony this evening,” Aunt Gertrude concluded.
Shortly after dinner Frank and Joe drove off in the convertible to Tony’s. There, they transferred to Mr. Prito’s small pickup truck.
“Let’s get Chet,” Joe said. “I’ll bet he’s just sitting around worrying about the threat he received. Maybe he’d enjoy helping us.”
The others grinned and Tony said, “You know how he loves to work—not at all!”
Chet was finally persuaded to join the group and they drove off. The museum had closed for the evening by the time the boys arrived. Mr. Scath suggested that the four boys go to the storage shed at the rear of the museum grounds for some crates and pack the articles in them.
Tony donated some pieces to the museum which the curator had selected, then said, “We’ll carry the rest of the stuff back to my place. Let’s put it in the cellar.”
As the boys went to the rear door, Mr. Scath handed the key to Chet, who was the last one out. The four crossed the dark yard and entered the shed. A stack of various-sized crates was piled near the door.
“Now I know why you asked me to come along,” Chet said. “You needed a strong man like me.”
“That’s right.” Frank laughed. “So we’ll give you the privilege of carrying two crates instead of one at a time.”
“Okay.” Chet grinned. “I’ll take two little ones.”
Suddenly Joe put his finger to his lips. “Sh-h!” he warned.
The boys stopped short. A faint cry had sounded from the museum.
“Help!”
It was Mr. Scath’s voice.
“Help!” The cry died out.
CHAPTER XIII
News of Buried Treasure
DROPPING the crates, the boys ran to answer Mr. Scath’s call for help. After the two outcries, they had heard nothing more.
“I don’t see how anyone could have broken in,” Frank said.
“I’m afraid it’s my fault,” Chet admitted as they reached the rear entrance. “I didn’t lock this door. Thought we’d be right back.”
“Someone must have sneaked in here the moment we left,” Joe groaned. “I hope Mr. Scath hasn’t been struck by a shot from the blowgun!”
Frank turned the knob and they hurried inside. Chet locked the door.
“Be careful of a sniper!” Frank warned the others. “And keep together!”
The curator was not in sight and when Frank called he did not answer.
“He must be on the side of the building nearest the shed,” Joe suggested. “His voice wouldn’t have carried from the other sections.”
He led the way into the Egyptian Room and switched on the lights. Mr. Scath was sprawled on the floor, unconscious! The boys rushed over.
“There’s blood on his face!” Tony exclaimed. “He’s been hit in the head!”
“And look at his pockets!” Frank cried. “They’ve been pulled inside out. Joe, you and Tony search the building for the assailant, while Chet and I attend to Mr. Scath.”
Joe and Tony headed for the opposite end of the museum. Frank and Chet knelt beside the injured man and inspected the head wound. Fortunately it was not deep and the curator’s color was returning to normal. A moment later Mr. Scath gave a low moan and his eyes flickered open.
“Help me up,” he said feebly, trying to rise.
“Lie still,” Frank urged. “Don’t try to move.”
He recalled having seen a first-aid kit in the curator’s office and asked Chet to get it.
The stout youth hurried off. A whiff of spirits of ammonia revived Mr. Scath. Frank gently swabbed away the blood. Luckily the man had been struck only a glancing blow.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
“My head feels clearer,” Mr. Scath replied. He sat up with Chet’s assistance.
“Here, let me put a patch over that cut,” Frank said.
When this was done, the boys helped the curator to his feet and back to his office.
“What happened?” Frank asked, after Mr. Scath had seated himself in a comfortable chair.
“I was in here alone, waiting for you fellows, when I heard a noise in the Egyptian Room. I went to investigate.”
“Did you see someone?” Chet asked.
“Yes. There was a masked man standing alongside the first big column. He demanded that I hand over the Texichapi medallion from Tony’s collection.”
“Yes?” Frank said eagerly as the man paused.
“I told him that I had no idea what he was talking about,” Mr. Scath continued. “Then he pulled out a blackjack and threatened me. I got a bit flustered—tried to fight him off—and I shouted a couple of times, hoping you’d hear me. Then he struck me and I blacked out!”
“What was his build?” Frank asked.
“Short, thin. Had black hair.”
Frank whistled. “The blowgun man or Torres! We’d better phone the police.”
“If it was Luis Valez,” Chet exclaimed, “he didn’t go back to Guatemala after all!”
Frank nodded, then called Chief Collig and told him about the attack.
“We’ll be right there!” the chief responded.
Meanwhile, Joe and Tony had searched the entire north section of the museum without finding the curator’s attacker. The skylight had been checked but found to be locked on the inside. The boys went back to join the others.
Not finding them there, they decided that Chet and Frank must have led Mr. Scath back to his office. As they were about to check there, Joe suddenly noticed something on the floor. He picked it up. “Tony!” he exclaimed. “This is a new Guatemalan coin!”
“Do you think the guy who slugged Mr. Scath dropped it?”
“That’s my guess. Let’s check your curios,” Joe suggested. “If the intruder was Valez, that’s what he was after.”
They went through a gallery containing old musical instruments and jewelry. As the ceiling light was turned on, the boys gasped. The glass had been neatly removed from one of the cases. Every ring, bracelet, and necklace was gone!
At that moment a siren sounded at the front entrance and the night bell rang insistently.
Joe and Tony hurried to the museum office as Chief Collig strode in with two other officers. Frank, who had let them in, followed. Quickly they were told about the accident and theft, and started a thorough search of the building. But it was soon ascertained that the attacker had escaped.
Chief Collig said, “From now on we’ll keep a guard around the place on a twenty-four-hour basis. Sampson, you stay here right now. I’ll send out a teletype on the missing jewels and a description of the intruder.”
Mr. Scath handed a spare key to Sampson, then said to the boys, “Come back another time and pick up the curios.” Everyone but the officer on duty left.
The next morning Frank and Joe decided to question Eduardo Valez again, hoping he might have heard from his brother.
“No, I have not heard from him since you were here with your father,” the man replied.
“Did Luis ever tell you the exact nature of the trouble he had in his country?” Frank asked.
“No,” the superintendent replied. “He did say something about an argument over a buried treasure, but Luis is such a braggart I paid litt
le attention.”
“Buried treasure!” Frank exclaimed. “Did he ever say anything about medallions?”
“Medallions?” Eduardo Valez mused. “No, he never did. Oh, I am so sad about the whole affair.”
The boys left, feeling sorry for him. As they passed the next apartment house, they saw Sam Radley standing guard. They gave no sign of recognition. Neither did the detective.
“I think we ought to spend the rest of this day making an intensive search of Tony’s curios for that Texichapi medallion,” Joe proposed. “That’s what Luis was hunting for when Mr. Scath discovered him, so maybe we’ve overlooked some hiding place where Tony’s uncle put it.”
“We’ll get Tony and Chet,” Frank answered.
At two o’clock they all met at the museum. Mr. Scath, still wearing a bandage on his forehead, smiled as the boys started off to the shed for the crates. “I hope we have better luck today!” he said.
They brought the crates to the basement and went to work. As each curio was examined closely, those to be taken by Tony were placed in a crate. The others were returned to the shelves. An hour passed. One crate had already been filled, but they had not found the medallion.
Chet Morton, still upset over leaving the museum door unlocked the night before, had worked hard, trying to make amends.
At the moment Chet was fingering a solid mahogany, highly polished ball. He picked it up and removed a foil wrapping that covered part of the surface. His sharp eyes detected a thin, almost invisible line that went completely around the circumference of the ball. In his excitement to get a closer view of it, the ball slipped out of his grasp. It hit the cement and rolled across the floor.
“Playing games?” Joe teased.
“I’m sorry,” Chet groaned, going after the ball. “I wasn’t playing. I—”
He broke off as he stooped to pick up the ball. It had started to come apart at the seam. A strip of rich blue velvet showed in the opening. Then he saw the brilliant glint of metal !
Prying apart the two sections, he cried out, “Fellows, come here quick! I’ve found the second medallion!”
Gleaming in the light, on its velvet bed, lay the coin. It was the size of a half dollar. Carefully Frank lifted it and held it for the others to see.
“It’s one of the medallions Wortman was talking about!” Frank said. “See the word Texichapi?”
“And there are strange engraved lines similar to the ones on the stolen medallion,” Joe added.
Frank slipped the coin back into the ball. “I’d like to show this to Dad and examine it very carefully,” he said.
“Okay with me,” Tony answered. “But after what happened to Joe with the first medallion, watch your step.”
The crates were taken to the Prito house; then Frank and Joe went home to talk to their father. To ensure complete privacy from eavesdroppers, the trio went to the laboratory. There they examined the ball and the medallion. They concluded that the ball had been designed originally as a secret place to hold small pieces of valuable jewelry.
The boys drew from memory the pattern of lines on the stolen coin, then traced the new ones. They concluded that the lines from the two coins, when superimposed, seemed to indicate a map.
“It must show the area near the treasure that Luis Valez is looking for,” Frank remarked.
“And the opal probably marks the place where the treasure is hidden,” Joe added. “Boy, I’d like to find that spot myself!”
“But it’s in Texichapi—the land of nowhere,” Frank reminded him.
“Let’s hope we can learn what country Texichapi is in,” said Mr. Hardy. “Meanwhile, you boys had better memorize the lines on this medallion and then we’ll place it in my safe.”
This was done. Then the boys and their father sat down in his study and continued to discuss the mystery.
“I wonder,” mused Mr. Hardy, “whether your friend Willie knew the value of both medallions. This one feels like solid gold to me and it certainly has the same luster as a gold piece. Maybe Willie was just acting dumb because he feared Tony might refuse to sell him the coins once they were located.”
“That’s quite possible,” Frank said.
“I know that you’ve consulted all kinds of maps to locate a place called Texichapi,” Mr. Hardy continued, “but I’m going to make another try to find out where it is.”
“It’s one of the medallions Wortman was talking about!” Frank said
Being personally acquainted with various Central and South American consuls, the detective telephoned them one by one and inquired about the name. None of the men had ever heard of it.
Later in the evening Mrs. Hardy had an idea. “Fenton,” she said, “why don’t you phone my friend Mrs. Putnam? Her husband Roy has just come back from an expedition.”
“The Central American explorer?” Mr. Hardy asked. “Why, that’s a great idea. But it’s much too late to call anyone now.”
“Not Roy Putnam,” Mrs. Hardy said. “He stays up half the night reading. I’ll get him for you.”
Mr. Putnam answered promptly and Mrs. Hardy turned the phone over to her husband. The explorer became so interested in a brief account of the mystery that he offered to drive over at once.
“I’ll be there in about twenty minutes,” he promised.
The family went into the living room to await him. A thunderstorm came up shortly, and Mrs. Hardy closed all the windows in the house except the one near where they were seated. The wind whipped up sharply, banging a shutter on the east side of the house. Frank went to fasten it.
Soon the doorbell rang. Joe opened the door. The explorer, a man of commanding figure, took off his raincoat and shook hands with everyone.
“It’s about time we got together,” he said with a smile. “My wife speaks often about you.”
“But you’re so rarely at home,” Mrs. Hardy replied.
“That’s right.” Mr. Putnam smiled. “I’ve just returned from Guatemala, in fact.”
“I’m sure then,” Mr. Hardy said, “that you can give us a lot of help. Did you ever hear of Texichapi?”
A bolt of lightning flashed, startling them all. Then Mr. Putnam said, “When you mentioned Texichapi a moment ago, I was surprised. I never dreamed that anyone way up here would have any knowledge of that place!”
“Where is it?” Frank questioned eagerly.
“Well, first of all,” Mr. Putnam began, “have you ever visited Guatemala?”
The Hardys said they had not.
“As you know,” Mr. Putnam began, “the country stretches from the Pacific to the Atlantic, just below Mexico. It’s a rugged land—full of canyons, towering mountain ranges, and volcanoes.
“It’s mostly Indian in population, and has some wonderful ruins. Even out in the deepest jungle, in the most unsuspected places, one finds buried temples and palaces.”
A crash of thunder made it difficult to hear the explorer for a moment. Then he continued:
“Guatemala has beautiful cities. Colors splashed everywhere—bright red roofs, light-blue and white-walled houses, tropical flowers—parks full of them.”
“Now how about Texichapi?” Mr. Hardy asked mildly.
“Oh, yes.” Mr. Putnam smiled a bit sheepishly. “Texichapi,” the explorer began, “is a name given by a small tribe of Indians, the Kulkuls, to a mysterious and perhaps even mythical area many miles from Guatemala City. I’ve heard various rumors about the region.”
“What are some of them?” Frank asked. “The main one concerns a great treasure buried there,” the explorer went on, and the boys jumped in amazement. “Though I have many times tried to find out more about Texichapi, the Indians are very closemouthed. It’s not inconceivable that the Kulkul tribe guards the secret to Texichapi.”
“Boy, would I like to find it!” Joe said eagerly.
Aunt Gertrude spoke up for the first time and snapped, “Why, those Indians might kill you if they caught you looking for their treasure!”
Mr. Put
nam smiled tolerantly. “The Indians in Guatemala respect the white man. No, you’re more likely to have trouble with an occasional band of hostile, renegade Ladinos who have fled to the mountain regions.
“Ladinos,” the explorer explained, “are Spanish-speaking, mixed-breed people. They are very proud and do no manual work like laboring in the fields or carrying loads. Mainly, they own stores and cantinas and hold political offices.”
Mr. Hardy nodded thoughtfully, then said, “Mr. Putnam, do you know whether any Guatemalans have a secret society that was organized to uncover this treasure or any other in the interest of their government?”
“Yes,” Mr. Putnam replied. “The only trouble is I don’t know just which society you mean. They come and go—pop up all of a sudden, make a big noise, and disappear as quickly.”
The explorer went on to say that he had heard of no such group lately but he could find out. “If you’ll allow me to use your phone,” he said, “I’ll check with a friend in Guatemala City whose business it is to investigate such groups.”
“Please do so,” Mr. Hardy said, showing the visitor to the hall phone.
“They won’t mind my calling at this time of night.” Mr. Putnam grinned good-naturedly. “It’s three hours earlier there.”
The Hardys returned to the living room while Mr. Putnam put through his call. Several minutes passed before the man came back.
“My friend Soldo, who works for a government agency, tells me that there are rumors of another so-called patriotic society forming right now,” Mr. Putnam reported as he sat down. “His agency would welcome any information about it. If something subversive is going on, he says, there’d be a good chance of nipping the plans in the bud.”
The Hardys noticed that Mr. Putnam had suddenly slumped in his chair, giving a tremendous yawn. Almost at the same moment, Frank and Joe began to experience a queer lethargy.
Their father, too, felt himself growing drowsy. With a great effort, he tried to speak, but at the same time both his sons and Mr. Putnam slipped from their chairs to the floor, unconscious.
Fighting to remain awake, the detective got to his feet and moved across the room to assist his sleeping wife and sister. But before he could reach them, he stumbled and blacked out!
The Clue in the Embers Page 7
