The Tower Treasure

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “That sounds like a swell hobby,” Joe spoke up.

  “Swell nothing!” Mr. Applegate replied. “I guess you don’t know how much greenhouses cost. And besides, growing rare flowers takes a lot of time. Robinson had enough to do without fiddling around with making great big daisies out of little wild ones, or turning cowslips into orchids!”

  Frank whistled. “If Mr. Robinson can do that, he’s a genius!”

  “Genius—that’s a joke!” said Mr. Applegate. “Well, go on with your digging. I want this mystery cleared up.”

  It was decided that Mr. Hardy, with his superior powers of observation, would scrutinize the ground near both towers. Wherever it looked as if the ground had been turned over recently, the boys would dig at the spot. The chest of flower bulbs was carefully replaced and the dirt shoveled over it.

  “Here’s a place where you might dig,” Mr. Hardy called presently from the opposite side of the old tower. When the boys arrived with their spades, he said, “I have an idea a dog dug up this spot and probably all you’ll find is a beef bone. But we don’t want to miss anything.”

  This time Joe’s spade hit the object which had been buried. As his father had prophesied, it proved to be only a bone secreted by some dog.

  The three Hardys transferred their work to the new tower. All this time Hurd Applegate had been looking on in silence. From the corners of their eyes, the Hardys could catch an expression of satisfaction on the elderly man’s face.

  Mr. Hardy glanced at his wrist watch, then said, “Well, boys, I guess this is our last try.” He indicated another spot a few feet away. “You fellows must get cleaned up and go to school.”

  Undaunted by their failures so far, Frank and Joe dug in with a will. In a few moments they had uncovered another small chest.

  “Wow, this one is heavy!” Frank said as he lifted it from the hole.

  “Then maybe—maybe it’s the stolen property!” Joe exclaimed.

  Even Mr. Applegate showed keen interest this time and leaned over to raise the lid himself. The box contained several sacks.

  “The jewels!” Joe cried out.

  “And that flat-shaped sack could contain the securities!” Frank said enthusiastically.

  Mr. Applegate picked up one of the circular bags and quickly untied the string wound about the top. His face took on a look of utter disgust. “Seeds!” he fairly shouted.

  Mr. Hardy had already picked up the flat sack. He looked almost as disappointed as Mr. Applegate. “Flower catalogs!” he exclaimed. “They seem to be in various foreign languages.”

  Frank lifted the chest from the hole

  “Oh, Robinson was always sending for things from all over the world,” the Tower Mansion owner remarked. “I told him to destroy them. He paid too much attention to that stuff when he might have been doing something useful. I suppose he buried the catalogs, so I wouldn’t find them.”

  After a long breath the elderly man went on, “Well, we’ve reached the end of the line. You Hardys haven’t proved a thing, but you’ve certainly torn up my house and grounds.”

  The three sleuths had to admit this was true but told him they were still fired by two hopes: to clear Mr. Robinson of the charge against him, and to find the stolen property. As they put their spades back into the Hardy car, Mr. Applegate invited them into the house to wash and have a bite to eat.

  “I guess you boys could do with a second breakfast,” he added, and the brothers thought, “Maybe at times Mr. Applegate isn’t such a bad sort.”

  They accepted the invitation and enjoyed the meal of waffles and honey. Their father then drove them to Bayport High.

  Frank and Joe had no sooner stepped from the car than they heard their names called. Turning, they saw Iola Morton and Callie Shaw coming toward them.

  “Hi, boys!”

  “Hi, girls!”

  “Say, did you hear what happened early this morning?” Callie asked.

  “No. School called off for today?” Joe asked eagerly.

  “I wish it were.” Callie sobered. “It’s about Mr. Robinson. He’s been arrested again!”

  “No!” The Hardys stared at Callie, thunder-struck. “Why?” Frank demanded.

  Iola took up the story, saying that she and Chet had heard the bad news on the radio that morning. They had stopped at the Robinsons’ home, when their father brought them to school, to find out more about what had happened.

  “It seems that Chief Collig has an idea Mr. Robinson was in league with the thief Jackley, that man your father got the confession from. So he arrested him. Poor Mrs. Robinsonl She doesn’t know what to do.”

  “And Mr. Robinson had just managed to find another job,” Callie said sadly. “Oh, can’t you boys do something?”

  “We’re working on the case as hard as we can,” Frank replied, and told the girls about their sleuthing the evening before and early that morning. At that moment the school bell rang and the young people had to separate.

  Frank and Joe were deeply concerned by what they had just heard. At lunch they met Jerry, Phil, Tony, and Chet Morton and told them the news.

  “This is tough on Slim,” Phil remarked.

  “Tough on the whole family,” Chet declared.

  The boys discussed the situation from all angles and racked their brains for some way in which they could help the Robinsons. They concluded that only the actual discovery of the stolen jewels and bonds would clear Mr. Robinson of the suspicion which hung over him.

  “That means there’s only one thing to do,” Frank said. “We must find that loot!”

  After school he and Joe played baseball for the required period, then went directly home. They had no heart for further sports activities. It was a dull, gloomy day, indicative of rain and this did not raise the boys’ spirits.

  Frank, who was restless, finally suggested, “Let’s take a walk.”

  “Maybe it’ll help clear the cobwebs from our brains,” Joe agreed.

  They told their mother they would be home by suppertime, then set off. The brothers walked mile after mile, and then, as they turned back, they were drawn as if by magnets to Tower Mansion.

  “This place is beginning to haunt me,” said Joe, as they walked up the driveway.

  Suddenly Frank caught his brother’s arm. “I just had an idea. Maybe Jackley in his deathbed confession was confused and meant some other robbery he committed. Besides, at some time in every mystery the most innocent-seeming people become suspect. What proof is there that the Applegates haven’t pulled a hoax? For reasons of their own they might say that the things had been stolen from their safe. Don’t forget that Dad didn’t find any fingerprints on it except Mr. Applegate’s.”

  “Frank, you’ve got a point there. That man and his sister act so mean sometimes, I wouldn’t put it past them to be trying to cheat the insurance company,” said Joe.

  “Exactly,” his brother agreed. “For the moment, let’s play it this way. We’ll pretend they’re suspects and do a little spying about this place.”

  Instantly the boys left the roadway and disappeared among the shrubbery that lined it. Making their way cautiously, they moved forward toward Tower Mansion. The place was in darkness with the exception of three lighted rooms on the first floor.

  “What’s your idea, Frank?” his brother whispered. “To learn something that might tell us whether or not the Applegates are implicated in the robbery?”

  “Yes. Maybe we’ll get a clue if we keep our eyes and ears open.”

  The boys walked forward in silence. They approached the mansion from the end where the old tower stood. Somewhere, not far from them, they suddenly heard footsteps on the gravel walk. In a flash the brothers dodged behind a tree. The footsteps came closer and the boys waited to see who was approaching. Was it one of the Applegates, or someone else?

  Before they could find out, the person’s footsteps receded and the boys emerged from their hiding place. Suddenly a glaring light was beamed directly on them.

 
It came from the top room of the old tower!

  CHAPTER XVIII

  A Startling Deduction

  “DUCK!” Frank ordered in a hoarse whisper, quickly dropping to the ground.

  Instantly Joe threw himself face down alongside his brother.

  “You think the person with the flashlight in the tower saw us?” Frank asked.

  “He could have, but maybe not. We sure went down fast.”

  The strong flashlight was not trained on them again. It was beamed out a window of the tower in another direction, then turned off.

  “Well, what say?” Joe asked. “Shall we go on up to the mansion and continue our sleuthing?”

  Frank was of the opinion that if they did, they might get into trouble. Even if they had not been recognized, the person in the tower probably had spotted them.

  “I’d like to find out who was in the tower,” Joe argued. “It’s just possible that the Applegates don’t know anything about him.”

  Frank laughed quietly. “Don’t let your imagination run away with you,” he advised.

  As the boys debated about whether to leave the grounds or to go forward, the matter was suddenly taken out of their hands. From around the corner of the tower rushed a huge police dog, growling and barking. It apparently had scented the brothers and was bounding directly toward them.

  Frank and Joe started to run pell-mell, but were unable to keep ahead of the dog. In a few moments he blocked their path menacingly and set up a ferocious barking.

  “I guess we’re caught,” Frank said. “And I hope this old fellow won’t take a piece out of my leg.”

  The two boys tried to make friends with the animal, but he would not let them budge.

  “Well, what do we do now?” Joe asked in disgust as the dog continued to growl menacingly.

  “Wait to be rescued,” Frank replied tersely.

  A moment later they saw a bobbing light coming in their direction and presently Mr. Applegate appeared. He looked at the boys in complete astonishment.

  “You fellows never give up, do you?” he remarked. “What have you been doing—more digging?”

  The brothers did not reply at once. They were embarrassed at having been discovered, but relieved that the man did not suspect what they had really intended to do. The owner of Tower Mansion took their lack of response to mean he was right.

  “I’m just not going to have any more of my grounds ruined,” he said gruffly. “I’ve borrowed this watchdog, Rex, and he’s going to keep everybody away. If you have any reason for wanting to see me, you’d better phone first, and I’ll keep Rex chained.”

  “Who was up in the tower with a flashlight?” Frank asked the elderly man.

  “My sister. She got it into her head that maybe she was smarter than you fellows and could find the stolen stuff in the old tower, but she didn’t!” Frank and Joe suppressed grins as he went on. “And then Adelia decided to flash that high-powered flashlight around the grounds, thinking we might have a lot of curious visitors because of the publicity. Apparently she picked you up.”

  The boys laughed. “Yes, she did,” Frank admitted. “Between her and Rex, I guess you needn’t worry about any prowlers.”

  Frank and Joe said good night to Hurd Applegate and started down the driveway. This time the dog did not follow them. He remained at the man’s side until the Hardys were out of sight.

  As they trudged homeward, Joe remarked, “This seems to be our day for exciting events that fizzle out like wet fireworks.”

  “Yes. Nothing to show for all our work.”

  At supper both Mr. and Mrs. Hardy laughed at the boys’ story of their encounter with the dog. Then they became serious when Frank asked his father if he thought there was a chance that the Applegates might be guilty of falsely reporting a robbery.

  “It’s possible, of course,” the detective answered. “But the Applegates are so well-to-do I can’t see any point in their trying such a thing. I believe it’s best for us to stick to the original idea —that someone really did take jewels and securities from the safe, and that the person was Jackley.”

  As the boys were going to bed that night, Frank remarked to his brother, “Tomorrow is Saturday and we have the whole day free. I vote we set ourselves the goal of solving the mystery before night.”

  “A big order, but I’m with you,” Joe replied with a grin.

  They were up early and began to discuss what course of sleuthing they should follow.

  “I think we ought to start off on a completely new tack,” Joe suggested.

  “In which direction?” Frank asked him.

  “In the direction of the railroad.”

  Joe went on to explain that one thing they had not done was find out about Red Jackley’s habits when he had worked around Bayport. If they could talk to one or more persons who had known him, they might pick up some new clue which would lead them to the stolen property.

  “Good idea, Joe,” his brother agreed. “Let’s take our lunch and make an all-day trip on our motorcycles.”

  “Fine.”

  Mr. Hardy had left the house very early, so his sons did not see him. When his wife heard the boys’ plan, she thought it an excellent one and immediately offered to make some sandwiches for them. By the time they were ready to leave she had two small boxes packed with a hearty picnic lunch.

  “Good-by and good luck!” Mrs. Hardy called as the brothers rode off.

  “Thanks, Mother, for everything!” the young detectives chorused as they started off.

  When Frank and Joe reached the Bayport railroad station, they questioned the stationmaster, and learned that he had been with the company only a year and had not known Red Jackley.

  “Did he work on a passenger train?” the man asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Frank replied. “I believe he was employed as a maintenance man.”

  “Then,” said the stationmaster, “I’d advise you to go out along the highway to the railroad crossings and interview a couple of old flagmen who are still around. Both of them seem to know everybody and everything connected with the railroad for the past fifty years.” He chuckled.

  The boys knew of two grade crossings some miles out of town and now headed for them. At the first one they learned that the regular flagman was home ill and his substitute had never heard of Red Jackley. Frank and Joe went on.

  At the next crossing they found old Mike Halley, the flagman there, busy at his job. His bright blue eyes searched their faces for a moment, then he amazed them by saying, “You’re Frank and Joe Hardy, sons of the famous detective Fenton Hardy.”

  “You know us?” Frank asked. “I must confess I don’t recall having met you before.”

  “And you ain’t,” the man responded. “But I make it a rule to memorize every face I see in the newspapers. Never know when there’s goin’ to be an accident and I might be called on to identify some people.”

  The boys gulped at this gruesome thought, then Frank asked Halley if he remembered a railroad man named Red Jackley.

  “I recollect a man named Jackley, but he wasn’t never called Red when I knew him. I reckon he’s the same fellow, though. You mean the one that I read went to jail?”

  “That’s the man!”

  “He out of the pen yet?” Mike Halley questioned.

  “He died,” Joe replied. “Our dad is working on a case that has some connection with Jackley and we’re just trying to find out something about him.”

  “Then what you want to do,” said the flagman, “is go down to the Bayport and Coast Line Railroad. That’s where Jackley used to work. He was around the station at Cherryville. That ain’t so far from here.” He pointed in a northerly direction.

  “Thanks a million,” said Frank. “You’ve helped us a lot.”

  The brothers set off on their motorcycles for Cherryville. When they came to the small town, a policeman directed them to the railroad station, which was about a half mile out of town. The station stood in a depression below a ne
w highway, and was reached by a curving road which ran parallel to the tracks for several hundred feet.

  The building itself was small, square, and very much in need of paint. A few nearby frame buildings were in a bad state of disrepair. An old wooden water tank, about seventy yards from one side of the station house, sagged precariously. At the same distance on the other side rose another water tank. This one, painted red, was of metal and in much better condition.

  Frank and Joe parked their motorcycles and went into the station. A man in his shirt sleeves and wearing a green visor was bustling about behind the ticket window.

  “Are you the stationmaster?” Frank called to him.

  The man came forward. “I’m Jake—stationmaster, and ticket seller, and baggage slinger, and express handler, and mail carrier, and janitor, and even rice thrower. You name it. I’m your man.”

  The boys burst into laughter, then Joe said, “If there’s anybody here who can tell us what we want to know, I’m sure it’s you. But first, what do you mean you’re a rice thrower?”

  The station agent guffawed. “Well, it don’t happen often, but when a bride and groom comes down here to take a train, I just go out, grab some of the rice, and throw it along with everybody else. I reckon if that’ll make ’em happy, I want to be part of the proceedin’s.”

  Again the Hardys roared with laughter. Then Frank inquired if the man had known Red Jackley.

  “I sure did,” Jake replied. “Funny kind of fellow. Work like mad one minute, then loaf on the job the next. One thing about him, he never wanted nobody to give him any orders.”

  “Did you know that he died recently?” Frank asked.

  “No, I didn’t,” the stationmaster answered. “I’m real sorry to hear that. Jackley wasn’t a bad sort when I knew him. Just got to keepin’ the wrong kind of company, I guess.”