The Secret of the Lost Tunnel Read online

“Then somebody intercepted the mail,” Mr. Hardy surmised, “and learned you were coming here.”

  The detective asked General Smith for a resumé of the strange story of the missing bandoleer. While he was telling it, Frank and Joe went to the darkroom to see Chet. They found him gazing at a wet print.

  “Hey, this is only half a picture!” Joe exclaimed, peering at it. “Nothing but the doctor’s legs and a black bag.”

  Chet was crestfallen. His telephoto camera had failed him. “Guess I’ll just tear this up and start all over again,” he said glumly.

  “Don’t do that!” Frank interrupted. “This might prove to be a valuable clue.”

  Chet went back to work on the rest of the film, and Frank and Joe returned upstairs.

  Mr. Hardy and the general were still discussing the mystery. Their Aunt Gertrude, Mr. Hardy’s spinster sister, who lived with them, had come in, and heard the story.

  “No good will come of this,” the boys heard her prophesy as they entered the living room. “The minute I heard a warning was involved—”

  “Now, Gertrude,” Mr. Hardy spoke up, trying to calm her, “we’ve dealt with mysterious phone calls before.”

  “That woman means big trouble,” said his sister, who was apt to jump to conclusions. “And as for that doctor—Oh, my pie’s burning!” She rushed from the room.

  “What I’m afraid of,” General Smith said, “ is that the secret message in the old bandoleer has been found and some criminal knows where to look for the gold.”

  Mr. Hardy set his friend’s mind at rest on this score. “It’s possible the message has been found, but if the gold cache had been located, Dr. Bush wouldn’t be on your trail.”

  “If he’s a crook, he probably has a criminal record,” Frank suggested.

  “That’s logical thinking,” his father said. “We’ll go up to my study and take a look at the pictures in my rogues’ gallery. Jack, you may recognize somebody you’ve seen in Centerville. Maybe it will give us a clue.”

  The four trooped to the second floor. The detective spread dozens of pictures over his desk. The general scanned each one carefully but concluded he had never seen any of the shady characters.

  “I must get back to the hotel now,” he said. “It’s been—”

  His words were lost as a shrill shriek sounded downstairs. Aunt Gertrude!

  Frank and Joe leaped to their feet and bounded down the stairs. To their amazement, they saw their aunt grappling with two men at the front door. With her eyeglasses dangling wildly over one ear, Miss Hardy clutched one man by the hair and tugged at the other’s necktie.

  “You ... can’t ... come ... in ... here, you ruffians!” she cried, blocking them. “Help! Help!”

  “Hold’em, Aunt Gertrude!” Joe shouted.

  Then the men spied the reinforcements.

  The thugs, whose faces were screened by the melee of arms, wrenched loose, and dashed into the street with the boys close behind.

  CHAPTER III

  Trouble on the Road

  AT the curb stood a black sedan, its motor racing and its door open. Before the Hardys could reach it, the fugitives jumped inside and the car roared away in the dusk.

  “That’s the car that picked up Dr. Bush!” Joe exclaimed. “And look, its license plate is covered with mud!”

  The boys gave up the futile chase and returned to the house.

  “One of those thugs might have been Dr. Bush,” General Smith declared when he heard about the car.

  But Joe was doubtful, and mentioned Chet’s photograph. “The doctor has long legs and neither of those fellows did.”

  Mr. Hardy was trying to quiet his sister and at the same time get her story of the intruders.

  “Those—those scoundrels said they were attendants from a mental institution,” Aunt Gertrude spluttered. “Said General Smith had escaped and they wanted to take him back. I said he was a friend of ours, and they couldn’t come in!”

  “What did they look like?” Mr. Hardy queried.

  Aunt Gertrude peered over her eyeglasses. “Do you expect me to fight off two cutthroats and remember their looks at the same time?” she asked crisply, her fright gone. “I was too busy to notice, but one seemed a young man about twenty-one. He had a nice, smooth complexion.” Miss Hardy closed her eyes and shuddered. “Imagine such a young fellow trying to fight me! What is the world coming to!”

  “We’ll find them, Aunt Gertrude!” Joe vowed.

  “No, you won’t,” their aunt protested. “You’ll not go chasing such criminals. Oh, I knew when that woman telephoned, you should stay out of this! General Smith, we expect you to stay for dinner.”

  As Aunt Gertrude slumped into a chair, General Smith said he would be glad to stay and talk things over.

  “You see how things are, Fent. Will you handle the case for me?”

  “Yes,” the detective replied evenly. “Finding the lost gold may be a thousand-to-one chance, but it would give me great pleasure to nab the two thugs who just tried to break into my house!”

  “Fine!” the general boomed. “You’ll start immediately?”

  “Not so fast, Jack,” Mr. Hardy said. “I must return to Washington tomorrow to testify in a case.”

  General Smith looked disappointed. “But suppose Bush finds the gold before we do?”

  “We’ll take care of that,” Mr. Hardy assured him. He turned to his sons. “You fellows can start South at once to lay the groundwork.”

  “Frank and Joe?” asked the officer in amazement.

  “Yes, indeed,” Mr. Hardy replied proudly. “My boys help me on many cases. Sometimes they solve them before I do!”

  “But this is different,” continued the general, still hesitating. “This may be dangerous.” He tugged at the lapels of his tunic as if he were trying to make up his mind about something. “Then I’ll accompany them to Rocky Run! I have a short leave due. We can stay at my house on the outskirts of Centerville. How soon can you boys start?”

  “Will tomorrow be soon enough?” Joe asked eagerly.

  General Smith smiled. “I can see no burglar would catch you boys napping!”

  “We can stop overnight on the way,” Frank mused, “and make Rocky Run some time the next day.”

  A few minutes later Chet, who had been unaware of all the commotion, ran up from the basement, waving a photograph. “Hey, how do you like this one?” he asked enthusiastically.

  “It’s a picture of a car with the license plate covered,” Frank remarked. “How’d you happen to snap it?”

  Chet beamed. “It’s the one Dr. Bush rode away in.”

  Joe reached for the picture as Chet, bursting with pride, said, “Guess I’d make a pretty good detective myself, eh?”

  “This same car was outside our house a short while ago,” Mr. Hardy told Chet, and related his sister’s encounter with the two thugs.

  Then Frank and Joe told their friend of the planned trip to the South. Chet’s face fell.

  “Gee, just when I thought we were going to have some fun with my camera, you’re going away.”

  Frank, winking at his brother, said, “Say, Chet, you know we might need a good photographer on this case. How would you like to come along?”

  “Oh boy!” Chet beamed. “I might even get to photograph the other half of that crook!”

  The general smilingly agreed to take Chet with them, and the boy hurried home to pack.

  “We’d better do some packing ourselves,” Frank told his brother. They went upstairs.

  Their mother, who had been out shopping and had just returned, looked in on them.

  “Good gracious!” exclaimed the attractive woman, amazed at the piles of clothes on the bed. “Another trip?”

  The boys told of their plans. She smiled knowingly.

  “I’ll miss both of you. Are you taking the proper clothes?”

  “We’ll be outdoors most of the time,” Frank replied, “exploring an old battlefield.”

  At the mention o
f a battlefield, Aunt Gertrude, who had come upstairs, burst out, “You’re taking too much risk. Why, there may be hidden shells that might explode. And that heat down South-watch out for sunburn! Dinner’s ready.”

  Aunt Gertrude, who had the habit of hopping from one subject to another, hustled downstairs to the kitchen. Her cooking was as savory as her language was peppery. As a special treat for Frank and Joe, she had baked an apple pie. When she brought in the dessert, the boys were delighted.

  “Goodness knows when you’ll eat properly again,” she said tartly. “At least you should start this trip well-fed!”

  General Smith thanked the Hardys and said good night shortly after dinner.

  Later, the boys were deeply engrossed in their books of Civil War history when three loud knocks sounded on the front door.

  “That’s Chet,” Frank assumed, recognizing the signal the boys used. “Guess he has some news that couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”

  As Frank opened the door, four laughing young people burst into the Hardy home. In the lead was Iola Morton, Chet’s sister, with Callie Shaw and Helen Osborne following. Chet brought up the rear with two large packages.

  “Surprise!” Callie called gleefully. The pretty, blond girl, a special friend of Frank for several years, took a big white cakebox from Chet and set it gingerly on the hall table.

  “This is a bon voyage party,” announced black-haired Iola, Joe’s favorite date, who was just as slender and good-looking as her brother was rotund. “Here. Take this bag, Joe. But be careful. It’s soda pop.”

  Frank and Joe carried the refreshments into the kitchen while Helen and Chet went to find the boys’ latest dance records.

  “Don’t y’all forgit,” Iola teased Joe, “to bring back a good Suthin accent.”

  “We’ll leave that to your brother,” Joe retorted, grinning. “He-all can learn it while he’s eatin’ fu-ried chicken.”

  After chatting about the trip and dancing until ten o’clock, the young people sat down at the dining-room table for refreshments. Then, bidding fond farewells to the Hardy boys, the girls left with Chet and chugged home in his old jalopy.

  The following day, prior to their departure, the three boys sat down with the general and Mr. Hardy to discuss the mystery.

  “This is like briefing troops before a battle.” The officer smiled. He gave the boys a layout of the territory around Rocky Run. “It’s not going to be easy finding the treasure,” he added.

  “I have a feeling you may run into trouble,” Mr. Hardy remarked. “You boys must be constantly on the alert. Gold is always a source of—”

  Suddenly a splintering crash cut the air. A dark object, hurled through the window, hit Frank full on the chest!

  Quickly Joe dashed outside, but no one was in sight. Then he returned to the living room, where Mr. Hardy was holding a large heavy stone.

  “That rock could have killed Frank if it had hit him on the head!” Aunt Gertrude declared hotly.

  In a few minutes Frank was able to breathe more easily. A bruise on his chest was the only apparent injury caused by the mysterious assailant.

  Why would anybody want to hurt Frank?” asked Mrs. Hardy, still trembling from the shock.

  “I don’t think Frank was the target,” the detective replied. “I’m sure the stone was meant either for me or General Smith.”

  “To keep you from looking for the gold,” Frank put in.

  “I doubt whether it’s worth while to call the police on this incident,” Mr. Hardy said. “The fellow is probably far from here by now. But one thing is evident: your movements, Jack, are being carefully watched by some dangerous criminals. I’d advise you to lay low today and wait till tomorrow morning to start South.”

  It was agreed that both Chet and the general would stay overnight at the Hardy home to insure an early start the following day. By morning Frank was himself again, and eager to be off. While the group ate a hearty breakfast, Mr. Hardy had two of his operatives check the neighborhood for suspicious characters who might be spying on the Hardys. None were found.

  Shortly before dawn, with farewells ringing in their ears, the Hardy boys, Chet Morton, and General Smith set off.

  Chet looked very adventurous with his camera slung over a shoulder and a folding tripod in a leather sheath which hung from his belt. With Frank at the wheel, they rode out of Bayport and soon their sporty convertible was miles out on the state highway.

  The boys found the general an interesting companion, with his stories of military life. Presently getting down to details of the lost gold, they discussed the message which was their only real clue. They all agreed on the possibility that the C S A stood for Confederate States of America.

  “Before we do anything else,” Frank said, “I believe we ought to look over the battlefield and the plantation.”

  Late that afternoon the four travelers reached their stopover point. They registered at a large hotel, in the basement of which was a garage. When Frank drove the convertible inside, he said:

  “I’m leaving it for the night. My brother or I will call for it in the morning.”

  The group registered, ate dinner, and went to bed early. After breakfast the next day Joe went for the car and presented the claim check.

  “Listen, bud, nobody’s takin’ the car except the guy who left it,” the attendant declared.

  “I’m his brother.”

  “Yeah? So was that other boy his brother.”

  “What are you talking about?” Joe demanded.

  “I’ll discuss it with the guy who drove the car in here,” the attendant insisted.

  Seeing it was useless to argue, Joe went off for Frank. When they returned, the garageman related that a young man not much older than the Hardys had come in half an hour before, saying he was one of the Hardy boys.

  “He didn’t have a claim check,” the man said, “so I wouldn’t let him take the car.”

  “He was trying to steal it!” Joe exclaimed.

  “What did he look like?” Frank asked.

  “Blond. About your age. Wore blue pants and a sport shirt.”

  Frank thanked the garageman, and the brothers climbed into the convertible.

  As Joe drove out to pick up Chet and General Smith, both Hardys had the same thought. Aunt Gertrude had said one of the intruders at the house had been very young. Had the boys been trailed?

  Out on the highway once more, the travelers amused themselves with the car radio as the miles rolled by. As usual, Chet became hungry long before the others. Seeing a pleasant-looking restaurant with a sign Southern Fried Chicken, he begged them to stop.

  An hour later, having had a delicious lunch, they were on the road again with Frank at the wheel. After a few miles, as the beautifully verdant countryside slid past, Frank looked into the rear-view mirror.

  “See that car back there?” he asked Joe, who was beside him.

  His brother turned in the seat and peered behind. A black sedan was following a hundred yards back.

  “It looks as if it’s trailing us!” Joe said.

  Frank slowed down. When the other car did likewise, he speeded up. The trailing sedan kept pace.

  “I don’t like this,” General Smith said.

  Scarcely were the words out of his mouth when the Hardys’ engine began to sputter. As Frank guided the vehicle up a gentle hill, the accelerator suddenly failed to respond. He steered to the side of the road, losing speed all the while.

  As he did, the sedan suddenly shot forward alongside the Hardy car. In a split second it cut sharply in front of the car. Frank jerked the wheel quickly to the right and jammed on the brakes.

  Joe was hurled against the windshield. Chet and the general pitched halfway over the front seat.

  The car skidded on the sandy shoulder of the road, its front wheels teetering on the brink of a deep gully!

  CHAPTER IV

  Spies

  “THROW your weight back!”

  Frank shouted the warning as th
e car balanced on the edge of the gully, ready to topple over at any moment. When it had settled precariously on the sandy loam, Chet cried:

  “We’re lucky no one was seriously injured!”

  “We’re not safe yet,” the general pointed out.

  “Climb into the back, Joe,” Frank directed. “Then I’ll try to get out this door.”

  With catlike movements, Joe slowly crawled over the back of the seat to sit beside Chet, who was quaking with fear.

  “Nice work,” said General Smith, approving Frank’s plan.

  The added ballast in the rear made it safe for Frank to open his door.

  “Hold everything for a second,” he said. “I’ll get a rope from the trunk compartment.”

  He pulled out a sturdy towline and tied one end to the rear bumper and the other to a nearby tree.

  “Okay!” he called. “It’s fast.”

  With a long whistle of relief, Joe opened the right-hand door and stepped out. Chet and General Smith followed.

  “Whew!” said Chet. “Maybe I should have stayed home to take pictures!”

  Moments later Frank flagged down a big van on the highway. When he explained the situation, the driver maneuvered his truck into position, Frank and Joe untied the tow rope from the tree and attached it to the rear end of the truck. Then the driver eased the boys’ car to the edge of the highway.

  “Guess you’ll be okay now,” he said. “There’s a gas station about a mile up the road.”

  They thanked the man, who said he was glad to have been of service. As the truck rumbled off, Frank lifted the hood of the convertible and examined the motor. With Joe helping, he took the carburetor strainer off.

  “Water in the gas line,” he announced, noting the telltale cloudy substance.

  “Somebody must have put in the water while we were parked at the restaurant!” Joe declared angrily. “And I’ll bet it was one of Bush’s men!”

  Frank nodded. “He was probably in the car that was trailing us.”

  The general wiped his brow. “Well, boys, I hope we won’t be meeting any more trouble—at least until we reach Centerville.”

  The Hardy car sputtered along to the service station. There the watery gasoline was quickly drained, the fuel line cleaned, and new gas put in. The foursome were ready to set off again in less than an hour.