The Secret of the Lost Tunnel Read online

  “Help yourself,” the old man said with a flourish of his hand as he sat down again. “This house is full of things they dug up from the battlefield.”

  The boys stood for a moment taking in their surroundings. Pictures of famous battle scenes and historic plantations covered three walls, while a huge fireplace with its carved mantel occupied most of the remaining wall.

  Frank walked to one of the exhibits. “Look at these pistols,” he said, bending over a table to examine a collection of many shapes and sizes.

  “Here’s something that’ll interest you,” Joe said to Chet. “Some Civil War photographs.”

  The boys turned their attention to the wall, where half a dozen rare old pictures showed a local encampment just before the Battle of Rocky Run.

  “Don’t forget we’re looking for a clue to the old bandoleer,” Frank remarked.

  “You’ll not find a clue here!”

  The words boomed from behind the boys. They whirled around to face the speaker, who had appeared as if out of nowhere.

  He was a tall, thin man whose long, sharp nose was accentuated by a broad black mustache and flowing black hair. Dressed in the costume of a plantation owner of the Civil War period, the man looked as if he had stepped out of one of the museum pictures.

  “I’m Professor Randolph,” he stated with a deep voice, “and why are you boys trespassing on my property?”

  “We understood this was a museum, Professor, open to the public,” Frank explained.

  The man raised his eyebrows and with a half-smile said, “It was a museum until I bought it. You see, I’m a doctor of philosophy. I’m writing a book on the history of the Civil War so I bought the museum—to catch the spirit of the thing, you understand.”

  “We don’t understand!” Joe countered. “That old fellow over there ...” The boy turned. The chair by the doorway was empty.

  “What fellow?” Professor Randolph asked.

  Chet’s eyes popped. He edged toward the door as the Hardys protested leaving so soon.

  “You haven’t any right on private property!” roared the man suddenly. “Get out!”

  CHAPTER VI

  A Peculiar Professor

  FRANK and Joe exchanged glances. Perhaps Professor Randolph really had bought the museum!

  “I think we’d better play safe and leave,” Frank whispered to his brother. “If he’s the owner, we’re breaking the law by trespassing.”

  “So gratifying to see you agree with me.” The man smirked as the boys walked out. “You realize the cause of education must be served!” He bowed stiffly.

  “What a character!” Frank remarked as the three boys stepped into their car. “He reminds me of a comic-strip villain.”

  Chet bobbed his head to mimic a bow. “To be sure, my dear boys. It’s all for education. What do you suppose he teaches?”

  Joe grinned. “Young boys, and knows how to put them in their places.”

  “Perhaps General Smith is acquainted with Professor Randolph,” Frank suggested as they drove through Centerville. “If they’re friends, then Randolph will let us in after all.”

  Soon they reached the house. When the boys entered, they realized the general was battling with a problem of his own. He seemed decidedly agitated and was pacing up and down the living room, his red hair rumpled.

  Frank was alarmed. What dire turn of events had occurred? “General Smith, what’s the matter?” he asked.

  Aroused from his thoughts, the man turned with a start. “Matter? Everything! The house has been ransacked!”

  “Good night!” Joe exclaimed. “Since we ate lunch?”

  “It must have happened before then,” the officer replied. “Nothing downstairs was touched. Just the second-floor bedrooms!”

  “None of us went up there at noontime,” Frank recalled. “Was anything taken?”

  “Nothing of mine so far as I can make out,” the officer replied. “The things in our suitcases and dresser drawers were strewn about. You’d better check on your own belongings!”

  Frank and Joe ran up the stairs three at a time, and Chet was not far behind. They found their room a picture of disarray. Clothes which had hung in the closet lay on the floor and the contents of their bags were scattered over the rug.

  “Gosh,” Chet moaned as he began to pick up his things, “I hope they didn’t take it.”

  “Take what?” Joe was curious.

  “I had a box of special attachments for my camera in this... Oh, here it is!”

  The Hardys went on checking their belongings minutely while General Smith watched.

  “All my stuff is here,” Joe said finally.

  “Mine too,” Frank added, rising from his kneeling position. Then he let out a sudden exclamation. “Wait! The picture is gone!”

  “Picture?” the officer repeated.

  “The half-man that Chet snapped in Bayport.”

  “That proves it!” Joe shouted. “Bush or a cohort has been here! Nobody else would want that photo.”

  “Right,” Frank agreed. “But I don’t think that’s what he was after. He probably didn’t even realize that Chet had taken the snapshot.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Chet piped up. “I have the negative, and I even brought another print in my wallet.”

  “That’s good,” Frank continued. “But I’ll bet Bush was after a map showing where the lost gold was buried.”

  “But we haven’t any map,” Chet replied, perplexed.

  “Bush probably thinks we have,” Joe said. “Which indicates he still doesn’t know where to look for the treasure.”

  By the time the boys had straightened up the place, General Smith had regained his composure.

  “We must get someone to guard this house when we’re away,” he said. “I know just the man for the job, if he’s still in town. I’ll send a note to Claude.”

  General Smith explained to his visitors that Claude was his Army orderly and was on vacation at his home in Centerville, too. The officer requested the boys to deliver the note, as he did not want to leave the house unoccupied. He suggested they continue their sleuthing alone.

  Before going, Frank asked General Smith if he knew Professor Randolph, and told him about the incident at the museum.

  “No, never heard of him,” the general replied. “But it doesn’t surprise me that the museum’s been sold. It always ran at a loss.”

  Upon reaching Centerville, Frank parked in the town square. Joe offered to deliver the general’s note and started down the narrow, cobble-stoned street where the orderly lived. As the others waited for him, Frank gazed across the square. His eyes lighted on the courthouse and an idea occurred to him. If Professor Randolph had bought the museum, the deed would be registered there.

  “Wait here a minute,” he said to Chet. “I’ll be right back.”

  The courthouse was a low brick building that looked like a church without a steeple. Two heavy white columns stood on either side of the front doorway. Frank entered and asked an attendant where deeds were registered. He was directed to an office down the hall. In it was an old man, beside whose desk towered row upon row of thick volumes of records.

  “Something I can do for you?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Frank replied. “I’ve been told the old Rocky Run Museum has been sold to a Professor Randolph.”

  “Hm!” said the man, peering over his spectacles. “That’s news to me. Nothing of the sort has been registered here.”

  “Maybe the deed was recorded while you were out,” Frank suggested.

  The man hooked his thumbs into his suspenders and tilted back in his chair.

  “Son,” he said, “I’ve been settin’ here for forty years, ’cept for lunch, and when I’m out this office is closed.”

  Frank smiled, thanked the man, and walked back to the car. “I had a hunch Professor Randolph’s story was a fake,” he told Chet and his brother, who had returned from the orderly’s house.

  “Well,” Chet said, “if Ran
dolph is still there, I think that old museum is a good place to stay away from.”

  “I should say not!” Frank’s jaw jutted with determination. “We’re going right back and tell Randolph the place isn’t his.”

  “Agreed,” said Joe. “And we’re going to find out if Randolph has anything to do with our case.”

  “Say, fellows,” Frank whispered, “I think somebody’s been watching us.” He glanced in the direction of the hotel.

  “Who?” Chet asked.

  “I didn’t see enough to identify him, but I saw a man slip into the alley alongside the building.”

  Joe looked across the square. Nobody was in sight.

  “I don’t like this,” Frank said uneasily. “I think maybe we had better try a back route to the museum.”

  “A good idea,” Joe agreed. “If anybody’s following us, we may throw him off the track this time. Let’s go!”

  A sandy road led the boys off the main highway and through a stretch of woodland. The trees interlaced high overhead, making a canopy which filtered out the afternoon sun.

  “We’re not going to get there in a hurry,” Joe said. “This road’s too bumpy.”

  Frank deftly steered the car along the rutty road, avoiding large rocks which now and then jutted from the side. They drove down a little gully, then up a steep slope.

  “Hey, wait!” Chet shouted suddenly.

  “What’s up?” Joe asked.

  “Look at those deer! I want to get a picture!”

  A hundred yards to the left near a brook in the woods stood three deer.

  “Okay,” Frank said, bringing the car to a halt. “But make it snappy.”

  Chet climbed out. He flipped open his camera case, then tiptoed into the woods. The deer, being downwind, did not scent the boys. They went on feeding.

  “Take them from there,” Joe called softly.

  “Can’t—I have to get closer.”

  Chet walked a dozen paces, peered into his view finder, and advanced a few more feet.

  In the stillness Frank thought he heard the sound of a motor behind them. He looked back. No car was in sight, and the hum stopped.

  “Guess I’m jittery,” he told himself.

  “Hurry up!” Joe motioned to Chet.

  But Chet, thinking he could get an even closer shot, continued to advance, tiptoeing as he went. He dropped down on one knee, holding the camera close to his eye. The deer were in perfect range.

  But before Chet could click the shutter, a startled shout broke the stillness of the woodland. In a flash the deer leaped away.

  Chet whirled about to see who had spoiled his picture. No one was in sight. In sudden panic he raced back to the road.

  “Frank! Joe!” he shouted. “Hey, fellows, where are you?”

  No answer came. The car was deserted!

  CHAPTER VII

  The Search

  CHET peered into the car, then stooped to his knees to look underneath it. The Hardys had apparently vanished into thin air!

  “Hey, Frank! Joe!” Chet shouted in alarm. Beads of perspiration began to trickle down his freckled face. Again he shouted for his companions. The air was still.

  After half an hour of futile waiting and calling for the brothers, Chet was thoroughly alarmed.

  He got into the car, turned it around, and started back to Centerville as fast as the rugged road would permit. Finally it joined the main highway and Chet sped through Centerville to the general’s house.

  “Frank and Joe—they’re gone!” he cried out, running into the house.

  As Chet related his story, a look of growing concern appeared on the general’s face.

  “They wouldn’t go off without telling me,” Chet said breathlessly. “Something’s happened to them!”

  The general had no doubt of this. “There’s not a minute to lose. If we can’t locate them ourselves, I’ll notify the police.”

  They got into the car. With General Smith behind the wheel, they pulled away from the house and onto the main highway.

  Soon they came to the intersection where the boys had left the highway. The officer took the bumpy road which led into the woods.

  “Where does this go?” Chet asked.

  “It stays straight for a mile, then makes a complete loop and comes out near the old Beauregard Smith plantation.”

  “Jumpin’ catfish!” Chet exclaimed. “Then we were going in the wrong direction for the museum anyway!”

  It was not long before the convertible dipped into the gully and rose over the brow of the hill where Frank had stopped for Chet’s attempted photo of the deer.

  “Here’s the place!” Chet said.

  Braking to a halt and shutting off the motor, General Smith stepped out. Chet followed.

  “There must have been a struggle here,” the officer said, examining scuff marks in front of a dense thicket.

  “The trail leads this way.” Chet pointed to dragging heel marks. “Frank and Joe must have been kidnapped!”

  With Chet following, the general pushed into the underbrush and advanced into the dank woodland. Ferns and tiny white wild flowers which carpeted the forest had been trampled. The route was clear, and the officer was making swift progress.

  The man pressed on relentlessly, unmindful of the briers that tore his trousers, and seemingly unaware that Chet was puffing along behind him like a heavy tank.

  But dusk was falling rapidly, and soon the gloom was so dense that further progress was impossible without a light.

  “What a dud I am!” the general exclaimed. “Coming off like this without a flashlight!”

  Chet, more eager than ever to find his friends, volunteered to return to the convertible for a flashlight. A short time later, perspiring heavily, he was back with the light.

  “Here you are, sir.”

  “Good work.”

  They set off again, this time at a snail’s pace, in order not to miss any telltale heel marks made by one of the kidnapped boys. An hour passed as they continued combing through brush.

  “I haven’t seen any tracks for a hundred yards,” said the general, stopping to take stock of the situation.

  “Do you suppose the kidnappers went down the stream?” Chet asked.

  “Very possibly. They may have waded a distance to throw us off their trail.”

  The searchers combed the pasture grass to the edge of the stream, but not a clue came to light. Discouraged, and completely tired out after the long search, both lay down to rest. To add to their discomfort, it began to rain. The rain came down so hard that they crossed the stream and took shelter under some overhanging rocks.

  The rain continued all night as Chet and the general slept fitfully on improvised beds of leaves. A faint streak of light had brushed the eastern horizon before the torrent stopped. Now the hunt could be resumed in daylight.

  The man and boy rose wearily and stretched their cramped limbs.

  “I sure could use some breakfast!” Chet muttered sadly.

  “Or a dry, comfortable bed!” the general added ruefully. “But we’d better get moving if we’re going to find Frank and Joe.”

  “I hope the kidnappers haven’t taken them far. I’ll look on this side of Rocky Run for footprints,” Chet offered.

  “Very good,” General Smith agreed. “The boys may have crossed somewhere.”

  Chet zigzagged along the bank.

  “See anything?” called the officer, who was searching in the opposite direction.

  Chet shook his head in the negative, then suddenly let out a whoop. He held up a shoe!

  General Smith hurried to the boy’s side.

  Impressed into the lining were the words Peck Co. Bayport.

  “Nice work! Come on!”

  Once more they probed the grass.

  “Here’s the trail again,” said the general, following patches of recently broken vegetation over the hill.

  “Golly, what a climb!” Chet puffed.

  Grasping scrubby trees on the hills
ide, the man and boy worked their way to the top of the incline. The bare rocks there revealed no clue of recent travelers, nor had the mossy slope down the other side been disturbed lately by any human foot.

  Slipping over the steep rocks, Chet and the general descended the hill again to the spot where the shoe had been found.

  They moved ahead slowly, examining every bent tuft of grass. Suddenly Chet stopped.

  “Come here, General Smith!” he called excitedly.

  “What’s up?”

  Chet did not answer. He stood spellbound.

  “Listen!”

  The officer obeyed. At first he could hear only the ripple of the brook and the clear whistle of an oriole.

  “Nothing unusual.”

  “Shh! It may come again.”

  The general strained to catch the faintest sound.

  Then it came to him. A muffled shout from somewhere down inside the earth!

  CHAPTER VIII

  An Important Lead

  “SOMEBODY’S under these rocks,” Chet shouted. He rushed forward, his hands pulling at the vines which blanketed several boulders. “General Smith, look what’s here!”

  By the time the officer arrived at the boy’s side, Chet had uncovered an old wooden door fitted into the face of a big rock. Its rusted hinges were fastened to the boulder with long iron spikes. A rotting leather thong served as a doorknob.

  “Frank! Joe!” The general leaned close to the door and shouted. There was a muffled answer.

  “We’ll get you out!” Chet called.

  He took hold of the leather thong, which broke at his pull. “We’ll have to pry the door open,” he said.

  “Let me get hold of it,” General Smith offered.

  The husky man picked up a sharp stone and banged out an old knot in the wood, making room for two of his fingers. With a mighty grunt he pulled on the door. It creaked, then suddenly yawned open.

  A whiff of stagnant air, redolent of rotting wood and sour earth, burst forth. Chet and the general peered inside the dark hole.

  The sound of stifled voices came from the rear of the cave. The general pulled out the flashlight and clicked it on. The glow fell on two figures, lying on the dank ground. They were tied and gagged.