The Secret Of The Lost Tunnel Part 1

THE SECRET OF THE LOST TUNNEL.

By FRANKLIN W. DIXON.

CHAPTER I.

Double Warning.

The telephone in the Hardy home gave a long, urgent ring, as the clock struck four.

Blond-haired Joe bounded into the hall and lifted the receiver.

"Fenton Hardy's residence," he said, and in answer to a query, "My father is not at home. Will you leave a message?"

"This is Dr. Bush," the man informed him in a deep voice. "You're going to have a caller.

Watch your step and pay no attention to his story. He's dangerous. He's out of his mind." Dr.

Bush talked a few seconds longer, then hung up abruptly.

Joe returned to the living room, a puzzled look on his face.

"What's the matter?" asked his brother Frank, who was dark-haired and a year older.

2 "A General Smith is coming here. Dr. Bush, who just phoned, says the general's crazy.

Thinks his family buried some Civil War treasure and is going to ask us to help find it."

Before Joe had a chance to explain further, the telephone rang again. He answered it.

"h.e.l.lo?" Placing his hand over the mouthpiece, he whispered to Frank, "A woman. She knows Dr. Bush." Then into the instrument he said, "Yes. Yes. Why? h.e.l.lo, h.e.l.lo!"

The click on the other end of the line was evidence the woman had ended the conversation.

"Who was she?" Frank asked.

"Didn't give her name," Joe replied. "But listen to this. She said if we heard from a Dr.

Bush we should call the police immediately."

"Jumping cows!" Frank exclaimed. "A mystery to solve before we even see the people in it. I wonder ..."

His words were interrupted by the ringing of the front doorbell. Joe opened the door.

Before him stood a man in the uniform of the United States Army. On his shoulder he wore the single star of a brigadier general.

"I'm General Smith," he said. "I'd like to see Mr. Hardy."

"Step in, please," Joe said politely. He shot a 3 quick glance at Frank, then surveyed the stranger carefully.

The general, whether mentally unbalanced or not, had all the bearing of a military man.

He was of medium build and stocky, with a ruddy complexion, blue eyes, and red hair.

"My father's not here," Frank told him.

"That's too bad. How is your father?"

"Why'm-uh, very well," Frank replied.

"Wonderful man," General Smith commented.

"You'm-uh, know him?" Joe asked.

"Surely. I came to speak to him on a very important matter."

"We could give him your message," Frank offered. "I'm Frank, and this is my brother Joe. Dad's been away. We expect him back some time today."

Frank remembered what his father once had told him about dealing with a mentally unbalanced person. If treated politely and gently, the person might react normally. Only if shocked or upset would he reveal any mental aberration.

General Smith walked into the living room and seated himself in Fenton Hardy's favorite club chair, looking keenly at the brothers.

"I'll relate my story briefly," the man said. "You can tell your father, in case he doesn't get back before I return to Was.h.i.+ngton. It concerns a treas4 ure buried during the Civil War. I want him to find it."

The words electrified the Hardys. This was it. No doubt about it. Just the patter Dr. Bush had warned them about. But on second thought, they had been warned about Dr. Bush too.

"A double mystery," Joe thought.

He stole a glance at Frank. His brother looked puzzled as the man continued.

"My grandfather, a Confederate general," he said, "was disgraced during the Civil War because he lost -A bandoleer containing a silver ammunition box."

"Bandoleer?" Joe asked.

"Yes. A military shoulder strap. Today they contain cartridges. The old one my grandfather lost merely carried a small box."

"What was disgraceful about losing that?" Frank asked as he observed the man intently.

"The box contained no bullets," the general explained. "But it did contain a secret which has remained unsolved to this day. Here's the way it happened. Just before a certain battle, my grand-lather called at the plantation of his cousin, Beaure-gard Smith, a wealthy planter and president of the local bank. Beauregard confided to my grandfather that if enemy troops got too close, he would bury his gold, together with that belonging to the bank."

5 "What happened then?" Joe put in eagerly.

The man moved uneasily in his chair. "Just before the Battle of Rocky Run," he went on, "an old slave from Beauregard Smith's plantation ran into Grandfather's headquarters. He handed him a sealed envelope, saying, 'It's de secret Ma.s.sa told yo' 'bout!' Then he dropped dead from exhaustion."

As the visitor stopped speaking, he sprang from his chair and paced rapidly toward the door.

"What's he going to do now?" Frank wondered, recalling the telephone warning.

But as if the general read the boy's mind, he turned sharply on his heel and paced back, continuing his story.

"Grandfather had only time enough to glance at the message. It contained a series of numbers. Sounds crazy, I know."

Joe gulped and looked at his feet. He agreed; it did sound like a crazy man's story.

"Across the face of the message," the general pro ceeded, "were the letters C S A.

Meanwhile, scoutji brought in reports of the enemy's approach, and Grandfather had to issue a call to arms. The opposing sides joined in battle shortly afterward, and ihe fight continued into the night. In the darkness and confusion, the bandoleer and the ammunition box disappeared, and with them the secret."

6 "Didn't Beauregard Smith remember?" Frank asked.

The general stared directly through Frank as if gazing at an apparition.

"He was killed defending his plantation. His place was cannonaded and burned to the ground." The brigadier started to pace again.

"Beauregard Smith's family was penniless, and in disgrace, :oo, because the bank's gold was lost. Furthermore, they even accused my grandfather of taking it for his own use!"

Joe let out a whistle. "Some accusation!"

Frank nodded in agreement.

"No sense to it, of course," the officer stormed. "But Beaurcgard's relatives felt my grandfather might not be telling the truth about the secret message disappearing. There was gossip he had found ihe family treasure."

The telephone rang again, startling the general and the boys. Frank leaped to answer it.

The taller was Dr. Bush.

"Has Smith arrived?" he asked abruptly.

"Hold on a moment," Frank said.

In the silence that followed, Frank strained to hear any familiar sound that might identify the place from which the doctor was calling. In a second he was rewarded. The Avords, "Two on a raftl"

7 boomed in the distance. The voice of Pete down at Shorty's Diner!

Frank beckoned to Joe and whispered, "Bush is at Shorty's Diner. I'll try to keep him talking while you nab him."

Excusing himself to the general, Joe raced from the house.

CHAPTER II.

A Mysterious Friend.

joe's long strides carried him speedily toward Shorty's Diner, located a quarter of a mile away in die downtown Bayport section. Reaching it, he bounded up the front steps and pushed back the sliding door.

As the tempting aroma of sizzling hamburgers and coffee drifted to Joe's nostrils, he glanced quickly toward the telephone booth at the end of the long counter. The door was open. n.o.body was inside!

Suddenly a rotund youth sitting on a stool swung around. In his hand he held half of a Western sandwich.

"h.e.l.lo, Joe," he said. "What's the big hurry?"

"Chet!" Joe exclaimed. "Did you see anybody come out of the phone booth?"

"Don't rush me," Chet pleaded, and bit into the sandwich.

Chet Morton, pal of the Hardys, enjoyed eating and did not like to be hurried.

Nevertheless, he gulped, what remained of his third sandwich and blurted to Joe: " 'Course I saw the guy. He went out that side door. What's up?"

Joe raced through the door, then halted on the sidewalk. Chet lumbered after him.

"I think that's the man down the street there," Chet volunteered. "He was tall and wore a dark suit. Carried a black bag."

Without a word, Joe sped after the figure who was now a block away. As he ran, Dr.

Bush glanced back, then broke into a trot. At that moment a red-and-white taxi turned the corner. The man hailed it. As the cab came to a halt, he hopped in and rode off before Joe could catch up with him.

Joe turned dejectedly as Chet arrived on the scene "Didn't even get a good look at him," Joe moaned.

"Is he a crook?" Chet asked, puffing.

"Maybe. Anyway, somebody asked us to get the police after him. I wish I hadn't lost him."

"Don't worry, pal," Chet piped up. "I figured this was another detective case, so I decided to help you."

10 For the first time, Joe noticed that his plump friend held a strange-looking contraption in his hands.

"I took his picture," Chet said.

The boy grinned as he held an old battered camera toward Joe. On the front mount was a telescopic lens.

"I got a telephoto snapshot," Chet said proudly.

"Are you sure?" Joe eyed the camera skeptically. "Where'd you get this?"

"At a p.a.w.nshop," Chet explained. "Just because I got it secondhand doesn't mean it's no good."

Joe examined the camera. The lens was good enough, but the bellows seemed brittle and had been patched here and there.