The Secret Of The Lost Tunnel Part 11

At once the youth's expression became hard. A frown creased his forehead, suddenly making him look much older. His eyes darted through the crowd as if he were looking for someone.

Frank's eyes followed. Perhaps the marksman was seeking a pal. As the Hardy boy diverted his gaze for a split second, the youth swung the barrel of his rifle.

"Duck!" Chet shouted, but not in time.

The rifle caught Frank on the side of the head and he fell to the ground.

CHAPTER XV.

A Suspect Disappears.

A shout went up from the onlookers at the shoot. Chet tried to grab Frank's a.s.sailant, but the fellow gave him a stiff arm which sent the stout boy sprawling. Then the stranger whirled around and darted along the fringes of the crowd.

In a second Frank staggered to his feet. Despite the trickle of blood down the side of his cheek, he set off after his adversary. Chet raced behind.

As the attacker ran into the woods, Frank was hot on his trail. Suddenly a voice like chilled steel rang out.

"Stop where you are!"

A long rifle barrel protruded from behind a tree, The marksman kept undercover, but there was little question he was the person they were pursuing.

In a flash Frank hurled himself to the ground, 117.

118 flattening out behind a bush for cover. The sharp report of a gun sounded. But it was not from the stranger's weapon. Instead, that menacing gun flew into s.p.a.ce. It had been shot out of the youth's hands!

He uttered a cry of pain as the rifle was torn from his grasp. Then he dashed off through the brush like a streak of lightning.

"Are you all right, Frank?" came a voice behind him.

Joe stepped into view, holding the general's Civil War gun.

"Did you do that?" Frank asked in amazement, as he rose from the ground.

"Sure did. When I saw you drop, I figured something must be the matter. Then I spotted the gun slicking from behind the tree, so I took a shot at it."

"Good thing you didn't miss," Frank remarked wryly, advancing quickly with his brother toward the place where the gun had fallen. "You saved my life."

Frank picked up the weapon. His brother's shot had put a dent midway up the barrel, but they recognized the rifle as the one stolen from the car. The youth was out of sight, and pursuit seemed foolish.

119 "Did you ever find out his name?" Frank asked his brother.

"No. But perhaps the general did. He went over to see the judges about him. Here he comes now."

The officer hurried up with the judges of the meet, anxious because of the shot they had heard in the woods. With them was a policeman. Joe told of the ambush incident.

"That kid won't get away with this!" the policeman declared. "He ought to be thrown in jail. I'll report this to the chief right away. Leave it to us. We'll get him." He hurried off.

Joe asked who the boy was.

The general answered. "He signed the register as Jimmy somebody, but he scribbled the last name. We couldn't make it out."

"Probably did it on purpose," Frank surmised. Suddenly he snapped his fingers and said in a low voice to General Smith and Joe, "Why didn't I think of it before? I'll bet he's Baby Face of Bush's gang!"

"You're right!" Joe agreed.

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of somebody cras.h.i.+ng through the bushes. Out burst Chet, his clothes bedraggled and perspiration pouring from his face. He panted up to the group.

120 "Where've you been? Running a marathon?" Joe asked his badly winded friend.

Chet clearly showed he had exerted himself to capacity. He gasped for breath, and his face was so pale his freckles looked like splotches of measles.

Frank threxv his arm around the boy's shoulders. "Take it easy, Chet. We can wait."

When he was breathing normally again, Chef swallowed hard and said, "I saw him! I know where he went!"

"Who?"

"That guy who socked Frank."

Chet told how he had seen the stranger flee, had circled the woods, and spotted the fellow coming out of them at the edge of Centerville. "Jimmy" had headed into town. Chet had followed, un.o.bserved.

"I ... I saw him run into the hotel," the boy reported. "I peeked in the door and there he was, talking to Professor Randolph."

"Jumping cow!" Joe exploded.

"I wonder what they're up to?" Frank queried. "Let's go and find out!"

Leaving the judges, who promised to send Joe the prize rifle with the telescopic sight, which they said he had won by default, the Hardys, Chet, and the general hurried to their car.

With Frank at 121 the wheel, they sped to Centerville, pulling up in front of the hotel two minutes later.

Frank and Joe dashed through the doorway, where Joe, in his headlong rush, bowled a man onto the plush carpet of the lobby floor.

"Oh, sorry," the boy said, bending over to help the fellow to his feet. "Professor Randolph!"

The man brushed off his black coat, straightened his string tie, and glared at the boys.

"Watch where you're going! Do you want to kill somebody?"

"We don't," Frank spoke up. "But we have an idea somebody you know would like to murder us."

"Name's Jimmy," Joe blurted. "He nearly took a shot at my brother in the woods! Where is he?"

The professor stepped back a pace, his eyes narrowing as he observed the general walk up with Chet. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said firmly.

"I saw you talking to Jimmy right in this lobby!" Chet declared.

The professor's eyes snapped fire. "I don't know anybody named Jimmy," he said icily.

"If you'll step aside, I'll continue on my way."

He hurried out the door into the street.

"Maybe you got your wires crossed, Chet, and saw him talking to somebody else," Joe said.

122 Chet insisted he was not wrong.

"I'll double check," Frank spoke up. He walked over to the hotel clerk. "Did you see anybody talking to that tall man in the black coat a short time ago?" he asked.

"Yes, for about fifteen minutes. He just left."

"What did he look like?"

The clerk described Jimmy in detail, even mentioning his big eyes and innocent look.

"That's the one!" Frank exclaimed. "You know his name?"

"No. Stranger around here."

"Thanks for the information, anyway," Frank said. Returning to the others, he said, "Chet was right. Come on, Joe, we'll make Randolph talkl"

But Frank was doomed to disappointment. The professor was nowhere to be found.

The few people around who were not at the shoot had not noticed him.

"We'll have to go to the museum," Joe declared, as the brothers returned to the hotel porch where General Smith stood waiting.

The four of them went into the hotel's washroom where Frank bathed the cut on the side of his head.

Frank felt they should get to Pleasanton's Bridge without delay. The officer settled the matter.

"You fellows continue your search for the gold,"

123 he said. "I'll go to the museum to investigate this man Randolph." The officer grinned.

"It'll give me a chance to find out how much I've learned from you Hardys about detective work."

It was decided the boys would start at once. After a quick lunch at a restaurant, the boys set off once more for Pleasanton's Bridge. Frank drove to the new bridge, and parked the car back of a gigantic oak tree, hoping no one would notice it.

Presently they reached the pile of rotting logs that once had been a cabin. Today all was peaceful. Rocky Run gurgled and churned musically around the smooth boulders which tried vainly to check the swift-flowing stream.

"Let's take a rest," Chet suggested. "This heat is killing me."

Frank remarked this was no place to be caught napping. "The more we keep our eyes open, the better it will be," he said.

The boys went on. It was hardly fifteen minutes later when they knew what the elderly Recorder of Deeds had meant when he said they could not miss the old bridge. Some distance back from the banks of the Rocky Run loomed two stone abutments, one on either side of the stream. They were completely covered with vines and moss.

"We've found Pleasanton's Bridge!" Joe shouted.

124 running up to the ancient stoneworks. "Now for the bandoleer!"

Was the clue to the lost gold somewhere within the ma.s.sive piles of stone and mortar?

Or had someone already found it?

"We'll have to go over each stone individually," Frank said. "We may as well start on this side of the water."

He began work on one part of the abutment. Chet and Joe took the opposite side. The fragrant coolness of the stream and trees was a welcome relief to the perspiring boys, who feverishly examined each rock and crack of mortar in the old structure.

"Guess they built this thing to last a million years," Joe commented.

Frank was too busy to answer. He had found a loose c.h.i.n.k and was prying it away with his pocket-knife. Like a thin wedge of pie, the piece of mortar slipped out, leaving just enough room for him to slide his hand into the crevice. His middle finger found a small opening in the stone.

"Joe! Chet! Come here!"

"Find something?"

"I think this stone'll come out," Frank called excitedly. "Help me chip away the rest of the mortar."

Using sharp stones and their pocketknives, the 125 three boys speedily cut away the crumbling cement that held the stones together. Frank inserted his finger into the hole he had found before, and tugged. The stone moved a fraction!

"She's coming!" he shouted.

With a sliding, grinding sound the big stone was yanked from the spot where it had reposed for decades. Quickly Frank peered into the gaping hole.

"I see it!" he cried hoa.r.s.ely. "The bandoleer!"

CHAPTER XVI.

The Hoax.

frank reached into the hole and pulled out the bandoleer. Its leather strap was pithy and rotten with age, half worn away from the rusted buckle. But the silver ammunition box was still firmly attached by two rivets. While Joe and Chet looked on excitedly, Frank tried to open the box.

"There doesn't seem to be any way to unfasten this thing," he said. "Must be a secret lock on it."

"Let me try it," Joe said eagerly, reaching for the bandoleer.