The Secret Of The Lost Tunnel Part 8

'somerody's inside these rocks," diet shouted. He rushed forward, his hands clutching at the vines which blanketed the boulders. "General Smith, look what's under 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 fas tened to the boulder with long iron spikes. A rotting leather thong served as a doork.n.o.b.

"Frank! Joe!" Chet leaned close to the door and shouted. There was a m.u.f.fled answer.

"We'll get you out!" the general called.

He took hold of the leather thong, which broke under his weight. "We'll have to pry the door open," he said.

"Let me get hold of it," Chet offered.

The husky boy 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 oi the dank ground. They were trussed and gagged.

"Frank!" Chet shouted. "Joe! You all right? How did you get in here?"

Quickly he and the officer removed the gags from the boys' mouihs and unfastened their bindings.

"Oh-h!" Joe said, rising and stretching his cramped legs. "We thought you'd never find us."

Frank rubbed his arms briskly to restore the circulation. "Gosh, are we glad to see you!"

"What happened to you?" General Smith asked, as soon as he was a.s.sured that the Hardys had not been harmed.

"While we were waiting for Chet to get a picture of the deer," Frank said, "two men attacked Joe and me. A third fellow tied our hands and blindfolded us. They must have followed us from Centerville."

87 "Who were they?" Chet asked.

"Couldn't tell," Joe replied. "They wore masks. But listen to this: one of them was called one of them was called Baby Face!"

"Checks with your Aunt Gertrude's description of one of the men who tried to kidnap me from your house!" General Smith cried out.

"I'm sure this was the same person," Frank said. "And maybe it's a clue. There may be some known criminal named Baby Face. I'm going to find out as soon as we get back to town."

Chet's eyes were popping with excitement. "What did Baby Face do to you after he lied your hands?"

Frank took up the story when they got outside the cave. "Joe shouted," he said. "When he did, the fellows stuffed gags in our mouths. Then they dragged us off."

"And I didn't see a thing happen," Chet moaned.

"Go on with your story," urged the officer. "This must be reported. Kidnaping is a Federal offense. That fellow in town gave you wrong directions so he or his cohorts could waylay you."

"The kidnapers marched us through the woods," Joe explained. "Seemed to know the way, too. Since our hands were tied, we couldn't drop anything for you to find."

88 "So you did the next best thing," remarked the brigadier. "You made marks with your feet."

Joe smiled. "That was Frank's idea. Every once in a while he'd drag one of his feet as if he were stumbling."

"Good headwork," the general said admiringly.

"When we got to a pasture," Joe said, "the men decided our tracks were too noticeable, so they decided to double back. They shoved us a hundred yards the way we'd come, then made a wide circle and crossed the creek upstream."

"It's lucky Chet decided to look on the other side of the brook," the general said. "That's where he found the shoe."

"Why did you drop it?" Chet asked.

Joe explained that the lace became loose as he stumbled along and the shoe fell off.

"What a break for you," General Smith said. "Your shoe led us to this place. Here, put it on."

As Joe tied the lace, Chet Morton asked, "What kind of place is this? Feels like a tomb."

"It's an old smokehouse," Frank replied. "Guess it hasn't been used for years." He shuddered. "Let's get out of the shade so we can dry out."

The early-morning clear warm air sent a glow through Frank and Joe as they made their way back to the car and rode home. No less comforting to 89 the Hardys was the opening of the front door by a middle-aged Negro, beaming broadly. His courteous bow in his snow-white jacket stamped him as a person well-schooled in the gentle traditions of the old South.

"Good mornin', General."

"Right on the job, Claude. I knexv I could depend on you." Then he turned to his three companions, giving his orderly their names.

Introductions finished, Chet sniffed the air and advanced a step toward the kitchen.

"Boy, oh, boyl What's that?"

"Lace pancakes and ham," the general said with a grin. "It's Claude's breakfast specialty."

"It will be ready in ten minutes," the servant said as he returned to his duties.

"That'll give us time for a couple of phone calls," Frank said.

He got in touch with the local police chief, told him about the kidnaping, and asked if there were any known criminal using the alias Baby Face. The chief searched his files and reported that to his knowledge there was not. He added that he would send out an eight-state alarm for the kidnapers.

Next, Frank called long-distance, placing a message to Bayport. A few seconds later Aunt Gertrude answered. When Frank asked for his father, hi*

90 aunt said he had not returned yet from Was.h.i.+ngton. Then she added apprehensively: "Something serious must be happening, Frank, or you wouldn't be calling home."

"You're right," Frank admitted with a smile. "We've run into a character named Baby Face. I thought Dad could check his files for a criminal by that name."

The gasp that sounded all the way from Bayport was so intense that Frank could almost feel Aunt Gertrude's breath on his cheek.

"Baby Face!" The detective's sister grasped the import at once. "One of the men who tried to break into our house! He's chasing you down South?"

"He was, Auntie. Now we're chasing him."

"Don't get me all mixed up," came the reply. "He's a wolf in sheep's clothing. Look out for him! I'll tell your father about Baby Face. You're running up a big telephone bill.

Good-bye."

Frank hung up when he heard a click on the other end of the line. "I think Aunt Gertrude's right about a wolf in sheep's clothing," he remarked, relaying the story. "She has an uncanny way with her predictions."

"Breakfast is served!"

With those welcome words, the boys and the general sat down to an old-fas.h.i.+oned southern repast.

91 Chet's face was aglow as Claude served chilled cantaloupe, followed by crisp-fringed pancakes and broiled ham. Then he brought in a platter of fried eggs, a dish of raspberry jam, and piping hot mullins.

Letting his belt out two notches, Chet asked, "General, does everybody eat like this in the South?"

"They used to," the officer replied, smiling wanly. "Most people are in too much of a hurry today to enjoy the art of good eating."

"Not me!" Chet decorated another m.u.f.fin with a daub of jam. "The South's a wonderful place, General."

"Let's go back to the museum," Joe said when they finished eating.

"I hope Professor Randolph is around," Frank remarked. "I'd like to tell him he doesn't own that property."

"We've already paid our admission," Chet put in. "We ought to get in free today!"

The general remarked that he was sorry that he could not accompany the boys. He had an appointment with a real-estate agent in a neighboring town to discuss the sale of some property.

A short time later the boys arrived at the museum. When they walked through the front door, a new guard greeted them. In the old Negro's place sat a stout man, whose red face was particularly striking 92 because of a scar that ran from the side of his mouth like an extra-wide smile.

He apparently was wearing the Negro's gray suit, because the front gaped here and there where the b.u.t.tons were struggling to hold the jacket together.

"What do you kids want?" the man asked gruffly, though the scar gave him a look of pseudo kindliness which was not in keeping with his voice.

"We've come to look at the exhibits," Frank said.

"The museum's closed."

"No, it's notl" Joe shot back. "Where'd that old Negro go?"

"The professor will tell you!" growled the man. "Oh, professor!"

Randolph suddenly appeared from behind a gla.s.s display case. "Back again, eh?"

"We're going to finish the tour you interrupted yesterday," Frank said.

"I repeat," the professor intoned, his voice rising in a crescendo, "this place belongs to me!"

"There's no deed recorded in your name at the courthouse!" Frank said evenly.

The man winced, then he said with a curl to his lips, "They haven't had time to file one yet. I I bought the place only yesterday." Suddenly he became more friendly. "Well, Smi-" he bought the place only yesterday." Suddenly he became more friendly. "Well, Smi-" he caught him-seJf as he looked at the guard, "I guess we'll have to 93 let 'em look around. But never again, boys. Keep an eye on things," he told the man, "till I get the deed recorded." With that he stalked out the front door and disappeared down the road.

Frank, Joe, and Chet browsed around the museum. A case full of old sabers intrigued Joe, who examined the ornate handles and felt the keen edges of the blades.

"From the forces of General Rosecrans," stated a card alongside the sabers. Joe was in the midst of a daydream, imagining the charge of the cavalrymen, when he was interrupted by Chet.

"Hey, look! Here's an old mess kit."

"Always thinking about food," Frank quipped, stepping over to see the odd collection of utensils.

Joe picked up a battered pewter pan. "This looks as if it had been creased by a bullet."

"Here's an old canteen," Frank observed.

He held the mttal water bottle in his hand, turning it over and over. Its cloth covering had long since rotted off, but the two rings remained where a strap once had held it over a trooper's shoulder.

Frank unscrewed the top and peered inside. "There's something in this," he whispered.

"It looks like a piece of paper."

The boy shook the canteen vigorously. Finally a crumpled piece of paper dropped out.

94 At the entrance to the museum the guard leaned far back in his chair. Frank caught the movement out of the corner of his eye.

"He's trying to watch us," the boy warned. "Let's go over to the other side of the room."

Frank put the old canteen down where he had found it and walked to the front of the fireplace, Joe and Chet following. Then, very gently, Frank opened the paper.

"It's a note!" Joe whispered. "What does it say?"

"We've really found something!" Frank exclaimed in a low tone. "Listen to this!" In guarded tones he read aloud the penciled message: " 'Dying. Can't make it bach. Cot General Smith's bandoleer. Maybe war secret. Hid it 'Dying. Can't make it bach. Cot General Smith's bandoleer. Maybe war secret. Hid it in Pleasanlon's Bridge when chase hot.

Bing' "

Joe gave a low whistle. "Wow! I'll bet that's Charles Bingham, the spy suspected of stealing the bandoleer."

"This practically proves it!" Frank clenched his fist emphatically.

"Let's get to that bridge!" Joe exploded.

CHAPTER XII.

The Missing Bandoleer.

"GEE," diet exclaimed in awe, "you've solved the mystery! Now we know where the bandoleer is and we can find the gold!"

"I wish it were that easy," Frank smiled, as he carefully folded the message. "I'd like to take this along, but it really doesn't belong to us."