CHAPTER XVII

Breaking a Code

frank's fleet-footedness might have gained him freedom from the guard had it not been for a new menace. Someone was running toward the entrance. He knew that if he were to escape it would be only by a luse. Frank's brain worked with electronic speed. He called out the door:

"Get him, Joe!"

He waited a moment, then turned. Smiley was almost upon him. With head down and arms in front of him, Frank hit the man with the velocity of a fullback plowing through the line. Smiley grunted, reeled, and crashed to the floor.

Frank bolted through the door, ready for his next opponent. No one was in sight, Had the ruse worked?

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His long legs fairly flew down the road. He looked back. Someone was following. Frank doubled his pace. His pursuer finally was lost from sight.

Frank did not slacken his speed until he was half a mile away. Then he settled down to an easy lope, clutching the ammunition box tightly.

Presently he came to the highway leading into Centerville. He had not gone far when he heard a car. Apprehension gripped him. Had the enemy caught up with him?

Frank hid behind a hedge and waited, his heart pounding like a riveting machine. As the car approached, Frank's spirits gave a leap of joy. It was the Hardys' new coupe!

''Hi, there!" he called out, stepping into the road.

Joe stopped so suddenly Chet hit the dashboard. Frank jumped in.

"I've got it!" he panted, showing his prize. "Get to the general as fast as you can!"

"Jumping catfish!" Joe cried, and sent the car racing down the road.

As they drove, Frank told the boys how he had trailed the thieves and seized the precious box.

"There's no doubt now Smiley-that's the guard's name-is mixed up in this thing, and maybe the professor," he said. "I wish I could place that other voice in the cellar."

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"Was it one of the kidnapers?" Joe asked.

"I don't know. But you remember only one of those three men talked."

"Maybe the fellow in the cellar was Baby Face," Chet suggested.

Frank jumped. "Chet, you've got it! It's Baby Face all right without his Southern accent! He was the one in the shoot."

"The-the one who tried to clip you? Say listen, fellows, from here on count me out. Let the police take over. It's their business to run risks and get shot up if they want to, not mine. I-I-why, just think, even if they didn't kill me-"

"They might starve you to death, you mean." Frank grinned, then became serious. "You've got a point, just the same, Chet. I'm recommending to General Smith that the police investigate the museum and its new owner and his friends."

When the brigadier heard the story, he lost no time informing the chief of police of the strange doings at the old museum. He did not mention their interest in the missing gold, being of the opinion the gang now had been smoked out and would leave town.

Chet felt relieved to think the troublemakers might be arrested, or at least leave the vicinity, but Frank and Joe were of a different opinion. The

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missing gold was a big prize. If that was what the men were after, they would not be frightened into running away. Probably they would stick around Centerville, but change their point of operation to a more secluded one.

"I wasn't much of a detective," General Smith remarked about his own investigation of Professor Randolph. "The museum was running the same as ever when I visited it. The old Negro was there and everything was peaceful. I didn't pick up a clue."

Joe's eyes popped. "Maybe you did pick up a clue," he said. "If Smiley wasn't on guard, he might have been the one who attacked Chet and stole the bandoleer."

During the conversation, Frank had gone to the kitchen and asked Claude for a jar of silver polish and a cloth. The others followed and watched as he went to work on the ammunition box. In a few minutes the old souvenir, dulled by its long repose in the bridge abutment, shone brightly.

"Why'd you do that?" Chet asked.

"So I can see any faint lines," Frank said. "Joe, will you get our magnifying glass?"

His brother went to the trunk of the car and returned with a special kit the Hardys always carried. From it he took a powerful glass. Frank held the

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ammunition box under a bright light and went over it in minute detail.

"I think I see the place where you open this," he said at last.

"Where?" Joe asked, looking over his shoulder.

"Right here in the corner." Frank pointed to a tiny circle cleverly worked into one edge of the box. "Now if the spring hasn't rusted," he said, "this ought to do it!"

Frank snapped out the can-opener blade of his knife and carefully pressed the point against the circle. With a sharp click that startled the onlookers, the top of the box sprang open as if by magic.

"Bravo!" the general shouted.

"What a clever lock!" Joe said, emitting a low whistle. "No wonder those crooks couldn't open it."

Frank pried a piece of folded parchment paper from the bottom of the box, where it had been pressed down so tightly that at first it had seemed to be part of the ammunition box. The paper was in perfect condition despite the many years it had lain secreted. Frank handed it to the brigadier.

"Just think," Joe said, "the last man to see this was your grandfather, old General Smith!"

The officer did not reply. The room became hushed as the boys observed the solemn demeanor of his handsome, tanned face. Then he spoke.

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"This is strange, very strange indeed," he said. "I suddenly had the feeling that I was standing in my grandfather's place, there in the old headquarters, when he put this paper back into the ammunition box and made ready for battle."

Chet gulped and fidgeted. He wanted to know Ivhat was on the paper.

"This is a great moment for me," the man went on. "I wonder what the message says."

The boys turned their eyes from the officer to a table on which he spread the paper.

"Look at that!" Joe exclaimed. "It's in code."

On the sheet was scrawled a series of numbers and across the face of the message, written diagonally, were the large letters, C S A. As if that were not cryptic enough, two odd designs decorated the bottom of the page at either side. On the left were three muskets, stacked together like a sheaf of wheat. On the right was a queer-looking tree, at the base of which rested a round object.

"What a puzzler!" Chet said. "It'll take all year to figure this one out."

Frank thrust his fingers back through his darls hair. Joe knew he was concocting an idea.

"I'd suggest," said his brother, "that we all sit down separately and work on this. When we have some ideas, we'll get together."

Breaking a Code 139

"Very good," the general said. "Let's make four rough sketches so we can each work on one."

This was done. Then the boys and the officer, their brows knit in deep thought, pondered the secret in the ancient message. The room was so quiet that the ticking of the clock sounded like a noisy metronome.

Suddenly Chet chuckled and burst out, "I've got it!"

After half an hour of deep concentration, the boy's exclamation came as a blessed relief.

"Let's hear it," Joe said, grinning. "Probably another one of your brain storms."

Chet spread himself like a peacock. "It's this way," he said, winking at the general. "The C S A stands for 'Can't Stand the Army.' The guns stacked up means they're going to stop fighting and sit down under that tree and eat ham and eggs. That big round thing's an egg."

The general and the Hardys burst into laughter.

"I knew plenty of privates who couldn't stand the army," General Smith said with a smile.

Then Joe asked, "What about the numbers?"

With a wave of his hand, Chet said, "That's just to confuse us!"

When they composed themselves, Frank said:

"Chet, I can't agree with all ot your deductions*

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but the one about the tree-maybe you've got some thing there!"

"Yes," Joe added, "the tree probably marks the spot for something or other. Now let's get back to figuring this out again."

A few minutes later a sudden glow lighted Frank's face. He reached inside his jacket for a pencil, and began to write down figures on a piece of scratch paper. He had barely finished working out a series of letters and numbers when he shouted:

"This is it!"