The Melted Coins (5 page)

“Holy Toledo!” Chet said. “Not the kind of think I like to wake up with!” He tossed it aside and leaped up.

Frank and Joe had already gotten out of bed and headed for the door. “Come on,” said Joe. “Whoever left that pretty souvenir might still be around!”

With flashlights beaming, Frank circled the barn in one direction, Chet and Joe in the other. There was no one in sight. They carefully looked about a large forsythia bush and searched in the tall grass, but to no avail.

As they met in front of the barn Chet happened to glance toward the house. “Look, fellows!” he said, pointing to the second floor. They saw a faint glow of light flick off in one of the windows.

“Do you suppose it was those professors?” Chet asked.

Frank shrugged. “Why would they do a thing like that?”

The boys returned to the barn. Chet looked around for the mask. “Hey, which one of you guys took it?”

“Somebody must have come in here and taken it,” Frank declared, “while we were searching outside!”

“Or else somebody has been hiding in here all along,” Joe said.

Beaming their flashlights back and forth, they covered every cranny but found no one. Finally Chet settled back on his straw bed and tried to sleep.

“I think I'll hitchhike to Bayport,” he said. “This place is too spooky for me.”

“That's just what somebody wants us to do,” Frank said. “If we get scared, we'll play directly into his hands.”

“But why would anyone want to scare us?” Chet asked.

“Did it occur to you that this mask wasn't meant for us personally, but for any visitor the Rideaus might have?” Joe conjectured. “Whoever wants to get
them
out of the house might have done it.”

“Who knows?” Frank said. “In any case I think one of us should stand guard for the rest of the night.”

“I'll take the first watch,” Joe volunteered, and soon the other two were asleep again. Two hours later Joe woke Frank, who took over.

About eight o'clock they all got up. They dressed and sat around till they saw Mrs. Rideau passing the kitchen window.

“Okay,” Joe said. “Guess we can go in now.”

“I've been thinking,” Chet remarked on the way to the house. “It could have been the Senecas who played that little trick.”

“Provided that the Rideaus' suspicions are correct,” Joe said. “But we shouldn't jump to any conclusions.”

“Let's not tell the Rideaus of this incident until we find out more about the Senecas,” Frank put in.

The doctor and his wife greeted the boys with hearty good morning's and told them breakfast would be ready soon.

After washing up and brushing their hair, they sat around the table, enjoying ham and eggs.

Frank adroitly steered the conversation to the tenants upstairs. “I suppose they've left for their research work already,” he said.

“Oh, yes. They left unusually early.”

Frank and Joe exchanged glances, finished their breakfast, and pushed back their chairs. They thanked the Rideaus for their hospitality, then decided to go for a walk.

“It would be good to stretch our legs,” Joe admitted. “Where are the dogs?”

“In the basement,” Mrs. Rideau replied. “We thought it would be better while you're here.”

The boys grinned and went outside.

“Come on,” Frank said in a low voice. “Let's give that barn the once-over in daylight.”

Joe climbed to the dusty hayloft with a pitchfork in his hand and pushed it gently through every pile of hay. It was evident nobody was hiding there.

Frank and Chet examined the stalls, apparently empty of horses for many years. They smelled of rotting hay, and decaying harnesses hung from pegs on the wall. No clues were uncovered.

“I still think those professors bear some investigating,” Joe declared.

“You're right, but we have nothing to go on. Wish we could talk to them about their research. But we'd better be going.”

The boys said good-by to the Rideaus and Joe headed the car toward the Senecas' ancestral lands. Through farmland, the road rose gradually to a high plateau.

Chet spotted a sign on a dirt road. Zoar
College!
An arrow pointed to the right toward the woods beyond the fields.

“Wait a minute!” Chet cried out. “What did I tell you? There is a Zoar College after all! Let's go see it.”

“Okay,” said Joe. He pulled into the dirt road. It dipped down, skirted a short knoll, and ended in a cul-de-sac.

“I don't see any college,” Frank said.

The boys glanced around. Joe said, “It can't be that—that—” He pointed to two low buildings, which looked like overgrown chicken coops. The weeds grew almost to the windowsills, and the front door in one of the structures hung on a broken hinge.

The three got out of the car and walked over. A weather-beaten sign on the door proclaimed that it was, indeed, Zoar College.

“Aren't you glad you're not enrolled after all?” Frank asked Chet with a chuckle.

His friend was at a loss for words. He just shook his head in disbelief.

“Let's have a look around inside,” Joe suggested.

The interior consisted of one large room. A blackboard was on one wall. On it a few mathematical problems were barely visible in moldering chalk. A desk laden with dust in the front of the room faced a dozen rickety chairs.

Chet sneezed sharply and a bird fluttered down from the rafters, streaking out the front door.

“That's the ornithology prof,” Frank joked.

“What a racket!” Chet murmured.

“You know, this setup might be within the law,” Frank said. “It provides some facilities and it is in the beautiful Zoar Valley, not far from Niagara Falls, just as the catalog pointed out.”

“I wonder how many other guys were taken in by it,” Chet muttered.

“Don't worry, we'll try to expose this outfit,” Frank said and he looked about for evidence.

Joe poked among the scraps of paper on the floor. He found a sheet with sketches of Indian masks and Chet came up with a booklet stating that Indian lore was one of the courses given.

The boys studied the sketches. On the back of the sheet, in faint ink, was the name Nuremberg Museum. Next to it was the figure $5,000.

“I wonder what all this means,” Frank said thoughtfully.

Chet shrugged and started to walk out the door. “Come on, fellows. I've seen enough,” he said.

Just then they were startled by the sound of a motor. They dashed out to see their rented hard-top turning around and going down the road.

Chet gasped. “There's nobody at the wheel!” he exclaimed.

The trio stopped short in surprise. The apparently driverless car churned up dust and disappeared around the knoll.

“Well,” said Frank grimly, “I guess we'll walk!”

“I could kick myself for leaving the key in the ignition,” Joe muttered. “But whoever thought there would be thieves out this way!”

“What thieves?” Chet demanded. “It was a ghost!”

“A ghost who ducked,” Frank declared. “Come on. Let's get to the highway.”

The Hardys strode up the hill with Chet puffing along behind. Emerging from the woods, they looked across the fields and could hardly believe what they saw! The car was parked near the highway! All three started to run.

“Let's not make any noise,” Frank warned. “That ‘ghost' might still be inside!”

Frank and Joe sneaked up on either side of the car. No one was in it, but on the seat lay a miniature Indian mask. It had a twisted nose and a wry mouth! Next to it was a scribbled note:

FRANK fingered the miniature false face. “Now it looks as if the Indians want to give us the old heave-ho,” he said.

“I'm getting an inferiority complex,” Joe complained. “Nobody wants us around!”

“So let's go home,” Chet urged.

“What?” Joe asked in mock horror. “And miss Mother Jimerson's corn soup?”

“You've got a point there,” Chet agreed. “Besides, you two were called the evil spirits, not me!”

The boys got into the car, and as Joe drove off, they mulled over the events of the last few minutes. Whoever had gone off with the automobile must have been a small fellow who had crouched low behind the wheel. But how did he get away?

“Maybe another car picked him up,” Joe ventured.

“Or perhaps he's still lurking around here,” suggested Chet.

“What I can't figure out,” Frank said, “is why did the guy bother to move the car? He could have put the mask in without going through all that trouble.”

“I suppose he wanted to give us a scare by apparently leaving us without transportation,” Joe deduced.

“Well, from now on we'd better be very careful,” said Frank.

Soon they passed a sign marked
Yellow Springs
and stopped at a small grocery to ask directions to Mrs. Jimerson's house. It turned out to be a small, one-story dwelling set far back from the road. A sign beside the driveway advertised the fact that the owner, Mrs. Jimerson, sold handwoven Indian baskets.

The boys drove up the lane and parked. As they approached the door, a stout woman with a round, ruddy face came out. Her hair, black but slightly graying, was pulled back into a braided bun. Her eyes crinkled when she smiled. “Would you like to buy some baskets?” she asked.

“Well, er—no,” Frank said. “Are you Mrs. Jimerson?”

“Yes.”

Frank mentioned her son in Cleveland and she beckoned them into a combination living room and workroom. Indian baskets were stacked up on one side. Most were completed, but others were in various stages of weaving. The boys glanced about, feeling a little uncomfortable at first because the woman did not speak. She just watched them. Finally she said, “Is my son Rod all right?”

“He's fine,” Frank replied.

“A great guy with the steel girders,” Chet put in. He sniffed a culinary aroma in the air and glanced at Joe. He was just about to say something about it, but Joe silently shook his head.

“Rod told us about Lendo Wallace,” Frank spoke up, “and the disappearance of the Indian masks, Mrs. Jimerson. We're detectives.”

“Oh?”

There was an awkward silence, but Mrs. Jimerson did not volunteer any information. Finally Chet said, “Something smells real good around here.” His eyes rolled. “I think it might be corn soup!”

Mrs. Jimerson smiled. “Do you like corn soup?”

“You bet! It's my favorite!”

“Well”—Mrs. Jimerson studied Chet's plump, earnest face—“you shall have some.”

She pulled three chairs to a table in one corner of the room and motioned for the boys to be seated. Then she went into the kitchen, and soon returned with a tray on which were three deep bowls of piping hot soup.

The young sleuths ate with relish, dipping in thick slices of homemade bread. Chet, who was finished first, looked appreciatively at Mrs. Jimerson.

“Would you like some more?” she asked.

At Chet's happy nod she quickly refilled the bowl. Then she began shyly to ask them questions. What were their names and where were they from? What were they doing in Seneca country and how did they happen to know about Rod?

Frank, as spokesman, gave her a general idea of their mission. “We'd like to help solve the mystery of the missing masks,” he said.

The look on Mrs. Jimerson's face indicated that she might be opposed to outside interference.

Just then Joe glanced at Chet who was spooning the final mouthful of soup. “Chet, you look just like Spoon Mouth!” he quipped.

“No,” Mrs. Jimerson objected. “Chet is a fine-looking boy and plump like boys should be!”

Frank and Joe laughed and so did Chet and the Indian woman. Now that she had relaxed, she began to talk more freely.

“Many years ago,” she said, “near Lake Erie, lived a man who mistreated Indians. He had two joys in life, the quest for money and the harassment of the redskins in the area.

“One night his house burned down and he was consumed in the flames. Many people, knowing that he was rich, searched in vain for a cache of gold coins supposedly hidden in his house.”

Wide-eyed, Chet blurted, “Were they found?”

“Not at first. But Indians finally found them.”

“Great!” Joe said.