035 The Clue in the Embers by Franklin W. Dixon

Author:Franklin W. Dixon [Dixon, Franklin W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XIII

News of Buried Treasure

DROPPING the crates, the boys ran to answer Mr. Scath’s call for help. After the two outcries, they had heard nothing more.

“I don’t see how anyone could have broken in,” Frank said.

“I’m afraid it’s my fault,” Chet admitted as they reached the rear entrance. “I didn’t lock this door. Thought we’d be right back.”

“Someone must have sneaked in here the moment we left,” Joe groaned. “I hope Mr. Scath hasn’t been struck by a shot from the blowgun!”

Frank turned the knob and they hurried inside. Chet locked the door.

“Be careful of a sniper!” Frank warned the others. “And keep together!”

The curator was not in sight and when Frank called he did not answer.

“He must be on the side of the building nearest the shed,” Joe suggested. “His voice wouldn’t have carried from the other sections.”

He led the way into the Egyptian Room and switched on the lights. Mr. Scath was sprawled on the floor, unconscious! The boys rushed over.

“There’s blood on his face!” Tony exclaimed. “He’s been hit in the head!”

“And look at his pockets!” Frank cried. “They’ve been pulled inside out. Joe, you and Tony search the building for the assailant, while Chet and I attend to Mr. Scath.”

Joe and Tony headed for the opposite end of the museum. Frank and Chet knelt beside the injured man and inspected the head wound. Fortunately it was not deep and the curator’s color was returning to normal. A moment later Mr. Scath gave a low moan and his eyes flickered open.

“Help me up,” he said feebly, trying to rise.

“Lie still,” Frank urged. “Don’t try to move.”

He recalled having seen a first-aid kit in the curator’s office and asked Chet to get it.

The stout youth hurried off. A whiff of spirits of ammonia revived Mr. Scath. Frank gently swabbed away the blood. Luckily the man had been struck only a glancing blow.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“My head feels clearer,” Mr. Scath replied. He sat up with Chet’s assistance.

“Here, let me put a patch over that cut,” Frank said.

When this was done, the boys helped the curator to his feet and back to his office.

“What happened?” Frank asked, after Mr. Scath had seated himself in a comfortable chair.

“I was in here alone, waiting for you fellows, when I heard a noise in the Egyptian Room. I went to investigate.”

“Did you see someone?” Chet asked.

“Yes. There was a masked man standing alongside the first big column. He demanded that I hand over the Texichapi medallion from Tony’s collection.”

“Yes?” Frank said eagerly as the man paused.

“I told him that I had no idea what he was talking about,” Mr. Scath continued. “Then he pulled out a blackjack and threatened me. I got a bit flustered—tried to fight him off—and I shouted a couple of times, hoping you’d hear me. Then he struck me and I blacked out!”

“What was his build?” Frank asked.

“Short, thin. Had black hair.”

Frank whistled. “The blowgun man or Torres! We’d better phone the police.”

“If it was Luis Valez,” Chet

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