For a while, there was silence.
Suddenly, there was a muffled shout from the chimney.
“I have it!” yelled Frank, in excitement. “It’s here!”
The others heard him struggling for a moment; then came a further shower of stones and mortar.
“Got it!” shouted Frank triumphantly.
Then he came scrambling down into the fireplace again. His hands and face were black with soot, his clothes were ruined, but he bore in his hands an object that brought shouts of delight from the boys.
“The rosewood box!” declared Joe.
Frank nodded.
“Elroy Jefferson’s stamp collection!”
The others crowded around him. Frank held the box up. It was a beautiful object, and although it had been hidden in the chimney for many years, its rosewood surface was almost as lustrous as on the day it was first concealed. Great excitement prevailed. The mystery of the chimney had been solved. The boys all talked at once. All clamored that the box be opened.
Frank undid the catch. They looked inside.
There, neatly arranged on sheets, were the rare stamps that had been Elroy Jefferson’s pride—the stamps that were worth a fortune!
“Hurrah!” shouted Biff. Chet and Joe did a dance of joy. Frank closed the lid of the rosewood box.
“I found it right at the place mentioned in the cipher,” he said. “We didn’t discover it before, because the box had been hidden in a hollow right in the middle of one of the stones, and it had been mortared up when they were building the chimney. The shaking-up the chimney got a little while ago had broken the mortar and dislodged the stone. When I turned the flashlight on it I could plainly see the hollow and I knew something was hidden there. I dusted away the mortar, pried the stone up a little—and there was the box!”
A harsh voice interrupted him.
“What’s that? You found it? Give it here! That box is mine!”
Hanleigh was standing in the kitchen doorway. His face was livid with rage.
“It belongs to Elroy Jefferson,” returned Frank, “and we are going to return it to him.”
Hanleigh tried to hobble over toward them, but his ankle gave him such pain that he abandoned the attempt and clung to the wall for support.
“I tell you, it’s mine!” he screamed. “You have no right to take it! My uncle left that box to me in his will.”
“He left it to you on condition that you return it to Mr. Jefferson, from whom he stole it,” snapped Frank. “You haven’t a chance to claim it, Hanleigh. We have the box and we intend to give it back to its owner.”
Hanleigh glared at them. Then he shrugged.
“If only this ankle of mine was better, I’d show you!” he rasped. “It’s downright robbery, that’s what it is. I’ll take this matter into the courts and make you give it up to me.”
Frank laughed.
“You won’t go into any court over this affair, Hanleigh. You know it would be the worse for you. We saw the letter you got from the lawyers, telling you that the box must be returned to Mr. Jefferson. Wait until we tell our story. You’ll be lucky if you aren’t arrested. You never intended to live up to those instructions at all.”
This threat frightened Hanleigh. His face was pale.
“I did,” he whined. “I meant to give it back to Mr. Jefferson. Let me have the box, boys, and I’ll see that he gets it.”
“No chance! The box is a lot safer with us than it is with you. We found it and we’re going to give it back. You’d better sit down, Hanleigh, and tell us all about it.”
Hanleigh hesitated. Then he hobbled over to one of the beds and sat down.
“I guess the game is up,” he admitted heavily.
“Tell us what you know about this affair, and we’ll let the whole business drop, as far as you are concerned,” Frank promised. “If you don’t tell us we’ll simply let the police take action—and you know what that will mean,” he added significantly.
“Well,” said Hanleigh, at last, “I suppose there is nothing else for me to do. With any luck at all, I might have had that box, and I would have been miles away by this time.”
“How did it get here, in the first place?”
Hanleigh began his story.
“My uncle, John Sparewell,” he said, “was a servant in the home of Elroy Jefferson for many years. He was in financial difficulties at one time and when he learned about the valuable stamp collection he thought that if he stole it and sold it he might be able to realize enough money to pay off his debts. He knew that the collection was kept in a small safe in the house, so he watched his chance. He was highly trusted by Mr. Jefferson, so it was not long before he had the opportunity he was waiting for. The safe was left unlocked one afternoon, so my uncle slipped into the study, took the box, put on his hat and coat and left the house.”
“And never went back,” said Joe.
“He never returned. He had laid his plans very carefully, and he knew he might have to wait until the hue and cry died down before he would be able to dispose of the stamps, so he fled to a little village down on the seacoast, and he stayed in hiding there for several months. He learned that the police were looking for him and then he found that a full description of the stamps had been circulated and that he would certainly be arrested if he ever tried to get rid of them to any recognized dealer. As a matter of fact, when he left the village where he had been hiding and went to New York, he narrowly escaped being arrested merely because he went to one of the dealers in that city and asked him what the stamps would be worth. The
