“It’s more than that,” Dan defended the organization. “We have a lot of secret codes and things. Right now we’re getting ready to have a big Pack gathering based on the Knights of the Round Table. We’re making coats of armor.”
Despite himself, Jack was interested. But he tried not to show it.
“Kid stuff,” he scoffed. “You wouldn’t catch me being a Cub Scout. Every time you turn around, I bet someone tells you what you have to do.”
“That isn’t so,” Dan denied. “Mr. Hatfield is our leader. Brad is the Den Chief, and I’m the Denner. Naturally, we make suggestions sometimes that the other fellows carry out. But we aren’t bossy about it.”
“Cubs nevertheless are required to obey orders and follow the rules,” Mr. Hatfield said quietly. “Society is built upon regulations. Otherwise one would have chaos.”
“When one person defies or disregards rules, it means hardship for someone else,” added Burton Holloway, driving home the point.
“To heck with the rules!” laughed Jack. “That’s my motto.”
“I fear such an attitude may bring you to serious trouble one of these days,” Mr. Holloway remarked with concern. “Better get on the beam, my boy.”
“Say, I don’t like these sweetness and light lectures,” Jack said, his suspicions reviving. “Why’d you pick me up anyhow? You ain’t a plainclothes detective?”
“No, Jack.”
“You know my name!”
“Yes, Jack, we do. You’re a runaway from the Child Study Institute.”
Mr. Holloway now felt fairly safe in revealing his knowledge, for the station wagon approached the Institute.
As he pulled alongside the gray stone building, his young passenger recognized the familiar structure.
“You tricked me!” he shouted furiously.
His elbow gouging Dan, he tried to push open the car door.
“Let me out of here!” he cried.
“No, Jack!” Mr. Hatfield said, holding him firmly by the arm. “You ran away and you must be returned here. I’m sorry.”
Jack fought like a wildcat for a minute or two, but found himself quite helpless in the grip of the two men.
“What’ll you gain?” he demanded bitterly. “I’ll run away again! I’ll run away a thousand times! You can’t keep me. No one can.”
“You’re only cheating yourself,” Mr. Holloway told him. “Can’t you understand we’re only trying to help you? So is Mr. Wentworth and the other men at the CSI. The Court is your friend.”
“That’s a laugh!”
“If you keep on the way you’ve started, you’ll end up in a boys’ reformatory,” Sam Hatfield warned. “That, I can assure you, will be no fun. On the other hand, if you act sensibly and make an honest effort to cooperate, the CSI officials may give you another chance.”
“Another chance for what?”
“You enjoy the outdoors, Jack. Well, I happen to know that Guy Wentworth was taking you to the home of a Mrs. Jones. The place isn’t fancy and you’d have to work.”
“Oh, sure!”
“But the house is at the edge of the woods, close to the marsh. You could fish in summer time, trap in the winter and maybe earn a little money.”
“Like fun they’d let me do anything I wanted to!”
“I think it could be arranged, Jack. If you’ll give your word to make an honest effort to get along with Mrs. Jones, I’ll talk to Guy Wentworth in your behalf. How about it?”
Jack did not answer for a long moment. “Maybe I will,” he said reluctantly. “I don’t know—it’s a lot to promise.”
“And a promise always should be kept,” Mr. Hatfield stressed. “That’s the way it is with the Cubs. Once given, a promise never may be broken.”
“Well, I’m not a Cub,” Jack said defiantly. “I’m not anything.”
“You could be a Cub, Jack. You could be anything you set your mind to, for you’re a smart youngster with courage and determination. Well, what do you say?”
“What do I have to promise?”
“To go out to Widow Jones’ place if the court elects to return you there. Just promise to do your best, and treat her squarely. The same way she’ll treat you.”
“Okay, I’ll give it a try,” Jack agreed. “You got me in a tight spot.”
“No, Jack,” Mr. Hatfield corrected. “You’ve been in a tight spot for many years. I don’t want you to feel that you’re being pressured into anything. This decision must be your own.”
“I gave my promise, didn’t I?” Jack growled, squirming uncomfortably.
“And you mean it?”
“’Course. Want me to swear on a Bible or something?”
“No, Jack. We’ll just shake hands on that promise. The Cub handclasp, with two fingers extended. Here, I’ll show you.”
The Cub leader demonstrated the grip used by the other boys. Then he swung open the car door, and motioned for Jack to step out. He made no further effort to hold the boy.
Dan and the other Cubs watched anxiously, fearful lest Jack make a bolt for freedom.
The boy seemed to be thinking of it, for he gazed up and down the nearly deserted street. Then, he drew a deep breath and faced Mr. Hatfield.
“Come on,” he growled. “Let’s get it over with.”
The two entered the Child Study Institute together.
Mr. Hatfield was gone more than twenty minutes. Eagerly the Cubs awaited his report.
“I had quite a talk with Guy Wentworth,” he said. “At first he was inclined to give the boy the works, but I convinced him otherwise.”
“Will Jack be sent to Mrs. Jones’ place?” Dan questioned.
“That’s the plan, if she’s still willing to take him. Mr. Wentworth has agreed Jack may have this last chance to settle down and make good. If he runs away again, though, it means the state reformatory for him.”
“Do you think Mrs. Jones can handle him?” asked Burton Holloway as he started the engine of the station wagon. “Jack needs a firm hand.”
“She can manage him if anyone can,” Mr. Hatfield replied confidently. “Furthermore, she needs money. It will make an ideal arrangement, providing Jack doesn’t let us down.”
Mr. Holloway dropped the boys off at their various homes.
“I’ll take you home next,” he said to Mr. Hatfield, when all of the passengers had been disposed of except his own son Midge, and Dan.
“I can walk from Mr. Hatfield’s place,” the latter offered. “It’s only a step.”
As the station wagon pulled up in front of his home, Mr. Hatfield noted at once that a black car with the numeral 145 stood at the curb.
“That looks like a police car,” Dan commented.
“Which means I’m in for another siege of questioning,” the Cub leader sighed. With Dan, he alighted from the station wagon. “I’m trying to cooperate, but I’ve already told police everything I know about the money box.”
“Well, good luck,” Mr. Holloway said cheerfully, shifting gears. “Don’t let it get you down.”
The station wagon drove off down the street. Dan started to say goodbye to Mr. Hatfield. Before he could leave however, two police officers came out of the house.
“I’m Captain Eggleston,” one of the men introduced himself. He spoke directly to the Cub leader. “You’re Mr. Hatfield?”
“That’s right.”
“We’d like to talk to you.”
“I’ll be glad to answer your questions,” Mr. Hatfield replied politely. “However, it seems pointless to keep going over the same ground. I’ve told everything I know about the missing money box.”
“We still have a few questions to ask,” Captain Eggleston replied. “In fact, we have some new evidence.”
“New evidence?”
“May we talk to you inside the house?”
“Certainly,” responded Mr. Hatfield, somewhat puzzled by the serious attitude of the police.
As he started to accompany the two men, Dan turned away.
“Aren’t you the boy who found the box at the church?” Captain Eggleston asked him.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you may as well stick around,” the captain advised. “We may have a few questions to fire at you too!”
CHAPTER 12
A Pair of Legs
Feeling almost as if he were a suspect in a crime case, Dan followed Mr. Hatfield and the two police officers into the house.
Captain Eggleston began the interview by asking routine questions of both Dan and Mr. Hatfield. Then abruptly he announced that a check had been made of the car license number noted down by the Cubs on the night of the heavy rain storm.
“The automobile belongs to Frank Jankowski, a salesman for the V. H. Everetts Hardware Co.,” he informed.
“Mr. Jankowski!” Dan exclaimed.
“Obviously, the boys were mistaken in thinking that the car was following us,” Mr. Hatfield said. “Imagination plays strange tricks on the mind. I thought myself—at least for a while—that we were being followed.”
“You’ve given us several false steers in this investigation,” Captain Eggleston said rather severely. “What are you trying to hide?”
The question irritated Mr. Hatfield. He tried not to show resentment and kept his voice controlled as he replied:
“Absolutely nothing.”
“You say you placed the money box in the drawer of your desk?”
“That is correct.”
“You considered it a safe place?”
“Safe enough. If I hadn’t, I’d have made other disposition of the box.”
“Why did you delay in calling police?”
“We’ve gone over all that before,” Mr. Hatfield said wearily. “It was late, and frankly, I was tired. I didn’t feel equal to a long harangue with police until I was more rested. So I waited until morning.”
“The first discovery that the box was gone was when police arrived here?”
“That is correct.”
“And to your knowledge, no one entered or left the house in the meantime?”
“My wife was here, of course. I don’t recall anyone else, unless one of the Cubs dropped in.”
“No woman?”
“Not so far as I know.” Mr. Hatfield was amazed by the question. He could tell that Captain Eggleston was leading up to a climax, but what it was he could not guess.
The police officer withdrew an ornamental button from his pocket. Carelessly, he dropped it on the table.
Dan noticed that the button was an unusual one of black jet, cut in a diamond shape.
“Ever see that before?” Captain Eggleston asked.
“I don’t think so,” Mr. Hatfield replied, examining the button minutely. “Why?”
“Your wife allowed us to examine the study again. We found this button in the drawer where she said you had kept the tin box.”
“It looks like a button from a woman’s dress. But I don’t recall that my wife has one with jet fasteners.”
“So she said.” Captain Eggleston picked up the button and dropped it into his pocket again. “The button may or may not be a clue. It’s not much to go on in any case.”
“You think the box may have been taken by a woman?” Mr. Hatfield asked in amazement.
“This button is the only thing that points in that direction. It may have been in the drawer for a long while.”
“I never saw it before. At least I never noticed it.”
The policemen at last seemed to accept Mr. Hatfield’s word that he had told them everything he knew about the disappearance. They asked Dan a few routine questions and finally left.
“I’ll be jogging along too,” Dan said. “If I don’t get a move on, I’ll be late for supper.”
“Don’t forget your roofing discs,” Mr. Hatfield reminded him. “See you tomorrow. Meanwhile, don’t worry about the money. Sooner or later, police will turn up a clue.”
On his way to the door, Dan asked the Cub leader if he thought the jet button had any real significance.
“I can’t see it myself,” Mr. Hatfield replied. “Though how the button came to be in the desk is a puzzle too. This whole thing is a headache.”
“It was my fault for finding the box in the first place.”
Mr. Hatfield laughed and clapped Dan on the back. “Now, none of that talk, Dan!” he chided. “We’ll get the thing straightened out. Forget about it and let me do the worrying.”
Despite the Cub leader’s admonition, Dan could not drive thoughts of the tin box from his mind.
That night, from his father, he learned that it was generally known in Webster City that the Cubs had found the box. Furthermore, a number of thoughtless persons were criticizing Mr. Hatfield for not having taken better care of the money.
“It’s awkward that several people have put in a claim to the cash,” his father added.
“At least two of ’em must be fake claims, Dad.”
“I’d judge so,” agreed his father. “But to prove it may not be easy.”
On the following day, the Cubs met briefly at the church to compare notes on how they were making their suits of armor.
Mrs. Hatfield and Mrs. Holloway both were there to help the boys with the work. Brad was the only one who had finished his suit. In a burst of enthusiasm he had gone ahead, making a cardboard horse which could be worn over his shoulders.
“We ought to have the best Round Table of any of the Dens,” Dan declared, his enthusiasm at high pitch.
At that moment Babe uttered a loud wail. In the act of painting a coat of arms on a banner, he had upset a can of red paint.
“Dope!” Chips scolded the younger boy. “Why don’t you watch what you’re doing?”
“I’m sorry,” Babe mumbled. “I accidentally kicked the can with my feet.”
“Just look what you’ve done to the carpet. The church will be making us pay for it! The trustees will say the Cubs are just a bunch of careless babies who destroy property.”
“I am not a baby,” the younger boy said furiously. “It was an accident.”
“Of course it was,” interposed Mrs. Hatfield. “One we’re quite prepared for too!”
While the Cubs watched in admiration, she wiped up the paint, and cleaned the carpet with turpentine.
“There, every trace is gone,” she assured the crestfallen Babe. “Chips, a knight should practice chivalry, don’t you think?”
“What’s that?” he demanded suspiciously.
“It means being polite and courteous to others.”
“Well, Babe was awkward,” said Chips angrily.
“So are we all at times, Chips. Speaking of a Knight’s code of honor, our Den should have one. Any suggestions?”
“We already have one rule,” Dan recalled. “Be Always Ready.”
“Let’s work out some others,” suggested Mrs. Hatfield. “Everyone think hard.”
“Keep away from deep water!” Red offered eagerly.
Several of the Cubs snickered. Mrs. Hatfield, however, nodded her head approvingly.
“An excellent safety rule, Red. I think, though, we may find others which fit in a little better with knighthood.”
“Knights did a lot of fighting,” Midge said reflectively.
“Which leads us to this thought,” suggested Mrs. Hatfield. “Be prepared always to fight in defense of right, or your own country.”
“How about doing good for others?” proposed Brad.
“Excellent. Now we have three rules for our knights to follow: ‘Be Always Ready. Be Prepared. And Do Good Unto Others.’”
“They’re easy rules to remember,” Dan said. “But to follow ’em may not be quite so simple.”
The Cubs worked a while longer on their armor. As they began to grow tired, Mrs. Hatfield said it was time to break up the meeting. Before the Cubs left the church, she reminded them to keep working on their pledge list for the building fund.
“The money isn’t coming in as fast as we’d like,” she declared. “We’re especially short from the persons we expected to give fairly large amounts. So during the next few days dig in and really do your best.”
Dan and Brad were the last to leave, lingering behind to help Mrs. Hatfield and Mrs. Holloway clean up the litter.
“I guess you meant us, Mrs. Hatfield,” Brad remarked as they closed the church doors. “Dan and I haven’t been very lucky in signing up our best prospects. Especially Mr. Merrimac.”
“You’ve worked hard I know,” she praised him. “All the same, it might be worth while to call on Mr. Merrimac again. He might change his mind if you use your best powers of persuasion.”
“I doubt that, knowing him,” Brad replied gloomily. “We can try though.”
After leaving Mrs. Hatfield, the two boys walked on to the Merrimac home. Neither of them had any enthusiasm for the interview ahead.
“Well, let’s get it over with,” Brad sighed, as he shoved hard on the doorbell. “He can’t do any worse than turn us down again.”
Mr. Merrimac kept the boys waiting. Repeatedly, Brad jabbed his finger on the doorbell.
“He’s in there,” Dan insisted. “I can hear him moving around.”
“Like as not he’s seen us from a window and is hiding out,” Brad returned in disgust. “Merrimac is playing hard to get.”
Annoyed because the elderly gentleman refused to come to the door, he punched the doorbell two or three times in rapid succession and then gave up.
“Makes me sick,” he complained. “Mr. Merrimac at least ought to see us. That’s only common courtesy.”
In leaving the premises, the boys walked around toward the rear of the house.
“Why, the kitchen window is wide open!” Dan observed in surprise.
Mr. Merrimac, they both knew, was no fresh air fiend. Furthermore, the weather was far too cold for one comfortably to keep a window wide open.
“That’s funny!” Brad said, stopping short. “S-a-y!”
As the two Cubs stared in utter amazement, a pair of legs protruded from the window.
Before either Dan or Brad could recover from astonishment, a man leaped lightly to the ground. Seeing the two boys, he ducked his head and ran toward the alley.
CHAPTER 13
Hot Biscuits
“Gosh, a thief!” cried Brad, the first to recover from shock. “He’s been rifling Mr. Merrimac’s place!”
With one accord, he and Dan gave chase to the intruder.
From the start it was a losing race. The man already had put a considerable distance between himself and the Merrimac house.
Long-legged and surprisingly agile for his weight, he continued to gain on Dan and Brad.
Finally, he slipped between two buildings and was completely lost. Winded, the boys halted to consider what next to do.
“Not a chance to catch him now,” Brad puffed. “Let’s call the police, and then go back to Merrimac’s place. He may have slugged that old man.”
“Brad, didn’t you think that fellow looked like the tramp we saw out near the marsh?”
“Well, he had the same general build, Dan. I didn’t see his face.”
“Neither did I. He purposely kept his hat pulled low over his eyes. Heck, just our luck to let him get away! For all we know, he might even be the one who stole the money box.”
“That’s possible,” Brad agreed. “Our best bet is to put police on his trail. If we can furnish a good description, they may be able to pick him up.”
Circling the block to make certain the intruder had not emerged elsewhere in the vicinity, the boys sought a policeman. Unable to find one in the neighborhood, they telephoned their report to the Central station.
“Well, that’s done,” Brad said in relief. “Now let’s hustle back to Merrimac’s place and find out if the old man’s been hurt. I’ve got a mighty uneasy feeling.”
Upon arriving at the Merrimac home a few minutes later, the boys saw that the kitchen window remained wide open.
“Raise me up and I’ll look in,” Dan proposed.
Brad lifted him so that he could grab the sill and partly support his own weight.
“See anything?”
“There’s no one on the floor. But I can only see the kitchen. Think I should crawl on in?”
Brad was given no opportunity to decide, for just then a hand was laid heavily upon his shoulder.
Startled, he whirled around so suddenly, that his supporting shoulder deprived Dan of a substantial base. The younger boy lost his balance and slipped to the ground.
“What’s going on here? Trying to break in, eh?”
Dan and Brad found themselves confronted by Atwood Merrimac. A sack of groceries clutched in one hand, he held Brad with the other as he gazed sternly at the two Cubs.
“Oh, it’s you, Mr. Merrimac,” Brad murmured in relief. “We’re glad to see you’re all right.”
“I can imagine you’re glad to see me! Sort of caught you in the act, didn’t I?”
Brad and Dan were aghast.
“You don’t think—you can’t think we were trying to break in!” the latter gasped.
“Unless appearances are deceitful, you gave a first class imitation of it, my lad! How did that window get open?”
In their anxiety to clear themselves, both boys talked at once.
Mr. Merrimac’s wrinkled face softened as he listened.
“So you thought I might have been laid out,” he declared in satisfaction. “I didn’t know anyone had that much interest in my welfare!”
Then as the full implication of the open window came to him, he added anxiously:
“This makes the second time my house has been entered! I wonder what’s missing this time?”
Handing the sack of groceries to Brad, the elderly man unlocked the kitchen door.
“Come in, come in,” he invited, as the boys hesitated. “We’ll see what’s what.”
Nothing appeared to have been disturbed in the kitchen. The room however, was in a frightful state of disorder. Mr. Merrimac had not washed the breakfast dishes, and the remains of a meager lunch remained on the white porcelain table.
“I haven’t had time to clean up yet today,” he apologized. “Living alone makes one fall into careless habits.”
With the boys close at his heels, Mr. Merrimac went from room to room. In none was there any evidence that anything had been taken.
“Everything is exactly as I left it a half hour ago when I went to the grocery store,” Mr. Merrimac said in a puzzled tone. “You’re sure you saw that fellow crawling out of the window?”
“We not only saw him, we chased him down the alley,” Dan said earnestly. “You believe us, don’t you?”
“Yes, I’m not doubting your word. Only it seems strange. Twice in a week my house has been entered. This time you must have driven the thief off.”
“That’s probably what happened,” Brad agreed. “I certainly rang the doorbell hard.”
“When your place was entered that other time—you really lost money?” Dan asked hesitatingly.
“Certainly, I did. More than two thousand dollars. I kept it in a tin box in a drawer of the dining room buffet.”
Brad and Dan were convinced that the money they had found in the church must belong to Mr. Merrimac rather than to the other claimants. But if such were the case, how could the box ever have been transferred to the church basement? And what had become of it since then?
“You may be receiving a call from the police any minute,” Dan warned the old man. “We called them and reported the thief.”
“Drat it, what did you do that for?” Mr. Merrimac exploded. “Haven’t I enough trouble without being pestered by officers who’ll ask me a hundred questions.”
“I’m sorry,” Dan apologized. “We didn’t know that nothing had been taken. We weren’t even sure that you might not have been slugged.”
“There! I shouldn’t have been so testy,” Mr. Merrimac said. “You did the right thing.”
Dan and Brad decided that nothing could be gained at the moment by speaking to the old man about the church building pledge. It would be far wiser, they thought, to bring up the matter at another time.
“Come back whenever you feel like it,” Mr. Merrimac invited the Cubs as he escorted them to the front door. “I’m always glad to see you.”
“Why, thanks, Mr. Merrimac,” Dan returned, startled by the elderly man’s cordiality.
“Later on, we’ll talk about the church building fund,” Mr. Merrimac added, apparently guessing why the boys had come. “Losing all that money upset me. If I get it back, I’ll not forget you.”
With this promise, Dan and Brad had to content themselves.
All week the Cubs worked on their armor and made preparation for the scheduled Round Table gathering. So enthusiastic were all the Cubs, that it had been decided, not only Den 2, but the entire Pack comprised of three Webster City dens, would take part.
Nearly every morning before school, Dan was up early making articles which could be used at the grand knighting ceremony.
“I’m glad to see you painting and making designs,” his mother praised his work. “I wish though, you’d conduct your creative experiments outdoors. Fresh paint doesn’t go well with the pattern of the kitchen linoleum!”
Dan took the hint and used the back porch for his work.
One morning while the dew was still heavy on the ground, he was painting a triangular banner to hang on the back of a ceremonial chair. Dan brushed on two red diamonds and then experimented with a few bright blue “X” marks sprinkled at random over the surface.
“Hard at work?” inquired a friendly voice.
Dan glanced up to see the milkman looking over his shoulder. He had not heard the wagon drive up.
“Sure,” Dan grinned, moving aside so the man could reach the milk box at the doorstep. “I’m getting ready for the big Cub Scout knighting ceremony we’re to have at the church.”
“The Cubs really do a lot of interesting things,” replied the milkman. He slipped two bottles into the box and gathered up the empties. “I read the other day how the Cubs found some money—say, weren’t you the one who turned up that tin box?”
“Guilty,” agreed Dan. “I almost wish I hadn’t found it too! So many persons have put in a claim. Then to make matters worse, the box disappeared again.”
“I read about that too. Some neighbors of Mr. Hatfield told me the police gave him a pretty rough going over.”
“They questioned him, the same as they did me,” Dan replied indignantly. “But that’s routine. He doesn’t know what became of the money. Someone swiped it from his house.”
“When was the box supposed to have disappeared?”
“No one knows. We took it there the night it was found in the church. Then the next morning when the police came, Mr. Hatfield couldn’t find it.”
“You know, I’ve been wondering if I should report this,” the milkman said thoughtfully.
“Report what?”
“I didn’t think anything about it until after I’d read about the box disappearing, Dan. Then I began to wonder. I was delivering milk to the house across the street from the Hatfield place. It must have been about six o’clock.”
“What did you see?” Dan asked impatiently.
“A woman came out of the cellar exit. She seemed to be quite an old lady in a black dress and a shawl of the same color. I couldn’t see her face.”
“Mrs. Hatfield never dresses like that. She has modern clothes.”
“The woman had a bundle under her arm. The object, whatever it was, had been wrapped in a newspaper.”
“What day was this?”
“I don’t remember the date. It was the same morning Mr. Hatfield reported he lost the money. I’d have told him about it, only it didn’t register on me until yesterday that there might be any connection.”
“So far as I know no one lives at the Hatfield house except Sam, his wife, and Fred,” Dan said, deeply puzzled. “Who could the old lady have been?”
“It was no one I knew. She kept the shawl over her head, either to hide her face or protect it from the cold air.”
“Which way did she go?” Dan asked.
“I didn’t notice. As I say, at the time I thought nothing about seeing her.”
“I think Mr. Hatfield should know about this, and maybe the police,” said Dan. “So far, the only clue found is a black jet button. Apparently, it came from a woman’s dress. But how could a woman have known about the box?”
The milkman did not try to answer. Already late on his route, he started toward his wagon.
“I won’t get a chance to talk to Mr. Hatfield until late tonight,” he called over his shoulder. “If you think what I told you means anything, Dan, let him know for me.”
“I’ll do it right away,” the boy promised.
Even before the milk wagon was out of sight, he had gathered up his materials.
“Mom, how about rushing breakfast?” he asked, carrying both the milk and his work into the kitchen. “I want to see Mr. Hatfield before I go to school.”
“I’ll set the food right on,” his mother promised.
Dan ate on the fly. “Don’t look for me after school tonight,” he advised as he banged out the door. “The Cubs are having a cook-out.”
At the Hatfield home, Dan found the Cub leader, his wife, and Fred eating their own breakfast.
“Have a roll and some chocolate with us,” Mrs. Hatfield invited.
“I’ve had my breakfast,” Dan replied, eyeing the sugary hot roll with a greedy eye.
“Oh, a growing boy always can eat a little more,” Mrs. Hatfield laughed, offering him a chair. “Do have something with us, Dan.”
Thus urged, the boy slid into the seat by the window. As he sipped hot chocolate, he told Mr. Hatfield what the milkman had reported.
“An elderly woman in black!” Mrs. Hatfield exclaimed. “I can’t imagine!”
“You’ve had no cleaning woman?” asked Dan.
“Not in weeks, Dan. And no visitors at such an early hour of the morning.”
“I locked all the doors that night we brought the box here,” Mr. Hatfield said slowly.
“The one opening into the cellar?” his wife asked him.
“Well—I’m not sure.”
“Which means you didn’t,” Mrs. Hatfield said. “Oh, Sam, you were careless.”
“I’m afraid so,” the Cub leader admitted. “After all the preaching I’ve done to the Cubs too.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Dan said loyally. “Until lately, it’s never been necessary to lock a house up tight to keep one’s belongings safe.”
“This always has been a good neighborhood,” Mr. Hatfield agreed. “That fact gave me a false sense of security, I’m afraid.”
“If the milkman saw a woman leaving the house, that’s obviously where the money box went,” Mrs. Hatfield declared, refilling Dan’s cup with chocolate. “It explains too why the police found a jet button near where the box had been hidden.”
“But who could the woman have been?” Mr. Hatfield murmured. “So far as we know, the only person besides the Cubs who knew about the box was that man caught peeping into the church.”
“He must have told others,” Mrs. Hatfield reasoned. “We can be fairly certain of that because so many claims were put in for the money.”
“Learning about this woman convinces me of one thing,” said Mr. Hatfield. “I’m positive none of the Cubs told about the box. The leak came from another source.”
“Will you tell police?” Dan questioned.
“Yes, Dan. This clue may be the most important one yet. I’ve begun to think though, that the money never will be recovered. In that case, if the rightful claimant can prove his assertion, I’ll make good the loss.”
“That doesn’t seem fair, Mr. Hatfield,” Dan protested.
“I assumed responsibility for the money, Dan. Seemingly it was lost through my carelessness. I couldn’t face the Cubs if I didn’t make good.”
Dan said no more. He knew that Mr. Hatfield, being a man of honor, would keep his word. However, he realized also that the Hatfields were only moderately well fixed and could not afford to lose so much of their savings.
“Now don’t worry about it, Dan,” Mr. Hatfield said as they all arose from the breakfast table. “You’re taking this matter entirely too seriously. Everything will come out in the wash.”
“If the money isn’t found, we’ll give up that new car we had intended to buy,” declared Mrs. Hatfield. “Expensive automobiles are an unnecessary luxury.”
Dan looked so troubled that Mr. Hatfield, to take his mind off the money box, said quickly:
“All set for the cook-out tonight?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Remind all the Cubs to meet here at my house right after school. Now you and Fred had better get along to school, or you’ll be late.”
Dan thanked the Hatfields for the breakfast, and gathering up his books, went off with Fred.
Later, after school had been dismissed for the day, all the Cubs met at Mr. Hatfield’s home for the hike and cook-out.
No more was said about the missing tin box, for the Cub leader felt that the matter had been too much discussed. He preferred to have the boys center thoughts on the Knight Crusade and their own activities.
Nevertheless, Dan fell into step with Brad as they set off for the marsh area, again bringing up the recent incident at Mr. Merrimac’s home. So far as either boy knew, police had not been able to catch the man who had fled from the dwelling.
“Brad, do you suppose there could be any connection between that thief and the woman who took the tin box?” Dan speculated.
“Search me,” Brad returned, shifting his knapsack to the other shoulder. “Let’s forget the money for tonight and just have fun. Mr. Hatfield’s worried enough without us always reminding him of it.”
“You’re right,” Dan agreed, properly set down. “Guess I have had it on my mind a lot lately.”
The boys hiked to an old mill of historical interest. After spending a while there, they back-tracked to the marshland area.
“I wonder if that old tramp is still camped out in the new house?” Dan speculated as they passed the construction site.
Mr. Hatfield heard the remark.
“I can answer that one,” he informed the group. “I talked to Mr. Keeler, the contractor. He checked and found you boys were right.”
“Then the man was a tramp?” Brad asked.
“Yes, he had managed to get in through a cellar window, and then had unlocked the door from inside. Until he was caught, he enjoyed quite a comfortable existence.”
“Arrested?” Brad questioned.
“No, he slipped away before Mr. Keeler could call police. I understand no damage was done to the property. He easily could have set the place on fire though.”
“Say, when do we eat?” demanded Midge, impatiently. “The sun’s getting low.”
“We can stop anywhere,” Mr. Hatfield said. “Look for a suitable place.”
“How about the one we used last time?” suggested Chips. “It will save us clearing the ground.”
The other Cubs shared Chip’s impatience, so a little farther on, a halt was called. While Brad and Dan built a fire, Mr. Hatfield set up a reflector oven which he had made from a square five-gallon oil can.
“Pretty fancy, aren’t we?” Red said admiringly. “What are we eating?”
“Biscuits, fried eggs and bacon. How does it sound?”
“Swell!” Red answered, smacking his lips. “Just lead me to it.”
“Lead you to it, like fun!” snorted Brad. “You’re gonna help stir up the biscuits, not have ’em served to you golden brown on a tin plate!”
“Me? Make biscuits? I don’t know how.”
“You can learn,” the Den Chief assured him. “Nothing to it when you use biscuit mix. You just add water and stir.”
While the other Cubs gathered wood, he showed Red how to mix the biscuits and drop them evenly on a metal sheet.
“Each Cub can cook his own bacon and eggs,” Brad said, producing a sheet of tinfoil. “Shape ’em into little pans, and fry the bacon just enough to make a little grease. Then drop in the eggs. You can use the crinkled foil for a plate too, and not have to wash a dish.”
“What a brain! What a brain!” This praise came from Midge, who above everything else hated to wash dishes.
Soon the wood had burned down to coals. As the reflector oven heated up, Mr. Hatfield tested it, and told Red he could put in the biscuits.
“It won’t be long now, boys,” he said. “While we’re waiting for the biscuits to bake, I wish a couple of you would go for some more water. Try that first house down the road.”