The Clue in the Embers by Franklin W. Dixon

didn’t have any of Eduardo’s wood pieces handy at the time. He probably figured we wouldn’t know the difference.”
    Around the corner, where Mr. Hardy had parked his car, the trio met Sam Radley. The assistant reported that the mustached man had not been back to the apartment while either he or his relief man was on duty.
    When the Hardys returned home Aunt Gertrude told the boys that Tony Prito had called. He had told her that Mr. Scath had estimated the collection to be worth about two thousand dollars and had asked him to take away the things he wanted.
    â€œYou’re supposed to go over there with Tony this evening,” Aunt Gertrude concluded.
    Shortly after dinner Frank and Joe drove off in the convertible to Tony’s. There, they transferred to Mr. Prito’s small pickup truck.
    â€œLet’s get Chet,” Joe said. “I’ll bet he’s just sitting around worrying about the threat he received. Maybe he’d enjoy helping us.”
    The others grinned and Tony said, “You know how he loves to work—not at all!”
    Chet was finally persuaded to join the group and they drove off. The museum had closed for the evening by the time the boys arrived. Mr. Scath suggested that the four boys go to the storage shed at the rear of the museum grounds for some crates and pack the articles in them.
    Tony donated some pieces to the museum which the curator had selected, then said, “We’ll carry the rest of the stuff back to my place. Let’s put it in the cellar.”
    As the boys went to the rear door, Mr. Scath handed the key to Chet, who was the last one out. The four crossed the dark yard and entered the shed. A stack of various-sized crates was piled near the door.
    â€œNow I know why you asked me to come along,” Chet said. “You needed a strong man like me.”
    â€œThat’s right.” Frank laughed. “So we’ll give you the privilege of carrying two crates instead of one at a time.”
    â€œOkay.” Chet grinned. “I’ll take two little ones.”
    Suddenly Joe put his finger to his lips. “Sh-h!” he warned.
    The boys stopped short. A faint cry had sounded from the museum.
    â€œHelp!”
    It was Mr. Scath’s voice.
    â€œHelp!” The cry died out.

CHAPTER XIII
    News of Buried Treasure
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    DROPPING the crates, the boys ran to answer Mr. Scath’s call for help. After the two outcries, they had heard nothing more.
    â€œI don’t see how anyone could have broken in,” Frank said.
    â€œI’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.”
    â€œSomeone 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.
    â€œBe 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.
    â€œHe 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.
    â€œThere’s blood on his face!” Tony exclaimed. “He’s been hit in the head!”
    â€œAnd 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