The Curse of the Ancient Emerald by Franklin W. Dixon

the alley, emerging one block over. Now we were on the same street we had used to get to the town hall in the first place. That meant our parked car wasn’t far away. If only we could get to it.
    More sirens. We ducked back into the alley, hunkering down in the shadows as they sped past.
    â€œYou think they’ll catch him?” asked Joe.
    â€œI doubt it. He’s too slippery. Speaking of which . . .” I pulled off my mask and stuffed it into my backpack, wiping the sweat from my face.
    â€œYou think this is a good idea?” asked Joe, taking his off as well.
    â€œBetter than getting caught wearing them. At least like this we can come up with an excuse if we need to.”
    My phone beeped, indicating an incoming message. It was a text from Amber.
    EVERYTHING OK? WE MADE IT OUT. DROPPING CHET OFF AND HEADING HOME.
    I quickly texted back. SO FAR SO GOOD. THE LOCKER @ 11 A.M.?
    SEE YOU THEN.
    â€œChet and Amber are clear,” I said, putting my phone away.
    Joe breathed a sigh of relief. “One less thing to worry about.”
    â€œLet’s get back to the car,” I said. I peered out of the alley and saw that the street was deserted. We slipped out and headed along the sidewalk. I wasn’t sure if we should run as fast as we could or just walk calmly. Running meant we got away faster, but if we were caught, it would look suspicious. Walking meant it took us longer and there was more chance of being discovered, but if that did happen, we could try and talk our way out of it.
    We couldn’t even dump our masks, because our DNA was all over them. I wasn’t sure if the Bayport police had DNA profiling kits, but better to be safe than sorry.
    We heard sirens a few streets over as we turned onto the road where we had left our car. It was still there, and even better, there were no police waiting for us.
    I climbed behind the wheel and rolled down the window. The sirens were coming from the east, so I started the engine and headed west.
    â€œWhere are you going?” asked Joe after a while. “Home’s the other way.”
    â€œWe’re not going home.”
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    Half an hour later, I hopped out of the car and knocked on Trethaway’s door. Nothing. I knocked harder, but there was no answer. I headed around the back and tested the window Joe had opened yesterday.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” asked Joe, now standing behind me.
    â€œLooking for evidence. And if I don’t find that, waiting for Trethaway to get back.”
    â€œAre you serious?”
    I paused and looked back at Joe. “Yes. I’m tired of all these games. Our families have been threatened, we almost got busted by the police tonight, I nearly fell off the roof, and who knows what he stole from the museum. I want this finished before he decides it’s over. Which means we have to do it tonight. Tomorrow is the last riddle, remember?”
    I climbed through the window and headed into the bedroom, where the pile of magazines still sat. I picked up a few of them, but I couldn’t see any that had words and letters cut out.
    Next I went for the computer while Joe hung around the front door, shifting from foot to foot.
    â€œI don’t like this,” he said. “If you’re so sure it’s him, we should call the police. Maybe they’ve already caught him!”
    â€œWe can’t call the police. If they haven’t caught him, he’s still free to carry out his threats. We’ll wait here and confront him when he comes home.”
    Then I heard an ominous click, like a gun being cocked.
    â€œConfront me about what?” growled Trethaway.
    I looked up and saw that Joe had stiffened. Trethaway was standing behind him, and from the look of it, he had a gun shoved up against Joe’s back.

THE FINAL COUNTDOWN
12
JOE
    T RETHAWAY PRODDED ME IN THE back with what felt like a pistol. “Next to your brother,” he