The Curse of the Ancient Emerald by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

said.
    I moved to stand next to Frank and turned around. The living room was still dark, but Trethaway reached out and flicked the light switch. He stared at us curiously.
    â€œWhat are you doing in my house?” he asked. “I don’t have anything to steal.”
    â€œWe’re not here to steal from you!” I protested.
    â€œNo? Then you won’t mind if I call the cops?” He reached into his jacket, and that was when I saw that he wasn’t holding a gun at all, but a small cardboard tube of what looked like . . .
    Candy? I’d seriously thought a cardboard tube was a gun? In my defense, the candy tube was about the same circumference.
    Trethaway upended the tube into his mouth. He tossed it onto the couch and took out his cell phone, crunching away while he studied us.
    â€œSeriously. What do you want?”
    â€œLike you don’t know,” I said.
    â€œNo. I don’t.”
    â€œWhere were you tonight?” Frank demanded.
    â€œThe movies. Late show.”
    â€œHah. A likely story,” said Frank. “Any proof?”
    Trethaway fished in his pocket and pulled out a ticket stub. He handed it over and I inspected it. It was dated today. And it was for the ten p.m. show.
    â€œThat means nothing. You could have bought the ticket as an alibi and slipped out again.”
    â€œAn alibi for what ?”
    â€œFor impersonating the Phantom and stealing from the Civil War exhibit at Bayport’s town hall.”
    Trethaway’s eyes grew wide. “Seriously? Kruger’s at it again? This is great! Well . . . obviously , not great. But great for my book! What did he steal? Has there been more than one robbery? Why isn’t it in the news?”
    He ran over to his desk and scrambled around for a notepad and pencil.
    â€œUh, Frank?” I said.
    â€œYes, Joe?”
    I held out my hand. Frank sighed and fished around in his pocket until he found a ten-dollar bill.
    â€œI’ll owe you the rest,” he said, handing it over.
    â€œDon’t feel so bad. At least we know it has to be Kruger now.”
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    I woke up the next day ready to take on the world. Well, to take on Kruger, at any rate.
    The first thing I did was check the mail. No riddle. Which was a bit worrisome, because this was the final day. If we didn’t catch the Phantom in the act tonight, we’d never catch him.
    Frank was already up. He had the car keys in his hand when I entered the kitchen to grab some breakfast.
    â€œReady?” he asked.
    â€œFor breakfast? Always.”
    â€œNo. To go see Kruger.”
    â€œNow?”
    â€œNow.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œCome on, Joe. We don’t have much time.”
    I sighed, then grabbed a couple of apples from the fruit bowl, and we headed out to the car.
    Sunday traffic was light; it didn’t take us long to get to Kruger’s. His home wasn’t anything impressive. A small, one-story house with a neatly trimmed yard. It looked deserted.
    â€œYou think he’s flown the coop?”
    â€œNo,” said Frank. “Still one more riddle. One thing I’ve learned over the past couple of days is that this guy has an ego. He won’t leave without finishing what he started.”
    As we sat there, an old pickup truck pulled up. It was Kruger. He got out and stretched.
    We hurried across the street. Kruger saw us coming and, I have to say, did not look happy.
    â€œBoys,” he said, “I’m in a bit of a hurry. Have to drop some parts off at the shop.”
    â€œOn a Sunday?” I asked.
    â€œNeed them for tomorrow. Rush repair job. I had to head out of town yesterday to get the parts.”
    â€œWait,” said Frank. “You’re saying you’ve been out of town?”
    â€œUh . . . yeah.”
    â€œLast night, too?”
    â€œYes!”
    â€œWhere?” I asked.
    â€œWhy?” he