“ He knew the value of fingerprint comparisons as a means of tracing criminals.
But Bob knew the brass key had passed through many hands that very morning, since the discovery of the crime. And Hiram’s own fingers and thumbs would have left on the surface marks that would have obliterated any of the whorls, curves and twists of the criminal.
As you doubtless know if you take up a shiny piece of metal in your fingers you will leave on it the impression of the tips, or balls, of your fingers or thumbs, as is also the case if you thus handle a piece of looking-glass. ”

“ How’ll we know?”
“Well, let’s get busy!” suggested Bob. “Let’s see if the story of the cipher is borne out. Let’s dig for the treasure!”
“That’s the idea!” cried Hiram. “Wait, I’ll get some shovels. We’ll go to the buttercup lot. Hank always called it that, for it’s fair like a plate of butter in the summer time, with yellow flowers. But he never pastured any cows there. I wondered at him writing about cows.”
“You should worry now!” joked Ned. “You’ll be a rich man in a little while, if things turn out right.”
Then they set out to dig up the treasure. ”

“ The chest was closed with a heavy padlock, but it was so rusted that a few blows from a spade shattered it.
The lid was pried back, on squeaking hinges and there, revealed in the light of the sun, was, what seemed to the boys, millions of dollars in gold—old gold coins of a bygone age.
“We’ve found it!” shouted Harry, capering about. “We have it!”
“That’s the treasure all right!” added Ned. “You’re a millionaire, Mr. Beegle!”
“Not so loud!” cautioned Bob. “You don’t want all Cliffside rushing out here. Go easy!”
His chums calmed down and then an examination of the gold was made. ”

“ At hearing repeated to him the very words he had used in reference to the brass box, Bill turned pale.
“Wha—what’s it all about? Who are you, anyhow?” he gasped and there was a look of fear on his face as he gazed at Bob.
“He’s just an amateur detective, that’s all,” chuckled Harry.
“But I guess he’s solved this mystery,” added Ned.
“No, not quite all,” admitted Bob with a smile. “We have yet to find the treasure. Bill had a try at it, but he couldn’t locate it. Now we’ve got to solve the puzzle. Do you mind opening that box, Mr. Beegle? It isn’t difficult. The difficulty lies inside, I think. ”

“ And as a horse cannot rise if you hold his head down, so, neither, can a man, and Bill was in just this situation.
“Let me up, you young rascals! Let me up! I’ll have the law on you for this! I’ll call the police! What do you mean? Hiram, what’s the game? You asked me here to talk about the treasure—you said you might divide it, and now—stop! stop!” yelled Jolly Bill.
And well might he yell “stop!” for he felt many hands fumbling at his wooden leg. Hands were unbuckling the straps that held the wooden limbs to his stump. And Hiram’s hands were among these.
“Stop! Stop!” angrily cried Bill. ”

“ Eagerly and anxiously he watched now for the next move on the part of the old sailor. For it was on this move that much might depend.
Having stretched himself, and rubbed his eyes to remove therefrom as much as possible of the “sleep,” by a process of dry washing, Jolly Bill prepared for his day’s activities by reaching out for his wooden leg.
“Now,” whispered Bob to himself, as he stood gazing through his peep-hole in the painted transom, “am I right or am I wrong? It won’t take long to tell if things work out the way I expect they will. Steady now!” he told himself. ”

“ And even if it had been no show would go so far off the beaten path as to ascend Storm Mountain with a herd of elephants.
Granting that a circus had been there, and that a lone elephant had wandered off to tramp around the lonely cabin of Hiram Beegle, the marks were too few in number to have been made by any normal elephant.
“What are they, Bob?” asked Ned again. “How could they be made by an elephant?”
The young detective did not answer for a moment, but he was rapidly thinking. The elephant idea was absurd, of course. An elephant has four feet. ”

“ He’s nothing but a constable, and never will be anything but a constable. He calls himself chief because the selectmen wouldn’t raise his salary. I’ve known Sam Drayton ever since he was knee high to a grasshopper and he’s no more fit to be Chief of Police than I am—not half as much as you are, Bob Dexter, though I don’t set any great store by your detective work. ”

“ Just what Bob hoped to find out or prove he hardly knew in his own mind. Certainly he did not tell Ned or Harry, for he couldn’t. It was all so vague—merely a suspicion.
“What’s got into old Bob lately?” asked Harry of Ned, a few days after the futile chase of the milk train.
“Oh, he’s working on that Storm Mountain mystery, you can depend on that.”
“Has he said anything to you about it?”
“Nothing special. Bob never does when he’s following close on a clew. But he said he might not see us for a few days.” ”

“ Beegle headed for Bob’s machine, the engine of which was still running, but before starting off with the old man the young detective bethought him that he had better make a few inquiries.
“Look here, Mr. Beegle,” said the lad frankly, “I’m very glad to be able to help you and give you a lift, but I must know that this is all straight. I don’t want to find out afterward that I’ve been taking part in a crime.”
“A crime, what do you mean?” the old man seemed indignant.
“I mean there’s been violence done to you. You carry something you intimate is valuable,” and Bob nodded toward the box. ”

“ It isn’t the right kind of earth.”
“Do you know,” said Jolly Bill with a frank and engaging smile, “I am beginning to believe that myself. All I’ve turned up the last half hour has been one poor, miserable little worm. Must be an orphan, I reckon,” and he laughed heartily.
“That’s what I been telling him,” spoke the voice of Hiram Beegle from the doorway of his log cabin. “You’ll never get any bait there, Bill, and you might as well quit. Down back where the stable used to be are worms aplenty.” ”

“ Oh, he was a cute one, Hank was!”
“Do you think he planned it all this way?” asked Ned.
“He must have,” asserted Bob.
“It was leaving a good deal to chance,” was Harry’s opinion. “Just supposing Hiram hadn’t saved that envelope?”
“In that case we’d be out of luck,” Bob said. “But I think Mr. Denby must have known Hiram would save the key to the cipher. If he hadn’t thought that he’d have made up some other way of letting it be known where the treasure was buried.”
“Maybe it’s all a joke,” murmured Ned. “I mean, maybe there isn’t any treasure buried after all. ”

“ For the throng of curious ones had followed the organ grinder down the mountain trail, it seemed. Not often did one of these traveling musicians, if such they may be called, invade Storm Mountain, and the simple inhabitants of that isolated and rural community welcomed their visits.
Such careful examination as Bob and his chums, with the aid of the police chiefs and Jolly Bill Hickey, gave to the strong room, or vault in the log cabin, revealed no visible means by which a large brass key could have been passed inside after the door was locked. ”

“ Granting that an elephant could jump from one stand to another, and so leaving a place without any marks for a considerable distance, did not fit in with the theory.
“I can tell you what made these marks,” broke out Jolly Bill with his characteristic laugh, while Bob was on the verge of saying something.
“What did?” asked Harry. “A bird?”
“No,” replied the bald-headed, and wooden-legged man who had appeared so unexpectedly on the scene, claiming to be a friend of Hiram Beegle. “No! They were made by some one carrying a sack of potatoes, and setting it down every now and then to rest. ”

“ And Ned puffed out his chest.
“Stow that talk!” chuckled Bob. “But I mean I got the Italian here so he would be out of his room at the Railroad House.”
“Ah, noble youth! Providing entertainment—to say nothing of food—for the poor and downtrodden! Atta boy, Bob!”
“Cut it out! I don’t mean that way! I asked the dago here so he wouldn’t be in his room.”
“Naturally if he’s here he can’t be in his room,” bantered Ned. “Two objects can’t occupy the same place at the same time. Neither can even an Italian organ grinder be in two places at once. Q.E.D. you know, Bob!” ”

“ The organ man appeared inclined to stop and grind out a tune, hoping, perhaps, to charm some pennies from the pockets of those in the flivver, either by his music, of which the less said the better, or by the antics of his monkey, which was the usual small variety, attired in coat, trousers and a cap—a shameful degrading of a decent simian. ”

“ Somebody had a sack of potatoes.”
“No potatoes!” cried Mr. Beegle. “I didn’t carry any, and no one brought me any. It must be something else, my boy. But no potatoes!”
He looked at the young detective earnestly. Then some sort of doubt, or suspicion seemed to enter his mind, for he said:
“Look here, Bob, my boy! You aren’t stringing me, are you?”
“Stringing you, Mr. Beegle? No, of course not! Why do you ask that?”
“Because of this potato business. I thought maybe you were trying to play a joke. Lots of people think they can joke with a sailor.”
“No,” replied the lad, “I’m in dead seriousness. ”

“ Hiram Beegle carried the box under his arm, and without setting it down he went to a cupboard in the wall and thrust in his hand. There was a sort of clicking sound, as if machinery was operating and Bob started.
Well he might, for close beside him, as he stood near a wall of the log cabin—a wall made of smooth boards—a sort of secret panel dropped, revealing a little recess or hiding place. And in this niche was a large brass key.
“It isn’t every one I let see the place I keep the key to my strong room,” chuckled the old man. “But I trust you and Judge Weston. ”

“ True, there was the brass box, and as Bill, with his wooden leg not yet strapped to his stump sat looking at it on the edge of his bed, Bob could not but believe that it was the treasure box willed to Hiram Beegle, and stolen from that old sailor. ”

“ The place had been straightened out since the night of the robbery, and there were evidences of a woman’s hand. So Bob judged Mrs. Shan had been putting the log cabin to rights.
“I thought I’d like to satisfy myself on a few points about this case,” began Bob. “Chief Duncan said I might try my hand at solving it.”
“Somebody needs to do it,” spoke Hiram Beegle. “It’s a queer case. If I don’t get back that map I’ll never know where the treasure is hid, and I’ll never get it.” ”

“ Drayton, somewhat crestfallen, “that’s so. I forgot about the booty being in a small box. But who was here with a sack of potatoes?” he demanded, as if no one could answer.
“Might have been Hiram himself,” suggested Jolly Bill. “He always was a great hand for potatoes when he and I were shipmates together. Like as not he lugged some spuds in for the winter.”
“Or some farmer may have brought him a bag,” added Harry. “I guess, Ned, this clew isn’t going to amount to anything.”
“Just my luck!” said Ned with a quizzical smile. “We’ll have to let Bob work this out. What say, Bob?” ”

“ Beegle must have opened his brass-bound box and have looked at the map inside between the time he got home with it and the time it was taken from him. And by looking at the map he must know where the stuff is buried.”
“That’s so,” agreed Harry.
“Not so fast!” exclaimed Jolly Bill. “It isn’t so easy to look at a map and then find the place it refers to. We found that out when we went to the South Sea island. You’ve got to have the map right with you, and work your course along fathom by fathom. Hiram would need the map to find where Hank had hid anything. ”

“ There’s no sense to it. I don’t believe there is any treasure. I believe Hank used it all up himself and then left this silly paper to tease you, Hiram. It’s a lot of bosh!”
And when Bob Dexter and his chums glanced at the paper they were inclined to agree with Jolly Bill, who now was far from what his name indicated.
For written in a plain, legible hand in black ink on what seemed to be a bit of old parchment, was this strange message:
It will not do to dignify, or, let us say, to magnify a sun spot. ”

“ Smilingly, Pietro Margolis leaned on his spade and regarded Bob Dexter. The Italian had been using a spade to good advantage in the bramble patch of old Hank Denby.
“You plant these monkey nuts very deep, don’t you?” asked Bob, calling the objects the Italian had shown him “nuts,” though he was not certain on this point.
“Sure—got to be deep,” said the organ grinder, though he had temporarily abandoned that occupation it seemed. “No deep—no grow.” ”

“ On his way to the log cabin the lad in his flivver passed a small hotel or boarding house on the outskirts of the town. It was not a very choice or reputable place, and it did not much surprise Bob to see, sunning himself out in front, the bewhiskered Italian organ grinder.
“Business must be pretty good that he can afford to stay there,” thought the lad. “Of course the board isn’t so very expensive, but I always thought these organ grinders had to sleep under hay stacks and beg their food in order to get along. But there he is!” ”

“ Hiram Beegle opened his mouth, but instead of words there came out only a meaningless jumble of sounds.
“He’s been poisoned,” explained Chief Duncan.
“Poisoned?” cried Bob.
“Or something like that,” went on the Cliffside official. “It’s dope, or something that the robber gave him—maybe it’s chloroform, for all I can tell, though it doesn’t smell like that. Anyhow he’s knocked out and can’t tell much that’s happened.”
“Robbed! Robbed!” gasped Hiram Beegle, bringing out the words with pitiful effort.
“Yes, he’s been robbed—we’re sure of that,” said Sam Drayton.
“Box! Box!” ”

“ I’ve been away a long time as it is.”
“That’s right,” said his chums.
“Well, I’ll see you again some time,” remarked Jolly Bill, as they left him at the Mansion House—a hotel hardly living up to its name—but good enough for the purpose. “I’m going to stick around a while and see if I can help Hiram. Of course I feel a bit sore that I didn’t get a share in the big part of the treasure, but it served me right for letting Rod lead me astray in attacking Hank. I deserve all I’m getting, and I’m not complaining.” ”

“ Mr. Beegle showed me that yesterday afternoon. The only opening to the outer air is the chimney—no man could get in or out that way.”
“But somebody did!” said Chief Drayton. “And that’s where the mystery comes in.”
“Let’s hear how it happened—from the beginning,” suggested Harry. “Suppose you tell your story first, Bob, so we’ll know just how much of it you saw.”
“Do you want me to tell, Mr. Beegle?” asked Bob, for he remembered his promise to the old man.
Hiram Beegle tried to talk, but about the only words Bob could distinguish were “cupboard” and “key.” ”