Triumphantly, he brought out the tin box. “Dan Carter and the Money Box” (See Page 188)

Contents

1 The Stranger in the Storm 1 2 The Metal Box 13 3 Jack, the Runaway 27 4 High Water 35 5 Two Claimants 43 6 A “Tough” Customer 54 7 The Last Straw 64 8 Round Table Plans 73 9 A “Deserted” House 85 10 Widow Jones 92 11 “Do Your Best” 100 12 A Pair of Legs 111 13 Hot Biscuits 121 14 Beside the Camp Fire 140 15 A Hint from Jack 151 16 Inside the Log 160 17 Through the Window 177 18 Pursuit 190 19 “I Promise” 197 20 Knights of the Round Table 208

CHAPTER 1
The Stranger in the Storm

Burrowing deep into the hoods of their slickers, the two Cub Scouts hastened along the darkening street.

Stinging gusts of rain pelted their faces. The strong wind fairly bowled them off their feet.

“Say Brad, this is awful!”

“It’s sure coming down—and how!” agreed the older boy.

Brad Wilber, dark-haired and serious, was a Boy Scout and a leader among the younger boys. An outstanding athlete and nearly ready for high school, he served as Den Chief of the Webster City Cubs.

His companion, the blue-eyed, sandy-haired Dan Carter, had just turned ten.

Firm of muscle and old for his years, the younger boy grew so fast it was hard to keep him in Cub uniforms.

He and Brad had been good friends ever since Sam Hatfield had organized Den 2. On this particular evening, they had been overtaken by the storm on their way to a Cub meeting at the church.

“Say, let’s hold up a second!” Dan gasped as a heavy curtain of rain veiled the sidewalk ahead.

The pair halted a moment under a store awning, there to catch their breath.

“This may turn to ice or sleet before the night’s over,” Brad said anxiously. “Then watch the cars pile up!”

“It’s almost cold enough for sleet,” Dan agreed with a shiver. “The storm certainly rolled in fast. Maybe Sam Hatfield decided to call off the Cub meeting.”

Brad moved back against the building wall to escape the awning drip. “Not Sam,” he said cheerfully. “He knows the Cubs are tough. Anyway, we’re a little late. The others are probably at the church now, waiting for us.”

From their shelter the two boys could see the church building a half block ahead, on the opposite side of the street.

The windows on the lower floor shone dimly through the wall of rain.

“The place is lighted, so Sam must be there at least,” Brad commented. “Shall we go on now? We don’t want to be late and hold up the meeting.”

“Okay,” Dan agreed, buttoning his slicker which had pulled apart.

Heads low, they bored directly into the wind. The rain scarcely had slackened. Droplets dashed into their eyes, completely blinding them.

The boys were nearly opposite the church when Brad, who was ahead, ran full tilt into a man huddling against a building wall.

“I’m sorry,” the boy apologized. “I didn’t see you standing there.”

“Watch where you’re going next time!” the other growled.

Because the man spoke in such a surly tone, Brad looked him over carefully.

The fellow was no one he ever had seen before. His face, beneath a snap-brim hat which dripped rain, appeared shadowy and unfriendly. He might have been thirty years of age, maybe older. A day-old beard made it difficult to judge.

“Sorry,” Brad apologized again.

He and Dan started on, only to be stopped in their tracks by a question.

“Hey, kids,” the stranger addressed them, “what’s going on over

there?”

“Over where?” demanded Dan.

“In that church. It’s lighted up like a Christmas tree.”

“Oh, just a Cub meeting,” Dan explained briefly.

Again he and Brad tried to move away, but the stranger more or less blocked the street.

“A Cub meeting?” the man echoed. “What’s that?”

Brad had a feeling that the stranger in asking such a stupid question was stalling for time. He seemed to be looking over the two boys, studying them.

“It’s the younger boy program of the Boy Scouts of America,” Brad explained briefly. “We have a whale of a lot of fun.”

“But what’s the church doing all lighted up?”

“Dan told you,” Brad said patiently. “The Cubs are having their monthly meeting.”

His answer still did not satisfy the stranger. “But the church has been closed, hasn’t it?” he mumbled.

“That’s right.” Brad began to edge away for he resented the delay.

“The church was closed nearly a month while repairs were made on the heating system,” Dan added. “Now the work is finished, so services will be held again.”

Muttering something, the stranger turned and slouched off in the rain.

“Queer duck,” Brad commented as he and Dan started to cross the flooded street. “What did he mumble?”

“I’m not sure I caught it right. I thought he said: ‘A fine thing!’”

“Must be a screwball, Dan. Somehow I didn’t like his appearance.”

“Same here. His eyes were so intent they gave me the creeps. Wonder why he was interested in the church anyhow?”

“Oh, idle curiosity, I suppose. You didn’t know him?”

“Never clapped eyes on him before,” Dan replied, leaping over a river of gutter flow. “He must be new in Webster City.”

The boys had reached the vestibule of the church.

Brad pulled open the heavy double doors and they went in out of the rain. Shaking out their slickers, they hung them up before entering the main part of the church.

The room smelled of fresh paint and seemed rather cold. Lights were on, however.

Hearing voices, Brad and Dan tramped on back to a small meeting chamber in the rear of the building.

All of the Cubs had gathered there—Chips Davis, Midge Holloway, Red Suell, Fred Hatfield, and Babe Bunning, the youngest addition to the Den.

Babe, whose real name was Clarence, barely had passed his eighth birthday.

Because he was the youngest Cub in the Den the fellows made it a little tough for him, calling him Babe Bunning instead of his real name.

Babe didn’t like to be kidded, but he was game—all the Cubs admitted that.

“Say, we thought you guys weren’t coming,” Chips greeted Brad and Dan. “How’d you get here anyhow?”

“On a raft,” Dan bantered. “Hit a lamppost on Main Street and had to swim the rest of the way.”

“Oh, go on!” Chips laughed. “I guess the storm’s let up.”

“Like fun it has,” Dan corrected. “Look at the rain sluicing down those windows.”

Sam Hatfield, the assistant Cub leader, seemed unconcerned about the storm. He told the boys he had his car parked at the rear of the church. If the rain failed to let up before the meeting ended, he planned to take everyone home.

“And now let’s forget the storm and get down to business,” he said, calling the meeting to order. “We have some important matters to take up tonight.”

To stir their blood and start the session off, the boys gave the Cub yell.

Like healthy young wolves, they howled in unison: “A-h-h-kay Iaa! W-e-e-l d-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-r Best!”

“And that’s exactly what I hope we’ll do in the job that’s ahead of us—our best,” Mr. Hatfield emphasized as the room became quiet again. “You fellows know why I called you here tonight?”

“It’s something about the church building fund, isn’t it?” Midge Holloway recalled. He had heard his father, one of the Den “Dads” mention the matter at home.

“That’s right,” Mr. Hatfield agreed. “As everyone knows, we need a new church or, at the very least, another wing. Now that temporary repairs have been made, the building can be kept open another year or so. Our crying need, though, is for a new building.”

“A campaign is under way to raise funds, isn’t it?” Brad remarked, for Mr. Hatfield had discussed the matter with him.

“Yes, Brad. The church trustees have asked the Cub Scouts to pitch in and help. What do you say, fellows?”

“How much will we have to raise?” Chips asked, running a hand through his short-cropped hair.

“No definite sum has been set. We’ll be given a list of prospects to see. Whatever we raise will be that much to the good.”

“I vote we do it,” said Brad.

“Same here,” agreed Dan heartily. “We’ve used the church meeting room, so it’s only fair we help ’em a little.”

Midge, Red, Babe and Fred said they were willing to go along with the idea, even though it meant hard work.

Chips gave consent by silence. Never as enthusiastic a worker as the other Cubs, he wasn’t too keen over the thought of ringing doorbells.

Mr. Hatfield gave the boys instructions and handed out pledge cards.

“Our program this month isn’t entirely one of hard work,” the Cub leader then said cheerfully. “How many of you have read the story of King Arthur’s Knights of the Round Table?”

Three hands waved in the breeze, and all faces brightened.

“We’re using the King Arthur theme to dramatize important points in a Cub crusade to “Strengthen the Arm of Liberty,” Mr. Hatfield went on. “We’ll make our own Round Table, armor, spears and maybe horses for the knights to ride. How does the idea strike you fellows?”

“Swell!” shouted three of the Cubs.

The other boys were equally excited. Eagerly they plied the Cub Scout leader with questions. How would the Round Table be made? What would they use for armor?

“One question at a time,” laughed Mr. Hatfield. “It would be great if we could build a huge oak table such as King Arthur and his knights used in the old days. I’m afraid it would be an ambitious attempt.”

“Can’t we use an old dining-room table—one that’s circular?” Brad suggested.

“That’s what I had in mind. By the way, who knows why King Arthur used a round table?”

Dan, who had read the book, had an answer. “Wasn’t it so he could provide a place of equal importance for every knight?”

“That’s right, Dan. A round table has no foot or head. Each knight was the equal of every other knight. It’s the same way here in America. One person has the same rights as another.”

“When will we start making armor and spears?” asked Midge impatiently.

“We’ll gather together the articles we need and maybe start in at our meeting next week. Mrs. Holloway, the Den Mother, has promised to help.” Mr. Hatfield told the Cubs they would need cardboard, silver or gold paint, burlap and several other items.

“We’ll make banners and turn this room into a regular King Arthur’s Court,” he declared. “The place right now is as cold as an ancient castle! Wonder what happened to that fire I built?”

Mr. Hatfield had noticed that despite jackets, several of the Cubs were shivering.

A little heat was rising from the registers. But not much.

“Want me to take a look at the furnace?” Brad offered.

“It might be a good idea,” agreed the Cub leader. “Toss in three or four shovels of

coal.”

“I’ll go with you, Brad,” Dan offered.

The two boys descended a narrow, dimly lighted stairway to the church basement.

Walls were damp to the touch. In several places water oozed in through cracks in the decaying masonry.

Cobwebs hung from the overhead beams. In the semi-darkness, Dan ran into one, cringing as it wrapped silken threads about his throat.

“Glug, glug,” he entoned, making a strangling sound. “I’m being choked to death!”

“Cut it out!” Brad ordered. He reached for a switch and the basement room became flooded with light. “What you trying to do? Work up a case of nerves?”

Dan laughed and opened the iron door of the cavernous furnace.

Mr. Hatfield had built his fire well, but it needed more fuel.

“I’ll heave some in,” he offered.

While Brad poked at the coals, Dan went to the bin.

The shovel had disappeared. But after hunting a while, he found it behind the bin door.

Selecting smaller lumps, Dan fed the furnace two large shovelfuls. The coals leaped into fiery flame.

“Better give ’er a couple more for good measure,” Brad advised.

Dan trotted back to the bin. As his shovel bit deep into the coal pile, it struck an object which gave off a metallic sound.

Curious as to what it might be, the boy dug deeper. His shovel brought to view a square metal box approximately a foot square.

“Jeepers creepers!” he whispered in awe. “How’d this get here?”

CHAPTER 2
The Metal Box

Stooping low, Dan lifted the metal box from the shovel. It was surprisingly heavy.

The boy tugged at the lid, but it stubbornly resisted his efforts.

From the furnace room, the waiting Brad now called impatiently:

“Hey, slow poke! Hurry up with that coal, will you? You’ve been in that bin a couple of hours!”

Dan emerged into the light. His hands were smeared with coal dust. So was his blue Cub Scout uniform. A long black smudge lay across his cheek.

“Say, what you been doing in there?” Brad demanded, staring at him. “If you aren’t a sight!”

Dan ignored the gibe. Grinning triumphantly, he thrust the metal box into the astonished Brad’s hand.

“Look at this,” he directed. “What d’you say? Did I waste my time in that coal bin?”

Brad stared at the box and then shook it hard.

“You found this under the coal?” he demanded almost in disbelief.

“You catch on fast,” Dan grinned. “I found it under the coal.”

“Well, what are we waiting for? Why don’t we open it?”

“Go ahead,” Dan encouraged.

Brad pried at the lid but could not raise it.

“Stuck,” he observed. “At least the box doesn’t seem to be locked.”

Determined to open it, Brad rapped one corner of the lid against the hard cement floor.

The cover flew back so suddenly that an object tumbled out.

Brad and Dan stared. At their feet lay a package of bank notes, neatly held together with a rubber band.

“Money!” Dan exclaimed. “Twenty dollar notes! Must be counterfeit.”

“Gosh, it looks genuine enough,” Brad muttered, equally dumbfounded. “And look at the rest of ’em here in the box!”

The boys counted ten stacks of paper money. Some were in fives and tens, but a larger portion was in twenty dollar bills with at least a few fifties.

“Say, there must be a couple thousand here,” Brad said, making a rough estimate. “Maybe more. Where’d you say you found it?”

Dan showed him the place in the coal bin. “How d’you suppose it got here?” he demanded.

“That’s what I’d like to know. Someone must have hidden it here.”

“Sure, but who would leave a pile of money kicking around loose? Anyone who would risk it must be crazy.”

“I’ll bet a cookie someone hid it here in the empty bin—”

“The bin isn’t empty.”

“Of course it isn’t now,” Brad said impatiently. “But you remember the church has been closed. Coal probably was loaded in here only a day or so ago. It was heaved in through the chute and no one saw the box.”

“Your theory is as good as any,” Dan admitted. “Anyway, we’re rich.”

Brad gave a snort of disgust. “Rich, my eye! You’re not such a dum bunny as to think we can keep this money?”

“But if no one should claim it—”

“It will be claimed fast enough. In any case, we’re not getting ourselves mixed up in anything. We turn this box over to Mr. Hatfield—right now.”

“Sure, I guess you’re right,” Dan admitted. “I intended to show it to him. Only I thought if no one claimed the box, the money might go into the Cub’s treasury or maybe the church building fund.”

“That’s an idea,” nodded Brad. “But let’s not count any chickens—or rather, cash! I have a hunch whoever planted this money here won’t forget about it!”

Excited over their discovery, the two boys hastily tossed another shovelful of coal on the fire.

Then, carrying the precious metal box, they took the stairway two steps at a time.

As they burst into the Cub meeting, Mr. Hatfield was explaining the different types of armor used by knights in early days.

“One type was made of steel mesh”—the Cub leader said, and his voice trailed off.

“Excuse us, sir,” Brad apologized. “Dan found this box in the basement. It’s full of money!”

The Cubs would have suspected the two boys of playing a practical joke. However, Brad floored them by plumping the box itself on the table.

He jerked back the lid, revealing the packages of money.

“Ye gads!” shrieked Red. “Is it real?”

“Where’d you find it?” demanded Midge, fingering one of the fat packages. “Inside the furnace?”

“Would that be likely with a fire going?” Brad demanded. “Dan dug it out of the coal pile. Must be a couple thousand dollars here at least.”

“Let’s count it,” proposed Fred Hatfield.

Sam, who was Fred’s father, had not spoken. However, very soberly he had been examining not only the metal box, but many of the packages of money.

“Do you think it’s genuine, sir?” Dan asked eagerly.

“I’m not an expert on money,” the Cub leader replied. “But this looks like straight goods to me.”

“How do you suppose the box came to be here in the church?” Brad asked.

“I haven’t the slightest idea. It bothers me though. I must notify the pastor and the church trustees at once. Also, the discovery should be reported to the police.”

The Cubs wanted to see the exact spot where Dan had found the money box. For that matter, so did Mr. Hatfield.

They all trooped down into the basement to re-examine the coal bin. The Cub leader could find no clue as to the person who might have hidden the box.

True, he pointed out several large-size shoeprints visible on the dusty basement floor. But he agreed with Dan and Brad that they likely had been made by workmen who had repaired the furnace.

“Say, maybe one of the workmen hid the box!” Red exclaimed.

Mr. Hatfield said he considered the possibility an unlikely one. However, he would not venture even a guess as to who might have left the box in the coal bin.

“For all we know, it might even be stolen money,” he commented.

Dan, who had stood near the foot of the basement stairs, had heard an unusual sound overhead.

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“Listen!” he commanded.

The Cubs became quiet. Distinctly, they could hear a rattling noise.

“Sounds like someone trying to raise a window,” Brad said. “That box of money on the table—”

Mr. Hatfield started up the stairs, but without undue haste.

“Take it easy, boys,” he said. “It’s only the wind rattling a window. The money’s safe enough.”

Despite reassurance, the Cubs were uneasy as they followed their leader up the creaking stairs.

If the box were gone—

Mr. Hatfield opened the door of the study. Every eye focused upon the table.

The box of money was exactly where it had been left.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Mr. Hatfield admitted, chuckling at his own uneasiness. “I’ll acknowledge that hearing the window rattle gave me a most uncomfortable feeling.”

“How much do you suppose is here?” Dan speculated, fingering one of the packages. “Shall we count it?”

“Well—” the Cub leader hesitated. “I’m not too eager to stay here in an empty church with so much money. But then, go ahead. The job shouldn’t take long.”

The Cubs seated themselves at the table. Mr. Hatfield began to count, while the Cubs checked his work.

Since the onset of colder weather, Den 2 had made use of the church as a meeting place for both Den and Pack gatherings.

In warmer weather they usually assembled at The Cave, overlooking the river. As its name implied, the chamber had been carved by water action, and was reached by a flight of stairs built by the Cubs and their fathers.

During the previous summer, the boys had enjoyed many an adventure along the waterfront. The story of their difficulties with river pirates has been told in the Cub book entitled: “Dan Carter and the River Camp.”

In the first Cub Scout book, “Dan Carter, Cub Scout,” the boys tried a little back yard camping. Even so, they found themselves battling a flood at a pheasant farm, and incidentally, meeting several unpleasant persons.

Now, as the Cubs watched Mr. Hatfield count the money found in the tin box, they sensed that once again they were on the verge of adventure.

The Cub leader tallied eight hundred and forty dollars in twenty dollar denominations. Brad carefully set this amount down.

Next the Cub leader started to count the ten dollar bills. He was well into the third package, when Dan, a little weary of watching, raised his eyes to the window.

What he saw nearly caused him to rise off his chair.

A face was pressed against the windowpane.

In the fleeting instant that he saw it, Dan gained only a vague impression of a flattened nose and intent eyes.

Too startled to cry out, he kicked Brad’s foot under the table.

“Hey, cut it out!” the older boy exclaimed. “Be your age.”

“The window!” Dan muttered. “Look!”

Not only Brad, but Mr. Hatfield and all the Cubs turned to see what had attracted Dan’s attention.

But the face had vanished.

“What’s eating you, Dan?” Brad demanded. “Now you’ve mixed up the count. Has finding this money got you jittery?”

“It sure has,” Dan admitted. “But I know I didn’t dream up that face. I saw it plain as day!”

“What face?” asked Mr. Hatfield.

“I saw it only a minute ago at the window. Someone was looking in here—watching us count the money!”

“Dan has got a bad case of the jitters,” Midge chuckled.

“No, he hasn’t either!”

Dan’s unexpected defender was none other than Babe Bunning. The youngest member of Den 2 made his announcement in a shrill voice which quavered with excitement.

“I saw the f-face too,” he chattered. “Only I was so—so scared I couldn’t say anything.”

“You saw it too!” Brad echoed. “Say, this may add up to something!”

Mr. Hatfield already had darted to the window.

The rain had nearly ceased. Gazing out into the drenched churchyard, he could see no one.

“Turn off the light a minute,” he instructed.

Brad found the switch.

With the study dark, it was easier to distinguish objects in the church yard. The Cubs clustered at Mr. Hatfield’s shoulder, tense and uneasy.

“I don’t see anyone—” Mr. Hatfield began.

He broke off and Dan finished the sentence. “Over there by the bushes, to the right of the walk! See!”

“Someone sneaking off toward the street!” Brad added. “Let’s nab him!”

“The dirty old peeping Tom!” yelled Chips. “Come on! We’ll get him!”

“Wait, boys!” Mr. Hatfield advised. “We don’t know—”

Usually obedient, the Cubs now were too excited to listen.

Before Mr. Hatfield could stop them, they darted through the empty church and out into the yard.

“Surround the bushes and close in,” Brad instructed.

The Cubs circled the area where they last had seen the mysterious prowler. Soon it was apparent, however, that the man had eluded them.

He had slipped away in the brief time it had taken them to reach the church yard. Although they looked up and down the street, the man was nowhere to be seen.

“We’ve lost him!” Brad declared in deep disgust.

“Perhaps it’s just as well,” said Mr. Hatfield. The Cub leader, a little short of breath, had followed the Cubs into the yard.

“Just as well?” Brad echoed. “I don’t get it.”

“It’s no crime to look into the window of a church, Brad. Didn’t you act rather hastily?”

“I guess I did,” Brad admitted. “I was so anxious to catch that fellow I didn’t stop to think what the outcome might be if we did nail him.”

“Dan, did you recognize the person?” the Cub leader asked him.

“No, Mr. Hatfield, I didn’t. All I saw was a face flattened against the windowpane.”

“You think, though, that he was watching us count the money?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“It’s possible that the person—whoever he was—may have been the one who hid the money in the basement,” Mr. Hatfield said, thinking aloud. “On the other hand, it may have been a curious passerby attracted by our light in the study.”

“In any case, we were seen counting the money,” Brad pointed out.

“And that’s not good,” Mr. Hatfield completed, his face troubled. “I’d hate to have it noised around Webster City that we’ve found a box of money. It might make trouble.”

“What do you think we should do?” Brad asked anxiously.

Mr. Hatfield already had made up his mind. He spoke decisively:

“The most important thing now is to get the money box to a safe place. I’ll take it home for tonight.”

Well satisfied with the decision, the Cubs trooped back into the church to gather together their belongings.

With the exception of Brad and Dan, the other Cubs lived close by. The two boys were to ride with Mr. Hatfield and his son Fred.

“The storm has let up now, so I’ll trust the rest of you to shift for yourselves,” the Cub leader said. “Go straight to your homes and don’t stop along the way to pick any daisies. I’ll report to you in the morning as to what will be done with the money box.”

“We’ll be okay,” Red said cheerfully.

“Sure,” agreed Midge. “It’s only a couple of steps. Just take good care of that money box.”

“Dan, Brad and Fred will help me guard it,” Mr. Hatfield said. “I don’t mind admitting I’ll be relieved to turn it over to someone else for safe

keeping.”

Before taking the box to his parked car, the Cub leader carefully wrapped it in his coat. Everyone breathed a bit easier when they were out of the church.

Mr. Hatfield locked the money box into the rear compartment of his car.

“Oh, by the way, boys, just a word of caution,” he said as he prepared to drive away. “Until I’ve had a chance to report to the police, it’s just as well that no one learns about the money. So I’m depending upon you to keep our discovery a secret.”

CHAPTER 3
Jack, the Runaway

Although only a misty rain now fell, street gutters raced with water which could not be quickly carried off.

In Mr. Hatfield’s car, Fred, Dan and Brad watched the slow-moving traffic ahead. Even taxi-cabs crept along, wary of surface water on the pavement.

“It’s hard to see the road ahead,” Mr. Hatfield complained. “What a night!”

“You don’t need to take Dan and me home,” Brad said quickly. “We walked to the church and we don’t mind walking back.”

“It’s no trouble,” the Cub leader returned. He snapped on the windshield wiper again as a few drops of rain splattered the glass. “Fact is, I’m glad to have company.”

Mr. Hatfield fell silent, paying close attention to his driving. From the slight frown which settled over his face, the three boys guessed that he was worrying about the money box.

“It’s certainly queer how it came to be in the coal bin,” Dan remarked. “I nearly fell over when my shovel turned it up.”

“We never did finish our count of the cash,” Brad recalled. “Seeing that man in the churchyard gave us all a jolt.”

“I’ll count the money at home,” Mr. Hatfield promised. “Tell you the truth, I wanted to get the box away from the church. I’ll feel more comfortable after it’s turned over to someone else for safekeeping.”

The car had halted at an intersection. As the light turned green, Mr. Hatfield started up too quickly and stalled the engine.

“The sparkplugs must be damp,” he complained.

As the Cub Scout leader ground his foot repeatedly on the starter pedal, Dan noticed that a car directly behind had not taken advantage of the green light.

Although the driver had ample space in which to go around the stalled car, he did not do so.

Lowering the car window, he signaled for the other automobile to pull around. Even then it did not do so.

“What’s the matter with that dumb cluck anyhow?” he muttered.

Just then Mr. Hatfield succeeded in starting the car. Quickly he shifted gears and rolled through the intersection an instant before the light turned red again.

Dan glanced back through the rear window to watch the other automobile. The driver had been caught by the red light.

To Dan’s astonishment, however, he ignored it, deliberately “crashing.”

“That motorist is dizzy,” he commented. “First he waits for a green light—then he goes on the red.”

Mr. Hatfield turned at the next corner, heading toward the street where Brad lived.

To Dan’s surprise, the automobile directly behind also made the turn.

“That driver sticks to us like a burr,” he observed. “Say, you don’t suppose—”

“Suppose what?” Fred demanded as Dan broke off.

“I was wondering if maybe he’s following us.”

Mr. Hatfield glanced quickly into the mirror. At the next street, he deliberately made another turn although it took him slightly off his route.

“That other car’s right behind!” Dan announced a moment later.

“Where did we pick him up?” Mr. Hatfield asked. “Was he on our tail when we left the church?”

No one had noticed. Dan first had observed the car at the intersection.

“Note down the license number if you can,” the Cub leader instructed. “The car probably isn’t following us—but it’s just as well to have the license number.”

The three boys peered intently through the rear window. The license plate number could not be easily distinguished.

“It’s too misty outside,” Dan complained.

“He’s dropping farther back too,” Fred observed. “Must have caught on that we’re watching him.”

“I got the first two letters and number,” Brad said, jotting it down on a scrap of paper. “FJ-3. I couldn’t make out the last number too well. I think it was 2, though.”

The following automobile now had dropped a considerable distance behind.

“It may have been our imagination,” Mr. Hatfield said in relief. “Finding that box of money and having it in our possession, has given us all a case of the jitters.”

At the next corner, the Cub leader swung back onto the main, well-traveled street. The other car had disappeared from view.

“I guess I was wrong,” Dan admitted. “Either that, or the fellow became suspicious that we were watching.”

“At any rate, we’ve lost him,” Mr. Hatfield declared. “Hello—what’s this up ahead?”

The car approached a railroad underpass. In the depressed area beneath the archway, surface water had failed to run off. The flooded area stretched for a considerable distance ahead.

“It doesn’t look very deep,” Mr. Hatfield said, weighing their chances of getting through. “Think we can make it?”

“If we don’t, you have three good pushers,” Brad answered. “Anyway, here comes another car.”

“They’re going to try it, so I guess we can,” added Dan.

The approaching coupe, in which two persons were visible, barely slackened pace as it came to the area of water.

Noticing that the flood seemed only hub-cap high, Mr. Hatfield likewise started through it.

A moment later, however, he noted that the water rapidly was deepening on the car ahead. It began to falter, and finally came to a standstill.

“Stalled!” Fred exclaimed in dismay.

“And we’re blocked,” added Brad. “Think we can back out of it?”

“I’m going to try,” Mr. Hatfield said grimly. “I should have waited.”

Shifting into reverse, he slowly backed away from the stalled coupe.

The two cars, however, had churned up high waves. As they slapped against Mr. Hatfield’s automobile, the engine began to sputter.

“Oh! Oh!” groaned Fred. “Here we go.”

The next instant the motor gave a final wheeze and died.

“Come on, fellows, let’s push!” Brad urged, starting to open the door.

“No, wait!” Mr. Hatfield directed. “I don’t want you to wreck your clothes unless it’s absolutely necessary. Someone may come along to help—”

The Cub leader’s voice trailed off, for his attention had been drawn once more to the stalled car ahead.

Quite suddenly, the door on the left hand side had swung open.

A boy who might have been twelve or thirteen fairly hurled himself from the car.

In his haste to get away, the lad tripped and fell flat in the muddy water which raced through the underpass.

“Wow!” exclaimed Brad anxiously. “Did he take a tumble!”

The boy was on his feet again almost in an instant.

To the astonishment of Mr. Hatfield and the Cubs, he plunged off through the water, moving as fast as he could.

At the same time, the right hand door of the coupe shot open.

The headlights of Mr. Hatfield’s car revealed the head and shoulders of another occupant of the stalled coupe—a man whom the Cubs recognized as Guy Wentworth, a referee in Juvenile Court.

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“Jack, come back here!” he shouted.

The fleeing boy paid no heed.

Mr. Wentworth then sprang from the car and started after the boy. Jack, however, had a good start and the advantage of being more agile.

“Try and get me now!” he taunted. “See you in Juvenile Court!”

Reaching the sidewalk, he waved derisively at the referee. Then, with a scornful laugh, he turned and darted down an alleyway between two shadowy buildings.

CHAPTER 4
High Water

As Mr. Hatfield and the Cubs watched, Guy Wentworth leaped from the stalled car.

“Come back here, Jack!” he shouted after the fleeing boy.

The lad, however, had disappeared.

Mr. Wentworth splashed through the high water to the curb. Realizing that he could not hope to overtake the agile boy, he entered a drugstore, evidently to telephone police.

Upon his return a few minutes later, he paused beside the Hatfield car to talk to the Cub Scout leader.

“What happened?” Mr. Hatfield asked him.

“Oh, Jack Phillips, one of the boys from the Child Study Institute, eluded me. I’ve notified the police. They may pick him up later tonight, but I doubt it. Jack is as slippery as an eel.”

“You were taking him to a boys’ industrial school?” Mr. Hatfield inquired.

“No, to a private boarding home—to a woman named Mrs. Jones,” the social worker replied. “Jack’s a real problem.”

“I’d judge so,” commented Mr. Hatfield.

“He’s restless and unstable. Parents are dead. He’s been under our supervision more or less for three years now.” Mr. Wentworth drew a long breath. “It’s been a job, I’m telling you. Jack always has an itch to run away, and get into trouble.”

“I take it he didn’t look with favor on the idea of being placed in a private home?”

“Jack likes to fend for himself,” the social worker replied. “He hates restriction. That, of course, is what he needs and must have. I’m afraid, despite our efforts, he’ll end up in an industrial school.”

“Think you’ll ever see him again?”

“Oh, the police will pick him up eventually,” Mr. Wentworth said. “They always do. But the question is—what to do with him when he is brought back.”

“Well, I hope you think of something,” the Cub leader returned. “I hate to think of a boy being sent to an industrial school, if he has any good in him.”

“Jack took advantage of me, when my car stalled in this high water. I see you’re stuck too. Maybe I can give you a push.”

Applying his shoulder, the social worker tried to roll the car backward toward higher pavement.

“Don’t do that,” Mr. Hatfield commanded. “You’ll strain yourself. I’ll call a tow car.”

“We’ll help push,” Brad offered, starting to get out into the water.

“No, wait,” Mr. Wentworth ordered. “You youngsters oughtn’t to freeze yourselves. This water is like ice. I’m already soaked to the knees. Tell you what! I’ll go back to the drugstore and telephone for a tow car that will push both autos on through.”

The solution seemed the most satisfactory one. Mr. Wentworth started back toward the drugstore. Half way there, he paused as his ears detected the sound of an approaching vehicle.

A moment later a fire engine, returning from a run, came into view. The driver, seeing the water ahead, pulled up.

“Stalled?” he called to Mr. Wentworth.

“That’s right.”

“Hop back in your car, and we’ll give you a shove,” the fireman offered.

Both Mr. Wentworth’s automobile and Sam Hatfield’s sedan were pushed through the water. Neither could be started immediately. However, after the spark plugs were dried out, both cars were in running order once more.

“Many thanks,” Mr. Hatfield told the firemen. “I’ll be glad to get home. I’m carrying a valuable load tonight.”

The firemen, assuming that Mr. Hatfield referred to the carload of Cub Scouts, made a joking reply. They told the Cub leader that the storm had been a severe one. Several trees had blown down and many streets were flooded.

Relieved to be on their way once more, Mr. Hatfield drove directly to his residence.

“I want to rid myself of this money box first of all,” the Cub leader said. “Then I’ll take you boys home.”

“Why don’t we stay a few minutes and help you count it?” Brad suggested. “The job shouldn’t take long.”

“Not a bad idea,” Mr. Hatfield agreed. “Just so your folks don’t worry. Better telephone them and explain that you’ve been delayed a few minutes.”

The Cub leader carried the money box into the living room. While the boys were telephoning, he built a fire in the grate.

“Now to count the money,” he said when the Cubs had returned to the living room. “Fred, pull the blinds. We don’t need any spectators.”

Fred hastened to obey.

“I hope no one followed us here,” Dan said uneasily. “That car—”

“Oh, we lost it before we stalled in the high water,” Mr. Hatfield reassured him. “The chances are we imagined we were being trailed.”

“Maybe, only I thought—”

“Fellows, just because we found a cash box is no reason for working up a high-grade case of the jitters,” the Cub leader said. “The important thing is to maintain a sensible outlook. Now let’s count the money.”

“Right-o,” grinned Dan. “Guess I did let my imagination lead me a race.”

With the blinds lowered, the boys opened up the money box. The neat packages were stacked on the dining-room table.

Mr. Hatfield counted while the others watched and wrote down the tally.

“Two thousand one hundred and seventy-five dollars!” he announced when the last bill had been counted.

“Wow! What a haul!” Dan exclaimed.

“What will we do with it?” Brad asked. “Turn everything over to the police?”

“That’s the only thing to do,” Mr. Hatfield declared. “I dislike to be bothered with a lot of questions tonight though.”

“Then why not wait until morning before calling police?” Brad suggested. “That is, if you think the money will be safe here.”

“Oh, I’m not worried on that score, Brad. I’ll put the box away and lock all the doors. Yes, I believe I will wait until tomorrow before notifying the police. Then they can make a thorough investigation.”

Replacing the money in the box, Mr. Hatfield carried it upstairs. A few minutes later, he returned empty handed.

“Where’d you hide the cash?” Fred asked his father. “Under a mattress?”

“A better place than that, I hope,” replied Mr. Hatfield. He did not reveal the hiding place.

Brad and Dan picked up their caps, ready to leave.

Mr. Hatfield again offered to take the boys home.

“Oh, we can walk,” Brad said quickly as the Cub leader searched for his car keys. “It’s less than two blocks.”

“Sure,” agreed Dan. “You stay here, Mr. Hatfield, and guard that money.”

Observing that the rain had ceased, the Cub leader allowed himself to be persuaded. However, he accompanied the boys to the front door.

“Since you were the ones who found the money, the police probably will want to question you tomorrow,” he warned.

“That’s okay,” Dan said. “We’ll be around.”

“I’ll call the police station early in the morning,” Mr. Hatfield promised.

“Meanwhile—don’t speak to anyone about the box or how much it contained.”

Dan and Brad were rather surprised that the Cub leader should mention the subject twice.

“You may be certain we won’t,” Brad promised.

“I should say not,” added Dan emphatically.

“All the Cubs can be trusted, I know,” Mr. Hatfield declared as he bade the pair good-bye. “Well, boys, I’ll see you in the morning. Good night to you both, and no nightmares about hidden treasure!”

CHAPTER 5
Two Claimants

Dan was midway through breakfast the next morning when the telephone rang.

“Will you answer it, please?” his mother called from the kitchen where she was frying ham.

Absently, Dan reached for the instrument which was tucked into a shelf nook beside the breakfast table.

“Hello,” he half-mumbled, his mouth filled with toast.

“Is that you, Dan?” asked a familiar voice.

Dan came to life then, for it was Sam Hatfield at the other end of the line. Something must be up, else the Cub leader wouldn’t call him so early in the morning! Like as not the police were wanting to question him about the money box.

“Dan, can you come over right away?” Mr. Hatfield asked.

“Why, sure. That is, I guess so, unless Mom’s got work lined up for me. Anything wrong?”

Dan was certain from Mr. Hatfield’s tone that something urgent had come up. More than ever, he was convinced the matter concerned the money box.

“Well, yes, I am a little disturbed,” the Cub leader answered his question. “I’m asking all the boys to come over to my place as soon as possible.”

“The money box hasn’t been taken?”

“Oh, no! Nothing like that Dan. Just come over as soon as you can.”

Completely mystified, Dan bolted the remainder of his breakfast.

Fifteen minutes later he presented himself at the Hatfield home where Chips and Red already had gathered.

“What’s up?” Dan asked the pair.

“Search me,” Chips shrugged. “Mr. Hatfield asked us to come over right away, so we did.”

“He hasn’t explained yet,” Red added in an undertone, “but he seems plenty worried.”

In a few minutes Babe Bunning arrived at the house. Close upon his heels came Brad, who reported that Midge Holloway would be a little late.

“He told me to report he has to do some work at home,” the Den Chief told Mr. Hatfield.

“We’ll go on without him,” the Cub leader said. “Boys, now don’t get me wrong. I didn’t call you here to make accusations or scold. I’m not blaming anyone—”

“What’s wrong, Mr. Hatfield?” Brad cut in anxiously.

“Well, somehow the news leaked out about us finding the money box.”

The Cubs were dumbfounded.

“Then someone must have babbled!” Chips exclaimed. “It sure wasn’t me!”

“Or me,” echoed Red.

“I can’t understand how anyone would blab the secret,” said Brad slowly. “Every Cub has real ideals or he wouldn’t be in the organization. Cubs are Square—they keep their promises. And we all promised not to mention the box until after you had time to talk to the police about it.”

“That’s right,” Mr. Hatfield agreed. “You put it well, Brad. I can’t believe, either, that anyone would tell—at least not intentionally.”

“How do you know the information got out?” Dan asked thoughtfully.

“Through a visitor. I was eating breakfast this morning when Everett Wilson, owner of the Elite Dry Cleaning Co., came to the door. He’s not a member of the church, but does attend irregularly. Any of you fellows know him?”

All of the Cubs except Babe shook their heads.

“I know him when I see him,” Babe said. “We take our dry cleaning to his place. We’re quitting though. Last time my Dad left a pair of trousers there, he shrunk ’em an inch and wouldn’t make good.”

“You say Mr. Wilson heard about us finding the money box?” Dan asked the Cub leader.

“It’s worse than that. He not only heard about it, but he’s put in a claim for the money.”

“But how did he happen to hide it in the coal bin?” Dan demanded in perplexity.

“That’s what I asked him. He didn’t have a very satisfactory answer. Furthermore, he wasn’t able to tell me how much he had in the box.”

“Then maybe it wasn’t his!” Chips exclaimed.

“I thought of that right away, Chips. I had a feeling that perhaps he was putting in a false claim. At any rate, I refused to turn the money over to him.”

“Have you called the police yet?” Dan questioned.

“Yes, I telephoned the station immediately after Mr. Wilson was here. A man is on his way out now. I’ll turn the money over when he comes, and be glad to get rid of it.”

“It’s sure funny about Mr. Wilson claiming the cash,” Dan remarked. “How could he have known about us finding the box?”

“Someone must have told,” Chips replied before the Cub leader could speak.

His gaze fastened hard upon Babe, who unconcernedly was chewing a gumdrop.

The other Cubs looked at Babe too. He had been in the Den only a few weeks and as yet hadn’t been promoted from a Bobcat to a Wolf.

True, he had repeated the Cub Promise: “I promise to do my best, to be SQUARE, and OBEY the law of the Cub Pack.”

Also, he had learned the Cub sign and the handclasp, the salute and the Law of the Cub Pack. At least, he had said the words correctly. But had they really burned in?

“Babe, did you tell anyone about the money box?” Chips demanded bluntly.

Babe swallowed the gumdrop and stared. “Who, me?” he asked.

“Yes, you! You’re the only one who knew Mr. Wilson.”

“I didn’t tell him. I didn’t tell anyone!” Babe’s blue eyes flashed angrily.

“Never mind, Chips,” Mr. Hatfield said. His tone made it clear that the discussion must end. “We’re not accusing anyone. A Cub’s word is good enough for me.”

“Remember that face at the window?” Dan reminded the group. “Someone saw us looking at the money. Maybe that’s how the story got out!”

“It’s very possible, Dan,” agreed Mr. Hatfield. “Anyway, it’s a relief to know that the Cubs all kept their promises. If Mr. Wilson can establish his claim, he’s welcome to the money.”

“He must have been dizzy to hide the box in a coal bin,” Brad said, getting up from the davenport. “It doesn’t make sense to me.”

Mr. Hatfield told the Cubs that he considered it most important that no one reveal the exact amount of cash that had been found.

“Brad, Dan, Fred and myself are the only ones who know the correct total,” he said. “But the rest of you have a pretty fair idea. The thing is—keep it to yourselves. If the amount should become known, well, it might make it easier for Mr. Wilson to prove a claim.”

“You can depend on us, Mr. Hatfield,” Brad said, speaking for the others. “How about you, Babe?”

“Oh, sure,” the youngest member of the Den returned carelessly. “I forget now how much it was we counted at the church.”

“Midge isn’t here, but I’ll stop at his house and warn him,” Dan offered.

The matter of the cash box having been thoroughly discussed, Mr. Hatfield told the boys his real purpose in calling them was to remind them to start working on the church building fund pledge cards.

“Call on your

prospects as soon as you can,” he advised. “Today if possible. We want to get that money rolling in.”