LITMIR.BIZ

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sure will – to celebrate the game to-day. Going to be there?”

      “Surest thing you know. I’ll see you there. So long!”

      “So long, Bob!”

      The two chums went on their way and Bob went into the house after putting his car in the barn that had been turned into a garage.

      The Boys’ Athletic Club had a jollification meeting that night over the baseball victory, and the Golden Eagle mascot looked down most approvingly from his perch to which he had been restored by the efforts of the young detective.

      “I don’t believe we’d have had half such a good game out of it to-day if it hadn’t been for the Golden Eagle,” remarked Ned, as he sat with his chums, looking up at the mascot bird.

      “You’re right!” chimed in Harry.

      “Oh, I guess you imagine a lot of that,” laughed Bob. “Still, I’m glad the old bird is back in place.”

      “You said it!” exclaimed his chums.

      It was next morning, when Bob was on his way to his uncle’s hardware store where he now worked, that the lad met Harry and Ned.

      “Did you hear the news?” cried Harry.

      “What news?” asked Bob, slowing up his flivver so his chums might leap in.

      “Old Hiram Beegle was murdered last night in his cabin!” cried Ned.

      CHAPTER IV

      WOODEN LEG

      Suspecting that his chums were playing some joke on him, though he thought this rather a poor subject for humor, and believing that Harry and Ned wanted to get a rise out of him, Bob Dexter did not at once show the astonishment that was expected. Instead he merely smiled and remarked:

      “Hop in! If I believe that I s’pose you’ll tell me another!”

      “Say, this is straight!” cried Ned.

      “No kidding!” added Harry. “The old man was killed last night. You know who we mean – Rip Van Winkle – the old codger you took over to Storm Mountain in this very flivver.”

      “Yes, I know, who you mean all right,” assented Bob. “But who told you he was killed? How, why, when, where and all the rest of it?”

      “We didn’t hear any of the particulars,” explained Harry. “But Chief Drayton, of the Storm Mountain police force – guess he’s the whole force as a matter of fact – Drayton just came over here to get our chief to help solve the mystery.”

      “Oh, then there’s a mystery about it, is there?” asked Bob, and his chums noticed that he at once began to pay close attention to what they were saying.

      “Sure there’s a mystery,” asserted Ned. “Wouldn’t you call it a mystery if a man was found dead in a locked room – a room without a window in it, and only one door, and that locked on the inside and the man dead inside? Isn’t that a mystery, Bob Dexter – just as much of a mystery as who took our Golden Eagle?”

      “Or what the ‘yellow boys’ were in the wreck of the Sea Hawk?” added Harry.

      “Sure that would be a mystery if everything is as you say it is,” asserted Bob. “But in the first place if old Hiram Beegle has been killed and if his body is in that room, with only one door leading into it, how do the authorities know anything about it? Why, you can’t even see into that room when the door is shut!”

      “How do you know?” asked Ned quickly.

      “Because I’ve been in that room. I was in there yesterday afternoon with Hiram Beegle. There is only one entrance to it and that by the door, for the fireplace doesn’t count.”

      “You were in that room?” cried Harry in surprise.

      “Certainly I was.”

      “Why didn’t you tell us?” asked Ned, feeling that his announcement of the murder was as nothing compared with this news.

      “Oh, well, there wasn’t any need of speaking about it,” said Bob.

      “Well, I guess you’ve seen the last of Hiram Beegle,” went on Harry. “That is unless you want to go to the scene of the crime, as the Weekly Banner will put it.”

      “Yes, I’d like to go there,” said Bob quietly. “There may be a mystery about who killed Hiram Beegle, but to my mind there’s a greater mystery in discovering how it is Chief Drayton knows the old man was killed, instead of, let us say, dying a natural death, if he can’t get in the room.”

      “Who said he couldn’t get in the room?” asked Ned.

      “Well, it stands to reason he can’t get in the room, if the only door to it is locked on the inside, if Hiram Beegle is dead inside; for I’ve been there and you can’t go down the chimney. How does the chief know Hiram is dead?”

      “You got me there,” admitted Ned. “I didn’t get it directly from Chief Drayton. Tom Wilson was telling me – he heard it from some one else, I guess.”

      “That’s the trouble,” remarked Bob as he guided the flivver around a corner and brought it to a stop in front of his uncle’s hardware store. “There’s too much second-hand talk.”

      “Then let’s go over to Storm Mountain and get some first-hand information!” cried Ned.

      “Yes – what do you say to that?” added Harry.

      Bob considered for a moment.

      “I guess I can go in about an hour if you fellows can,” he replied. “Uncle Joel will let me have some time off.”

      “I think I can string dad so he’ll let me go,” remarked Ned.

      “Same here,” echoed Harry.

      The two lads worked for their respective fathers, and the latter were not too exacting. Bob and his chums attended High School, but owing to the fact that the building was being repaired the usual fall term would be two months late in opening. Hence they still had considerable of a vacation before them, for which they were duly grateful.

      Many thoughts were surging through the mind of Bob Dexter as he went about his duties in the hardware store. It was rather a shock to him to learn that the odd but kindly old man, with whom he had been drinking buttermilk less than twenty-four hours ago, was now dead.

      “But who killed him, and why?” mused Bob.

      “He was fearfully afraid of some one he called Rod Marbury. Could that fellow have had a hand in it? And if the old man was locked in his strong room how could anyone get in to kill him? I should like to find out all about this, and I’m going to.”

      Uncle Joel chuckled silently when Bob asked if he could be excused for the remainder of the day.

      “Going fishing, Bob?” he asked.

      “No, not exactly,” was the answer.

      “Well, I can guess. You’ll be heading for Storm Mountain, I suppose.”

      “Did you hear about the murder?” exclaimed the lad.

      “Murder!” repeated his uncle. “I didn’t hear there was a murder. Old Hiram Beegle was badly hurt but he wasn’t killed. He was robbed, though – robbed of some treasure box he had.”

      “Robbed!” murmured Bob. “The treasure box! It must have been that brass-bound little chest he had when I saw him. But are you sure he wasn’t killed, Uncle Joel?”

      “Well, I’m as sure of it as I can be of anything that Sam Drayton tells.”

      “You mean Chief Drayton of Storm Mountain?”

      “Huh! Chief Drayton! I like that. 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

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