“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.
“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.
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!”
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.”
“What about our plans for the Crusade?” Brad reminded him.
“You’ll hear more about that at our next meeting,” Mr. Hatfield promised. “Meanwhile, dig up anything you can for costumes.”
“I have an idea—” Dan began.
What it was no one learned, for just then the front doorbell rang.
“That must be Midge,” Brad said. “Or maybe the police.”
But it was neither.
Instead, when Mr. Hatfield went to the door he found Edgar Brakschmidt standing there, hat in hand.
The Cub leader knew the man only slightly, having seen him occasionally at church services.
“I beg your pardon—you’re Mr. Hatfield,” the visitor asked.
“Yes, I am.” The Cub leader moved aside so that the man might enter. “Come on in. We’re having a Cub meeting.”
“Oh, I don’t want to break it up,” the visitor apologized. “Nevertheless, the matter I came to talk about happens to concern the Cubs.” Mr. Brakschmidt laughed self-consciously.
“They haven’t been in any mischief, I trust.”
“Oh, no! Nothing like that. May I speak with you in private, Mr. Hatfield?”
“We can go into the study if you like. However, if the matter concerns the Cubs, why not tell them about it also?”
“Well—all right, I may as well come right out with it. I lost some money recently—a rather large sum. Information has come to me that this money contained in a metal box, was found at the church by one of the Cubs.”
The boys were listening intently, amazed expressions mirrored on their faces. First Mr. Wilson, and now a second claimant!
“How much did you lose, Mr. Brakschmidt?” the Cub leader asked.
“I can’t rightly say. For months I had been saving it. The amount was considerable.”
“And where was this money lost, Mr. Brakschmidt?”
“Why, in the church. I—I went in there a few days ago—day before yesterday to be exact—to see the pastor. I was taking the money with me to deposit in the bank. The minister wasn’t there. I must have put the box down and forgot it, because I didn’t discover my loss until later.”
“Really, Mr. Brakschmidt, I never knew you to be so careless with money,” remarked the Cub leader. “Where did you think you left the box?”
“In one of the seats,” the visitor replied after a slight hesitation.
“That wasn’t where we found the box!” Chips exclaimed. “Dan found it—”
Brad gave him a kick in the ankle, a warning not to tell everything he knew.
“May I ask how you learned that the Cubs had come upon a box of money?” Mr. Hatfield inquired.
“Why, the news is everywhere.”
Brad was disgusted. So were the other Cubs, who couldn’t imagine how the word had spread.
“Babe, ’fess up,” Red whispered in the younger boy’s ear. “Did you spill it?”
“I did not,” he retorted indignantly. “Cross my heart and hope to die!”
“Midge wouldn’t tell,” Red said. “All the other Cubs have given their word. It’s mighty funny—”
Mr. Hatfield was speaking again. “Since the news is everywhere as you say, Mr. Brakschmidt, I may as well admit that the Cubs did find a little money. We expect to turn it over to police. If you have any claim, you’ll have to take it up with them.”
“You still have the money here in the house?”
“Yes,” the Cub leader admitted reluctantly.
“Then why put me to the trouble of having to go through the police and perhaps the courts to prove my claim? The money is mine. If you return it to me, I’ll give the Cubs a suitable reward, a very generous one in fact.”
Mr. Hatfield had begun to lose patience.
“I am sorry, Mr. Brakschmidt,” he said. “You’ll have to take the matter up with police.”
Mr. Brakschmidt argued for a while longer. Then, convinced that he was making no headway, he rather angrily departed.
“That’s the limit!” Fred sputtered. “Two claimants for the money. What did you think of him, Dad?”
“I barely know either Mr. Brakschmidt or Mr. Wilson,” his father replied. “Obviously, both can’t own the money. Before the real owner of that box is found, I’m afraid we’re in for an unpleasant time.”
Dan and Brad were sorely troubled over the problem of establishing the rightful owner of the money box.
After the Cub meeting broke up they went directly to the Holloway home.
Midge, a freckled-faced boy with an easy grin, was in the back yard, helping his father stack wood for the fireplace.
“I’m sure sorry I couldn’t get over to Mr. Hatfield’s house in time for the meeting,” he said regretfully. “I promised Dad a week ago I’d help with this job. What came up anyway?”
“Two claimants have appeared for the money box,” Brad disclosed. “We suspect both claims may be fakes.”
“The worrisome part is that the news is all over Webster City,” Dan added earnestly. “Midge, you didn’t tell anyone?”
“Not even my father, Dan. You may ask him!”
Mr. Holloway, a Den “Dad,” had listened closely to the conversation.
“Frankly, I’m confused,” he said. “What’s all this talk about a money box?”
Now that the secret was out, Mr. Hatfield had released the Cubs from their promise not to discuss the matter. He had requested, however, that they provide no information as to the amount of cash found or the type of box.
Accordingly, Dan and Brad disclosed all but a few of the vital facts. “We can’t figure out how the story got around so fast,” the Den Chief ended. “Some of the fellows are blaming Babe, but he swears he didn’t tell.”
“Babe hasn’t been in the organization long,” Mr. Holloway replied thoughtfully. “He’s a dependable kid though. I’d take his word any day.”
“If the Cubs didn’t tell, it simmers down to this—” Dan remarked. “It must have been that man we saw peeking in at the window.”
He and Brad stood around a few minutes watching Midge stack wood. Then, aware that it was getting on toward noon, they decided to make a call or two on church building fund prospects.
“Where do we go first?” Dan asked, consulting a list of names Mr. Hatfield had given him.
Brad studied the prospects. “How about hitting Atwood Merrimac?” he proposed.
“Who’s he, Brad?”
“President of the Merrimac Bakery and one of the richest members of our church. He usually makes fairly large donations, but has the reputation of being a little close.”
“We’ll go to work on him. What’s he down on the list for, Brad?”
“Five hundred dollars. We’ll be lucky if we get that much. But he should come across with two or three hundred if we put up a good argument.”
“That old wreck of a heating plant ought to be argument enough,” Dan returned, pocketing the list. “Well, let’s get moving. We ought to make at least one call before lunch time.”
The Merrimac residence was six blocks farther on, overlooking a ravine. Massively built of stone and brick, the dwelling was impressive both in structure and size.
Brad and Dan carefully wiped mud from their shoes before ringing the doorbell.
“If a butler comes, don’t let him give you that ‘Mr. Merrimac is not at home’ line,” Dan warned. “Just let him know we’re here for business and have to see the big boss.”
“Even the butler doesn’t seem to be on tap,” Brad declared, pushing the doorbell button again.
The boys waited. After ringing repeatedly, they were about to give up in disgust.
“Try just once more,” Dan advised, as Brad started away. “I thought I heard footsteps.”
This time Brad not only rang the bell, but kept his finger for a long while on the button.
“That ought to raise the dead,” he grinned.
“Maybe it did,” Dan chuckled. “At any rate, someone is coming.”
Through the door glass, he made out a shadowy figure in the front hallway.
The man, bent and old, approached the door and then seemed to hesitate.
“What’s the matter with him anyhow?” Dan muttered impatiently. “He acts as if he’s scared.”
Apparently reassured to see that the two at the door were boys, the elderly man opened it a few inches.
“Good morning, Mr. Merrimac,” greeted Brad, doffing his cap.
The old man relaxed somewhat. Though appearing none too pleased to see visitors, he grudgingly opened the door a little wider.
“I guess you didn’t hear the bell at first,” Dan said pleasantly. “Or maybe it’s out of order.”
“The bell’s in good order,” Mr. Merrimac muttered. “So are my ears. I’d have come sooner only—one never knows who’s at the door. Since my butler left a week ago, I’ve had an unpleasant time of it. Only the other night—but never mind. You wanted to see me?”
“We’re here in behalf of the church building fund,” Brad explained. “Your name is on our list of prospects.”
“Seems as if my name is on every list of prospects,” the old man retorted. “Seems like every time I turn around it’s, ‘Mr. Merrimac, will you contribute five dollars for this? Mr. Merrimac, will you donate ten dollars for that?’”
Brad and Dan exchanged an uneasy glance. Obviously, their prospect was not in the best of moods. It might take super salesmanship to gain his pledge.
“May we come in for a few minutes to talk about it?” Brad requested.
“I’m busy this morning. With my butler gone, I have to prepare my own lunch, and I’m no hand at it.”
“We won’t take much of your time, Mr. Merrimac,” Dan urged.
“Oh, all right, come in,” the old man consented. “I warn you though, you must come directly to the point. I haven’t felt well lately, and it makes me nervous to hear a lot of chatter.”
Brad and Dan followed their unwilling host into the living room.
The evidence was overpowering that Mr. Merrimac lived alone. Although the room was well furnished, everything was covered with dust.
Newspapers had been dropped where read. Cigar ashes littered the rugs. Blinds which were three-quarters lowered, gave the entire room a gloomy atmosphere.
“I had a bad scare the other night,” Mr. Merrimac said, picking up a book so that Dan could seat himself on the sofa. “Someone tried to break in.”
“You live here by yourself?” Brad inquired.
“I do since Hayes left me. He was my butler. Said he could make more than I was paying. So the ungrateful scoundrel quit on three days notice. I’ve been unable to find anyone to take his place.”
“You have had your troubles,” Brad said. “Maybe you’d rather we came back some other day.”
“No, we may as well get this over with,” the old man sighed. “If my name is on the list, I’ll be pestered until I give ’em something. How much am I down for? Ten dollars?”
Brad let him have it straight.
“Five hundred, Mr. Merrimac.”
“Five hundred!” The elderly man’s voice rose to an indignant screech. “What do they think I am? A wealthy man?”
“I believe you contributed that much last year to the Community Chest,” Brad said, consulting a memorandum on the back side of the pledge card. “The church really needs your help.”
“It certainly does,” added Dan. “The heating plant is shot and a good stiff wind might blow the building over!”
Mr. Merrimac permitted himself a tight, half-amused smile. “It’s hardly that bad, Dan,” he said. “I’ll admit though, that we need a new church. The cause is a worthy one.”
“Then how much may we put you down for?” Brad asked, taking out a fountain pen.
“I’m not prepared to make any pledge at this time.”
“But Mr. Merrimac, you’re our best prospect—”
“I hate to disappoint you, Brad,” Mr. Merrimac said soberly. “I honestly do. The truth is, I’ve had rather distressing business losses recently. I can’t afford to make a pledge at this time.”
Brad and Dan were at a loss for an argument. Mr. Hatfield had warned them that Mr. Merrimac might be inclined to whittle down the five hundred dollar pledge. But even the Cub leader had not expected such stiff resistance as this.
“How much have you lost?” Dan inquired. After speaking, he realized that the question was a very personal one.
“Several thousand,” Mr. Merrimac answered shortly. “It was stolen from my library. I kept the money in a metal box locked in a desk.”
“A metal box!” Dan exclaimed. “Oh, can you beat that!”
“I’m sure I don’t understand,” said Mr. Merrimac in perplexity.
“You must have heard about the Cubs finding a money box at the church,” Brad replied quietly. He was watching the elderly man very closely, wondering whether or not he might be acting a part.
“The Cubs found a money box? My box?”
“We don’t know whose box it is,” Brad said. “That’s for the police to decide.”
Mr. Merrimac had grown rather excited. “If you found a box at the church it must have been the one that was stolen from me!”
“If you can prove your claim, you’re welcome to it,” Brad returned, arising to leave. “It’s only fair to warn you though, that two other persons already have said it belongs to them.”
Mr. Merrimac pursued the boys to the door. Eagerly he plied them for more information. Dan and Brad, however, were in no mood to be pumped.
“You’ll have to see Mr. Hatfield or the police about it,” Brad told him firmly. “It’s none of our affair. We merely came here in the interests of the building fund campaign.”
“Oh, yes, the building fund,” the old man recalled. “Boys, if you’ll help me recover my money, I’ll make it right with you. I’ll pledge the five hundred dollars. I might even give more.”
Brad and Dan had reached the end of their patience.
“Thanks, Mr. Merrimac,” Dan said dryly. “We’ll remember.”
Scarcely bidding the old man goodbye, the two Cubs hurriedly left the house.
Once beyond hearing, they gave vent to their feelings.
“Three claimants now!” Dan exclaimed. “This positively is the last straw!”
“We come here to get a pledge from old Money Bags, and what does he do?” Brad added. “Why, he turns around and tries to file claim to the money box. I give up!”
Discouragement weighed heavily upon Dan and Brad as they left Mr. Merrimac’s home.
The bakery owner had been their No. 1 prospect and without a donation from him they knew the Den never could make a good showing in the solicitation.
“Mr. Hatfield gave us Mr. Merrimac’s name because he thought we were the best collectors,” Brad said in disgust. “Well, we muffed it.”
“We caught him in a bad mood,” Dan replied, equally sunk in gloom. “Do you think the old cod really lost money as he claimed? Or was it just another trick?”
“Search me, Dan. It’s a cinch three persons couldn’t have lost that cash. The whole thing is fantastic.”
“I almost wish we hadn’t found that box, Brad.”
“So do I. It’s going to make a peck of trouble. Well, what do we do now? Report to Mr. Hatfield?”
“May as well. He ought to know about Mr. Merrimac’s claim, even if it should prove phoney.”
The boys found the Cub leader in his front yard, raking leaves. Leaning on his rake, he listened attentively to their account of what had happened at Mr. Merrimac’s place.
“It’s a bad break not getting the donation,” he said. “But don’t take it too hard. Mr. Merrimac may come through later on. As for his claim that the money box belongs to him—well, I don’t know what to think about that.”
“It’s probably just another fake claim,” Brad declared.
“Was he able to tell the amount of money in the box?”
“He said it was several thousand,” Brad answered.
“You didn’t ask him to be more definite or to furnish a description of the money box?”
“No, Dan and I were too disgusted. We left as quickly as we could.”
“Mr. Merrimac probably will come to see me,” the Cub leader responded. Picking up a basket of leaves, he started with it toward the street.
Just then a black police car pulled up at the curb. Mr. Hatfield put down the basket and went to meet the officers.
“We have a report that you’re holding a box of money found by some of the Cub Scouts at a church,” Sergeant Billings addressed Mr. Hatfield.
“That’s right. Come into the house and I’ll turn it over to you. First though, meet Dan Carter and Brad Wilber. They’re the ones who found the box.”
“Dan did,” Brad corrected. “I just happened to be around.”
“How are you, boys?” Sergeant Billings said heartily.
He began to pose friendly but pointed questions which Brad and Dan answered to the best of their abilities.
“Don’t worry about finding the rightful owner of the box,” he reassured them. “We’ll get to the bottom of it in short order. By the way, you didn’t happen to find a blackjack or a pair of brass knuckles along side of the box did you?”
“Oh, no, sir!” Dan returned, surprised by the question.
“It might be smart to let that impression get around,” the sergeant chuckled. “Catch on?”
“You mean if folks thought that by claiming the box they would tangle with the law, they might not be so quick to say it was theirs?” Brad demanded.
“That’s the idea, kid.”
“I don’t want the Cubs to become involved any further in this matter,” Mr. Hatfield said, speaking decisively. “That’s why I called police. I want to be rid of the box and all responsibility.”
“Fair enough,” rejoined Sergeant Billings. “Just lead me to the box. I can’t guarantee though, that you won’t have the newspaper reporters on your neck when this story gets out. I’ll have to make a report, you know.”
“I suppose so,” Mr. Hatfield admitted, leading the way to the house. “Well, keep the Cubs out of it as much as possible.”
In the living room the Cub leader offered the sergeant a chair and then excused himself.
“I have the money box hidden upstairs,” he said. “Wait and I’ll fetch it.”