Part 3 (1/2)

It might sharpen our eyes to finding that treasure clue.”

In their bas.e.m.e.nt room, Chet and the Hardys spent the evening mulling over books on painting borrowed from Mr. Kenyon. Later, they went upstairs for a conference with Chet's uncle. Using paints and a canvas, the instructor ill.u.s.trated various art techniques.

”Want to try your hand, Chet?” Mr. Kenyon offered, holding out the brush to his nephew. He winked at Frank and Joe. ”I think he has the makings of a painter, don't you?”

But before either Hardy could answer, the building shook with a deafening roar that reverberated up the stairwell!

Frank jumped to his feet. ”That came from downstairs!” The smell of burnt powder reached them as they all charged down the narrow steps. When they entered their room, Chet gasped.

The wall near which their luggage lay was splattered with red dots!

”A shotgun!” Joe exclaimed, picking up a used cartridge under the window. He grimaced and held out the sh.e.l.l. ”Look.” Everyone gasped. It was covered with red.

”Bl-blood?” Chet quavered.

His uncle examined the cartridge. ”No. Red paint-alizarin crimson!”

On the floor lay a small paintbrush. Wrapped around it was a piece of paper. Frank unfolded the sheet to disclose a typewritten message: A mural for the Hardy Boys. Leave Millwood or my next painting will be a coffin-yours.

CHAPTER V.

Danger Alley CHET looked nervous. ”Another threat!” he exclaimed. ”I guess that scalp warning wasn't any joke.”

Uncle Jim's face showed concern. ”Whoever stuck a gun barrel through that window wants to scare you boys off-that's plain.”

Joe said wryly, ”Lucky we weren't on hand for the barrage.”

Frank compared the note with that found earlier on the scalp. ”Both were done on the same typewriter-and this red paint looks like that 'blood' on the papier-mache.”

With flashlights the instructor and the three boys searched the ground outside the shattered window, but no clues were found.

While the boys swept up the broken gla.s.s and fallen plaster, they speculated on the ident.i.ty of their mysterious enemy. The Hardys felt he might very well be the same person who had thrown the scalp and stolen the fort painting in Bayport.

Chet gulped. ”You mean-that thief trailed us here?” Then he asked, ”Do you think that snoopy Ronnie Rush could have had something to do with this?” He told his uncle of their encounters with the boy.

”Well,” said Mr. Kenyon, ”Ronnie's sometimes a little hard to work with, but I don't think he'd do something like this. Our annual outdoor exhibit is to be held on Senandaga Day-next Sat.u.r.day. I'll be pretty busy getting ready for it, so I won't have much time to help you detectives.”

Jim explained that Senandaga Day was celebrated every year. The town decreed that the fort be opened at this time to the public. ”By having our art exhibit then, we attract more visitors.”

The Hardys decided to track down if possible the source of the empty cartridge. Frank obtained from Uncle Jim the name of a Cedartown hunting equipment shop, the only one in the area.

”It's run by Myles Warren,” the painter added. ”He's one of our weekend painters, by the way.”

Before retiring, the Hardys fastened some slats across the window. The rest of the night pa.s.sed uneventfully. After breakfast the next morning, the three attended the quaint little church in town and located the shop of Myles Warren.

”We'll come here first thing tomorrow,” Frank said.

Back at the school, the boys had midday dinner, then strolled across the lawn toward several students at work on their paintings.

Frank said in a low tone, ”Let's see who has been using the alizarin red.” The trio split up. Each boy had a paper bearing a smear of the paint. They began browsing near easels set up not only on the main lawn, but also in various nooks on the outskirts of the estate.

”Wow!” Chet exclaimed to himself, coming upon a dazzling creation being worked on by a thin, red-haired boy in dungarees. The plump boy tried to make some order out of the reddish-brown swirls and zigzag silver streaks. ”Looks like a vegetable cart that's been hit by lightning.”

The student paused and greeted Chet. ”Like it?” He smiled. ”It's a meadow in wintertime.”

”Oh-er-very unusual.” Chet walked on, muttering, ”Guess I'll have to get the hang of this stuff.”

He stopped at several other easels, some of which bore landscape scenes, and others, views of the Millwood buildings or of the surrounding lakes.

”Hi!” A round-faced jovial girl peeked out at Chet from behind an easel. ”Are you a new student at Millwood?” she asked, wiping some red paint from her hands onto a rag. Chet explained that he was trying to pick up some pointers.

”You'll have to see our exhibit,” she said brightly. ”I'm just touching up my portrait. One of the other students modeled for it.”

”Is that alizarin crimson?”

”Oh, you! You're an old pro to recognize it,” the girl said.

Chet gulped. ”She's so nice, she couldn't be the thief,” he thought, then peered wide-eyed at the bizarre maze of green and yellow triangles, wavy black lines, blobs of thick red shading, and one eye.

”You say another student modeled for you? Is he all right now?”

The girl giggled. ”Quit teasing. You know well enough this is an abstract!”

”Oh, yes, of course.” Chet smiled and moved on to inspect several other student canvases before meeting the Hardys near the gallery. ”Hope you fellows had more luck than I did,” he said.

Frank shook his head. ”Everybody is using alizarin crimson. We can't narrow down this clue.”

The next morning they walked up the shady lake road to the quaint village of Cedartown. Picturesque shops, a small church, and a barnlike playhouse graced the narrow main street. Frank pointed out the Cedar Sport Store on the other side.

”If the shotgun sh.e.l.l was bought any place in the area, there's a good chance it was here,” he said. They crossed and entered the dimly lighted shop.

A long, cluttered counter extended along a dusty wall hung with a.s.sorted hunting and fis.h.i.+ng equipment.

Frank rang the counter bell, and a slender hawk-nosed man with a full black beard emerged from a back room.

”Mr. Warren?” Frank inquired.

”Right. What can I do for you?” he asked, smiling. He spread his hands on the counter and looked with interest at the boys.

”Can you tell us whether this was sold here?” Joe asked, handing him the paint-marked cartridge.

The owner pulled a pair of gla.s.ses out of his s.h.i.+rt pocket, put them on, and looked closely at the sh.e.l.l.

He shook his head and handed it back.