They walked round the slippery hold. Except for the sacks it was bare. No boxes, or boards, or ropes, or ladders! Something small scuttled in a dark corner. Rats!
Cluny looked at Jupiter. “There’s no way out, Jupe!”
“Let’s check again! From end to end!” Jupiter urged.
They walked all the way down the sloping bottom of the barge — and stood at the edge of water. Jupiter gulped.
“Cluny, look at the walls,” he quavered. “There’s a high water mark on them. When… when the tide comes in, this leaky hold is almost under water!”
They hurried back to stand beneath the hatch they had fallen through.
“Start yelling!” Cluny said.
A shadow fell across the jagged opening above, and a face peered down at them. A young face with a moustache!
“Don’t waste your breath,” Stebbins said grimly. “No one comes here much in winter, and no one on the street will hear you over the traffic.”
They stared up at the driver of the green Volkswagen. His eyes flashed down at them. “I want to talk to you kids!”
On their bikes, Bob and Pete reached the Ortega Building Supplies yard in mid-afternoon. A dark-faced man was loading bricks on a truck. When the boys told him they wanted to ask some questions about the old Ortega brothers, he wiped the sweat from his brow and grinned.
“Si, the famous Ortega brothers! The best stone masons in all California in the old days. My great-grandfather and great-granduncle. I am Emiliano Ortega.” The smiling man sighed loudly. “Now I am the best stone mason, but today no one wants the best stonework. Too expensive,”
“Then you know all about the old Ortega brothers?” Bob said.
“Sure. What do you want to know, muchachos?”
“They sold a wagonload of something to a Mr. Angus Gunn on November 22, 1872. We want to know what they sold.”
“Caramba!” Emiliano Ortega cried. “You want to know what someone bought in 1872? A hundred years ago?”
“Is it too long ago?” Pete asked.
“You can’t help us?” Bob said in dismay.
“A hundred years!” Mr. Ortega said in horror, and then he laughed, his black eyes twinkling. “Sure I can help you! The Ortegas keep the best records in the state. Come.”
Mr. Ortega took them into the yard office and went to an old wooden filing cabinet. He rummaged in the back of it among yellowed folders. At last he drew out a file, blew dust from it with a grin at the boys, and opened it on his desk.
“You said November 22, Angus Gunn. Okay, let’s see what we — here it is! Angus Gunn, Phantom Lake, on special order: one ton of cut granite, paid in cash and carried away.”
“A ton of granite?” Pete said. “What kind of granite? I mean, what kind of stones?”
Mr. Ortega shook his head. “It doesn’t say — just the weight of stone.
It was a special order, and judging by the price it wasn’t just ordinary rock, but that’s all I know.”
“What kind of special orders could there have been back then, Mr. Ortega?” Bob asked. “What was a special order?”
“Well.” Mr. Ortega rubbed at his jaw. “A special order would have meant something more than just loose stone from our quarry. A special size of stones, or shape, or maybe finish. Some work done on the stone after it was quarried, eh? Even polished. But this order wasn’t polished stone — too cheap. Did this Angus Gunn maybe build a sidewalk?”
“Sidewalk?” Pete gaped.
“They used stone for that in those days — big, flat stones.”
“Not that we know of,” Bob said.
“Well, then it could be any size of stone, big or small. For a house, a foundation, flagstones, a wall, anything.” Mr. Ortega shrugged. “Is the size and shape important, kids?”
“Yes, sir!” they cried together.
Mr. Ortega nodded. “Okay, there’s an order number on the sales slip. The stone would have come from our old quarry out in the hills. We don’t use it much now — only keep a caretaker there — and the specification sheet for that old order might still be lying around the quarry office.”
“Gosh,” Bob cried, “can we go there?”
“Sure,” Mr. Ortega said, and told them where the quarry was.
“Why, it’s only a couple of miles past Phantom Lake!” Bob exclaimed. “We’ll see if Jupe and Cluny are back before we go!”
But at that moment Jupe and Cluny were staring up at the moustached face of Stebbins. The wild-haired young man peered down through the hatch.
“We’re not talking to you!” Cluny declared stoutly, looking up. “We know who you are!”
Above, Stebbins’s face seemed alarmed. “What do you know?”
“We know you’re a thief that Professor Shay had to send to prison,” Jupiter said hotly, “and you’ve broken your parole to steal Angus Gunn’s treasure!”
“The police know it, too!” Cluny said.
Stebbins lifted his head and looked round the deck. Then he glared down at the boys again.
“So Professor Shay told you that, did he?” Stebbins said. “How come you kids are working with Shay?”
“He’s working with us,” Jupiter corrected him. “We found the second journal, the one you photographed!”
“You found?” Stebbins hesitated. “What did you learn in that store over there?”
“You think we’d tell you?” Cluny said.
“Why not ask your partner, Java Jim?” Jupiter countered
“Java Jim? What do you kids know about him?”
“We know you’re both after the treasure!” Cluny cried. “But you won’t steal it! We’ll beat you to —”
“Beat me to it?” Stebbins broke in. “Then you don’t know where it is yet, do you? Professor Shay doesn’t know? But you think that Java Jim does know?”