The Mysterious Caravan by Franklin W. Dixon

chair. “And only two eggs, please, Aunt Gertrude. I’ve already had breakfast.”
    â€œWe were just talking with Dad about
Bwana
Brutus,” Joe said as he finished a glass of milk.
    â€œGives you the creeps, doesn’t it, Mr. Hardy?” Chet shook his head. “A mysterious caravan that existed hundreds of years ago. I’m afraid its secret is buried in the sands of time.”
    â€œYou’re getting pretty poetic so early in the morning,” Frank quipped. Then he added with a snap of his fingers, “You know, I just had a brainstorm.”
    â€œLet’s hear it,” Joe said.
    â€œSuppose a cargo of gold disappeared on its way from Mali to Sijilmasa. And suppose it was hijacked and hidden. And suppose a smart man knew where it was and made a map.”
    â€œGo ahead,” Fenton Hardy said. “It intrigues me.”
    Frank said that a parchment map could be destroyed, and so could wood. “That leaves metal, right?”
    â€œRight!” Joe said. “The map might be on the death mask! Old
Bwana
Brutus might hold the key to the riddle!”

CHAPTER VIII
The Suave Stranger
    â€œM AYBE the mask was the treasure in the captain’s cabin, and was lost in the wreck of the
Africanus Rex,”
Frank said.
    â€œAnd I found it!” Joe was exuberant.
    Chet put away his second fried egg and was savoring a sausage. “Fantastic!” he said. “And impossible!”
    â€œNothing is impossible, Chet,” Mr. Hardy said. “Maybe Frank has something there.”
    â€œYou know all the lines in those whiskers?” Frank went on. “They might camouflage the map that leads to the hiding place of the mysterious caravan!”
    â€œIt’ll take time to work this out,” Mr. Hardy said. “It might be a good idea to get a duplicate, even if you can’t give it to the kidnappers.”
    â€œWe’ll go to the foundry right away,” Joe said.
    â€œDon’t take it over yourself,” Mr. Hardy advised.“Your enemies are desperate and might follow you. We’ll have to do this by stealth.”
    They decided to call Tony Prito. He was to arrive in his father’s truck, dressed in work clothes, and would bring a toolbox in which to carry the mask out of the house.
    â€œThat’ll throw Stribling and company off the trail if they’re spying on us,” Joe said.
    Tony agreed to cooperate. “Boy, just like a detective movie,” he said. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”
    When he walked into the kitchen, the boys got the mask from the safe and put it into the box Tony was carrying.
    â€œI’ll leave in our car a little later and meet you at the foundry,” Joe said. “Frank wants to go to the library, in the meantime, to get some old maps of Africa.”
    Fifteen minutes after Tony had left, Joe drove to the foundry in Millvale, about ten miles away. He took a back road for a short cut. No one seemed to follow him. When he arrived, he looked for Tony’s truck, but there was no sign of it.
    â€œGood grief!” he thought. “I hope nothing has happened!”
    Joe hurried into the foreman’s office and asked Alex Krusinsky if the mask had been delivered.
    â€œNot yet,” the man replied. “Was it supposed to?”
    Joe felt sick in the pit of his stomach. Had Tony been waylaid and the mask stolen? He told Krusinsky about his mission, looking out at the parking lot over and over again. Then he phoned Tony’s home. Mr. Prito had not seen his son since he left the house with the truck.
    Joe breathed deeply, trying to control his emotions. He made a second call to his father. Mr. Hardy answered and spoke in a low voice.
    â€œI can hardly hear you, Dad,” Joe said. He could sense his father putting his lips close to the mouthpiece.
    â€œI can’t talk any louder, Joe. A caller has just arrived, and I don’t want to be