“Stop! Stop!” angrily cried Bill. “What are you doing to me?”
“Taking off your leg—that’s all,” answered Bob quietly as he finally pulled the wooden member away from its owner. “But it isn’t going to hurt you, Jolly Bill. This is all we want—now you may have your leg back again!”
As Bob spoke he pulled from the hollow interior of the wooden limb the brass-bound box. At the sight of it Hiram raised a cry of delight.
“That’s mine! That’s mine!” he shouted. “It was stolen from me! It holds the secret of the buried treasure. And you had it all the while, Bill Hickey. You tried to rob me! Give me that box! Scoundrel!”
Bob, with a smile, passed it over. Nor could he cease smiling at the look of chagrin in the face of Jolly Bill Hickey. That individual seemed in a daze as he fumbled at his wooden leg and looked within the hollow of it.
“Empty! Gone!” he gasped.
“Yes, Bill, the jig is up for you,” remarked Bob. “You had your try at solving the puzzle, but you couldn’t make head or tail of it, could you? Not head or tail!”
At hearing repeated to him the very words he had used in reference to the brass box, Bill turned pale.
“Wha—what’s it all about? Who are you, anyhow?” he gasped and there was a look of fear on his face as he gazed at Bob.
“He’s just an amateur detective, that’s all,” chuckled Harry.