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iron box. Was the gold inside the box?
    â€œShall we defy Simbu’s curse and look?” Frank whispered.
    â€œI—don’t know,” Joe breathed.
    The more they stared at Simbu’s evil little face, the more they hesitated to touch him. At last Frank addressed the ancient guardian. “Simbu, we’re not going to hurt you. And we’re not going to steal your gold. We just want to see if it’s there.”
    Then he moved the figure and tried to open the box. However, the locks, despite the years underground, were still strong, and they had no tools that could have broken them.
    â€œNow what’ll we do?” Joe asked. “We could take Simbu—”
    Another terrible crash of thunder interrupted him.
    â€œThe water’ll build up in the root cellar,” Frank warned. “We’d better get out of here. We can always come back tomorrow.”
    â€œYou’re right,” Joe said. He was relieved that Simbu and the gold would stay for the time being.
    The boys scrambled back down the passageway and hoisted themselves up into the root cellar. With some difficulty they made their way through the rushing water to their rope and climbed out into the raging storm.
    â€œWe’d better divert the water from going into the pit or else it’ll be a pool in the morning,” Frank suggested.
    Quickly the Hardys dug a shallow ditch around the opening to the root cellar, then replaced the planks, tamped down the earth and sod, and left.
    They returned to their bikes and drove to the hotel, where they managed to get into the parking lot without being observed. At least, they did not see Button’s white Mercedes anywhere.
    An hour later, they had an unexpected telephone call from Bayport. Their mother had been taken to the hospital for emergency surgery. Mr. Hardy, who had stopped off in New York, could not be reached for another twenty-four hours, since he was out on Long Island on a stakeout involving boats. So Frank and Joe had to go home fast.
    â€œI suppose we have to postpone our date with Simbu and make arrangements with the hotel to store our bikes,” Frank said. “And I’ll call the airport right away to book us a flight home.”
    The following morning, the white Mercedes followed the boys to the airport. “I bet Buffon is real surprised to see us leave,” Joe declared.
    â€œI bet he is,” Frank agreed. “I hope he doesn’t decide to follow us to Bayport, though.”
    As it turned out, Buffon stayed behind. A month later, Frank and Joe were sitting in front of the fireplace with their friends Tony Prito and Chet Morton, whom they had just told the story.
    â€œSo what happened after your mom got out of the hospital?” Chet demanded. “Did you go back to retrieve the gold?”
    â€œWe did,” Joe said, “but we were too late.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Tony asked. “Did someone else get to your friend Simbu first?”
    â€œNo. But when we arrived, the highway people had used that heavy construction equipment we had seen that night to build an expressway linking Route three-eighty to an interstate highway. The old man’s property had been transformed into six lanes of brand-new concrete!”

 
THE DISAPPEARANCE OF FLAMING ROCK
 
    Frank and Joe Hardy were driving toward Los Angeles.
    â€œYou know,” Joe said suddenly to his brother, “we’re not far from Flaming Rock.”
    â€œFlaming Rock?” Frank asked, puzzled.
    â€œRemember the article we read some time ago about the town that just vanished one day?”
    â€œOh, yes!” Frank exclaimed. “It was built around a silver mine, in the mountains, a couple of hundred miles from any settled community.”
    â€œRight. The mine was discovered during the Civil War and the heyday of Flaming Rock was between 1863 and 1875. Then the town began to disappear in stages.”
    â€œI remember,”