“You know about the Argyll Queen, sir?” Bob asked.

“It’s not my field,” Professor Shay admitted, “and I’ve not been here long, but one of our men is writing a pamphlet on the complete story. I’ve picked up a lot. Just how much do you know, young man?”

“I know the Argyll Queen was a big square-rigger that sank off Rocky Beach in 1870,” Bob said promptly, “and there were rumours of treasure on it!”

The professor laughed.” There are rumours of treasure aboard every ship that ever went down, my boy. But you’re right about the date.” The professor sat down across from Bob. “The Argyll Queen was a three-masted, full-rigged ship from Glasgow, Scotland, in the East Indies spice and tin trade. She had put in at San Francisco, and was sailing south for Cape Horn and the trip back to Scotland, when a storm blew her off course. She struck a reef close to shore one night in December 1870.

“It was a terrible storm, and there were few survivors. Most of her crew tried to get to shore at once and were lost. By sheer chance she didn’t sink immediately. The few who did survive were those who remained aboard until dawn, including the Captain, who of course stayed until the last.”

“But there wasn’t any treasure?”

“I doubt it, young man,” Professor Shay said. “The Queen went down in relatively shallow water, and divers searched it at the time, and many times afterwards. Even today people occasionally dive down to the wreck after treasure. But all that’s ever been found are a few ordinary coins of the period.” The professor shook his head. “No, I’m afraid the rumours got started because of another tragedy soon after that seemed to be connected to the Argyll Queen.”

“Another tragedy, sir?” Bob exclaimed. “What was that?”

“One survivor, a Scottish sailor named Angus Gunn, settled not far from Rocky Beach. In 1872 he was murdered by four men. All four murderers were killed by a posse before they could tell why they had done it. But one of the four was the Captain of the Argyll Queen, so people were sure the Captain was after something Gunn had taken from the ship — perhaps treasure, you see? People searched the ship, the shore, and every inch of Gunn’s land for years and years, but nothing was ever found.

“Angus Gunn, like many sailors, kept a journal. As a matter of fact, his descendants recently gave the journal to the Society to help with the pamphlet. It was read by the sheriff in 1872, and the Gunn family has searched it ever since, for any hint of treasure — but to no avail. If there was a treasure, and Gunn had it, he left no clues to it in his journal.”

Bob frowned. “Was the treasure supposed to be something from the East Indies, where the ship had been, sir?”

“Why, yes, that was the rumour. A pirate hoard. Why? Do you know something, my boy?”

“Er, no, sir,” Bob stammered. “I just wondered.”

“I see.” Professor Shay smiled. “Just why are you interested in the Argyll Queen, may I ask?”

“We… we just are, sir. For a… a school project over the Christmas vacation,” Bob said lamely.

“Of course,” Professor Shay said. “Most commendable, my boy.”

“Sir? Could I see the journal and the new pamphlet?”

Professor Shay’s eyes seemed to twinkle behind his rimless glasses. “For your school project, eh? Of course, my boy, and if you happen to discover anything new, we’ll put your name in our pamphlet.”

The professor went away grinning. A few minutes later, Mrs. Rutherford brought in a thin manuscript — Wreck of the Argyll Queen — and an oilskin-wrapped notebook. Bob began to read them.

It was dusk as Bob cycled up to the back of The Jones Salvage Yard. Round the yard was an unusually colourful fence; it had been decorated by artists of Rocky Beach with an assortment of vivid scenes. Covering the whole back fence was a magnificent painting of the San Francisco fire of 1906.

Bob rode along beside the back fence and stopped about fifty feet from the corner. Here a little dog had been painted into the fire scene, looking sadly up at the flames burning his home. The Investigators had named the dog Rover. Bob picked out the knot hole that formed one of Rover’s eyes, reached in, and undid a catch. Three boards in the fence swung up, and he wheeled his bike inside. This was Red Gate Rover, one of the boys’ private entrances to the salvage yard.

From here Bob could go directly to Headquarters by crawling through a long, hidden passageway in the junk. But he decided to look into the workshop first. Wheeling his bike to the front of the yard, he spied Pete coming in through the main gate.

“My dad worked me all afternoon,” Pete groaned. “Some vacation! I’d almost rather go to school.”

The two boys went on to the outdoor workshop. Rounding the piles of junk that defined the workshop area — and kept it from view of the rest of the year — they found Jupiter. He had a light on over the workbench and was studying the Oriental chest. As Bob started to tell what he had learned at the Historical Society, Jupiter waved his hand.

“Wait a minute,” the stout leader interrupted, his voice excited. “I’ve been examining the chest again. Look what I found!”

Jupiter held up an oilskin-wrapped book that looked just like the journal Bob had read at the Historical Society, but thinner. Bob reached out for the book. A hoarse voice suddenly rasped from the entrance to the workshop area. “I’ll take that book!” Java Jim stood glaring at the boys.

Jupiter jumped up and backed against the stacks of junk. Pete and Bob seemed frozen where they stood.

Java Jim advanced menacingly towards Jupiter, who clutched the oilskin-wrapped book tightly against his shirt.

“Pete!” Jupiter cried. “Plan One!”

Java Jim whirled on Pete and Bob, his dark eyes snapping in his weather-beaten face. “No tricks now, you kids! I’m warning you.”

The bearded sailor’s hard stare seemed to bore through Pete and Bob. He watched them a moment, as if daring them to move. Both boys gulped. Java Jim smiled nastily, and turned back to Jupiter.

“Now I’ll take the book, boy,” Java Jim said hoarsely.

“You’re a liar and a thief!” Jupiter cried as he backed away in a circle.

Java Jim laughed. “A thief, am I? Maybe I’m a lot worse, boy, and you think about that! I want that book.”

Jupiter kept edging away, drawing the sailor after him until the man was near one particular towering pile of junk, with his back turned to it. Pete and Bob edged along behind Java Jim.

“Now, guys!” Jupiter shouted.

Bob and Pete bent quickly and pulled two long boards from the junk tower behind the sailor. With a curse, Java Jim turned — too late!

“Ahhhhgggggghhh!”

As Bob and Pete leaped out of the way, the wall of junk came crashing down on Java Jim! Boards and bed springs and broken chairs and rolls of ragged rugs fell all over him. The bearded sailor kicked and railed, trying to protect himself and escape at the same time.

Bob and Pete grinned at the sight, but Jupiter didn’t pause.

“Run, men!” the leader yelled.

Stumbling over some of the scattered junk, the three boys ran out of the workshop towards the salvage yard office, where Hans was taking a last item off the truck. They could hear Java Jim still raging and struggling behind them.

“Hans!” Pete cried. “That Java Jim’s in the yard! He attacked us!”

“So?” the big Bavarian said. “Come, we will see.”

They started back across the salvage yard towards the workshop. The sounds of clattering junk and thrashing had stopped. In the twilight, a small, dark figure dashed from the workshop area towards the back fence of the yard.

“There he goes!” Pete yelled.

Bob cried, “He’s carrying something! The notebook! Jupe, you must have dropped it!”

“Oh, no!” Pete groaned.

Hans said as they ran, “We catch him at the fence, boys.”