The others were beginning to see Chet’s plan now. The Hardy boys grinned in anticipation.
“It’s the tree right beside the orchard gate,” said Jack. “You can see it from here.”
“Come, Towser,” said Chet, and stalked away. The bulldog waddled obediently behind, the chain clinking.
Chet went into the orchard and, without looking up, without giving any sign that he had noticed the man perched in the leafy branches above, he snapped the chain around the tree trunk, leaving Towser sitting in the shade. The bulldog looked puzzled, but he made no protest and settled down on his haunches.
“I guess that will hold our inquisitive friend for a while,” said Chet cheerfully, as he came back with the air of one who had just accomplished a worthy deed. “If he wants to leave that tree, he’ll have to argue the matter with Towser.”
Hastily, the boys retired behind the stable so that the victim in the tree would not witness their mirth. They peeked around the corner every little while to see if there was any disturbance in the orchard, but the watcher stayed where he was, probably waiting for the dog to fall asleep.
“He’ll get tired of that,” predicted Chet, with a snicker. “I think we will see some action around that apple tree before long.”
Just then the boys spied a familiar figure coming down the lane. A car was parked out in the main road and a bulky, stolid man was advancing toward them.
“Why, it’s dear old Detective Smuff!” declared Chet.
Detective Smuff was one of the detectives on the Bayport police force. He was a worthy man, not over blessed with brains, and as a detective his successes had been mainly due to a dogged persistence rather than to any brilliant deductive abilities. Three of the cases on which he had been engaged had been solved by the Hardy boys, which had not tended to increase his liking for the lads, but he was cordial enough and bore no malice.
“Hello, Mr. Smuff,” Frank called.
The detective nodded ponderously.
“More amatoors,” he sighed. “What chance has a regular officer on a case like this when everybody else in town is puttin’ their oar in?”
“Working on the car thefts?” asked Joe.
“I am.” Smuff turned to Jack Dodd. “Just where were you, night before last, young man?”
“At home,” replied Jack shortly. “There’s no use asking me any more questions, Mr. Smuff. Chief Collig was out here yesterday morning and Dad and I were able to satisfy him that we hadn’t been out of the house all evening.”
“Oh,” said Smuff, evidently disappointed. “The Chief was here, was he?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I guess there ain’t any use of me askin’ questions, then,” returned the detective.
“No sign of any of the cars, officer?” Frank asked.
“Not a trace.”
“Any word from the other towns?”
Detective Smuff shook his head.
“There was three different ways they could have gone,” he said. “The Shore Road branches off into three roads and we’ve sent men out along every one of ’em and every inch of the highway has been searched. Them cars have just plain vanished.”
“The police in the other towns didn’t see them?”
“No reports at all.”
“Perhaps they were taken right through Bayport and out the other side,” Joe suggested.
“They weren’t taken through Bayport. The cars were missed within five minutes after they were stolen and all the patrolmen were told about ’em and kept a lookout. There was nobody on the Shore Road side, so this is the only way they could have come without bein’ stopped. That’s what makes it so queer,” went on Detective Smuff. “The police in the other towns was given word and they were waitin’ for the cars if they came through, but they never showed up.”
“Then the cars must be hidden somewhere along the Shore Road!” Frank exclaimed.
“Looks like it. But we’ve searched every inch of the ground, and there’s no place they could be hid.” Detective Smuff shook his head sadly. “It’s a deep case. A deep case. Well, I’ll do my best on it,” he said, with the air of a martyr.
“I’m sure you will,” said Chet. He did not add that his private opinion of Detective Smuff’s “best” was far from high.
A terrific barking from the direction of the orchard interrupted the conversation. The detective looked up, surprised. A loud howl and a protesting voice added to the uproar.
“The chap in the tree!” shouted Chet. He raced around the corner of the stable, and the others quickly followed. Detective Smuff, left alone, looked around in bewilderment, then jogged heavily after the boys.
Towser, beneath the apple tree, was doing his duty as guardian. The amateur detective in the tree had attempted to escape, perhaps lulled to a sense of false security because Towser had apparently gone into a doze. He was halfway down the tree trunk now, and the bulldog was leaping and snapping at him from beneath. The chain was just long enough to hold the dog in check, and he fell short of the unfortunate victim by a few inches; but the frightened sleuth was unable to scramble back to safety and was clinging wretchedly to the tree, unable to retreat or descend. In the meantime he roared loudly for help.
Chet burst into peals of laughter, and the others, in spite of their sympathy for the inquisitive one in his plight, could restrain themselves no longer. The boys shrieked with merriment, Towser barked and leaped in renewed fury, and Detective Smuff came waddling up, audibly wondering what it was all about.
A whistle from Jack Dodd, as soon as he was able to stifle his laughter sufficiently, attracted Towser’s attention. He stopped barking and looked inquiringly at his master.
“Down!” shouted Jack.
Obediently, the dog lay down.
“He won’t hurt you.”
The man in the tree, somewhat reassured, began to descend. The dog, beyond a low growl or two, paid no further attention. The moment the spy reached the ground he started for
