“Hurray!” shouted Joe. “I knew you’d say that, Dad!”
Mrs. Hardy smiled indulgently from the end of the table. Aunt Gertrude, a peppery old lady who was visiting the Hardys at the time, sniffed in derision. Aunt Gertrude was a maiden lady of advancing years who had very little faith in human nature.
“Chances are they’ll go out and steal another car and run away,” she snapped. “Waste of money, I call it.”
“I’ll take my chances with the boys,” laughed Mr. Hardy.
“Five thousand dollars gone!” Aunt Gertrude predicted.
“I don’t think it’ll be as bad as all that, Aunty,” said Frank, winking at his brother.
“Wait and see, young man. Wait and see. I’ve lived in this world a good deal longer than you have—”
“Years longer,” said Joe innocently.
This reference to her age drew a glare of wrath from over Aunt Gertrude’s spectacles.
“I’m older than you are and I know the ways of the world. It seems you can’t trust anybody nowadays.”
However, in spite of Aunt Gertrude’s doleful predictions, Fenton Hardy stood by his promise, and after lunch was over he went with the boys to the office of the District Attorney, where they put up bail to the amount of five thousand dollars for the release of Jack Dodd and his father, pending trial.
In a few minutes, father and son were free. When they learned the identity of their benefactors their gratitude was almost unbounded.
“We’d have been behind the bars right until the day of the trial,” declared Mr. Dodd. “I don’t know how to thank you. I give you my word you’ll have no cause to regret it.”
“We know that,” Mr. Hardy assured him. “Don’t worry.”
“You’re real chums!” declared Jack to the boys.
“Forget it,” Joe said, embarrassed. “You’d do the same for us if it were the other way around.”
“If you run across any information that might help us find who left the car on your farm let us know,” put in Frank. “And, by the way, see if you can find out where Gus Montrose is now and what he is doing. I have an idea that fellow knows something.”
“I haven’t heard anything about him, but I’ll try to find out,” Jack promised.
“Are you going back home now?”
“I don’t know. I hate to miss any more school, for I’ve been a bit behind in my work.”
“Go on to school with the boys,” advised Mr. Dodd. “I’ll go back home alone. No use losing any more time than can be helped.”
Fenton Hardy nodded his head in approval of this sensible advice and the boys went on to school together, where Jack Dodd received an enthusiastic welcome from his classmates, all of whom stoutly asserted their belief in his innocence and confidently predicted that he would come through his ordeal with flying colors.
“It’s a crying shame ever to have arrested you,” said one of the lads loyally.
“Oh, the police of this town are a lot of doughheads,” said another.
“It’s not the fault of the police, exactly,” Frank pointed out. “It was also the state troopers and detectives.”
“But Jack is innocent,” came from several of the lads in unison.
“Of course he is—and so is his father,” answered Joe.
“Gee, if only they round up the real thieves!” sighed one of the other boys. “Why, my dad won’t let me park our car anywhere near the Shore Road any more!”
“My dad is getting so he won’t hardly park anywhere,” added another lad, and at this there was a general laugh.
“Those thieves are getting on everybody’s nerves—they ought to be rounded up.”
“Yes, and the sooner the better,” declared Frank.
The kind words of his chums were very pleasing to Jack Dodd. Yet he was very sober as he entered the school building. He could not help but think of what might happen if he and his father could not clear their name.
“We may have to go to prison after all,” he sighed dolefully.
V
More Thieving
After school the following afternoon, the Hardy boys repaired to the boathouse at the end of the street, where they kept their fast motorboat, the Sleuth.
They had bought this boat out of money they had received as a reward for their work in clearing up the mystery of the Tower Treasure and in the capture of a band of smugglers. It was a speedy craft, and the boys had enjoyed many happy hours in it.
Tony Prito, one of their chums, an Italian-American lad, also owned a motorboat, the Napoli, as did Biff Hooper, the proud skipper of the Envoy. Tony’s boat had been the fastest craft on Barmet Bay until the arrival of the Sleuth, and there was much friendly rivalry between the boys as to the speed of their respective boats.
Chet Morton was sitting in the Sleuth, awaiting Joe and Frank by appointment.
“Come on,” he said. “Tony and Biff are out in the bay already.”
The Hardy boys sprang into their craft, and in a few minutes the Sleuth was nosing its way out into Barmet Bay. The boys could see the other boats circling about, as Tony and Biff awaited their arrival. Tony waved to them and in a short time they drew alongside the Napoli.
“Where shall we go?” shouted Frank.
“Anywhere suits me. Might as well just cruise around.”
There was a roar as the Envoy surged up, with Biff at the wheel, Jerry Gilroy and Phil Cohen were with him.
“I don’t suppose you want to go to Blacksnake Island, do you, Biff?” called out Joe.
“I’ll say I don’t! Once is enough.”
“Me, too,” chimed in Chet, as the three boats, running abreast, headed in the direction of Barmet village.
Blacksnake Island, out in the open sea some distance down the coast, had been the scene of perilous adventures for the chums. Some time previous Chet Morton and Biff Hooper had gone out in Biff’s launch and had been kidnaped by a gang of crooks who mistook them for the Hardy boys and who wished to revenge themselves upon Fenton Hardy.
