Fenton Hardy emerged from his study. His face was serious.
“Well,” he said, “I suppose you’ve heard the latest development?”
The boys looked at him blankly.
“Development in what?” asked Joe.
“In the car thefts.”
“We haven’t heard anything,” Frank said. “Have they found the thieves?”
Mr. Hardy shook his head.
“No such luck. The thieves are still very much at large.”
“You don’t mean to say another car was stolen?” exclaimed Joe.
“Not only one. Two cars.”
“Two more?”
Their father nodded.
“Two brand new autos, a Franklin and a Studebaker, were stolen last night,” he told them. “Right in the city.”
“Good night! And there’s been no trace of them?”
“Not a sign. The police kept it quiet all day, hoping to recover them without any fuss, but they’ve had to admit themselves beaten. The cars have absolutely disappeared.”
Aunt Gertrude spoke up.
“Mighty funny there were no cars stolen while those Dodds were in jail,” she said pointedly. “The minute they get out—away go two new automobiles.”
The boys glanced at one another uncomfortably. They were quite convinced that Jack Dodd and his father were innocent of any complicity in the car thefts, but they had to admit to themselves that their aunt had expressed a suspicion that might be commonly maintained throughout Bayport.
“The Dodds didn’t have anything to do with it,” said Fenton Hardy quietly. “I’m sure of that. Still—it looks bad.”
“It certainly does!” declared Aunt Gertrude.
Frank turned to his brother.
“It’s time for us to get busy,” he said. “We’ll go out on the Shore Road again tomorrow afternoon.”
VI
On the Shore Road
The Hardy boys were not the only investigators on the Shore Road the next afternoon.
The daring thefts of the two new cars from the very streets of Bayport had aroused public resentment to a high pitch and the police were thrown into a flurry of activity. Motorists were beginning to clamor for action; no one dared leave his car parked on the street without seeing that it was securely locked, even if only for a few minutes; the Automobile Club held a meeting at noon and passed a resolution urging Chief Collig to put all his available men on the case.
The Shore Road was patrolled by Bayport police and detectives, as well as by state troopers. All outgoing automobiles were stopped and credentials demanded of the drivers. It was a case, however, of locking the stable door after the horse was stolen, for no more cars disappeared that day.
Most of the people who were stopped took the matter good-naturedly, but some were exceedingly bitter.
“How dare you take me for a thief?” shrilled Miss Agatha Mitts, a rich and peppery maiden lady who lived in an ancient mansion down the coast. “It’s outrageous! I won’t show my license!”
“You’ll have to or go to jail,” answered the trooper who had halted her.
“The idea! How dare you talk to me like that? You know well enough who I am!”
“Sorry, but I don’t know you from Adam. And, anyway, it doesn’t make any difference. Show your license or I’ll take you to the lockup.”
“I am Miss Agatha Middleton Mitts, of Oldham Towers,” said the maiden lady heatedly. “And I—”
“Going to show your license or not? If you haven’t one—”
“Oh, yes, I’ve got a license. But I want you to understand—”
“Let me see it, quick. You are holding up traffic.”
“Well, it’s outrageous, anyway,” sighed Miss Mitts. But she had to rummage through her bag for the card and show it. Then she drove on, threatening all sorts of punishment to all the troopers in sight.
Drawn by the hope of earning the rewards offered for the apprehension of the thieves and recovery of the missing cars, a number of amateur detectives went scouting around the adjoining townships, harassing innocent farmers who had already been badgered and pestered into a state of exasperation by the officials. The Dodd family, in particular, suffered from these attentions. The Hardy boys and Chet Morton dropped in to see Jack Dodd and found him sitting disconsolately on top of the barnyard fence.
“It’s bad enough to have detectives and troopers coming around and asking us to account for every minute of our time since we were let out on bail,” said Jack; “but when nosey people come prying and prowling around, it’s a little too much.”
“You’re not the only ones,” consoled Frank. “Every farmer around Bayport has been chasing sleuths off the grounds all day.”
“They keep popping up from behind the woodshed and under fences, like jack rabbits,” said Jack, with a grin. “I suppose it would be funny if we hadn’t gone through so much trouble already. One chap sat up in an apple tree half the morning watching the house. He thought we couldn’t see him. I suppose he expects to catch us driving a stolen car into the barn.”
“Is he there yet?” asked Chet.
Jack nodded.
“He went away for a while. I guess he went home for lunch, but he came back. He’s patient. I’ll say that much for him. He’s up in the tree now, with a pair of field-glasses.”
“The genuine detective!” said Chet approvingly. “Does he know you saw him?”
Jack shook his head.
“We didn’t pay any attention. I suppose he thinks he’s been very clever.”
“Well, if he likes sitting in a tree so much, he’ll have enough to suit him for a long while. You have a dog, haven’t you, Jack?”
Jack nodded. “A bulldog. I’ll call him.” He whistled sharply, and in a few minutes an extremely ferocious looking bulldog came around the corner of the house, wagging his tail.
“Fine! Got a chain for him?”
The boys looked at Chet, puzzled, but Jack went away and returned with a long chain, which he attached to the dog’s collar.
“I don’t think you should let a dog run around loose,” said Chet gravely. “It isn’t good for him. I think he’d better be chained up. And if you’ll
