“Here!” he protested. “What’s all this about?”
“Well, Paul Blum,” said Fenton Hardy, “you thought you’d made a getaway, didn’t you?”
The man started.
“You have my name wrong,” he muttered.
“Oh, no, I haven’t,” contradicted Mr. Hardy. “They tell me you were ‘shoving the queer’ down in Barmet village this morning.”
The Hardy boys had been told by their father that “shoving the queer” was the underworld expression for passing counterfeit money.
“Those Secret Service men would have caught you if the boat hadn’t been handy,” went on Fenton Hardy. He turned to his sons: “What sort of story did this fellow tell you?”
“He said he had to catch a train, as he was going to be married, and some of his friends in the village were trying to hold him back, as a practical joke,” answered Frank. “We thought the yarn was rather fishy and I was going to turn back but he drew a revolver on us.”
“How did you get him tied up?”
“He got seasick and Joe knocked the gun out of his hand. Then we tackled him.”
“Good work,” approved Mr. Hardy. “I got a phone call from two Secret Service men this morning. It seems they’ve been trailing Paul Blum for some time and they were just about to arrest him when he made a bolt for liberty. They chased him down the street, but he disappeared, and the next thing they knew he was in your boat, heading for Bayport. They waved at you and tried to signal to you to come back—”
“So that’s why the two fellows were running along the shore!” exclaimed Joe.
“But when you didn’t turn back they telephoned to me to meet the boat and arrest him.” Fenton Hardy turned to Chief Collig. “Did you find anything?” he asked.
The Chief straightened up, scratching his head.
“Not a thing. Nothin’ but a dollar bill and some matches.”
“No counterfeit money?” exclaimed Mr. Hardy, in surprise.
“Not a bit.”
“That’s strange. The detectives told me he had a big roll of bad bills.”
“Why, that must have been what he threw overboard,” said Frank. “He took something out of his pocket and tossed it over the side of the boat while we were fighting with him. At the time I couldn’t imagine what it was.”
“I guess that’s how he got rid of it.” Fenton Hardy turned to Paul Blum, who was standing sullenly, with his pockets turned inside out. “And what have you got to say for yourself, Blum?”
“Nothing. You haven’t got anythin’ against me.”
“Perhaps not just now. But wait till those Secret Service men arrive from Barmet. You were passing counterfeit money in the village.”
“Any counterfeit money I passed, I got from someone else,” blurted the prisoner. “I’m not in that game.”
Fenton Hardy turned to his sons.
“This doesn’t happen, by any chance, to be the fellow who tricked you on that bad five dollar bill at the railway station, does it?” he asked.
They shook their heads.
“No, it isn’t he.”
“I’m convinced that he’s associated with the gang in some way.”
“You haven’t got anything on me,” Blum persisted doggedly. “Perhaps I did pass some bad money in the village. What of it? If I did, I didn’t know it was bad. I got it from someone else. It ain’t my fault.”
“If you’re so innocent, why did you run from the detectives?”
“I had to catch a train.”
“Tell that to the judge,” advised Chief Collig roughly. “I think I’ll lock you up for a while, my friend, and let you just think things over.”
“Yeh, put him in the cooler,” piped up Con Riley.
“I don’t want any advice from you,” said the chief, crushing his subordinate officer with a frown. “Here—put the cuffs on this bird and lock him up.”
There was a jingle of handcuffs as they were clapped about Paul Blum’s wrists. The man protested, but he was quickly silenced by the chief.
“We’re going to keep you until the Secret Service men get here,” said Fenton Hardy. “Perhaps they’ll have more to tell.”
Chief Collig and Constable Riley trudged off, with Paul Blum between them. Fenton Hardy turned to his sons with a smile of approval.
“Good work!” he said. “You haven’t lost any time making good use of the new boat, I see.”
“I only wish we could have got hold of that roll of counterfeit bills he threw overboard,” said Frank disconsolately.
“Well, it can’t be helped now—although that would have cinched the case against Blum. He has been operating in this neighborhood for over a week. But I expect the Secret Service men will have enough evidence to have him punished.”
The fog was beginning to lift and the Hardy boys had no further doubt of their ability to locate the boathouse. They felt they had enough of motorboating for one morning, so they said goodbye to their father and left the wharf, guiding the Sleuth safely to the boathouse.
“If every trip we have in the Sleuth is as exciting as that one, we’ll have no reason to kick,” Frank remarked, as he shut off the engine.
XIV
Con Riley Guards a Package
Officer Con Riley was at peace with the world.
His heart was full of contentment and his stomach was full of pie. The sun was shining and one of the aldermen had just given him a fairly good cigar. His beat had been free of crime for a week. His wife had gone to the country for a visit and she had taken the children with her. Hence, Con Riley’s feeling of deep and lasting satisfaction with the world.
Even the boys, his natural and hereditary enemies, had not tormented him for several days. Perhaps, he argued, it was because they were up to their ears in work, preparing for examinations. If that was the reason, Con Riley decided that examinations were good things and should be encouraged.
As he sauntered along the shady side of Main Street, leisurely swinging
