“We’re all going to be together and we didn’t care to wait. If a man by the name of Muggins comes along and asks for it, you’ll give it to him, will you?”
Riley took the package. “I’ll take care of it,” he promised.
“I wouldn’t trust it with anyone but you,” declared Chet solemnly.
“You can trust me. I’ll look after it. And if your friend Muggins comes along I’ll see that he gets it safely all right.”
Chet thanked Riley warmly and the boys hastened off and disappeared around the next corner. Riley, with the package under one arm, leaned against a post and thought well of himself and of the world in general. He completely revised his opinions of boys, and particularly of Chet Morton, whom he now regarded as an exceptionally intelligent lad who would make his mark in the world. Riley was glad that he was able to be of service to Chet by minding the package for him.
The package was not very heavy. Riley was curious as to its contents. Chet had left the impression that it contained something quite valuable. He said he would not trust anyone but Riley to guard it. That, in itself, was a compliment.
The late afternoon was warm and as Con Riley leaned against the post and indulged in these pleasant meditations, permitting himself to speculate on what the boys had said about his fitness for promotion, allowing himself to remember how pleasant it had sounded to hear Chet refer to him as “Lieutenant,” he became a bit drowsy. He was naturally a sleepy man, and he had long since schooled himself in the art of appearing to be wide awake while on duty while indulging in covert naps of a few minute’s duration. The hurrying crowds of people behind him, because it was the five o’clock rush hour, gradually became a blurred impression of tramping feet and chattering voices.
Suddenly the shrill jangle of an alarm clock sounded.
Riley started violently, straightened up, blinked, and looked behind him.
The alarm clock trilled steadily. Riley looked suspiciously at the people near by and the people looked at one another. He looked up into the air, looked down at the pavement, but still the mysterious alarm clock rattled on.
Then Riley became aware that the alarm clock was in the package under his arm.
At the same time the crowd became aware of the fact as well. Someone tittered; someone else laughed outright.
“Carry your own alarm clock with you now, do you?” asked a man.
Riley felt very foolish. He was tempted to throw the package away, but instead he held it gingerly by the string and pushed his way through the crowd. The unremitting alarm clock rang loudly.
“Time to wake up!” shouted a wit in the crowd.
Riley flushed and hastened on down the street. But the alarm clock shrilled relentlessly. That tinkling bell seemed as though it would ring forever. And as Riley hurried on his way people turned and stared and laughed, and small boys began to follow him, while all the time the bell trilled on without a sign of weakening.
His journey down the street was a triumphal procession. The crowd of small boys following him swelled to the proportions of a parade. The bell rang on. Con Riley was the center of interest. He did not know what to do. If he threw away the package now it would be an admission that he had been the victim of a practical joke; the longer he kept the package the more the crowd laughed and the louder the bell seemed to ring.
His steps became faster and faster, as though he were trying to run away from the sound. Everyone was staring at him in amazement. The giggles and guffaws of the crowd became louder. The shouts of the small boys were more insistent.
Across Con Riley’s mind flitted certain phrases of Chet Morton. “Your time will come. … You’re the only man who can wake this city up. … We shall see that your qualities of leadership are recognized. …”
With a mutter of wrath he flung the tinkling package into the nearest alley. A uniformed street cleaner who was just emerging from the alley received the package full in the chest and sat down very suddenly. He flung the package back at Riley. The crowd whooped with glee. The package fell into the street, the bell still ringing, and one of the small boys picked it up and ran after Riley, asking if he wanted it back.
Thus he was pursued to the police station until the bell of the alarm clock ceased to ring, and only then did the crowd scatter.
Mopping his brow, flushed with anger, Riley took refuge in the station and vowed vengeance in the future on all the boys in Bayport, particularly high school boys, most especially Chet Morton’s gang, and most absolutely and positively Chet Morton himself.
As for that worthy, in company with his chums, he had witnessed the alarm clock parade from a convenient corner across the street and was now limply making his way toward the Hardys’ barn, pausing every now and then to burst into shrieks of laughter at the remembrance of Riley’s undignified flight.
But when the Hardy boys and their chums reached the house they found their father hastening down the front steps.
“I just had a telephone message from the police station,” he said.
“What’s the matter?” asked Frank, while the other lads looked at one another guiltily. Had Riley reported them?
“Paul Blum has escaped from jail,” said Fenton Hardy.
XV
The Chase
“When?” asked the Hardy boys quickly, in response to their father’s announcement of Paul Blum’s escape.
“Just a few minutes ago. At least that was when they discovered it. He managed to get out into the jail yard for some exercise, and in some way the guard’s attention was distracted. Blum piled up a couple of old boxes against the wall and was over before anyone saw him.”
“I wonder where he would go?”
“The police are
