But if the gas in the Sleuth’s tank was low, there was no sign of it just then. The motorboat sped on up the bay, gradually widening the distance between itself and the pursuing craft. Tony crouched at the wheel, impassively watching the flashing white streak far ahead.
“I wonder where he’s heading for,” said Frank.
“Along the coast, probably,” Tony answered. “He’ll likely get out of the bay, then head up the coast as far as he can and abandon the boat.”
“That’s probably what he intends to do,” put in Joe. “But he’ll never get out of the bay. There isn’t enough gas.”
It was evident that Paul Blum had no intention of seeking refuge in Barmet village. On the contrary, he was heading toward the other side of the bay, in the direction of the mouth of Willow River.
“Perhaps he intends to go up the river,” ventured Frank.
Tony shook his head.
“Not if he knows what’s good for him. He’d run full plump into the falls and rapids near the old mill.”
“That’s right, too.” Frank had forgotten those obstacles.
But while the Sleuth was still some distance away from the mouth of the river, her speed began to slacken.
“Good!” exclaimed Joe. “The gas tank’s empty.”
“Let us hope so,” returned his brother. “What a sell for that man!”
But a moment later the other motorboat began to show signs of life again.
“She’s started up!” groaned Joe. “Confound the luck, anyway.”
A moment later a splutter came from the other boat.
“Gas must be running low,” said Frank. “Gee, I wish he would stop entirely!”
“Same here.”
Slower and slower went the white motorboat until at last it was just crawling along.
Frank picked up the binoculars again.
He could see Paul Blum laboring at the motor, trying to locate the source of trouble. The fugitive cast a glance backward; Frank could see the anxious expression on the man’s face.
“He’s trapped, and he knows it.”
Rapidly, they gained on the Sleuth, which was now almost at a standstill, drifting back and forth in the waves. Paul Blum seized an oar that was carried in the boat in case of emergency, and frantically began to scull toward the shore.
But his effort was in vain. Tony’s motorboat bore swiftly down upon him. The engine of the Sleuth had died.
As the other craft drew alongside, Paul Blum cast aside the oar in admission of defeat. He sat sullenly in the boat without looking up.
“Too bad, Blum!” shouted Frank. “We’re going to take you back with us.”
“I’d have been all right if it hadn’t been for the confounded gas running out,” gritted the man.
“We weren’t so particular about getting you as we were about getting back our boat,” said Joe. “Will you come back quietly?”
Paul Blum shrugged his shoulders.
“I suppose I might as well,” he said. “I haven’t any weapons. If I had, you may depend on it, I’d put up a fight.”
“Just as glad you haven’t, then,” remarked Tony cheerfully. Carefully, he brought the boat alongside the Sleuth and Frank and Joe jumped over the side into their own craft.
Paul Blum was resigned. He submitted to having his wrists bound with a piece of stout rope that the boys found on the stern of the boat, and then he sat down philosophically.
“I’ll get away yet,” he told them. “If I can’t escape from that jail myself, my friends will see that I get out.”
“How will we get back?” asked Frank, turning to Tony.
Paul Blum laughed.
“That’s a problem for you,” he said. “The gas tank’s empty. What are you going to do about it?”
Tony calmly handed over the can of gasoline from his own boat.
“This should help,” he remarked. “I always keep some spare gas on hand.”
Paul Blum, beaten, had no more to say. The Hardy boys poured the reserve supply of gasoline into the tank, and in a few minutes the engine was pounding away.
Then, side by side, the two motorboats turned about and put back for Bayport.
XVI
A Plan of Action
The quick work of the Hardy boys and Tony Prito in capturing Paul Blum won them many compliments within the next few days. Even Chief Collig grudgingly admitted that it had been a smart capture. In this he was perhaps largely prompted by a feeling that had Paul Blum made good his escape he, as chief, would have come in for considerable criticism from the townspeople.
As it was, the laxity at the city jail was forgotten in the excitement surrounding the fugitive’s return, and Chief Collig was correspondingly relieved. Had Paul Blum not been recaptured, the police force would have had to bear the brunt of public displeasure for having allowed the man to slip through their fingers.
The connection of the Hardy boys with the affair caused many people to recall their previous activities in the Tower Mansion case and the affair of the house on the cliff.
“Those lads will be smart detectives yet,” more than one person was heard to remark.
Nothing could have pleased the boys more than recognition of the fact that they showed some ability in the profession of their famous father, and, in the light of their recent successes, even Mrs. Hardy was beginning to abandon her prejudices against their desire to be some day more than amateur detectives.
But although Paul Blum was safe in jail, counterfeit money was still being circulated in Bayport and Barmet village.
Hardly a day passed that someone did not report to the police or to the banks that they had been the unwitting victims of the counterfeiters by cashing or accepting spurious bills. In one instance it was a garage owner who had changed a twenty dollar bill for a passing motorist who bought gasoline and oil. In another instance even the steamship ticket office had accepted a false five
