So many instances came to light that the entire city was on guard against the counterfeiters, but so excellent were the imitation bills and so plausible were the excuses of those who sought to pass them on that many people were victimized in spite of their caution.
In some cases, merchants were handed counterfeit bills by respectable citizens of Bayport, people who were above reproach, and when the fact was pointed out, the would-be customers explained that they had received the money in good faith from equally reputable citizens. Often the original source of the bad money could not be traced, the counterfeit bills had passed through so many different hands without being discovered.
The boys talked the matter over several times with their father, and one day Fenton Hardy took them into his confidence.
“Don’t tell anybody,” he said, “but the Federal agents have come across some evidence which makes them think the counterfeiting plant is located somewhere near Barmet village.”
“Have they got any definite idea, dad?” asked Joe eagerly.
“They think it is up in the woods—maybe at some farmhouse. You know the country over on the other side of the bay is pretty wild. There would be plenty of hiding places there for counterfeiters.”
Mr. Hardy spoke of several places that were being watched, but he admitted that so far the Federal agents had unearthed little of practical value.
“They know that most of the bad money is circulated in this vicinity and in and around Boston,” he concluded. “It’s just possible the plant may be in the Hub.” There the talk came to an end and the boys walked away as they knew their father was getting ready for a hurried trip to the city.
“It’s a good chance for us to do some real detective work,” said Frank to his brother one afternoon after school, as they were in the gymnasium in the barn back of the Hardy home. “The whole city is worked up over this counterfeit money business.”
“Smarter detectives than we are are working on the case,” Joe pointed out, “but they haven’t found much yet.”
“Paul Blum won’t talk. If we could get something out of him we might have a clue to go on.”
“He won’t say a word. It’s my opinion he doesn’t know much about the source of the counterfeit money, anyway. I think he was only an agent sent out to dispose of as much of it as he could. They probably have a dozen men traveling around the country passing off these bad bills. Once the money gets into circulation it’s liable to pass through a dozen hands before it is discovered.”
“Perhaps that man who stung the garage owner for twenty dollars had no idea the money was bad. And perhaps it’s the same way with the fellow who bought the ticket at the steamboat office.”
“It’s queer that most of the fuss is being raised right around this city. You don’t hear much about it from other places.”
“It’s my idea,” said Frank, “that the counterfeiters have their plant right in this vicinity.”
“Do you think so?”
“Just as you said—most of the counterfeit money seems to be passed in and around Bayport.”
“Where do you think they could be making the stuff?”
Frank shrugged.
“You never can tell. Perhaps in some cellar of one of the downtown buildings, for all we know. Personally, I’ve got an idea. It may be foolish, but I’ve been turning it over in my head for a few days, and the more I think of it, the more reasonable it seems.”
“Spring it.”
“You remember the day we were at the old mill?”
“I’ll say I do! Those fellows wouldn’t let me dry my clothes in the mill after I’d fished that precious kid out of the water.”
“But one of them offered us a reward, didn’t he?”
“Oh, well—you can’t take a reward for that.”
“That isn’t what I’m getting at. Do you remember how the other man grabbed the bills out of his hand and turned his back to us?”
“Sure! He said he wanted to see if they were fives or ones. But it was rather funny that he turned his back to us. I thought so at the time. Still, he offered the money to us again.”
“But was it the same money?”
Joe was silent. The idea had not occurred to him before.
“Do you mean,” he said at last, “that perhaps the fellow changed the bills while he had his back turned?”
“Exactly.”
“But why should he do that?”
“Don’t you see? Perhaps the first bills were counterfeit. Perhaps the man thought that if we took the counterfeit bills and later found out that they weren’t good, we would remember where they came from and start an investigation. This is only a theory, remember; but perhaps the reason he took the bills from the man they called Dock was to change them for good bills, so that we would have no cause for suspicion.”
Joe nodded reflectively.
“By gosh, Frank, there may be something to your idea, after all. Say! Perhaps that’s where the counterfeiting plant is. Right in the old mill!”
“That’s just what I’ve been driving at. There’s something fishy about the old mill, for all their story that they’re making a patent kind of breakfast food. That may be true, of course, but still—”
“They didn’t look very much like scientists to me.”
“To me, either.”
“But how can we find out anything more about the place than we know already? They won’t let anyone inside the mill, and it’s quite evident that they don’t want anyone around the place at all.”
“What made me suspicious,” said Frank, “was the fact that Paul Blum seemed to be heading for the mouth of Willow River that afternoon he got away in the motorboat. I began to wonder later if he might have been intending
