“That looks like it,” Joe agreed. “You could tell that Markel had something on his conscience when he handed that package over. He looked mighty shifty about it.”
The boys walked back down the street, still discussing the events of the day. They spent the rest of the afternoon out in Barmet Bay, in the Sleuth. For the time being, they dismissed the affair of the mill from their minds, being content, as Frank had said, that the counterfeiters, if they were such, would ultimately betray themselves.
When they returned home that evening for supper they did not tell their father what they had learned. But Fenton Hardy himself brought up the question of counterfeit money when he told them that he had that afternoon received a telegram from Federal authorities asking him to further his investigations.
“They have evidence that more than ten thousand dollars in counterfeit money was put into circulation within the past three days,” he told the boys. “The affair is going beyond all bounds.”
“And Paul Blum is still silent?” asked Frank.
“Can’t get a word out of him. I’m inclined to believe he doesn’t know anything about the men who are at the head of the organization. I think he was only a tool, employed to get the money in circulation. But I wish you two lads would keep on the lookout for any clues. It will help me a lot if we can run these counterfeiters to earth. Then, besides, there is a big reward.”
“We’ll do our best,” they promised.
And, secretly, they wondered what Fenton Hardy would think if he knew how much work they had already put on the case and how much evidence they had already gathered, tending to indicate that the old mill on the Willow River was in some way connected with the activities of the counterfeiting gang.
“If you can get anything definite in this case,” said Fenton Hardy, with a smile, “I’ll be ready to admit that you have some abilities as detectives—”
“Fenton, don’t encourage them,” objected Mrs. Hardy.
“Nonsense, Laura,” he replied. “If they want to be detectives and if they have the talent for it, you might as well try to keep water from running downhill as to stop them. They’ve done good work on two difficult cases already.”
“And I have a hunch that we’ll do something on this case, too,” said Frank, with confidence.
XIX
The Rug Buyer
Two days later an event occurred that brought the activities of the counterfeiters much closer home.
Frank and Joe returned from school on Monday afternoon to find their mother in a state of great agitation. The moment they entered the house they could tell that something unusual had happened, for Mrs. Hardy was sitting by the living-room table gazing disconsolately at a great heap of bills in her lap.
“Where’d you get all the money, mother?” asked Frank, jokingly at first. But his expression became serious when he saw the anxiety and distress in Mrs. Hardy’s face. Her fingers were trembling as she picked up the bills and put them on the table.
“What’s the matter?” asked Joe quickly. “What’s wrong?”
Mrs. Hardy got up and walked across the room toward the window. She looked out at the street for a while, then turned to her sons.
“You didn’t see a foreign rug buyer around the streets this afternoon, did you?” she asked them.
The Hardy boys shook their heads.
“Just came from school,” they told her. “We didn’t meet anybody on the way.” Suddenly Frank glanced at the floor. “Why, you’ve sold the rug!” he exclaimed, in surprise.
The living-room floor had hitherto been covered by a valuable old Persian rug, as soft as moss. It had been bought by Mr. Hardy when on a trip to the city, but Mrs. Hardy had never cared for it. Fenton Hardy had thought to surprise his wife when he brought the rug home, but in a masculine indifference to color schemes he had neglected to see to it that the rug matched the rest of the room. Its color was not what Mrs. Hardy wanted, and inasmuch as the rug had been purchased at an exclusive sale, they had found it impossible to exchange it at the time.
Mrs. Hardy had always said that if she had an opportunity she would get rid of the rug and purchase something different. However, the opportunity was long in coming. Although she had received several offers for it, none of these had been for more than five hundred dollars.
“And,” as she said, “I refuse to sell a nine hundred dollar rug for that price.”
Now, as the Hardy boys noticed, the rug was gone.
“How much did you get for it?” asked Joe eagerly.
“I gave it away.”
“Gave it away?” they exclaimed.
Mrs. Hardy nodded.
“Not intentionally. I’ve been cheated.”
“How?” demanded Frank quickly.
Mrs. Hardy motioned toward the money.
“I’ve just been to the bank to deposit that money—”
“You don’t mean to say it’s counterfeit?”
“So the bank cashier told me.”
Frank sat down heavily in the nearest chair.
“Well I’ll be gosh-hanged!” he exclaimed. “How did this happen? How much did they sting you for?”
“Eight hundred dollars,” answered Mrs. Hardy gravely.
Joe whistled in surprise.
“How did it happen?”
“He came here shortly after you boys left for school,” began Mrs. Hardy. “It must have been a little before two o’clock.”
“Who came here?”
“The rug buyer. He was a queer little fellow, very short and dark. He was a foreigner, you could tell by his appearance. He didn’t speak very good English. He was dark and swarthy, with little, keen black eyes. He came up to the front door and asked me if I wanted to buy rugs. When
