“There were four of them, you said?”
“Four. Ugly villains.”
“What did they look like?”
“I didn’t get much of a chance to see. It all happened too quick. One of them came to the door—he was a tall chap with a thin face—and asked if I was looking after a man who was almost drowned yesterday. I said that I was, so he told me he had come to take him away, that he was a brother of the fellow. I got kind of suspicious, and asked him his name. But in the meantime I had stepped outside the door, and before I knew it, someone jumped at me from behind. I put up a fight as best as I could, but the others came at me from around the corner of the house where they had been hidin’ and before I knew it I was tied up. Then they tied up my wife and left us in the livin’ room while they went upstairs.”
“Did Jones put up a fight when they took him away?”
“He tried to. He hollered for help, but of course I couldn’t do nothin’ and he was too weak to fight much himself. They carried him downstairs and put him in the automobile. Then they drove away.”
“There must be more to this affair than we imagine,” reflected Frank. “It’s getting serious when they break into a private home like this.”
“You bet it’s gettin’ serious!” exclaimed the farmer. “It’ll be mighty serious for them if they try it again.” He motioned to the table where a shotgun was lying. “I’ve got that gun loaded and waitin’ for the next gang that tries anything like that. I only wish I’d had it ready this morning.”
“I don’t think you’ll have any cause to use it,” Frank said reassuringly. “It was Jones they were after. They won’t bother you again.”
“They’d better not.”
“I think the best thing we can do, Joe, is to go right back to Bayport and let dad know about this.”
“Good idea. We can’t do anything by staying here.”
“You boys said yesterday that your name was Hardy, eh?” said the farmer. “Ain’t any relation to Fenton Hardy, are you?”
“He’s our father.”
“The detective?”
The Hardy boys nodded assent.
“Good!” exclaimed Kane. “You go right back and tell him about this. If anyone can get to the bottom of this affair it’s him. I hate to see them rascals getting away scot-free.”
Frank and Joe bade goodbye to the farmer and his wife and returned to their motorcycles. They promised to call again at the Kane farm as soon as they had any further information, and Mr. Kane, in turn, gave his promise to notify them if there were any further trace of the kidnappers or of the mysterious Jones.
When they returned to Bayport the boys lost no time in reaching home. Fenton Hardy was enjoying one of his rare afternoons of leisure in reading, but he put his book aside when the boys rushed into the library.
“Did Mr. Jones talk?” he asked quickly, seeing by their expressions that something unusual had happened.
“We didn’t have a chance to see him!” exclaimed Joe.
“What’s the matter? Did he clear out?”
“He was kidnapped!”
“Kidnapped!”
“Four men broke into the farmhouse and took him away,” said Frank hurriedly.
Then he proceeded to tell the story of the strange events of the morning at the Kane farm, prompted occasionally by Joe.
Mr. Hardy was deeply interested.
“There’s only one theory I can think of,” he said, at last. “This Jones, or whatever his name is, must have belonged to a gang and either squealed on them or threatened to do so. They tried to get rid of him and he escaped in the motorboat, but they thought they had finished him in the explosion. Then they found out that you had rescued him, so they went to the farmhouse and took him away before he had a chance to talk.”
“Do you think they are smugglers?”
“Probably. While you were away this morning I called up one of the government authorities in the city, and he told me that they believe smugglers are operating in Barmet Bay on a big scale.”
“Did you tell him about Snackley?”
Mr. Hardy smiled. “Not yet. That information, I thought I would keep to myself for the time being. But I wonder if Snackley can be here. It begins to look like it. He is the kind who wouldn’t stop at anything from kidnapping to murder.”
“Do the authorities suspect him of being around here?”
“I imagine so. The man I was talking to mentioned the fact that the smugglers they are after are in the drug line. And Snackley is king of the dope smugglers on the Atlantic coast.”
“Gee! I wish we could land him.”
“Of course,” said Fenton Hardy, “no one has asked us to work on this case, and I don’t believe in working for nothing—”
“You mean you won’t help?” asked Joe, in disappointment.
Fenton Hardy’s eyes twinkled as he went on.
“I don’t believe in working for nothing,” he repeated. “But if we ever caught this man Snackley it would be worth our while.”
“Why?”
“The reward.”
“Is there a reward offered for him?”
“There has been a standing reward of five thousand dollars offered for Snackley’s capture for some time. And if he is operating in Barmet Bay, as I suspect, it’s just possible that we might be able to collect that reward.”
“Good!” exclaimed Frank. “Let’s go after it!”
IX
The Strange Message
The Hardy boys expected that the next day would find them busy on a more detailed investigation of the circumstances surrounding the mysterious kidnapping. But, to their surprise, when they came down to breakfast next morning they found that their father had gone away.
Mrs. Hardy could not enlighten them.
“He went out early this morning and didn’t say when he would be back. But he didn’t take any baggage with him, so I imagine he hasn’t gone very far. He’ll probably be back some time today.”
Mrs. Hardy was accustomed to the comings and goings of her husband, and nothing
