This was at breakfast, and although the boys were wild with impatience to learn the outcome of their father’s trip, they were obliged to curb their curiosity. Mr. Hardy was still sleeping when they left for school that morning and, to their surprise, he was asleep when they came back home for lunch.
“He must be mighty tired!” remarked Joe. “I wonder where on earth he came from?”
“Probably been up all night. When Dad gets hard at work on a case he forgets all about sleep. I’ll bet he found something.”
“Hope so. But I wish he’d wake up and tell us. I hate to go back to school without knowing.”
But Mr. Hardy had not awakened by the time the boys set out for school again, although they lingered until they were in danger of being late.
All afternoon they were tormented by curiosity. Where had their father been? What had he discovered? As soon as school was out they fled down the steps, broke away from a group of boys anxious to get up a baseball game, and shattered all records in their race for home.
Fenton Hardy was in the library, and as they rushed panting into the room he grinned broadly at his sons, for he was quite well aware that they were impatient to hear an account of his trip.
He looked refreshed after his long sleep and it was evident that his trip had not been entirely without success, for his manner was cheerful. The Hardy boys knew their father well, and they knew that when a case was difficult of solution the great detective became moody and worried.
“What luck, Dad?” asked Frank, perching on the arm of an easy chair.
Mr. Hardy raised his eyebrows, pretending not to understand.
“About what?” he inquired.
“About the case. The Tower Mansion case. The red wig. Did you find out who owned it? Did you catch the thief?”
“Whoa! Whoa! Not all at once. A question at a time please. Now, do I understand that you want to know if I found out anything about the Tower Mansion affair?”
“Don’t keep us waiting, Dad,” pleaded Joe. “You know that’s what we’re asking you about.”
“Well,” answered Mr. Hardy, “yes—and no!”
“That’s not much of an answer,” objected Frank, in disappointment.
“It’s the best answer I can give, unfortunately. I did find out something about the red wig. But as for connecting its wearer with the Tower robbery—that is still to come.”
“You traced the fellow who wore the wig?”
“I did. And he turned out to be a well-known criminal—well known to the police, that is.”
“What’s his name?” asked Joe.
“Jackley. John Jackley—commonly known as ‘Red.’ ”
“Because he has red hair?”
“No. Because he hasn’t red hair. That reverses the usual order of nicknames, I imagine. This fellow Jackley has a fondness for wearing red wigs.”
“And was he the man who stole Chet’s roadster?”
“It seems almost certain. I traced the wig, which had been originally stolen from an actor in New York. I traced it to Jackley because his habit of wearing red wigs is well known to the police, and by locating him and keeping a close watch on him and paying a call at his room one night when he was out, I managed to find some of the loot that he had taken when he robbed the actor. That seemed to connect everything up very well.”
“Where did you find him?” asked Frank.
“In New York. He wasn’t in hiding, for he hadn’t been sought for any particular crime at the time. The police seemed to overlook him in their investigation of the dressing-room theft.”
“Did you accuse him?”
“No. I wanted to learn more. When I found the articles that had been stolen from the actor and knew that the wig found by the roadster had been taken at the same time, I knew Red Jackley was the auto thief. But I wanted to get some information on the Tower Mansion affair if possible. So I took a room in the house in which Jackley was living, and kept a close watch on him.”
“Did you learn anything?”
Mr. Hardy shook his head.
“Jackley himself spoiled everything. He got mixed up in a jewel robbery and cleared out of the city. Luckily, I heard him packing up, and I trailed him. The police were watching for him and he couldn’t get out by railway—that is, not in the ordinary manner. Instead, he tried to make his escape by jumping a freight.”
“And you still followed?”
“I lost him two or three times, but luck was with me, and somehow I managed to pick up his trail again. He got out of the city, out into New Jersey, and then his luck failed him. A railway detective recognized him and then the chase was on. Up to that time I had been content with just keeping behind him, I had hoped to pose as a fellow fugitive and win his confidence. But when the chase started in real earnest I had to join with the other officers.”
“And they caught Jackley?”
“Not without a chase. Jackley, by the way, was once a railroad man. Strangely enough, he once worked not many miles from here. He managed to steal a railway gasoline speeder and got away from us. But he didn’t last long, for the speeder jumped the tracks on a curve and Jackley was badly smashed up.”
“Was he killed?”
“I don’t think he’ll live. He’s in a hospital right now and the doctors say he hasn’t much of a chance.”
“But he’s under arrest.”
“Oh, yes. He is being held for the jewel robbery and also for the robbery from the actor’s dressing room. But I don’t think he’ll live to answer either charge.”
“Didn’t you find out anything that would connect him with the Tower robbery?”
“Not a thing.”
The Hardy boys were disappointed, and their expressions showed it. If Red Jackley died, the secret of the Tower robbery would die
