“No—I’m not afraid,” muttered Smuff, mopping his brow. “But I got to think of my wife and family.”
“Coward!” said the chief. “I’d do it myself, only it wouldn’t be right, seein’ I’m your superior officer. Bad for discipline.”
The worthy officers stared at the package on the fruit stand counter, while Rocco danced with impatience. Neither Collig nor Smuff dared approach closer, but they realized something must be done.
“Where’s Riley?” asked the chief at last.
“Out on his beat, around the corner.”
“Get him.”
Smuff departed hastily, glad of the chance to get away from the vicinity of the bomb. He was some time in locating Con Riley, and when at last that minion of the law was escorted back to the chief, seven o’clock had come and gone. So had the train.
XVI
A Confession
“Riley!” ordered the chief, “see that package on the counter of the fruit stand. Go and get it and pour a pail of water over it.”
“Huh?” exclaimed Riley, gaping.
“Pour a pail of water over it.”
Riley took off his helmet and scratched his head. He began to wonder if his chief’s brain had been affected by the heat.
“Don’t stand there staring at me!” snapped Collig. “Hurry up and obey orders.”
“This is the meanest job I ever got,” observed Con Riley. But he ambled across the street, wondering why a crowd of people had collected—for word had quickly spread that a bomb had been found under Rocco’s fruit stand—and when he reached the package he inspected it wonderingly.
“Mebbe she blowa him all to da bits!” suggested Rocco fearfully.
“He has insurance,” consoled the chief.
“We’ll give him a good funeral,” observed Smuff.
Con Riley hunted around the fruit stand until he found a pail, and then he went up the street until he located a tap. Finally, with the pail full of water, he went back to the fruit stand, dumped the water over the package, and stood awaiting further orders.
“Soak it again!” roared the chief, who was taking no chances.
Con Riley sighed, but did as he was told. For five minutes he was kept busy dumping innumerable pails of water over the package, and only then did Chief Collig and Detective Smuff venture forth. Then, with fear and trembling, Chief Collig handed the package to Smuff and bade him open it.
Smuff’s hands were shaking so that he could scarcely tear apart the coverings from the water-soaked parcel. The chief withdrew to a safe distance. Con Riley, who had just been told by a friend that he had been pouring water over a live bomb, was trying to achieve a sickly smile as the crowd congratulated him on his bravery.
Detective Smuff opened the package. The coverings fell away. The cardboard box, dripping with water, tumbled apart.
A bright object fell to the pavement with a clatter.
Everybody jumped.
But there was no cause for fear. The bright object was nothing more harmful than an old alarm clock.
The Hardy boys and their chums, mingling with the crowd, roared with laughter, and when the crowd saw how Chief Collig and his assistants had been duped they joined in the merriment.
“An alarm clock!” roared someone. “They thought an alarm clock was a bomb. Pouring water over an alarm clock!”
Chief Collig and Smuff returned to the police station with all the dignity they could muster under the circumstances. The crowd howled and whooped with laughter.
The Hardy boys went home smiling. The seven o’clock train had left half an hour before. Their father was making the trip to the city without the interference of the chief and his assistant, Smuff.
Fenton Hardy returned home late that night, and at the breakfast table next morning he was in high spirits.
“Solved another mystery?” asked Mrs. Hardy gaily, as she poured the coffee. She seldom asked questions about her husband’s work, being of a gentle nature that instinctively shrank from any discussion of crime. It frequently distressed her that Mr. Hardy’s occupation should be one that meant terms of imprisonment for those whom his cunning and cleverness had brought to justice. But her husband’s attitude this morning was so unmistakably jubilant that she was glad for his sake if he had scored another success.
“Practically solved, my dear. If you’d care to hear all about it—”
“Not me. You know I don’t care to hear about these terrible things.”
“Well, the boys shall hear of it then. They are interested. If they’ll come into my den after breakfast I’ll tell them all about it.”
“That means you succeeded,” Frank said.
“Eat your bacon and eggs and don’t be impatient.”
After breakfast the boys went with their father into the den off the library, eagerly awaiting news of his mission of the previous evening. They had not told him how Chief Collig and Detective Smuff had missed the train, but they were shrewdly certain that their efforts in this respect had been of considerable assistance to Mr. Hardy.
“First of all,” said the detective, “Jackley is dead.”
“Did he confess?”
“You’re not very sympathetic for the poor fellow. Yes, he confessed. Fortunately, Chief Collig and Detective Smuff didn’t show up—”
Fenton Hardy saw that Joe and Frank glanced at one another, and he smiled quietly.
“I have an idea that you two scamps know more about that than you would care to tell. However, they failed to show up, and I had a clear field ahead of me. I saw Jackley just before he died. And I questioned him about the Tower robbery.”
“He admitted it?”
“He admitted everything. He said he came to Bayport with the intention of robbing the ticket office. When he failed in that attempt he decided to hang around for a few days, and then he hit upon Tower Mansion as his next effort. He entered the place and opened the safe. Then he took the jewels and the bonds.”
“What did he do with the loot?”
“That’s what I’m coming to. I had quite a time making Jackley confess to the Tower affair and it was not until he was on the point of death that he admitted it.
