“Of course, it may be that we didn’t search thoroughly enough,” Joe said. “The stuff may be hidden in the flooring or behind the walls.”
“That’s the only solution I can think of,” replied Fenton Hardy. “I’m not satisfied yet that the loot isn’t there. I’m going to get in touch with Applegate and ask permission for a real, thorough search of both towers. It’s to his interest as well as mine.”
“Applegate thinks possibly Jackley hid the stuff all right but that Robinson found it and sold it,” said Frank. “He hinted that he was of the opinion that Robinson was in league with the thief.”
“It does look rather bad,” Mr. Hardy admitted. “One couldn’t blame Applegate very much for thinking Robinson found the stuff after it was hidden and made away with it.”
“Robinson wouldn’t do that!” cried Joe. “He’s too honest!”
“I don’t think he would do it, either. But sometimes, if a man is in need of money and temptation is placed in his way, he gives in. I’d hate to believe that of Robinson, but if that stuff isn’t found in the tower I’ll have to admit that it looks very much as if he were mixed up in it.”
The interview with their father left the Hardy boys feeling far from cheerful, for they saw that Mr. Robinson was now more deeply involved in the affair than before. On the face of it, circumstances seemed to be against the caretaker.
“Just the same,” said Frank, as the boys left the house and went down the street, “I don’t believe Jackley ever hid the stuff in the tower. If he had ever so much as opened the tower door he would have left some marks in the dust and we would have seen them. So I don’t believe Robinson came along later and got the loot.”
“As we saw it, the dust in the tower hadn’t been disturbed in weeks. Why, there was even dust on the doorknob, when Mr. Applegate let us in.”
“Then, why should Jackley say he hid the stuff there?” exclaimed Frank, puzzled.
“Don’t ask me. I’m just as much in the dark as you are.”
When the boys reached the business section of the city they found that already Jackley’s confession had become common property. People were discussing the deathbed confession on the street corners and newsboys were busy selling copies of papers in which the story of the criminal’s last statement was featured on the front page under black headlines.
Policeman Con Riley was ambling along Main Street in the morning sunshine, swinging his club with the air of a man without a care in the world. When he saw the boys he frowned, for there was no love lost between the Hardys and the Bayport police department.
“Well,” he grunted, “I hear you got the stuff back.”
“I wish we had,” said Frank.
“What?” said the constable, brightening up at once. “You didn’t get it? I thought it said in the paper this morning that this fellow Jackley told where he had hidden it.”
“He did.”
“And you can’t find it! Ho! Ho!” Con Riley indulged in a hearty laugh. “What a fine detective your father is! Didn’t Jackley say the stuff was hidden in the old tower? What more does he want?”
“Our father didn’t search for the stuff,” retorted Frank. “We did. And it wasn’t there. Jackley must have made a mistake.”
“It wasn’t there?” exclaimed Riley, in high delight. “That’s a good one. That’s the best I’ve heard in years.” He chuckled exceedingly, and slapped his knee. “Jackley put a good one over on your father that time. Ho! Ho! Ho! The stuff wasn’t there!”
Riley wiped the tears from his eyes and went on his way, trying to laugh and at the same time retain his dignity as an officer of the law. The joke, he decided, was too good to keep, so as he proceeded back toward the police station, there to edify Chief Collig and Detective Smuff with the tale, he buttonholed various passersby and poured the story into their willing ears. It was not long before the yarn had spread throughout the city with that swiftness peculiar to stories spread by word of mouth, and in the telling the story was exaggerated, the net effect being that Fenton Hardy was made to look ridiculous by believing a false confession.
Highly colored accounts of the boys’ search of the old tower quickly spread, and throughout the day they were subjected to many caustic and sarcastic inquiries on the part of friends and acquaintances alike. They took all these remarks in good part, although they did not enjoy their sudden prominence.
“Never mind,” said Frank, “we’ll show them yet.”
“I hope they find that stuff when they search the towers again,” added Joe. “Then the people will have to eat crow. It’ll be our turn to laugh.”
“Yes,” agreed Frank; “but just now our laughter seems to be in a far-distant future.”
When they returned home they found that Fenton Hardy had been busy in the meantime and had convinced Hurd Applegate that a thorough search of the towers would be advisable. True, he had not accomplished this without a great deal of opposition on the part of Adelia and without misgivings on the part of Hurd Applegate himself, who had by that time come to the conclusion that Robinson had indeed been mixed up in the affair all along.
In this conviction he was sustained by Chief Collig, who had paid a call at the Applegate home as soon as Collig had told him of the vain search of the towers.
“The chief says
