“Is that enough?” asked Frank.
A crowd had collected, and Con Riley of the Bayport police force hastened forward.
“What’s all this?” he demanded. “Fightin’ on the streets? What’s the trouble?”
Frank turned away. “Just a little argument,” he explained. “This man hit me first and I had to hit him back.”
“That’s right,” chimed in Chet Morton. “I saw it all. I can prove it.”
Giles Ducroy got slowly to his feet and Riley seized him by the collar.
“I got a good mind to run you in,” said the officer. “What business have you got hittin’ a lad half your size?”
“I don’t want to lay any charge against him,” said Frank. “Better let him go.”
Con Riley looked dubious. Then he released his grip on Ducroy’s collar.
“Well, seein’ you ask it,” he said. Then he glared at Ducroy. “Take yourself out of here!” he ordered sharply. “If I catch you makin’ any disturbance on the street again it won’t go so easy with you.”
Giles Ducroy lurched away, muttering and defeated. Con Riley then turned his attention to the crowd and dispersed the bystanders with a wave of his stick. “Move on!” he ordered. “Move on out of here.”
The crowd scattered.
The Hardy boys and Chet Morton continued their journey down the street. Chet was warm in his praise of the artistic manner in which Frank had dealt with the bully.
“I’ll bet his jaw is sore for a week!” he declared.
“I hate a row like that,” said Frank. “Dad would be angry if he knew we were mixed up in a common street fight.”
“You couldn’t help it. You didn’t start the fight. It was all Ducroy’s fault,” said Chet. “He struck you first. Boy, that was a nice pasting you handed him!”
But Frank remembered the vindictive look in Ducroy’s face as the beaten man slunk away.
“I don’t think we’ve heard the last of this, by any means,” he said.
V
Anxious Days
It was not until the next evening that the result of the investigation into the airplane crash was officially announced. Then, to the joy of the Hardy boys, they learned that the authorities held them blameless for the accident.
The report ran, in part:
“A thorough investigation of the circumstances surrounding the crash has led us to decide that the responsibility rests wholly with the pilot, Giles Ducroy. We find that Ducroy had been drinking on the day of the accident and that, according to reliable witnesses, he was still under the influence of liquor after the wreck. In his condition, Ducroy was unable to make a proper landing. He has made a clumsy attempt to lay the blame on two boys driving an automobile in the road near the scene of the crash, but this is manifestly absurd. The motorists, on the other hand, had a narrow escape from death because of Ducroy’s irresponsible handling of his plane, and certainly no blame can be attached to them.”
Frank danced an impromptu jig. “Hurrah!” he shouted. “That takes a load off my mind.”
“I’ll bet dad put in an oar for us,” said Joe happily.
“Shouldn’t be surprised. Let’s go and ask him.”
When they entered Fenton Hardy’s study, the detective smiled at their evident delight.
“What’s happened?” he asked. “Have you fallen heir to a fortune?”
“Better than that. The post office people have announced that we aren’t to blame for that plane wreck,” declared Frank. “We’ve been worrying our heads off about it.”
“Did you help, Dad?” asked Joe.
“Oh, I may have said a few things to the inspector,” observed Mr. Hardy. “He is an old friend of mine and I have done him a few favors in my time. It really wasn’t necessary, because I don’t think they would have blamed you in any case. But it prevented them from being fooled by Ducroy, anyway.”
“That was certainly mighty fine of you. Dad!” exclaimed Frank. “I don’t know how we can thank you.”
“I know,” said their father. “You can go back to school tomorrow and dig into those examinations and graduate this year.”
“We’ll do our best,” they promised.
“The exams won’t be so bad, now that this worry is off our minds,” added Joe.
For the rest of the week the Hardy boys attacked their final examinations with such determination and enthusiasm, unmarred by any worries about the airplane accident, that when they handed in their final papers they knew that if they had obtained passing marks on the papers written earlier in the week there was little doubt of the final outcome.
“But that’s just the trouble,” groaned Joe. “I was so worried when I wrote those first papers that I’m sure I didn’t get by.”
“Forget it,” advised Frank. “The exams are over and we can’t change the papers now. We’ll just have to be patient and wait for the results.”
“I wish I knew them now,” said Chet Morton. “If I don’t pass this year, my dad will flay me alive. I might as well pack up and head for Alaska if I don’t get through. What are you fellows going to do, now that school is over?”
“Wait for the results,” returned Frank. “If we pass, I think dad wants us to go to college and we’ll have to start making our plans.”
Jerry Gilroy, another chum of the Hardy boys, sauntered up.
“How about you, Jerry?” asked Frank, “What are you going to do now?”
“I have a job,” announced Jerry calmly.
“Already?” the others exclaimed enviously.
“I start work Monday as a reporter for The Banner.” Jerry stuck out his chest and pulled his hat brim down over one eye.
“That’s a good job,” said Tony Prito, who joined the group at that moment. “You’ll be able to get into all the shows in town for nothing and get through the police lines at all the fires.”
“Well,” said Jerry doubtfully, “just at first they’re putting me at work writing up obituaries and real estate deals. But I’ll soon work my way up,” he added hastily.
Tony Prito announced that his parents had
