THE CHIEF GETS A BOMB
"What's up now?" asked Joe, when the Hardy boys had left the house.
"Chief Collig and Detective Smuff must miss that train."
"But how?"
"I don't know just yet, but they've got to miss it. If they reach the
hospital to-night they'll interview Jackley first. One of two things
will happen. They'll either get a confession and take all the credit
for clearing up the case, or they'll go about it so clumsily that
Jackley will say nothing and spoil everything for dad."
The Hardy boys walked along the street in silence. They realized that
the situation was urgent, but although they racked their brains trying
to think of some way in which to prevent Chief Collig and Detective
Smuff from catching the train, it seemed hopeless.
"Let's round up the gang," suggested Joe. "Perhaps they can think of
something."
"The gang" consisted of the boys who had been with Frank and Joe the
day they held the picnic in the woods. There was, of course, Chet
Morton. Besides him were Allen Hooper, otherwise known as "Biff",
because of his passion for boxing, Jerry Gilroy, Phil Cohen and Tony
Prito, all students at the Bayport high school. They were usually to
be found on the school campus after hours, playing ball, and there the
Hardy boys soon located them. The game was just breaking up.
"Pikers," grinned Chet Morton when he saw the Hardy boys approaching.
"You wouldn't play ball when we asked you to, and now you come around
when the game's all over."
"We had something more important on our minds," replied Frank. "We need
your help."
"What's the mattah?" asked Tony Prito. Tony was the son of a prosperous
Italian building contractor, but he had not yet been in America long
enough to talk the language without an accent, and his attempts were
frequently the cause of much amusement to his companions. He was quick
and good-natured, however, and laughed as much at his own errors as any
one else did.
"Chief Collig and Detective Smuff are butting into one of dad's cases,"
said Frank. "We can't tell you much more about it than that. But the
whole thing is that they mustn't catch the seven o'clock train."
"What do you want us to do?" asked Biff Hooper. "Blow up the bridge?"
"We might lock Collig and Smuff in one of their own cells," suggested
Phil Cohen.
"And get locked in ourselves," added Jerry Gilroy. "Be sensible. Are
you serious about this, Frank?"
"Absolutely. If those two catch that train dad's case will be ruined.
And I don't mind telling you it has something to do with Perry
Robinson."
Chet Morton whistled.
"Ah, ha! I see now. The Tower affair. In that case, we'll see to it
that the seven o'clock train leaves here without our worthy chief and
his equally worthy--although dumb--detective." He hated Smuff, for the
sleuth had once or twice tried to arrest the boys for bathing in a
forbidden section of the bay.
"There is only one question left," said Phil solemnly.
"And what is that?"
"How to keep them from getting on the train."
"Get your brains to work, fellows--if you have any," ordered Jerry
Gilroy. "Let's figure out a plan."
A dozen plans were suggested, each wilder than the one before. Biff
Hooper was in favor of kidnapping the chief and his detective, binding
them hand and foot and setting them adrift in the bay in an open boat.
Phil Cohen suggested putting the chief's watch an hour ahead. That
plan, as Frank observed, would have been a good one but for the little
difficulty of laying hands on the watch.
Chet Morton thought it would be a good idea to start a fight in front
of the police station just as Collig and Smuff were about to leave for
the train. The possibility that they might all land in jail as a result
made this suggestion unpopular.
"If we were in Italy we could get the Black Hand to help," said Tony
Prito.
"The Black Hand!" declared Chet. "That's a good idea!"
"We got no Black Hand society in Bayport," objected Tony.
"Let's get one up. Send the chief a Black Hand letter warning him not
to take that train."
"And if he ever found who wrote it, we'd all be up to our necks in
trouble," pointed out Joe. "I'd like to put a bomb under his old police
station."
"Fine idea!" applauded Tony. "Where we get the bomb?"
"Leave it to me," announced Chet Morton mysteriously. "I'll get a
bomb. I'll guarantee to keep the chief in town."
"Not a real bomb?" asked Frank.
"Why not?" said Chet. "Listen to me."
Chet proceeded to lay forth his plan in a stealthy whisper. It was
received with chuckles and murmurs of admiration. His companions
clapped him on the back, and when he had finished the boys hastened
down the street toward the Hardy home.
In the rear of the house were a garage and an old barn. In the barn was
a gymnasium that the Hardy boys had fitted out for themselves, and here
was the usual collection of old toys, footballs, broken baseball bats
and such paraphernalia, to be found wherever boys store their cherished
possessions. Frank groped about among the rubbish in one corner until
at last he rose with an exclamation of triumph, holding aloft a shining
object.
"It's here!" he said. "Let's get busy. There's no time to lose."
An old box was quickly produced, and in it the shining object was
placed. The box was then carefully wrapped up, and in a few minutes the
boys left the barn, Tony carrying the package under one arm.
Not far from the Bayport police station was a fruit stand over which
presided an Italian by the name of Rocco. He was a simple, genial
soul, who believed almost everything he heard and, like most of his
countrymen, he was of an excitable nature. Toward Rocco's fruit stand
the boys made their way. Rocco was sorting over his oranges when they
approached. Tony, with the box under his arm, hung in the background,
while Chet stepped boldly forward.
"How much are your oranges, Rocco?" he asked.
Rocco, with much explanatory waving of arms, recited the prices of the
various grades of oranges.
"Too much. There's a fellow at another fruit stand on the next street
sells them a nickel a dozen cheaper."
"He no can do!" shrieked Rocco. "My price is da low." Then, angered by
this reflection on the prices of his wares, he burst into a lengthy
explanation of the struggles confronting a poor Italian trying to get
along in a new country. He grabbed Chet by the coat collar, dragged him
to a corner of the fruit stall, bade him inspect the fruit, gabbled off
prices, and generally worked himself into a state of high indignation.
In the meantime, Tony Prito made good use of his time to shove the
mysterious package under the front of the stall. Then he joined the
other boys who had screened his movements by gathering about Rocco.
"You'll have the Black Hand after you if you keep on charging such
high prices--that's all I can say!" declared Chet, as the boys moved
away.
"Poof! W'at do I care for da Blacka Hand. No frighten me!" said Rocco
bravely, but he gulped when he said it and there was no doubt that the
shot had gone home.
It was now after six o'clock, and the boys decided that in the
interests of their plan they would have to brook the parental wrath
by being late for supper. Frank had assumed that Chief Collig and
Detective Smuff would be leaving to catch the train at about ten
minutes to seven, so shortly after six-thirty, Phil Cohen, who had
remained in the background during the interview with Rocco, walked
smartly up to the fruit stand again. The others were viewing the scene
from around the corner of a near-by building.
"Banana," said Phil briefly, tossing a nickel on the counter. When he
had received the fruit he began to eat it, at the same time chatting
with Rocco.
"W'at you t'ink?" snickered the Italian, "some boys come here a while
ago and say da Blacka Hand t'ink I charga too much for da fruit."
"Well, you _do_ charge too much, Rocco. Everybody says so."
"I sella da good fruit at da good price."
Phil turned aside and at the same time accidentally knocked an apple to
the ground. He bent to pick it up, Rocco eyeing him narrowly in case
he tried to slip it into his pocket. But Phil did not get up at once.
Instead, he said:
"Oi! What's this?"
"W'at you find?"
"What's this, Rocco?" Phil rose from in front of the stand, with the
package in his hands. "I found this under the counter."
Rocco stared. His mouth opened in dismay. For, sounding clearly from
the inside of the package, came a steady "tick-tock, tick-tock."
"A bomb!" he shrieked. "Put heem down!"
Thereupon he scrambled wildly over the array of fruit at the back of
the stand, knocked over a tray of oranges, and went sprawling over the
opposite counter, roaring, "Police!" at the top of his lungs.
Phil, with a fine imitation of fright, put the package on top of the
counter and fled.
Rocco, in his white apron, was dancing about in the middle of the
street, yelling, "Bombs! Police! Da Blacka Hand!" Then, suddenly
fearing that the supposed bomb might explode at any moment, he whirled
rapidly about and raced down the street away from the stand, in the
general direction of the police station.
He reached the doorway just as Chief Collig and Detective Smuff were
leaving for the train. Panting with fear and excitement, Rocco implored
them to save him from the Black Handers who had put a bomb under his
fruit stand.
"Da bomb, she go 'teek-tock',", he wailed. "She blowa da stand into da
little piece!"
"A bomb!" exclaimed Chief Collig. "Surely not in Bayport!"
"I always thought there was Black Handers around here," said Smuff.
"She blowa up da fruit stand! Come queeck!"
Chief Collig and Detective Smuff followed Rocco to the corner. Then
they peeped around until they could see the deserted fruit stand, with
the package on the counter.
"You say it goes 'tick-tock'?"
"Just lika da clock."
"Must be a bomb, all right," said Smuff. "They run by clockwork."
"Might go off any minute," observed the chief. "I hate to go near it.
Smuff, you go and pour a pail of water over it."
"Me?"
"Yes, you. You're not afraid, are you?"
"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.