A NEW IDEA
A week passed, and still the loot was not recovered.
Mr. Robinson had been held for trial at an early court session.
The general opinion in Bayport was that he would be sentenced to
imprisonment. The fact that he still refused to tell where he had got
the nine hundred dollars so near the time of the robbery, weighed
heavily against him.
Fenton Hardy was downcast. It was the first case of its kind that
he had been unsuccessful in solving completely, and although he was
satisfied that he had done good work in tracking down Red Jackley and
getting the confession, the result had scarcely been worth the effort.
Chief Collig and Detective Smuff were complacent. They made no effort
to conceal their critical opinions of the great detective, who had
taken so much time trying to solve the mystery, when the real thief was
right under his nose all the time.
"I told you so," was the burden of Chief Collig's song of triumph. "I
knew all the time that Robinson was the man. I arrested him right after
the robbery, but they all said it couldn't be him. So I let him go. But
I knew all the time it couldn't be any one else. Ain't that so, Smuff?"
And the loyal Smuff would dutifully chime in with, "Yes, chief. We have
to hand it to you. You had the right man all the time."
"I guess these professional detectives won't think they're so smart
after all, eh, Smuff?"
"No, you bet they won't. We can still teach 'em a thing or two."
"I'll say we can, Smuff. I'll say we can."
These stories, naturally enough, reached the ears of Fenton Hardy and
the Hardy boys and they felt keenly the arrogant superiority displayed
by the Bayport police officials. But they said nothing, suffering their
defeat in silence.
On the following Saturday, Frank and Joe decided to take an outing.
"I want to get out of this city for a few hours," said Frank. "We've
been so busy worrying about the Tower Mansion case that we've forgotten
how to play. Let's take the motorbikes and go out for a run."
"Good idea!" his brother replied. "Mother will make us up some lunch."
Mrs. Hardy, who was in the kitchen with the cook, smiled when they made
known their request. Fair-haired and gentle, she had been tolerantly
amused by her sons' activities in the Tower affair, but she was glad to
see them return to their boyish ways.
"You'll be getting too grown-up altogether," she had said to them a few
days previously. And now, when they said they were going on a day's
outing with the motorcycles, she hastened to prepare a substantial
lunch for them.
"We'll be back in time for supper, mother," Frank promised. "We're just
going to follow the highway along the railroad. After that we may cut
across country to Chet's place, and then home."
"Take care of yourself," she warned. "No speeding."
"We'll be careful," they promised, as Joe stowed the lunch basket
on the carrier of his machine. Then, with a sputtering roar, the
motorcycles sped out along the driveway and soon the boys were on the
concrete highway leading out of the city.
In a short time they had reached the outskirts of Bayport, and then
they turned west on to the State highway that ran parallel to the
railway tracks. It was a bright, sunny spring morning, and the highway
was not congested with traffic.
Freight trains shunted back and forth on the railway tracks below the
embankment, and now and then a passenger train steamed by, trailing a
cloud of black smoke. Like most boys, Frank and Joe could not help but
feel the fascination of the railway, although they admitted that they
preferred the comparative freedom of their own motorcycles, which were
not bound to follow the steel rails and did not have to obey the beck
and call of despatchers.
Out in the open country they put on a little more speed. The highway
was like a city pavement beneath them and the cool breeze stung the
color into their cheeks. For more than two hours they rode, passing
through villages and small towns, until at last they came to a point
where another railway intersected the line they had been following.
Here, a road also ran parallel to the tracks, branching off the main
highway. Always on the alert for new country to explore, the Hardy boys
decided to follow this side road.
"It's off the main stream of traffic," said Frank, "and the country
seems to be wooded farther on. We can have lunch in the shade of some
trees."
This appeared to be an advantage, for there were no trees along the
State road, and the constant stream of vehicles made a roadside lunch
something of a public affair. Accordingly, the boys turned their
motorcycles down the side road which, although it was not paved, was
well graded, and led through a quieter countryside.
"What railroad is this, anyway?" asked Frank, as they sped along.
"The Bayport and Coast line. It's mostly freight."
"The Bayport and Coast! Why, that's the railway that Red Jackley used
to work for. Don't you remember dad telling us that? His first crime
was stealing freight from the road."
"So he did! I'd forgotten all about it."
The boys looked down at the tracks below the embankment with renewed
interest, by virtue of the railway's association with the notorious
criminal. Mention of Jackley's name revived recollections of the Tower
Mansion case, and when the boys finally decided to stop in the shade of
a little grove of trees beside the road for lunch, they reviewed every
incident of the mysterious affair.
"It would have been better for every one if Jackley had stayed with the
railway," Frank observed, as he bit into a thick roastbeef sandwich.
"He sure caused a lot of trouble before he died."
"And he has caused even more since, by the looks of things. The
Robinsons will remember his name for a long time to come."
"I wonder if Mr. Robinson really was in league with him, Frank?"
"I don't think so. And I don't believe Mr. Robinson ever found that
treasure after the robbery, either. There is some explanation to this
whole affair that none has been able to fathom."
"If I remember rightly, it was in this part of the country that Jackley
worked."
"That's what dad told us. He said it was along the right of way near
the State road. Jackley was a section hand or signalman, or something."
Both boys gazed down the two lines of railway tracks that gleamed in
the sun. Far into the distance, the glittering bands of steel extended,
vanishing into a common perspective.
The land along the right of way was thickly wooded. It was an
attractive part of the country and here and there the wooded spaces
were broken by green fields and meadows. The boys were at the top of a
slope, and they had a view of a wide expanse of country below them.
In the far distance, along the tracks, they could see a little red
railway station, and back of that the roofs and spires of a village.
Nearer still they could see the spindly legs and squat bulk of a water
tank, painted a bright scarlet. This water tank was not far from the
railway station, but half a mile down the track, and only a few hundred
yards from the place where the Hardy boys were seated, rose the bulk of
another water station.
But this tower--one of the old style built before the modern tanks came
into use--was not freshly painted. It had been allowed to fall into a
state of disrepair. Some of the rungs were missing from the ladder that
led up the side, and the tower itself had a forlorn and weather-beaten
aspect, as though it had been deserted. This, indeed, was the case. The
new tower tank closer to the station had been erected to replace it,
and although the old structure had not been torn down, it was not now
used.
Frank took a huge bite out of his sandwich and began to munch it
thoughtfully. The sight of the two water stations had given him an
idea, but at first it seemed to him to be too absurd for consideration.
He was wondering whether he should mention it to his brother.
Then he noticed that Joe, too, was gazing thoughtfully down the railway
tracks. Joe raised a sandwich to his lips absently, essayed a bite and
missed the sandwich altogether. Still he continued gazing at the two
water towers.
Finally Joe turned and looked at his brother.
In the eyes of both was the light of a great discovery. They knew that
they were both thinking of the same thing.
"Two water towers," said Frank slowly.
"An old one and a new one."
"And Jackley said--"
"He hid the stuff in the old tower."
"He was a railwayman."
"Why not?" shouted Joe, springing to his feet. "Why couldn't it have
been the old water tower? He used to work around here."
"He didn't say the old tower of Tower Mansion, after all. He just said
'the old tower!'"
"Frank, I believe we've stumbled on the clue!"
"It would be the natural thing for him to come to his old haunts after
the robbery. And if he found he couldn't get away with the stuff he
would hide it somewhere he knew. The old water tower! Why didn't we
think of it before, Joe? Why, that _must_ be the place!"