SUSPICIONS
"What do you think, Joe?" asked Frank, as they were speeding back to
Bayport on their motorcycles.
"I don't think Uncle Dock is a scientist any more than I am."
"That's my opinion, too. Why should they have so much secrecy about a
new kind of breakfast food? Why won't they even let Lester into the
workroom with them?"
"Something fishy about it. And it's plain by now that Uncle Dock
doesn't like strangers around the place."
"That poor kid must lead a lonely life with that gang. It's a wonder he
doesn't run away from them."
"He has no place else to go, I suppose. He seems a nice sort of chap,
too," Joe answered.
"Well, we didn't get anything definite from him, but we know enough to
make us mighty suspicious of what's going on in that old mill."
"I'd just like to get a look at that machinery in the secret room the
boy mentioned."
Frank was silent for a while.
"I wish Uncle Dock hadn't seen us there to-day. It'll make it awkward
now if we ever go back. He has told us to stay away, and now he'll be
suspicious if he ever sees us around there again."
"We might tell dad what we know about the place."
But Frank vetoed this suggestion.
"I'd rather work along our own lines until we get something more
definite," he said. "If we get some real evidence we can tell dad about
it. So far we have nothing to go on but our own suspicions."
All the way back to Bayport, the Hardy boys discussed the various
aspects of the case, and although they agreed that the mysterious
activities of the three men at the old mill tended to indicate
almost anything but scientific endeavors, they realized that if they
investigated too thoroughly they might get into serious trouble.
"We'll just wait a while and keep our ears open," Frank decided. "If
those fellows are in the counterfeiting game they'll do something to
give themselves away. And then we'll be right on the job."
When the boys arrived home they amused themselves in the gymnasium
in the barn for some time, had an impromptu boxing match and finally,
after a shower bath, went down the street. It was a sleepy Saturday
afternoon and the city was very quiet.
"Nothing much doing around here," remarked Frank. "We should have
stayed out in the country."
"We could go out in the motorboat for a while."
"Fine. Let's go."
But at that moment they heard the whistle of the afternoon express.
Like most boys, they had a weakness for trains. There was a fascination
about the great locomotives that held them spellbound and they liked
nothing better than to watch the trains that passed through Bayport and
to speculate on the towns and cities they had come from or were bound
for. At times when school became exceptionally distasteful they had
often gone down to the railway station and wished they could board the
first train that came by, to travel on to strange countries. Somehow,
they had never been so daring as to do this, common sense invariably
coming to the rescue, but the lure of locomotives and shining rails
still held them in its grasp.
They moved down the street toward the station and came out on the
platform just as the express was pulling in. Idly, they watched the
few passengers who emerged from the coaches, envied the engineer who
was lolling majestically in the cab, watched the conductor in his smart
uniform, and looked at the people who were boarding the train.
Suddenly Frank nudged his brother.
"Isn't that Markel?" he asked.
Joe followed his glance. Near the steps of one of the Pullman coaches
was a familiar figure, with cap pulled down over his eyes. There was no
mistaking the fellow; he was indeed Markel, one of the associates of
Uncle Dock at the old mill.
What particularly attracted the boys' attention, however, was the fact
that Markel carried a bulky paper package under his arm.
He had not seen them, but there was something so furtive in his manner
that the Hardy boys made themselves as inconspicuous as possible in the
shadow of one of the pillars near by.
Markel lounged about near the coach, now and then glancing up
anxiously, as though expecting some one.
Within a few minutes, just as the conductor shouted, "All aboard!"
a tall, thin-faced man with a neat black mustache, emerged from
the coach. He glanced hastily down at Markel, nodded swiftly, said
something in a low tone, and Markel forthwith handed him the package.
The tall man snatched it from his grasp, turned and retreated quickly
into the coach again.
Markel, as soon as this transaction had been completed gave a shrug of
his shoulders as though he had been relieved of an unpleasant burden,
turned swiftly on his heel and walked away. He disappeared into the
station just as the train began to pull out.
The whole affair had occupied but a few seconds and had passed almost
unnoticed by any one on the platform save the Hardy boys. Any who may
have noticed the handing over of the package doubtless attached little
importance to it. The Hardy boys themselves would not have given it
more than a passing glance had it not been for Markel's connection with
the mystery of the old mill.
"What do you make of that, Frank?"
"Markel must have passed on a sample of the new breakfast food."
"He seemed mighty secretive about it."
"I'll say he did. You'd think it was a bomb he was handing over instead
of breakfast food. He waited until the train was just pulling out
before the other man came for it."
"No breakfast food about that performance."
"I don't think so either. Evidently Markel and the gang are in touch
with some one in the city. You remember that Lester said Markel came
into Bayport every little while with a package under his arm. That must
have been one of them."
"Well, that's a little more evidence to go on."
"Give them enough rope and they'll hang themselves. I'll just bet
dollars to doughnuts that there is counterfeit money in that package
instead of breakfast food. This man Markel looks to me like a crook,
and his tall friend on the train didn't look any too trustworthy
either. My idea is that they are using the mill as a plant where they
turn out the money, then they give it to one of their men on the train
and he takes it to some other city for distribution."
"That looks like it," Joe agreed. "You could tell that Markel had
something on his conscience when he handed that package over. He looked
mighty shifty about it."
The boys walked back down the street, still discussing the events of
the day. They spent the rest of the afternoon out in Barmet Bay, in
the _Sleuth_. For the time being, they dismissed the affair of
the mill from their minds, being content, as Frank had said, that the
counterfeiters, if they were such, would ultimately betray themselves.
When they returned home that evening for supper they did not tell their
father what they had learned. But Fenton Hardy himself brought up
the question of counterfeit money when he told them that he had that
afternoon received a telegram from Federal authorities asking him to
further his investigations.
"They have evidence that more than ten thousand dollars in counterfeit
money was put into circulation within the past three days," he told the
boys. "The affair is going beyond all bounds."
"And Paul Blum is still silent?" asked Frank.
"Can't get a word out of him. I'm inclined to believe he doesn't know
anything about the men who are at the head of the organization. I think
he was only a tool, employed to get the money in circulation. But I
wish you two lads would keep on the lookout for any clues. It will help
me a lot if we can run these counterfeiters to earth. Then, besides,
there is a big reward."
"We'll do our best," they promised.
And, secretly, they wondered what Fenton Hardy would think if he knew
how much work they had already put on the case and how much evidence
they had already gathered, tending to indicate that the old mill on
the Willow River was in some way connected with the activities of the
counterfeiting gang.
"If you can get anything definite in this case," said Fenton Hardy,
with a smile, "I'll be ready to admit that you have some abilities as
detectives--"
"Fenton, don't encourage them," objected Mrs. Hardy.
"Nonsense, Laura," he replied. "If they want to be detectives and
if they have the talent for it, you might as well try to keep water
from running downhill as to stop them. They've done good work on two
difficult cases already."
"And I have a hunch that we'll do something on this case, too," said
Frank, with confidence.