Held for Trial
Chief Collig accompanied Fenton Hardy and the two boys out to the
airport, taking them there in his own car. The road entering the grounds
was under guard, and the big hangars were closely watched, the
authorities evidently taking no chances on a repetition of the robbery.
However, Chief Collig was readily admitted and the party proceeded to a
hangar where a newspaper photographer was busy taking pictures.
“I’d like to see those footprints, Chief, if you don’t mind,” said Mr.
Hardy.
“They haven’t been touched,” said Chief Collig. “I gave strict orders
they weren’t to be disturbed.”
Close by the hangar wall a few boards covered the ground. The chief
raised them, and in the ground beneath they could see the clear imprint
of a foot. The marks of the rubber sole were identical with those made
by Joe’s shoes.
“Let’s see how your foot fits that,” suggested the chief, turning to
Joe.
Without hesitation, Joe stepped forward. He placed his right foot in the
print. It fitted exactly. When he removed his foot there had been not
the slightest change in the original print in the ground.
“Yet you said you were never here before!” exclaimed the chief.
“I still say it,” Joe insisted.
“Then how do you account for that footprint? Same size, same marks, same
everything.”
“Somebody must have had a shoe just like mine. That’s all I can say.”
The chief sniffed dubiously. Then Fenton Hardy, who had been examining
the footprint, made a suggestion.
“Joe,” he said, “I want you to stand in the earth right beside that
other footprint. Just walk across there, stand for a moment, and move
away.”
Wondering, Joe obeyed. When he had done as his father asked, there were
several new footprints in the soft earth. Mr. Hardy looked at them
closely.
“What do you think of that, Chief?” he asked.
Chief Collig looked down at the footprints.
“Not much difference, so far as I can see,” he grunted.
“Not _much_. But there _is_ a difference, isn’t there?”
“The footprints Joe just made don’t seem as heavy as the other one,”
admitted the chief.
“They certainly aren’t. You can see how light the impressions are in the
earth. That first footprint is pressed down quite heavily. You couldn’t
help but see it, and I think it was meant to be seen. Joe’s natural
footprints, on the other hand, are scarcely visible.”
“What of it?” demanded the chief.
“I mean,” said Fenton Hardy, “that the footprint you found here is not
Joe’s natural footprint at all. It’s all very well to say that the size
and the sole markings are identical, but there is more to a footprint
than that. The first footprint was made by a very heavy person, as you
can see by comparing it with the footprints Joe made just now.” He
turned to his son. “How much do you weigh, Joe?”
“One hundred and twenty-five pounds,” Joe answered promptly.
“That’s not very heavy. But that first footprint was certainly made by a
person weighing considerably more than that. The earth here is no harder
now than it was at the time of the robbery, because it has been covered
over by the boards, so I think the test proves itself. Then, to go
further, wasn’t there another footprint, Chief? You have shown us only
one, the conclusion being that the thief was a one-legged man.”
“There’s another footprint,” declared Collig. “Here it is.” He pointed
to an impression in the earth a short distance away.
Fenton Hardy took a small folding measuring rule from his pocket and
measured the distance between the two original prints. Then he measured
Joe’s footprints.
“More proof,” he said finally. “The distance between these first two
prints is a good seven inches more than the distance between Joe’s
actual footprints. That proves that the man who wore those shoes was a
good deal taller than Joe, with a longer stride. It also proves that
when he made that heavy print in the mud he was not simply standing
still, which might have caused the print to be heavier by reason of his
weight. Otherwise his feet would have been close together. He was
walking, just as Joe was walking a moment ago.”
Chief Collig was puzzled. Fenton Hardy’s deductions came as a rude
shock, for the chief had already made up his mind that the Hardy boys
were guilty and the evidence had seemed conclusive to him. He was not a
man who admitted a mistake readily and he clung obstinately to his
original belief.
“I don’t care how you figure it out,” he said roughly. “Your boys can’t
explain how that sweater and the knife got here. And they can’t prove an
alibi. I’m not going to let them go just because one footprint is a
little bit heavier than the other.”
“You mean we’re still under arrest?” asked Frank anxiously.
The chief nodded. “You’re under arrest,” he said. “We’d better be
starting back to the city.”
Fenton Hardy patted Frank’s shoulder.
“Never mind, Son,” he said. “I’m afraid I can’t convince Chief Collig
just now, but at any rate I’m sure of your innocence. And we’ll prove it
yet.”
There was nothing more the detective could do. They left the airport and
got back into the chief’s car. Gloomily, they drove back to the city.
That afternoon, Frank and Joe Hardy were arraigned before a magistrate
and, after the evidence had been presented, they were held for trial on
the serious charge of robbing the air mail.
“Held for the robbery!” cried Joe, aghast.
“It’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard of,” declared his brother.
“What would we rob the mail for?”
“Gee, Frank, this will give us a black eye all right.”
“Don’t I know it? But I don’t think our real friends will believe a word
of it.”
“Just wait till the newspapers come out. They won’t do a thing but spill
it all over the front page!”
“That’s the worst of it. It will make mother feel pretty bad.”
“Yes, and when Aunt Gertrude hears of it she’ll say ‘I told you so.’”
“It’s a blamed shame, that’s what it is. I’d like to get back at the
Chief for this.”
“So would I.”
This development caused a sensation in Bayport. When the afternoon
papers came out with headlines, “Noted Detective’s Sons Held For Air
Mail Theft,” friends of the boys and of Fenton Hardy could scarcely
believe the news. On every hand people said, “There must be some
mistake. The Hardy boys would never do a thing like that.” Scarcely
anyone outside the police department could be found who actually
believed the lads were guilty.
Nevertheless, this did not make the situation any easier for Frank and
Joe Hardy. They were in jail, and the prospect of release seemed remote,
because bail had been set in the heavy sum of fifty thousand dollars.
Fenton Hardy was not at all rich, and although he would have placed his
entire fortune at the disposal of his sons, he was finding it difficult,
if not impossible, to raise the big sum required for bail. He called on
the boys late that afternoon and visited them in their cell, ruefully
confessing that he had been unable to raise the money.
“I’m sorry, boys,” he said. “I hate to see you stay here in jail,
particularly when I’m sure you’re innocent. But you won’t be here long.
I’ll do my best to borrow the money to-morrow.”
“Don’t worry about us, Dad,” urged Frank. “Fifty thousand dollars is a
lot of money.”
“Mighty slim evidence they’re holding us on,” complained Joe. “If they
would only bring us to trial right away, we’d be acquitted sure.”
Just then they heard a disturbance in the corridor. Two men were arguing
with one of the guards.
“But I tell you, we _must_ see them right away!” demanded a familiar
voice. “It’s an outrage! A scandal!”
“You’ve got to have a permit from the chief,” expostulated the guard.
“Permit! Bah! Here’s your permit! Now can we get past?”
“Hurd Applegate!” exclaimed Frank, in astonishment.
Two elderly men came hastening down the corridor toward the cell, a
guard following close behind. One of them was indeed Hurd Applegate, the
wealthy and eccentric man whose family treasure had been recovered by
the Hardy boys, as related in the first volume of this series; “The
Tower Treasure.” The other man was none other than Elroy Jefferson, the
owner of Cabin Island.
“This,” declared Elroy Jefferson, standing in front of the cell and
brandishing a newspaper, “is a shame! Nothing less than a shame!”
“A scandal!” fumed Hurd Applegate.
“A shame _and_ a scandal!”
“You’re right, Elroy!” declared Mr. Applegate. “It is a shame and a
scandal. I never heard of anything so disgraceful. The Hardy boys in
jail! Impossible! And bail set at fifty thousand dollars! An outrage!”
“Idiotic!” raged Mr. Jefferson. He bowed to Mr. Hardy. “How do you do,
Mr. Hardy. Mr. Applegate and I were just talking about our stamp
collections when the boy came with the afternoon paper. We read it. We
saw the headlines. ‘Hardy Boys in Jail.’ And at once I said: ‘This is an
outrage!’”
“You did, Elroy,” affirmed Hurd Applegate. “And I said: ‘This is a
scandal.’”
“Yes, Hurd, you said it was a scandal. And it _is_ a scandal. So we put
on our hats and came down here immediately.”
“It’s mighty good of you to visit us. You are—” began Frank, when Elroy
Jefferson interrupted him impatiently.
“Good of us to visit you!” he stormed. “Do you think we came down here
just to visit you? Do you think we’re going to let the Hardy boys stay
in jail? Are we going to let them stay in jail, Hurd?”
“We are not!” said Mr. Applegate firmly.
Elroy Jefferson drew two slips of paper from his pocket.
“When we read in the paper that bail had been set in the outrageous
amount of fifty thousand dollars, what did I do, Hurd?”
“You wrote a check,” said Mr. Applegate.
“I wrote a check. For twenty-five thousand dollars. And what did you do,
Hurd?”
“I wrote one too. I insisted on it.”
“You insisted on it. You wouldn’t let me go bail for the boys myself.
The sentiment does you credit, Hurd, but I would gladly have gone bail
for the full amount.”
Frank and Joe sprang to their feet.
“We can’t let you do that!” exclaimed Frank. “That is awfully good of
you——”
“Good of us!” snorted Mr. Jefferson. “Do you hear that, Hurd? They say
it’s good of us. After what they’ve done for us!”
“It’s a pleasure,” declared Hurd Applegate.
“And now,” concluded Mr. Jefferson grandly, “if you will come with us
we’ll go upstairs and turn over these checks as bail. The idea! The
Hardy boys in jail! Most senseless thing I ever heard of! Why didn’t you
call me up on the telephone? I would have been down here inside five
minutes.”
“Me too,” chimed in Hurd Applegate. “I would have made it in three
minutes, because I live closer.”
“Come along,” said Elroy Jefferson. “Let’s all get out of here.”
The two old gentlemen, fuming, led the way down the corridor, Elroy
Jefferson waving the two checks that were to gain the Hardy boys their
release.