The Tower Treasure Part 9

"What luck, Dad?" asked Frank.

"Good and bad. Here's the story: I went to the house where Red Jackley was boarding. Although he seemed to be an exemplary parolee, I decided to watch him a while and try to make friends."

"How could you do that?"

"By taking a room in the same house and pretending to be a fellow criminal."

"Wow!" Joe cried. "And then?"

"Jackley himself spoiled everything. He got mixed up in a jewel robbery and cleared out of the city. Luckily, I heard him packing, and I trailed him. The police were watching for him and he couldn't get out of town by plane or bus.

He outwitted the police by jumping a freight on the railroad."

"And you still followed?"

"I lost him two or three times, but fortunately I managed to pick up his trail again. He got out of the city and into upper New York State. Then his luck failed him. A railroad detective recognized Jackley and the chase was on. Up to that time I had been content with just keeping behind him. I had still hoped to pose as a fellow fugitive and win his confidence. But when the pursuit started in earnest, I had to join the officers."

"And they caught Jackley?"

"Not without great difficulty. Jackley, by the way, was once a railroad man.

Strangely enough, he worked not many miles from here. He managed to steal a railroad handcar and got away from us. But he didn't last long, for the handcar jumped the tracks on a curve and Jackley was badly smashed up."

"Killed?" Frank asked quickly.

"No. But he's in a hospital right now and the doctors say he hasn't much of a chance."

"He's under arrest?"

"Oh, yes. He's being held for the jewel thefts and also for the theft from the actor's dressing room. But he probably won't live to answer either charge."

"Didn't you find out anything that would connect him with the Tower robbery?"

"Not a thing."

The boys were disappointed, and their expressions showed it. If Red Jackley died without confessing, the secret of the Tower robbery would die with him.

Mr. Robinson might never be cleared. He might be doomed to spend the rest of his life under a cloud, suspected of being a thief.

"Have you talked to Jackley?" Frank asked.

"I didn't have a chance-he wasn't conscious."

"Then you may never be able to get a confession from him."

Fenton Hardy shrugged. "I may be able to. If Jackley regains consciousness and knows he's going to die, he may admit everything. I intend to see him in the hospital and ask him about the Tower robbery."

"Is he far away?"

"Albany. I explained my mission to the doctor in charge and he promised to telephone me as soon as it was possible for Jackley to see anyone."

"You say he used to work near here?" Joe asked.

"He was once employed by the railroad, and he knows all the country around here well. Then he became mixed up in some thefts from freight cars, and after he got out of jail, turned professional criminal. I suppose he came back here because he is so familiar with this area."

"I promised to call Mrs. Robinson," Frank spoke up. "Okay to tell her about Jackley?"

"Yes, it may cheer her up. But ask her not to tell anyone."

Frank dialed the number and relayed part of his father's story. The accused man's wife was overwhelmed and relieved by the news, but promised not to divulge the information. Just as Frank finished the call, the doorbell rang.

Frank ushered in the private detective Oscar Sm.u.f.f.

"Your pa home?" he asked.

"Yes. Come in." Frank led the way into the living room.

Sm.u.f.f, although he considered himself a top-notch sleuth, stood in awe of Fenton Hardy. He cleared his throat nervously.

"Good afternoon, Oscar," said Mr. Hardy pleasantly. "Won't you sit down?"

Detective Sm.u.f.f eased himself into an armchair, then glanced inquiringly at the two boys. At once Mr. Hardy said, "Unless your business is very private, I'd like to have my sons stay."

"Well, I reckon that'll be all right," Sm.u.f.f conceded. "I hear you're working on this Applegate case."

"Perhaps I am."

"You've been out of town several days," Sm.u.f.f remarked cannily, "so I deduced you must be workin' on it."

"Very clever of you, Detective Sm.u.f.f," Mr. Hardy said, smiling at his visitor.

Sm.u.f.f squirmed uneasily in his chair. "I'm workin' on this case too-I'd like to get that thousand-dollar reward, but I'd share it with you. I was just wonderin' if you'd found any clues."

Mr. Hardy's smile faded. He said, with annoyance, "If I went away, it is my own business. And if I'm working on the Tower robbery, that also is my business. You'll have to find your own clues, Oscar."

"Well, now, don't get on your high horse, Mr. Hardy,' the visitor remonstrated. "I'm just anxious to get this affair cleared up and I thought we might work together. I heard you were with the officers what chased this here notorious criminal Red Jackley."

Mr. Hardy gave a perceptible start. He had no idea that news of the capture of Jackley had reached Bayport, much less that his own partic.i.p.ation in the chase had become known. The local police must have received the information and somehow Sm.u.f.f had heard the news.

"What of it?" Mr. Hardy asked in a casual way.

"Did Jackley have anything to do with the Tower case?"

"How should I know?"

"Wasn't that what you were workin' on?"

"As I've told you, that's my affair."

Detective Sm.u.f.f looked sad. "I guess you just don't want to cooperate with me, Mr. Hardy. I was thinkin' of goin' over to the hospital where this man Jackley is and questionin' him about the case."

Mr. Hardy's lips narrowed into a straight line. "You can't do that, Oscar. He isn't conscious. The doctor won't let you see him."

"I'm goin' to try. Jackley'll come to some time and I want to be on hand.

There's a plane at six o'clock, and I aim to leave my house about five-thirty and catch it." He thumped his chest in admiration. "Detectives don't have to show up for a plane till the last minute, eh, Mr. Hardy? Well, I'll have a talk with Jackley tonight. And I may let you know what he says."

"Have it your own way," said Mr. Hardy. "But if you take my advice you'll not visit the hospital. You'll just spoil everything. Jackley will talk when the times comes."

"So there is somethin' in it!" Sm.u.f.f said triumphantly. "Well, I'm goin' over there and get a confession!" With that he arose, stumped out of the room, and left the house.

CHAPTER XIII.

Teamwork AFTER Sm.u.f.f left the house, Mr. Hardy sat back with a gesture of despair.

"That man," he said, "handles an investigation so clumsily that Red Jackley will close up like a clam if Sm.u.f.f manages to question him."

At that moment the telephone rang. The boys listened excitedly as Mr. Hardy answered. "h.e.l.lo. . . . Oh, yes, doctor. ... Is that so? . . . Jackley will probably live only until morning? ... I can see him. . . . Fine. . . . Thank you. Good-by."

The detective put back the receiver and turned to the boys. "I'll take that six-o'clock plane to Albany. But if Sm.u.f.f goes too, it may ruin everything. The Albany police and I must question Jackley first."

"When's the next commercial flight after six?" Joe asked.

"Seven o'clock."

"Then," said Frank, "Sm.u.f.f can take that one and question Jackley later.

Come on, Joe. Let's see what we can do to help Dad!"

"Don't you boys do anything rash," their father warned.

"We won't."

Frank led the way outdoors and started walking down the street.

"What's on your mind?" Joe asked as they ! reached the corner.

"We must figure out how to keep Detective Sm.u.f.f in Bayport until seven o'clock."

"But how?"

"I don't know yet, but we'll find a way. We can't have him bursting into that hospital room and spoiling the chance of Dad's getting a confession. Sm.u.f.f might ruin things so the case will never be solved."

"You're right."

The brothers walked along the street in silence. They realized that the situation was urgent. But though they racked their brains trying to think of a way to prevent Detective Sm.u.f.f from catching the six-o'clock plane, it seemed hopeless.

"Let's round up our gang," Joe suggested finally. "Perhaps they'll have some ideas."

The Hardys found their friends on the tennis courts of Bayport High.

"Hi, fellows!" called Chet Morton when he saw Frank and Joe approaching. "You're too late for a game. Where've you been?"

"We had something important to do," Frank replied. "Say, we need your help."

"What's the matter?" asked Tony Prito.

"Oscar Sm.u.f.f is trying to win that thousand-dollar reward and get himself on the Bayport police force by interfering in one of Dad's cases," Frank explained. "We can't tell you much more than that. But the main thing is, we want to keep him from catching the six-o'clock plane. We-er-don't want him to go until seven."

"What do you want us to do?" Bill Hooper asked.

"Help us figure out how to keep Sm.u.f.f in Bay-port until seven o'clock."

"Without having Chief Collig lock us up?" Jerry Gilroy put in. "Are you serious about this, Frank?"

"Absolutely. If Sm.u.f.f gets to a certain place before Dad can, the case will be ruined. And I don't mind telling you that it has something to do with Slim Robinson."

Chet Morton whistled. "Oh, ho! I catch on. The Tower business. If that's it, we'll make sure the six-o'clock plane leaves here without that nutty detective." Chet had a special dislike for Sm.u.f.f, because the man had once reported him for swimming in the bay after hours.

"So our problem," said Phil solemnly, "is to keep Sm.u.f.f here and keep out of trouble ourselves."

"Right."

"Well," Jerry Gilroy said, "let's put our heads together, fellows, and work out a plan."

A dozen ideas were put forth, each wilder than the one before. Biff Hooper, with a wide grin, went so far as to propose kidnaping Sm.u.f.f, binding him hand and foot, and setting him adrift in the bay in an open boat.

"We could rescue him later," he said. The proposal was so ridiculous that the others howled with laughter.

Phil Cohen suggested setting the detective's watch back an hour. That plan, as Frank observed, was a good one except for the minor difficulty of laying hands on the watch.

"We might send him a warning not to take a plane before seven o'clock,"

Tony Prito said, "and sign it with a skull and crossbones."

"That's a keen ideal" Chet cried enthusiastically. "Let's do it!"

"Wait a minute, fellows," Frank spoke up. "If Sm.u.f.f ever found out who wrote it, we'd be up to our necks in trouble. We could all be arrested!"

"I know!" Joe cried suddenly, snapping his fingers. "Why didn't I think of it before? And it's so simple, too."

"Well, tell us!" Frank urged.