The Tower Treasure (9 page)

“Too bad. Well, I'll probably get him some other way. Give me a list and description of the articles he took from you. Probably I can trace him through that.”

“Glad to,” said Morley. He reached into a drawer and drew out a sheet of paper which he handed to the detective. “That's the same list I gave the police when I reported the robbery. Number of the watch, and everything. I didn't bother to mention the wigs. Figured they wouldn't be in any condition to wear if I did get them back.”

Mr. Hardy folded the list and put it in his pocket. Morley glanced at his watch, lying face up beside the mirror, and gave an exclamation. “Suffering Sebastopol! Curtain in five minutes and I'm not half made up yet. Excuse me, folks, but I've got to get on my horse. In this business ‘I'll be ready in a minute' doesn't go.”

He seized a stick of grease paint and feverishly resumed the task of altering his appearance to that of the character he was portraying at that evening's performance. Mr. Hardy and his sons left. They made their way out to the street.

“Not much luck there,” Frank commented.

“Except through Mr. Morley's stolen jewelry,” his father reminded him. “If that's located in a pawnshop, it may lead to the thief. Well, boys, would you like to go into the theater via the front entrance and see the show?”

“Yes, Dad,” the brothers replied, and Joe added, “Tomorrow we'll try to find out the name and address of the thief through his coat and hat?”

“Right,” the detective said.

The Hardys enjoyed the performance of
The Merchant of Venice
with Mr. Morley as Launcelot Gobbo, and laughed hilariously at his comedy and gestures.

The next morning the detective and his sons visited the store from which the thief's jacket and hat had been purchased. They were told that the styles were three years out of date and there was no way to tell who had bought them.

“The articles,” the head of the men's suit department suggested, “may have been picked up more recently at a secondhand clothing store.” The Hardys thanked him and left.

“All this trip for nothing.” Joe gave a sigh.

His father laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. “A good detective,” he said, “never sighs with discouragement nor becomes impatient. It took years of persistence to solve some famous cases.”

He suggested that their next effort be devoted to doing some research in the city's police files. Since Mr. Hardy had formerly been a member of the New York City detective force, he was permitted to search the records at any time.

Frank and Joe accompanied him to headquarters and the work began. First came a run-down on any known New York criminals who used disguises. Of these men, the Hardys took the reports on the ones who were thin and of medium height.

Next came a check by telephone on the whereabouts of these people. All could be accounted for as working some distance from Bayport at the time of the thefts, with one exception.

“I'll bet he's our man!” Frank exclaimed. “But where is he now?”

THE suspect, the Hardys learned, was out of prison on parole. His name was John Jackley, but he was known as Red Jackley because when caught before going to prison he had been wearing a red wig.

“He lives right here in New York, and maybe he's back home by this time,” Joe spoke up. “Let's go see him.”

“Just a minute,” Mr. Hardy said, holding up his hand. “I don't like to leave Mother alone so long. Besides, in this type of sleuthing three detectives together are too noticeable to a crook. This Jackley may or may not be our man. But if he is, he's probably dangerous. I want you boys to take the evening plane home. I'll phone the house the minute the thief is in custody.”

“All right, Dad,” his sons chorused, though secretly disappointed that they had to leave.

When they reached home, Frank and Joe learned that their mother had been working on the case from a completely different angle. Hers was the humanitarian side.

“I went to call on the Robinsons to try to bolster their spirits,” she said. “I told them about your trip to New York and that seemed to cheer them a lot. Monday I'm going to bake a ham and a cake for you to take to them. Mrs. Robinson isn't well and can do little in the kitchen.”

“That's swell of you!” Frank said admiringly. “I'll go.”

Joe told them he had a tennis match to play. “I'll do the next errand,” he promised.

Monday, during a change of classes, Frank met Callie Shaw in the corridor. “Hi!” she said. “What great problem is on Detective Hardy's mind? You look as if you'd lost your best criminal!”

Frank grimaced. “Maybe I have,” he said.

He told Callie that he had phoned home at noon confidently expecting to hear that his father had reported the arrest of the real thief of the Applegate money and the exoneration of Mr. Robinson. “But there was no word, Callie, and I'm worried Dad may be in danger.”

“I don't blame you,” she said. “What do you think has happened?”

“Well, you never can tell when you're dealing with criminals.”

“Now, Frank, you're not trying to tell me your father would let himself get trapped?” Callie said.

“No, I don't think he would, Callie. Maybe Dad hasn't returned because he still hasn't found the man he was looking for.”

“Well, I certainly hope that thief is caught,” said Callie. “But, Frank, nobody really believes Mr. Robinson did it!”

“Nobody but Hurd Applegate and the men who employ people. Until they find the man who
did
take the stuff, Mr. Robinson is out of a job.”

“I'm going over to see the Robinsons soon. Where are they living?”

Frank gave Callie the address. Her eyes widened. “Why, that's in one of the poorest sections of the city! Frank, I had no idea the Robinsons' plight was that bad!”

“It is—and it'll be a lot worse unless Mr. Robinson gets work pretty soon. Slim's earnings aren't enough to take care of the whole family. Say, Callie, how about going over to the Robinsons' with me after school? Mother's sending a ham and a cake.”

“I'd love to,” Callie agreed. The two parted at the door of the algebra teacher's classroom.

As soon as the last bell had rung, Frank and Callie left the building together. First they stopped at the Shaw house to leave the girl's books.

“I think I'll take some fruit to the Robinsons,” Callie said, and quickly filled a bag with oranges, bananas, and grapes.

When the couple reached the Hardy home, Frank asked his mother if any messages had come. “No, not yet,” she answered.

Frank said nothing to her about being concerned over his father, as he tucked the ham under one arm and picked up the cakebax. But after he and Callie reached the street, he again confided his concern to Callie.

“It does seem strange you haven't heard anything,” she admitted. “But don't forget the old saying, ‘No news is good news,' so don't worry.”

“I'll take your advice,” Frank agreed. “No use wearing a sour look around the Robinsons.”

“Or when you're with me, either,” Callie said, tossing her head teasingly.

Frank hailed an approaching bus bound for the section of the city in which the Robinsons lived. He and Callie climbed aboard. It was a long ride and the streets became less attractive as they neared the outskirts of Bayport.

“It's a shame, that's what it is!” declared Callie abruptly. “The Robinsons were always accustomed to having everything so nice! And now they have to live here! Oh, I hope your father catches the man who committed that robbery—and soon!”

Her eyes flashed and for a moment she looked so fierce that Frank laughed.

“I suppose you'd like to be the judge and jury at his trial, eh?”

“I'd give him a hundred years in jail!” Callie declared.

When they came to the street where the Robinsons had moved they found that it was an even poorer thoroughfare than they had expected. There were small houses badly in need of paint and repairs. Shabbily dressed children were playing in the roadway.

At the far end of the street stood a small cottage that somehow contrived to look homelike in spite of the surroundings. The picket fence had been repaired and the yard had been cleaned up.

“This is where they live,” said Frank.

Callie smiled. “It's the neatest place on the whole street.”

Paula and Tessie answered their knock. The twins' faces lighted up with pleasure when they saw who the callers were.

“Frank and Callie!” they exclaimed. “Come in.”

The callers were greeted with kindly dignity by Mrs. Robinson. She looked pale and thin but had the same self-possession she had always shown at Tower Mansion.

“We can't stay long,” Callie explained. “But Frank and I just thought we'd run out to see how you all are. And we brought something for you.”

The fruit, ham, and cake were presented. As the twins ohed and ahed over the food, Mrs. Robinson's eyes filled with tears. “You are dear people,” she said. “Frank, tell your mother I can't thank her enough.”

Frank grinned as Mrs. Robinson went on, “Callie, we shall enjoy this fruit very much. Many thanks.”

Paula said, “It's a wonderful gift. Say, did you know Perry got a better job the second day he was at the supermarket?”

“No. That's swell,” Frank replied. “It didn't take the manager long to find out how smart Slim is, eh?”

The twins giggled, but Mrs. Robinson said dolefully, “I wish my husband could find a job. Since no one around here will employ him, he is thinking of going to another city to get work.”

“And leave you here?”

“I suppose so. We don't know what to do.”

“It's so unfair!” Paula flared up. “My father didn't have a thing to do with that miserable robbery, and yet he has to suffer for it just the same!”

Mrs. Robinson said to Frank hesitantly, “Has Mr. Hardy discovered anything—yet?”

“I don't know,” Frank admitted. “We haven't heard from him. He's been in New York following up some clues. But so far there's been no word.”

“We hardly dare hope that he'll be able to clear Mr. Robinson,” the woman said sorrowfully. “The whole case is so mysterious.”

“I've stopped thinking of it,” Tessie declared. “If the mystery is cleared up, okay. If it isn't—we won't starve, at any rate, and my father knows we believe in him.”

“Yes, I suppose it doesn't do much good to keep talking about it,” agreed Mrs. Robinson. “We've gone over the whole matter so thoroughly that there is nothing more to say.”

So, by tacit consent, the subject was changed and for the rest of their stay Frank and Callie chatted of doings at school. Mrs. Robinson and the girls invited them to remain for supper, but Callie insisted that she must go. As they were leaving, Mrs. Robinson drew Frank to one side.

“Promise me one thing,” she said. “Let me know as soon as your father returns—that is, if he has any news.”

“I'll do that, Mrs. Robinson,” Frank agreed. “I know what this suspense must be like for you and the twins.”

“It's terrible. But as long as Fenton Hardy—and his sons—are working on the case, I'm sure it will be straightened out.”

Callie and Frank were unusually silent all the way home. They had been profoundly affected by the change that the Tower Mansion mystery had caused in the lives of the Robinsons. Callie lived but a few blocks from the Hardy home, and Frank accompanied her to the door.

“See you tomorrow,” he said.

“Yes, Frank. And I hope you'll hear good news from your father.”

The boy quickened his steps and ran eagerly into the Hardy house. Joe met him.

“Any phone call?”

Joe shook his head. “Mother's pretty worried that something has happened to Dad.”

ANOTHER whole day went by. When still no word had come from Mr. Hardy, his wife phoned the New York hotel. She was told that the detective had checked out the day before.

Discouraged and nervous about the new mystery of their father's disappearance, Frank and Joe found it almost impossible to concentrate on their studies.

Then, the following morning when Mrs. Hardy came to awaken them, she wore a broad smile. “Your father is home!” she said excitedly. “He's all right but has had a bad time. He's asleep now and will tell you everything after school.”

The boys were wild with impatience to learn the outcome of his trip, but they were obliged to curb their curiosity.

“Dad must be mighty tired,” Joe remarked, as Mrs. Hardy went downstairs to start breakfast. “I wonder where he came from.”

“Probably he was up all night. When he's working on a case, he forgets about sleep. Do you think he found out anything?”

“Hope so, Frank. I wish he'd wake up and tell us. I hate to go back to school without knowing.”

But Mr. Hardy had not awakened by the time the boys set out for school, although they lingered until they were in danger of being late. As soon as classes were over, they shattered all records in their race home.

Fenton Hardy was in the living room, and as they rushed in panting, he grinned broadly. He looked refreshed after his long sleep and it was evident that his trip had not been entirely without success, for his manner was cheerful.

“Hello, boys! Sorry I worried you and Mother.”

“What luck, Dad?” asked Frank.