The Tower Treasure

by Franklin W. Dixon

  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.”

  CHAPTER XII

  A Disturbing Absence

  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.

  “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 w
in 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 Smuff.

  “Your pa home?” he asked.

  “Yes. Come in.” Frank led the way into the living room.

  Smuff, 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 Smuff 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,” Smuff conceded. “I hear you’re working on this Applegate case.”

  “Perhaps I am.”

  “You’ve been out of town several days,” Smuff remarked cannily, “so I deduced you must be workin’ on it.”

  “Very clever of you, Detective Smuff,” Mr. Hardy said, smiling at his visitor.

  Smuff 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 participation in the chase had become known. The local police must have received the information and somehow Smuff 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 warkin’ on?”

  “As I’ve told you, that’s my affair.”

  Detective Smuff looked sad. “I guess you just don’t want to co-operate 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!” Smuff 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 Smuff 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 Smuff manages to question him.”

  At that moment the telephone rang. The boys listened excitedly as Mr. Hardy answered. “Hello.... 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 Smuff 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, “Smuff 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 Smuff 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. Smuff 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 Smuff 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 Smuff is trying to win that thousand-do
llar 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 Smuff in Bayport until seven o’clock.”

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

  “Absolutely. If Smuff 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 Smuff, because the man had once reported him for swimming in the bay after hours.

  “So our problem,” said Phil solemnly, “is to keep Smuff 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 Smuff, 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 Smuff 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.”