"Not a thing. Nothin' but a dollar bill and some matches."
"No counterfeit money?" exclaimed Mr. Hardy, in surprise.
"Not a bit."
"That's strange. The detectives told me he had a big roll of bad bills."
"Why, that must have been what he threw overboard," said Frank. "He took something out of his pocket and tossed it over the side of the boat while we were fighting with him. At the time I couldn't imagine what it was."
"I guess that's how he got rid of it." Fenton Hardy turned to Paul Blum, who was standing sullenly, with his pockets turned inside out. "And what have you got to say for yourself, Blum?"
"Nothing. You haven't got anythin' against me."
"Perhaps not just now. But wait till those Secret Service men arrive from Barmet. You were passing counterfeit money in the village."
"Any counterfeit money I passed, I got from some one else," blurted the prisoner. "I'm not in that game."
Fenton Hardy turned to his sons.
"This doesn't happen, by any chance, to be the fellow who tricked you on that bad five dollar bill at the railway station, does it?" he asked.
