CHAPTER XIV
Red Jackley
It was another week before Fenton Hardy returned to Bayport.
Contrary to the expectations of the boys, he did not arrive from New York. Instead, he came home early one morning, having reached the city by a train from the west. He had sent no advance notice of his arrival, and the first his sons knew of it was when a servant told them that their father had reached the house in the early hours of the morning, plainly careworn and travel-stained. He had gone immediately to bed, leaving orders that he was on no account to be disturbed.
This was at breakfast, and although the boys were wild with impatience to learn the outcome of their father's trip, they were obliged to curb their curiosity. Mr. Hardy was still sleeping when they left for school that morning and, to their surprise, he was asleep when they came back home for lunch.
"He must be mighty tired!" remarked Joe. "I wonder where on earth he came from?"
"Probably been up all night. When dad gets hard at work on a case he forgets all about sleep. I'll bet he found something."
"Hope so. But 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 again, although they lingered until they were in danger of being late.
All afternoon they were tormented by curiosity. Where had their father been? What had he discovered? As soon as school was out they fled down the steps, broke away from a group of boys anxious to get up a baseball game, and shattered all records in their race for home.
Fenton Hardy was in the library, and as they rushed panting into the room he grinned broadly at his sons, for he was quite well aware that they were impatient to hear an account of his trip.
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. The Hardy boys knew their father well, and they knew that when a case was difficult of solution the great detective became moody and worried.
"What luck dad?" asked Frank, perching on the arm of an easy chair.
Mr. Hardy raised his eyebrows, pretending not to understand.
"About what?" he inquired.
"About the case. The Tower Mansion case. The red wig. Did you find out who owned it? Did you catch the thief?"
"Whoa! Whoa! Not all at once. A question at a time please. Now, do I understand that you want to know if I found out anything about the Tower Mansion affair?"
"Don't keep us waiting, dad," pleaded Joe. "You know that's what we're asking you about."
"Well," answered Mr. Hardy, "yes—and no!"
"That's not much of an answer," objected Frank, in disappointment.
"It's the best answer I can give, unfortunately. I did find out something about the red wig. But as for connecting its wearer with the Tower robbery—that is still to come."
"You traced the fellow who wore the wig?"
"I did. And he turned out to be a well-known criminal—well known to the police, that is."
"What's his name?" asked Joe.
"Jackley. John Jackley—commonly known as 'Red'."
"Because he has red hair?"
"No. Because he hasn't red hair. That reverses the usual order of nicknames, I imagine. This fellow Jackley has a fondness for wearing red wigs."
"And was he the man who stole Chet's roadster?"
"It seems almost certain. I traced the wig which had been originally stolen from an actor in New York. I traced it to Jackley because his habit of wearing red wigs is well known to the police, and by locating him and keeping a close watch on him and paying a call at his room one night when he was out, I managed to find some of the loot that he had taken when he robbed the actor. That seemed to connect everything up very well."
"Where did you find him?" asked Frank.
"In New York. He wasn't in hiding, for he hadn't been sought for any particular crime at the time. The police seemed to overlook him in their investigation of the dressing-room theft."
"Did you accuse him?"
"No. I wanted to learn more. When I found the articles that had been stolen from the actor and knew that the wig found by the roadster had been taken at the same time, I knew Red Jackley was the auto thief. But I wanted to get some information on the Tower Mansion affair if possible. So I took a room in the house in which Jackley was living, and kept a close watch on him."
"Did you learn anything?"
Mr. Hardy shook his head.
"Jackley himself spoiled everything. He got mixed up in a jewel robbery and cleared out of the city. Luckily, I heard him packing up, and I trailed him. The police were watching for him and he couldn't get out by railway—that is, not in the ordinary manner. Instead, he tried to make his escape by jumping a freight."
"And you still followed?"
"I lost him two or three times, but luck was with me, and somehow I managed to pick up his trail again. He got out of the city, out into New Jersey, and then his luck failed him. A railway detective recognized him and then the chase was on. Up to that time I had been content with just keeping behind him. I had hoped to pose as a fellow fugitive and win his confidence. But when the chase started in real earnest I had to join with the other officers."
"And they caught Jackley?"
"Not without a chase. Jackley, by the way, was once a railroad man. Strangely enough, he once worked not many miles from here. He managed to steal a railway gasoline speeder and got away from us. But he didn't last long, for the speeder jumped the tracks on a curve and Jackley was badly smashed up."
"Was he killed?"
"I don't think he'll live. He's in a hospital right now and the doctors say he hasn't much of a chance."
"But he's under arrest."
"Oh, yes. He is being held for the jewel robbery and also for the robbery from the actor's dressing room. But I don't think he'll live to answer either charge."
"Didn't you find out anything that would connect him with the Tower robbery?"
"Not a thing."
The Hardy boys were disappointed, and their expressions showed it. If Red Jackley died, the secret of the Tower robbery would die with him, for by now Frank and Joe were convinced that the notorious criminal had indeed been the thief for whose misdeeds Mr. Robinson was now suffering. And if the secret died with him, Mr. Robinson would be doomed to spend the rest of his life under a cloud, suspected of being a thief.
"Have you seen Jackley yet?" asked Frank.
"After the smash-up. But I didn't have a chance to talk to him."
"You might have been able to get a confession from him."
Fenton Hardy nodded.
"I may be able to get one yet. If he is sure he is going to die he may admit everything. I intend to make an effort to see him in the hospital and ask him about the Tower robbery anyway."
"Is he far away?"
Mr. Hardy named a small city not far distant from Bayport.
"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 any one. I'm convinced that the fellow had something to do with the Tower affair. It's a certainty that he stole the automobile—the wig proves that. By the same token it's certain that he was the man who tried to hold up the ticket office. Having failed in that attempt, it seems more than likely that an old-time criminal like Jackley would look around for something else to do before he left Bayport."
"You say he used to work near here?" asked Joe.
"He was once employed by the railroad, and he knows all the country around here well. Then he got mixed up in some thefts from freight cars and after he got out of jail he became a professional criminal. It was when I was looking over the records that I found out about his fondness for wearing a red wig. That was what eventually proved his undoing. If he had not robbed the actor's dressing room to get the wig that he used when he was in Bayport, I would never have traced him."
At that moment it was announced that Chief Collig of the Bayport police force wished to see Fenton Hardy. The detective winked at the boys, and told the servant to show the chief in.
Chief Collig entered the room, mopping his brow with a handkerchief, for it was a hot day and he was a stout man. Behind him came Detective Smuff, fanning himself with a straw hat.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen," said Mr. Hardy genially. "Won't you sit down?"
Chief Collig eased himself into an arm chair. Detective Smuff leaned against the table. Both glanced inquiringly at the two boys.
"Unless your business is very private, I'd just as soon have the boys stay," suggested Mr. Hardy pleasantly. He did not trust Chief Collig and Detective Smuff, who came to him only in emergencies and who usually took all the credit for themselves whenever he helped them out of their difficulties. He preferred to have the boys present as witnesses.
"How about it, chief?" asked Smuff heavily. "Can they stay?"
"I guess so," grunted Chief Collig, undoing the collar of his uniform. "Can't do no good and they can't do no harm."
"Well, gentlemen, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?" asked Mr. Hardy.
"We've been hearin' things about this Tower Mansion case," observed Chief Collig gravely. "You've been workin' on it, eh?"
"Perhaps."
"You've been out of town for quite a few days. You must have been workin' on it."
"That's what we dedooce, anyway," put in Detective Smuff.
"Perhaps it's my own business."
"Police business is everybody's business," declared Collig judicially. "What we want to know is—did you find any clues?"
Detective Smuff fished out the inevitable notebook and pencil.
"I'll note 'em down, chief," he remarked.
"You may as well put back the notebook, Smuff," snapped Fenton Hardy, with annoyance. "If I went away, it is my own business, and if I am still working on the Tower robbery, that's my business too. I'll thank you to keep to your own affairs."
Chief Collig opened his mouth, then closed it again. He took out his handkerchief and mopped his brow, all the while staring at Fenton Hardy. Then he turned and gazed at Smuff.
"Detective Smuff," he said, in a solemn voice, "did you hear that?"
"I did."
What do you think of it, Detective Smuff?"
"I think—I think—" Detective Smuff groped for an expression that would encompass the magnitude of the offence. "I think Mr. Hardy is guilty of obstructin' the cause of justice," he said grandly.
"Obstructing fiddlesticks!" said Mr. Hardy. "I'm minding my own business. Which is more than some police officers seem capable of doing."
Chief Collig sighed.
"The trouble with you, Mr. Hardy," he said, "is that you won't co-operate. If you co-operated a little more, we would all be farther ahead. There ain't any co-operation at all. Here is me and Smuff, doin' our best to drive crime out of Bayport, and you won't co-operate."
"Perhaps the fact that there is a thousand dollars reward in the case isn't making you anxious for some co-operation?" suggested Fenton Hardy dryly.
"It ain't got nothin' to do with it," replied Chief Collig virtuously. "We're just anxious to see this affair cleared up, that's all. Now, Mr. Hardy, we hear you were with the officers that 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 news of his own participation in the chase had reached the city.
"What of it?"
"Did Jackley have anything to do with this here Tower case?"
"How should I know?"
"Wasn't that what you were working on?"
"That's my affair."
Detective Smuff and Chief Collig looked at one another.
"You ain't co-operatin'," complained Chief Collig. "You're goin' to put us to a whole lot of worry and expense just because you won't give us a little co-operation."
"Just what do you mean?"
"Detective Smuff and me was thinkin' of goin' over to the hospital where this man Jackley is and givin' him the third degree about the Tower case."
Fenton Hardy's lips narrowed into a straight line.
"You can't do that. The doctor won't let you see him."
"We're going to try, anyway. There's a train at seven o'clock, and we aim to have a talk with this fellow Jackley to-night."
Mr. Hardy shrugged his shoulders.
"Go ahead. It means nothing to me. But if you take my advice you'll stay away. You'll just spoil everything. Jackley will talk when the time comes."
"Oh, ho!" said Detective Smuff triumphantly. "Then there is something to it, hey?"
"I knew there was," said Chief Collig. "Come on, Smuff. We'll make this man Jackley talk yet. We're officers of the law, we are, and I'd like to see any doctor keep us from doin' our duty."
He mopped his brow again, put on his hat, nodded to Fenton Hardy, and clumped out of the room. Detective Smuff, putting his notebook into his pocket, followed. The door closed behind them.
Mr. Hardy sat back with a gesture of despair.
"They'll spoil everything," he said. "They're just so clumsy that Red Jackley will close up like a clam if they try to make him talk."
"Perhaps," remarked Frank significantly, "they'll miss their train."
At that moment the telephone rang. Mr. Hardy answered it.
"Hello—yes, this is Fenton Hardy—yes—oh, yes, doctor—he is—well, well—is that so?—won't live until morning—I can see him?—fine—thank you—good-bye."
He put back the receiver.
"There," he said wearily, "just my luck! Red Jackley is dying, and the doctor says I can see him to-night. But Collig and Smuff will have first right to talk to him, for they are officials and I'm only a private detective. If Jackley confesses, they'll have the credit for it."
"They'll just have to miss their train," said Frank. "Come on, Joe. Let's see what we can do."