CHAPTER XV
The Chief Gets a Bomb
"What's up now?" asked Joe, when the Hardy boys had left the house.
"Chief Collig and Detective Smuff must miss that train."
"But how?"
"I don't know just yet, but they've got to miss it. If they reach the hospital to-night they'll interview Jackley first. One of two things will happen. They'll either get a confession and take all the credit for clearing up the case, or they'll go about it so clumsily that Jackley will say nothing and spoil everything for dad."
The Hardy boys walked along the street in silence. They realized that the situation was urgent, but although they racked their brains trying to think of some way in which to prevent Chief Collig and Detective Smuff from catching the train, it seemed hopeless.
"Let's round up the gang," suggested Joe. "Perhaps they can think of something."
"The gang" consisted of the boys who had been with Frank and Joe the day they held the picnic in the woods. There was, of course, Chet Morton. Besides him were Allen Hooper, otherwise known as "Biff", because of his passion for boxing, Jerry Gilroy, Phil Cohen and Tony Prito, all students at the Bayport high school. They were usually to be found on the school campus after hours, playing ball, and there the Hardy boys soon located them. The game was just breaking up.
"Pikers," grinned Chet Morton when he saw the Hardy boys approaching. "You wouldn't play ball when we asked you to, and now you come around when the game's all over."
"We had something more important on our minds," replied Frank. "We need your help."
"What's the mattah?" asked Tony Prito. Tony was the son of a prosperous Italian building contractor, but he had not yet been in America long enough to talk the language without an accent, and his attempts were frequently the cause of much amusement to his companions. He was quick and good-natured, however, and laughed as much at his own errors any one else did.
"Chief Collig and Detective Smuff are butting into one of dad's cases," said Frank. "We can't tell you much more about it than that. But the whole thing is that they mustn't catch the seven o'clock train."
"What do you want us to do?" asked Biff Hooper. "Blow up the bridge?"
"We might lock Collig and Smuff in one of their own cells," suggested Phil Cohen.
"And get locked in ourselves," added Jerry Gilroy. "Be sensible. Are you serious about this, Frank?"
"Absolutely. If those two catch that train dad's case will be ruined. And I don't mind telling you it has something to do with Perry Robinson."
Chet Morton whistled.
"Ah, ha! I see now. The Tower affair. In that case, we'll see to it that the seven o'clock train leaves here without our worthy chief and his equally worthy—although dumb—detective." He hated Smuff, for the sleuth had once or twice tried to arrest the boys for bathing in a forbidden section of the bay.
"There is only one question left," said Phil solemnly.
"And what is that?"
"How to keep them from getting on the train."
"Get your brains to work, fellows—if you have any," ordered Jerry Gilroy. "Let's figure out a plan."
A dozen plans were suggested, each wilder than the one before. Biff Hooper was in favor of kidnapping the chief and his detective, binding them hand and foot and setting them adrift in the bay in an open boat.
Phil Cohen suggested putting the chief's watch an hour ahead. That plan, as Frank observed, would have been a good one but for the little difficulty of laying hands on the watch.
Chet Morton thought it would be a good idea to start a fight in front of the police station just as Collig and Smuff were about to leave for the train. The possibility that they might all land in jail as a result made this suggestion unpopular.
"If we were in Italy we could get the Black Hand to help," said Tony Prito.
"The Black Hand!" declared Chet. "That's a good idea!"
"We got no Black Hand society in Bayport," objected Tony.
"Let's get one up. Send the chief a Black Hand letter warning him not to take that train."
"And if he ever found who wrote it, we'd all be up to our necks in trouble," pointed out Joe. "I'd like to put a bomb under his old police station."
"Fine idea!" applauded Tony. "Where we get the bomb?"
"Leave it to me," announced Chet Morton mysteriously. "I'll get a bomb. I'll guarantee to keep the chief in town."
"Not a real bomb?" asked Frank.
"Why not?" said Chet. "Listen to me."
Chet proceeded to lay forth his plan in a stealthy whisper. It was received with chuckles and murmurs of admiration. His companions clapped him on the back, and when he had finished the boys hastened down the street toward the Hardy home.
In the rear of the house were a garage and an old barn. In the barn was a gymnasium that the Hardy boys had fitted out for themselves, and here was the usual collection of old toys, footballs, broken baseball bats and such paraphernalia, to be found wherever boys store their cherished possessions. Frank groped about among the rubbish in one corner until at last he rose with an exclamation of triumph, holding aloft a shining object.
"It's here!" he said. "Let's get busy. There's no time to lose."
An old box was quickly produced, and in it the shining object was placed. The box was then carefully wrapped up, and in a few minutes the boys left the barn, Tony carrying the package under one arm.
Not far from the Bayport police station was a fruit stand over which presided an Italian by the name of Rocco. He was a simple, genial soul, who believed almost everything he heard and, like most of his countrymen, he was of an excitable nature. Toward Rocco's fruit stand the boys made their way. Rocco was sorting over his oranges when they approached. Tony, with the box under his arm, hung in the background, while Chet stepped boldly forward.
"How much are your oranges, Rocco?" he asked.
Rocco, with much explanatory waving of arms, recited the prices of the various grades of oranges.
"Too much. There's a fellow at another fruit stand on the next street sells them a nickel a dozen cheaper."
"He no can do!" shrieked Rocco. "My price is da low." Then, angered by this reflection on the prices of his wares, he burst into a lengthy explanation of the struggles confronting a poor Italian trying to get along in a new country. He grabbed Chet by the coat collar, dragged him to a corner of the fruit stall, bade him inspect the fruit, gabbled off prices, and generally worked himself into a state of high indignation. In the meantime, Tony Prito made good use of his time to shove the mysterious package under the front of the stall. Then he joined the other boys who had screened his movements by gathering about Rocco.
"You'll have the Black Hand after you if you keep on charging such high prices—that's all I can say!" declared Chet, as the boys moved away.
"Poof! W'at do I care for da Blacka Hand. No frighten me!" said Rocco bravely, but he gulped when he said it and there was no doubt that the shot had gone home.
It was now after six o'clock, and the boys decided that in the interests of their plan they would have to brook the parental wrath by being late for supper. Frank had assumed that Chief Collig and Detective Smuff would be leaving to catch the train at about ten minutes to seven, so shortly after six-thirty, Phil Cohen, who had remained in the background during the interview with Rocco, walked smartly up to the fruit stand again. The others were viewing the scene from around the corner of a near-by building.
"Banana," said Phil briefly, tossing a nickel on the counter. When he had received the fruit he began to eat it, at the same time chatting with Rocco.
"W'at you t'ink?" snickered the Italian, "some boys come here a while ago and say da Blacka Hand t'ink I charga too much for da fruit."
"Well, you do charge too much, Rocco. Everybody says so."
"I sella da good fruit at da good price."
Phil turned aside and at the same time accidentally knocked an apple to the ground. He bent to pick it up, Rocco eyeing him narrowly in case he tried to slip it into his pocket. But Phil did not get up at once. Instead, he said:
"Oi! What's this?"
"W'at you find?"
"What's this, Rocco?" Phil rose from in front of the stand, with the package in his hands. "I found this under the counter."
Rocco stared. His mouth opened in dismay. For, sounding clearly from the inside of the package, came a steady "tick-tock, tick-tock."
"A bomb!" he shrieked. "Put heem down!"
Thereupon he scrambled wildly over the array of fruit at the back of the stand, knocked over a tray of oranges, and went sprawling over the opposite counter, roaring, "Police!" at the top of his lungs.
Phil, with a fine imitation of fright, put the package on top of the counter and fled.
Rocco, in his white apron, was dancing about in the middle of the street, yelling, "Bombs! Police! Da Blacka Hand!" Then, suddenly fearing that the supposed bomb might explode at any moment, he whirled rapidly about and raced down the street away from the stand, in the general direction of the police station.
He reached the doorway just as Chief Collig and Detective Smuff were leaving for the train. Panting with fear and excitement, Rocco implored them to save him from the Black Handers who had put a bomb under his fruit stand.
"Da bomb, she go 'teek-tock'", he wailed. "She blowa da stand into da little piece!"
"A bomb!" exclaimed Chief Collig. "Surely not in Bayport!"
"I always thought there was Black Handers around here," said Smuff.
"She blowa up da fruit stand! Come queeck!"
Chief Collig and Detective Smuff followed Rocco to the corner. Then they peeped around until they could see the deserted fruit stand, with the package on the counter.
"You say it goes 'tick-tock'?"
"Just lika da clock."
"Must be a bomb, all right," said Smuff. "They run by clockwork."
"Might go off any minute," observed the chief. "I hate to go near it. Smuff, you go and pour a pail of water over it."
"Me?"
"Yes, you. You're not afraid, are you?"
"No—I'm not afraid," muttered Smuff, mopping his brow. "But I got to think of my wife and family."
"Coward!" said the chief. "I'd do it myself, only it wouldn't be right, seein' I'm your superior officer. Bad for discipline."
The worthy officers stared at the package on the fruit stand counter, while Rocco danced with impatience. Neither Collig nor Smuff dared approach closer, but they realized something must be done.
"Where's Riley?" asked the chief at last.
"Out on his beat, around the corner."
"Get him."
Smuff departed hastily, glad of the chance to get away from the vicinity of the bomb. He was some time in locating Con Riley, and when at last that minion of the law was escorted back to the chief, seven o'clock had come and gone. So had the train.