CHAPTER XXI
A New Idea
A week passed, and still the loot was not recovered.
Mr. Robinson had been held for trial at an early court session. The general opinion in Bayport was that he would be sentenced to imprisonment. The fact that he still refused to tell where he had got the nine hundred dollars so near the time of the robbery, weighed heavily against him.
Fenton Hardy was downcast. It was the first case of its kind that he had been unsuccessful in solving completely, and although he was satisfied that he had done good work in tracking down Red Jackley and getting the confession, the result had scarcely been worth the effort.
Chief Collig and Detective Smuff were complacent. They made no effort to conceal their critical opinions of the great detective, who had taken so much time trying to solve the mystery, when the real thief was right under his nose all the time.
"I told you so," was the burden of Chief Collig's song of triumph. "I knew all the time that Robinson was the man. I arrested him right after the robbery, but they all said it couldn't be him. So I let him go. But I knew all the time it couldn't be any one else. Ain't that so, Smuff?"
And the loyal Smuff would dutifully chime in with, "Yes, chief. We have to hand it to you. You had the right man all the time."
"I guess these professional detectives won't think they're so smart after all, eh, Smuff?"
"No, you bet they won't. We can still teach 'em a thing or two."
"I'll say we can, Smuff. I'll say we can."
These stories, naturally enough, reached the ears of Fenton Hardy and the Hardy boys and they felt keenly the arrogant superiority displayed by the Bayport police officials. But they said nothing, suffering their defeat in silence.
On the following Saturday, Frank and Joe decided to take an outing.
"I want to get out of this city for a few hours," said Frank. "We've been so busy worrying about the Tower Mansion case that we've forgotten how to play. Let's take the motorbikes and go out for a run."
"Good idea!" his brother replied. "Mother will make us up some lunch."
Mrs. Hardy, who was in the kitchen with the cook, smiled when they made known their request. Fair-haired and gentle, she had been tolerantly amused by her sons' activities in the Tower affair, but she was glad to see them return to their boyish ways.
"You'll be getting too grown-up altogether," she had said to them a few days previously. And now, when they said they were going on a day's outing with the motorcycles, she hastened to prepare a substantial lunch for them.
"We'll be back in time for supper, mother," Frank promised. "We're just going to follow the highway along the railroad. After that we may cut across country to Chet's place, and then home."
"Take care of yourself," she warned. "No speeding."
"We'll be careful," they promised, as Joe stowed the lunch basket on the carrier of his machine. Then, with a sputtering roar, the motorcycles sped out along the driveway and soon the boys were on the concrete highway leading out of the city.
In a short time they had reached the outskirts of Bayport, and then they turned west on to the State highway that ran parallel to the railway tracks. It was a bright, sunny spring morning, and the highway was not congested with traffic.
Freight trains shunted back and forth on the railway tracks below the embankment, and now and then a passenger train steamed by, trailing a cloud of black smoke. Like most boys, Frank and Joe could not help but feel the fascination of the railway, although they admitted that they preferred the comparative freedom of their own motorcycles, which were not bound to follow the steel rails and did not have to obey the beck and call of despatchers.
Out in the open country they put on a little more speed. The highway was like a city pavement beneath them and the cool breeze stung the color into their cheeks. For more than two hours they rode, passing through villages and small towns, until at last they came to a point where another railway intersected the line they had been following. Here, a road also ran parallel to the tracks, branching off the main highway. Always on the alert for new country to explore, the Hardy boys decided to follow this side road.
"It's off the main stream of traffic," said Frank, "and the country seems to be wooded farther on. We can have lunch in the shade of some trees."
This appeared to be an advantage, for there were no trees along the State road, and the constant stream of vehicles made a roadside lunch something of a public affair. Accordingly, the boys turned their motorcycles down the side road which, although it was not paved, was well graded, and led through a quieter countryside.
"What railroad is this, anyway?" asked Frank, as they sped along.
"The Bayport and Coast line. It's mostly freight."
"The Bayport and Coast! Why, that's the railway that Red Jackley used to work for. Don't you remember dad telling us that? His first crime was stealing freight from the road."
"So he did! I'd forgotten all about it."
The boys looked down at the tracks below the embankment with renewed interest, by virtue of the railway's association with the notorious criminal. Mention of Jackley's name revived recollections of the Tower Mansion case, and when the boys finally decided to stop in the shade of a little grove of trees beside the road for lunch, they reviewed every incident of the mysterious affair.
"It would have been better for every one if Jackley had stayed with the railway," Frank observed, as he bit into a thick roastbeef sandwich.
"He sure caused a lot of trouble before he died."
"And he has caused even more since, by the looks of things. The Robinsons will remember his name for a long time to come."
"I wonder if Mr. Robinson really was in league with him, Frank?"
"I don't think so. And I don't believe Mr. Robinson ever found that treasure after the robbery, either. There is some explanation to this whole affair that none has been able to fathom."
"If I remember rightly, it was in this part of the country that Jackley worked."
"That's what dad told us. He said it was along the right of way near the State road. Jackley was a section hand or signalman, or something."
Both boys gazed down the two lines of railway tracks that gleamed in the sun. Far into the distance, the glittering bands of steel extended, vanishing into a common perspective.
The land along the right of way was thickly wooded. It was an attractive part of the country and here and there the wooded spaces were broken by green fields and meadows. The boys were at the top of a slope, and they had a view of a wide expanse of country below them.
In the far distance, along the tracks, they could see a little red railway station, and back of that the roofs and spires of a village. Nearer still they could see the spindly legs and squat bulk of water tank, painted a bright scarlet. This water tank was not far from the railway station, but half a mile down the track, and only a few hundred yards from the place where the Hardy boys were seated, rose the bulk of another water station.
But this tower—one of the old style built before the modern tanks came into use—was not freshly painted. It had been allowed to fall into a state of disrepair. Some of the rungs were missing from the ladder that led up the side, and the tower itself had a forlorn and weather-beaten aspect, as though it had been deserted. This, indeed, was the case. The new tower tank closer to the station had been erected to replace it, and although the old structure had not been torn down, it was not now used.
Frank took a huge bite out of his sandwich and began to munch it thoughtfully. The sight of the two water stations had given him an idea, but at first it seemed to him to be too absurd for consideration. He was wondering whether he should mention it to his brother.
Then he noticed that Joe, too, was gazing thoughtfully down the railway tracks. Joe raised a sandwich to his lips absently, essayed a bite and missed the sandwich altogether. Still he continued gazing at the two water towers.
Finally Joe turned and looked at his brother.
In the eyes of both was the light of a great discovery. They knew that they were both thinking of the same thing.
"Two water towers," said Frank slowly.
"An old one and a new one."
"And Jackley said—"
"He hid the stuff in the old tower."
"He was a railwayman."
"Why not?" shouted Joe, springing to his feet. "Why couldn't it have been the old water tower? He used to work around here."
"He didn't say the old tower of Tower Mansion, after all. He just said 'the old tower!'"
"Frank, I believe we've stumbled on the clue!"
"It would be the natural thing for him to come to his old haunts after the robbery. And if he found he couldn't get away with the stuff he would hide it somewhere he knew. The old water tower! Why didn't we think of it before, Joe? Why, that must be the place!"