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-dollar 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 Bay-port 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.”
“Well, tell us!” Frank urged.
Joe explained that every once in a while he and Frank went down to Rocco’s fruit store to act as clerks while the owner went home to supper. He stayed open evenings until nine.
“Rocco’s is only a block from Smuff’s house. Smuff knows Frank and I go there, so he wouldn’t be surprised to see us in the neighborhood. I suggest that the bunch of us meet casually down near the store and one boy after another stop Smuff to talk. Maybe we can even get him into the shop. You know Smuff loves to eat.”
“You can’t hate him for that,” Chet spoke up. “I’ll be glad to invite him in and buy him an apple for his trip.”
“A fifteen-minute delay for Smuff is all we need,” Frank said.
“I think it’s a swell idea,” Biff spoke up. “And I’m sure Mr. Rocco will co-operate.”
“Who’s going to persuade him?” Phil asked.
“That’s Frank and Joe’s department,” Jerry replied.
Rocco was a hard-working man who had come from Italy only a few years ago. He was a simple, genial person and had great admiration for the Hardy boys.
The whole group made their way toward the fruit store, but only the Hardys went inside. The others spread out to watch for Smuff, who was expected to leave his house soon. Each boy went over his part in the plan.
When Frank and Joe walked into the fruit store, they found the dark-eyed Rocco sorting oranges. “Buona sera” he said. “Good evening. How you like my fix the place?”
“Looks swell,” Frank answered. “New bins. Better lights.” Then he added, “How does your neighbor Smuff like it?”
Rocco threw up his hands in a gesture of disgust. “Oh, that man! He make me mad. He say I charge too much. He tell me I ought to go back to old country.”
“Don’t pay any attention to him,” Joe advised. “Say, Mr. Rocco,” he went on, “you look tired. Why don’t you go home for an hour or so and let Frank and me take over here?”
“You think I look tired? That worry my wife. Then Rosa say I must close up early.” Rocco sighed. “You very kind boys. I do what you say. Come back six-thirty.”
As Rocco removed his apron, he said, “I fix trash in yard to burn. You do that?”
“Glad to.”
Rocco showed them a wire incinerator in the yard, then left the store. Five minutes later there was a whistle from the street. A signal from Jerry I Frank and Joe went to the front door to watch. Smuff was just backing his car out of the driveway. As prearranged, Phil hurried over and stopped him.
The detective and the boy apparently got into an argument, but it did not last long enough to satisfy Frank and Joe. The conversation took less than two minutes, then Smuff backed around into the street.
“Hey, Frank,” said Joe, “I have an idea. Go light that trash. Make it a roaring fire!”
Without further explanation he dashed into the street, but Frank figured out what was in his brother’s mind. He dashed through the store and into the yard. Quickly he lighted the papers in the incinerator in several places. The rubbish blazed lustily.
Joe was intently watching the scene down the street. Smuff was now being “interviewed” by Biff, and Chet came forward to urge Smuff to take some fruit with him on his trip. The detective hesitated, then shook his head and started off in his car.
Only five of the necessary fifteen-minute delay had elapsed I Joe hesitated no longer. Running down the street, he held up one hand for the oncoming car to stop.
“Come quick, Smuff!” he called out “There’s a fire back of Rocco’s!”
“Well, you put it out. I’m in a hurry!” the detective told the boy tartly.
“You mean you’d let all of Bayport burn down just because you’re in a hurry?” Joe pretended to scoff.
Smuff winced, but still did not move. Joe said, starting back to the store, “Well, Frank and I will have to take care of it alone.”
This brought the detective to action. He realized he might be missing a chance to become a hero! In a flash he drove his car down the street and parked in front of the fruit store.
“Where’s the fire?” Smuff cried out, nearly bumping into Frank who was dashing from the front door of Rocco’s.
“The fire-is-back there-in the yard.” Frank pretended to pant. “You go look and see if we ought to turn in an alarm.”
Smuff dashed inside the store and hurried to the yard. By this time the Hardys’ friends had gathered in Rocco’s fruit store. They asked excitedly what was going on.
“Frank! Joe!” yelled Smuff from the rear of the store. “Where’s Rocco? Where’s a pail? Where’s some water?”