THE HARDY BOYS

THE SHORE ROAD MYSTERY

By FRANKLIN W. DIXON

Author of
The Hardy Boys: The Tower Treasure
The Hardy Boys: The House on the Cliff
The Hardy Boys: Hunting for Hidden Gold

ILLUSTRATED BY
Walter S. Rogers

NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS

Made in the United States of America

Copyright, 1928, by GROSSET & DUNLAP, Inc.

All Rights Reserved
The Hardy Boys: The Shore Road Mystery

"DO YOU KNOW WHO WE'VE GOT HERE?"

CONTENTS

THE HARDY BOYS: THE SHORE ROAD MYSTERY

CHAPTER I

Stolen Cars

"It certainly is a mystery how those autos disappeared," said Frank Hardy.

"I'll say it is," replied his brother Joe, raising his voice to be heard above the clatter of their motorcycles. "Just think of it! Two cars last week, two the week before, and one the week before that. Some thieving, I'll tell the world."

"And Martin's car was brand new," called back Chet Morton.

"Mighty tough," Frank affirmed. "It's bad enough to lose a car, but to have it stolen the day after you've bought it is a little too much."

"Must be a regular gang of car thieves at work."

The three boys, on their motorcycles, were speeding along the Shore Road that skirted Barmet Bay, just out of Bayport, on a sunny Saturday afternoon.

"A person takes a big risk leaving a car parked along this road," said Chet. "Every one of the five autos disappeared along the shore."

"What beats me," declared Frank, turning out to avoid a mud puddle, "is how the thieves got away with them. None of them were seen coming into Bayport and there was no trace of them at the other end of the Shore Road, either. Seems as if they just vanished into the thin air."

Chet slowed down so that the trio were riding abreast.

"If the cars were only ordinary flivvers it wouldn't be so bad. But they were all expensive, high-powered hacks. Martin's car would be spotted anywhere, and so would the others. It's funny that no one saw them."

"Some of these auto thieves are mighty smart," opined Joe. "They certainly have their nerve, working this road for three weeks, and with everybody on the lookout for them. It has certainly put a crimp in the bathing and fishing along the Shore Road." He gestured toward the beach below. "Why, usually on a Saturday afternoon like this you'll see a dozen cars parked along here. What with boating and fishing and swimming, lots of people used to come out from town. Now, if they come at all, they walk."

"And you can't blame 'em. Who wants to lose a high-priced car just for the sake of an hour's fishing?"

"It's certainly mighty strange," Frank reiterated. "After taking two cars from almost the same place, you'd imagine the thieves would be scared to come back."

"They have plenty of nerve, that's certain."

"It isn't as if the police haven't been busy. They've watched this road ever since the first car was lost, and the other autos were stolen just the same. They've kept an eye on both ends of the highway and there wasn't a sign of any of them."

"It's strange that they haven't turned up somewhere. Lots of times a stolen car will be recovered when the thief tries to get rid of it. The engine numbers alone often trip them up. Of course, I guess they'd clap on false license plates, but it's pretty hard to get away with a fine-looking car like Martin's unless it's been repainted and altered a bit."

"It's no fun to lose a car," declared Chet. "I remember how badly I felt when the crooks stole my roadster last year."

"You got it back, anyway."

"Yes, I got it back. But I was mighty blue until I did."

The motorcycles rounded a bend in the road and before the boys lay a wide stretch of open highway, descending in a gradual slope. To their right lay Barmet Bay, sparkling in the afternoon sun. At the bottom of the slope was a grassy expanse that opened out on the beach, the road at this point being only a few feet above the sea level. The little meadow was a favorite parking place for motorists, as their cars could regain the road easily, but to-day there was not an automobile in sight.

"Look at that," said Frank. "No one here on a nice afternoon like this."

At that moment, however, the appearance of a man who came running up from the beach and across the grass, belied his words.

"Some one's here all right," remarked Joe. "And he seems in a hurry about something."

As the boys rode down the slope they could see the man hastening out into the middle of the road, where he stood waving his arms.

"Looks like Isaac Fussy, doesn't it?" said Chet.

"The rich old fisherman?"

"Yes, it's Fussy all right. Look at him dancing around. Wonder what's the matter."

In a few moments the boys had drawn near enough to see that the old man who was waving at them so frantically was indeed the wealthy and eccentric old fisherman known as Isaac Fussy. He was a queer old fellow who lived by himself in a big house on the outskirts of Bayport, and who spent much of his time on the bay. Just now he was evidently in a state of great agitation, shouting and waving his arms as the boys approached.

The motorcycles came to a stop.

"Anything wrong?" asked Frank.

"After 'em! After 'em!" shouted the old man, his face crimson with wrath, as he shook his fist in the air. "Chase 'em, lads!"

"Who? What's the matter, Mr. Fussy?"

"Thieves! That's what's the matter! My automobile!"

"Stolen?"

"Stolen! Robbed! I left it here not ten minutes ago and was startin' out in my boat to fish. I just looked back in time to see somebody drivin' away in it. An outrage!" shouted Mr. Fussy. "After 'em!"

"Why, it's been stolen just a few minutes ago, then?"

"They just went tearin' around the bend before you came in sight. If you look lively, you'll catch 'em. You know my car—it's a big blue Cadillac sedan. Paid twenty-eight hundred for it. Catch them thieves and I'll reward you. Don't waste time standin' here talkin' about it—"

The motorcycles roared and leaped forward.

"We'll do our best!" shouted Frank, as he crouched low over the handle bars.

A cloud of dust arose as the three powerful machines sped off down the road, leaving Isaac Fussy still muttering imprecations on the thieves who had stolen his Cadillac.

The boys were excited and elated. This was as close as any one had yet come to being on the trail of the auto thieves, and they knew that in their fast motorcycles they possessed a decided advantage. If, as Isaac Fussy said, the car had just disappeared around the bend a few minutes previously, they stood an excellent chance of overtaking it.

The motorcycles slanted far over to the side as they took the curve in a blinding screen of dust, then righted again as they sped down the next open stretch at terrific speed. There was no sign of the stolen car, but the open stretch was only about a quarter of a mile in length, skirting the shore, and the road then wound inland behind a bank of trees.

The clamor of the pounding motors filled the summer air as the boys raced in pursuit. Before them was a thin haze of dust, just settling in the road, which indicated that an automobile had passed that way only a few minutes before.

"We'll catch 'em!" shouted Chet, jubilantly.

Without slackening speed, they took the next curve and then found themselves speeding through a cool grove, where the road wound about, cutting off the view ahead. When at length they emerged into an open section of farming land they gazed anxiously into the distance in hope of seeing their quarry, but they were disappointed. The fleeing car was not yet in sight.

Down the road, between the crooked fences, they raced, the engines raising a tremendous racket.

A few hundred yards ahead was the entrance to a lane that led into a farm. The lane was lined with dense trees.

Suddenly, Frank gasped and desperately began to cut down his speed. For, out of this lane, emerged a team of horses, drawing a huge wagonload of hay.

The dust raised by Frank's motorcycle obscured the view of the other boys, and for a moment they did not realize what was happening. The trees along the lane had hidden the hay wagon from sight and Frank was almost upon it before he realized the danger. It was impossible to stop in time.

The man on the hay wagon shouted and waved his arms. The horses reared. The clumsy vehicle presented a barrier directly across the road.

There was only one thing for it. The boys had to take to the ditch to avoid a collision. There was no time to stop.

Frank wheeled his speeding machine to the left, praying for the best. For a moment, he thought he would make it. The motorcycle bumped and lurched, and then it went over on its side and he was flung violently over the handle bars into the bushes ahead.

Behind him he heard shouts, the roar of the other machines, and then two crashes, which came almost simultaneously. Chet and Joe had also been spilled.

CHAPTER II

Circumstantial Evidence

For a moment Frank Hardy lay in the thicket, stunned by the shock of his fall, with the breath knocked out of him. Gradually, he recovered himself and managed to scramble to his feet. His first thought was for the other boys, but a quick glance showed that both Chet and Joe were unhurt, beyond a few bruises.

Joe was sitting in the ditch, looking around him in bewilderment, as though he had not yet realized exactly what had happened, while Chet Morton was picking himself up out of a clump of undergrowth near the fence. In the road, the driver of the hay wagon was trying to calm his startled horses, who were rearing and plunging in fright.

"Any bones broken?" asked Frank of his two companions.

Chet carefully counted his ribs.

"Guess not," he announced, cheerfully. "I think I'm all here, safe and sound. Wow! What a spill that was!"

Joe got to his feet.

"Good thing this is a soft ditch," he said. "It's lucky somebody didn't get a broken neck."

"Well, nobody did, and that's that. How about the bikes?"

Frank examined his own motorcycle, righted it, and found that the machine was not damaged beyond a bent mudguard. He had managed to slow down sufficiently before careering into the ditch, so that much of the shock had been averted and the motorcycle had simply turned over into the spongy turf.

"My bike's all right," announced Chet. "It's bent a little here and there, but it's good for a few more miles yet."

"Same here," said Joe Hardy, looking up. "I think we're mighty lucky to get off so easily."

"You mighta run me down!" roared the driver of the hay wagon, now that he had recovered from his fright. "Tearin' and snortin' down the road on them contraptions—"

"Why don't you watch the road?" asked Frank. "You heard us coming. We couldn't see you. You might have killed the three of us, driving out like that. You didn't have anything to worry about."

"I didn't, eh?"

"No."

"What if I'd been killed?"

"You could hear our bikes half a mile off—unless you are deaf," put in Joe.

"It ain't my business to listen for them contraptions," growled the man on the hay wagon. "I got my work to do."

"Well, don't blame us," said Frank. "And the next time you drive out of a side road like that, stop, look and listen."

"Say, who do you think you're givin' orders to?" and now the man reached for his whip and acted as if he meant to get down and thrash somebody.

"None of that—if you know when you are well off," cried Joe, his eyes blazing.

Chet stepped forward.

"If you say the word, we'll give you all that is coming to you," he put in.

All of the boys looked so determined that the man let his whip alone.

"Get out o' my way! I got to be goin'," he growled.

"Well, after this you be more careful," said Frank.

The driver grumbled, but the boys were not disposed to remain and argue the rights and wrongs of the matter. It had been an accident, pure and simple, with a certain amount of blame on both sides, so they mounted their motorcycles and drove on.

Because of the spill, the boys realized that their chances of overtaking the car thieves were correspondingly lessened, but they decided to continue the pursuit.

"At the rate they're going," said Chet, hopefully, "they may have an upset themselves."

While the Hardy boys and their chum are speeding along the Shore Road on the trail of the stolen sedan, it will not be out of place to introduce them more fully to new readers.

Frank and Joe Hardy were the sons of Fenton Hardy, a famous detective who had made a national reputation for himself while on the detective force of the New York Police Department and who had retired to set up a private practice of his own. Frank Hardy was a tall, dark lad, sixteen years old, while his brother Joe was a fair, curly-headed chap, a year younger. Both boys were students at the high school in Bayport.

When Fenton Hardy retired from the metropolitan force, owing to the great demand for his services in private investigations, he had moved with his family to Bayport, a thriving city of fifty thousand, on Barmet Bay, on the Atlantic seaboard. Here the two boys attended school and here it was that they met with the first adventures that strengthened their resolution to follow in their father's footsteps and themselves become detectives when they grew older.

Fenton Hardy was one of the greatest American criminologists, and his sons had inherited much of his ability. From their earliest boyhood it had been their united ambition to be detectives but in this they had been discouraged by their parents, who preferred to see them inclined toward medicine or the bar. However, these professions held little attraction for the lads, and when they eventually had an opportunity to display their ability as amateur detectives they felt that they had scored a point toward realizing their ambition.

In the first volume of this series, "The Hardy Boys: The Tower Treasure," the lads cleared up a mystery centering about a strange mansion on the outskirts of Bayport, recovering a quantity of stolen jewelry and bonds after the police and even Fenton Hardy had been forced to admit themselves baffled. Thereafter, their father had made but mild objections to the pursuit of their hobby and was, indeed, secretly proud of the ability displayed by his sons. Further mysteries were solved by the boys, the stories of which have been recounted in previous volumes of this series, the preceding book, "Hunting for Hidden Gold," relating their adventures in the far West, where they faced a bandit gang and went after a fortune in hidden gold in the depths of an abandoned mine.

Chet Morton, who was with the Hardy boys this afternoon, was one of their high school chums, a plump, good-natured lad with a weakness for food "and lots of it," as he frequently said. He lived on a farm about a mile outside Bayport and, like the Hardy boys, was the proud owner of a motorcycle. Frank and Joe also owned a motorboat, the Sleuth, which they had bought from the proceeds of a reward they had earned by their work in solving a mystery. Tony Prito, an Italian-American lad, and Biff Hooper, two other high school chums of the Hardy boys, also owned motorboats, in which the boys spent many happy hours on Barmet Bay and in which they had, incidentally, experienced a number of thrilling adventures.

"Often wished I owned a boat," said Chet, as they sped along, "but now I'm just as glad I have a motorcycle instead. I'd have missed all this fun this afternoon if I hadn't."

"You have a queer idea of fun," Joe remarked. "Getting dumped out on my head into a wet ditch doesn't make me laugh very hard."

"Better than studying algebra." Chet's aversion to school work was well known.

For a while they sped on without talking. There was no sign of the stolen automobile, but the boys did not entirely give up hope of catching up with it. When they had gone about three miles, however, even Frank was forced to admit that the fugitives had doubtless given them the slip.

"What's going on over there?" said Frank suddenly. "There's a state trooper and three men over in that farmyard."

"And a big car, too," said Chet.

"Why, I know this place," Joe declared. "This is Dodd's farm."

"Not Jack Dodd? The chap who goes to Bayport High."

"Sure. This is where he lives. I remember the place was pointed out to me once."

"I knew Jack Dodd lived on a farm but I didn't know it was this far out," said Chet. "Let's drop in and see what's up."

With Frank in the lead the three boys turned down the lane leading in to the Dodd place.

"I wonder what that trooper is here for," he said. "They all seem to be having an argument over something."

"Perhaps the trooper met the auto thieves!" conjectured Chet.

When they drove into the barnyard they saw a boy running toward them and they recognized him as Jack Dodd, a quiet, likable lad who was in their class at the Bayport high school.

"Hello, fellows!" he called to them, but they saw that there was a worried expression on his face. "What brings you away out here to-day?"

"Hunting trip," said Chet, with a curious glance toward the state trooper, who was standing over by the fence with Mr. Dodd and two burly strangers. Their voices were raised in a loud argument, in which Mr. Dodd appeared to be opposed to the others.

"Hunting trip?"

"Hunting for auto thieves," Frank explained. "Isaac Fussy's car was stolen a little while ago. When we saw that trooper here we had an idea that perhaps he might know something about it."

"What's that?" shouted the trooper, a broad-shouldered young chap. "A car stolen?"

"Yes, sir. We were chasing it. A big Cadillac."

"Didn't see it," replied the trooper. "It didn't pass this way, I'm sure of that. We've just found one stolen car, anyway."

"I tell you I didn't steal it!" declared Mr. Dodd heatedly. "I haven't the least idea how that car got there."

"That's all right," interposed one of the other men gruffly. "You can tell that to the judge. The fact is, we've found the car behind your barn and it's one of the cars that were stolen in the past couple of weeks."

The chums glanced questioningly at Jack Dodd.

"These men are detectives," he said, in a low voice. "They came out from the city with the trooper a little while ago."

"Did they really find a stolen car here?" asked Chet.

Jack nodded.

"They found one all right, but how on earth it got here, I don't know. It's a Packard and somebody must have driven it in and left it among the bushes behind the barn. We never noticed it."

"Well," the state trooper was saying, "I'm going to drive the car back to Bayport and return it to the owner. You don't claim it's yours, do you?" He gestured toward a splendid touring car near by.

"Of course it isn't mine," said Mr. Dodd. "I've never seen it before and I never want to see it again—"

"I guess you don't," growled one of the detectives.

"How it got here, I can't tell. I certainly had nothing to do with stealing it."

"People don't leave perfectly good cars hidden behind other people's barns," said the other detective. "You'd better tell us a straight story, Dodd. It'll be easier for you."

"I've told you all I know about it."

"Well, then, if you don't know any more about it, perhaps your son does."

"I don't know any more than Dad," declared Jack stoutly. "I've never seen the car before."

"Never?"

"No."

One of the detectives stepped swiftly over to the automobile and produced an object from the back seat. He held it out toward the boy.

"What's this?" he asked.

Jack gasped.

"My fishing rod!"

"It's yours, is it? How did it get there if you've never seen the car before?"

CHAPTER III

Under Suspicion

For a moment after the detective's question there was dead silence. Jack Dodd stared at the fishing rod as though stupefied. Then, mechanically, he took it in his hands.

"Yes, it's mine, all right," he admitted. "I lost it."

"Oh, you lost it, did you?" said the detective unpleasantly. "That's very likely. You lost it in that car."

"I didn't! I've never seen the car. I left my fishing rod out by the front fence about a week ago and when I came to look for it the rod was gone."

The other detective snickered incredulously.

"It's true," protested Mr. Dodd. "Jack told me at the time that he had lost his rod."

"You'd back him up, of course. But that story won't go down. If he never saw the car before, how does his fishing rod happen to be in it?"

Jack and his father looked blankly at one another. Clearly, they were utterly astounded by this unexpected development, and at a loss to account for it.

"I think this pretty well clinches it," declared the trooper. "The rod couldn't have got there unless the boy was in the car—that's certain."

"But I wasn't in the car. I lost the rod a week ago."

"You'd say that, anyway," declared one of the detectives roughly. "Bring the car back to town, Jim." He turned to Mr. Dodd. "This isn't the end of the matter. There's not much doubt in my mind that you and your boy took that car. You certainly haven't been able to give us much of an explanation of how it came to be on your property, and the boy has told a pretty thin story to explain away that fishing rod."

"You're not going to arrest me!" exclaimed Mr. Dodd.

"No," said the detective reluctantly. "You don't have to come back with us. I guess you won't go very far away. But we're going to lay charges against you and your son."

"For what?"

"For stealing that car. What else do you think? And we're going to do a little more investigating about those other cars that were stolen, too."

Mr. Dodd said nothing. He realized the futility of objection. Nothing he might say would swerve the detectives from their determination to charge him and Jack with car stealing. On circumstantial evidence, they would be branded as thieves.

The state trooper turned to the Hardy boys and Chet, who had remained silent during this exchange of words.

"You boys said there was another car stolen?"

Frank nodded.

"A Cadillac sedan. It was stolen about half an hour ago, on the Shore Road."

"Describe it."

The trooper took out his notebook.

"We don't know the number. It was a blue sedan."

"Who did it belong to?"

"Isaac Fussy, the rich old fisherman."

"I've seen that car," said the trooper. "I'd recognize it anywhere. It didn't pass along this road. You've been following it?"

"We were right behind it until we had a spill a few miles back. That held us up for a while."

"I see. Well, the car has probably got away by a side road. I'll report it at headquarters, anyway."

He turned briskly away and went over to the Packard, getting into the front seat and taking his place at the wheel. The two detectives followed.

"You'll hear from us again in a day or so," said one gruffly to Mr. Dodd. "See that you stay here."

"I have nothing at all to fear. I didn't steal the car."

"You can tell that in court. Tell your boy to think up a better yarn about the fishing rod."

With this parting shot, the officers drove away.

Stunned by the misfortune that had befallen them, Mr. Dodd and Jack were silent. Frank Hardy was the first to speak.

"I'm sure it'll turn out all right, Jack. There's been a big mistake somewhere."

"Of course there's been a mistake," returned the boy heavily. "But it looks mighty bad for us."

"I've been living on this farm for more than thirty years," said Henry Dodd, "and there's never been any one could say anything against my good name or the name of any one in my family. I've no more idea how that automobile got here, than—" He shrugged his shoulders, and moved slowly away toward the house.

"We've told the truth," declared Jack. "We never saw the car before. We didn't know it was here. And I told them the truth about my fishing rod. I lost it last week and I didn't see it until that detective took it out of the automobile. How it got there, I don't know."

The chums were sympathetic. They tried, to the best of their ability, to cheer up Jack Dodd, although in their hearts they knew that the evidence against the boy would weigh heavily in a court of law.

"If you had known anything about the car and if you had left your fishing rod there you wouldn't have identified it so readily," said Frank shrewdly. "That was what made me certain you were telling the truth."

"I was so surprised at seeing the rod I couldn't help it! I told them just what they wanted to know. I suppose if I had lied about it they wouldn't have been so sure."

"It's always best to tell the truth in the long run," declared Frank. "It looks rather black for you just now, but after all they haven't very much to go on. The main thing is to find out who did hide that car behind the barn."

"And who put the fishing rod in it," added Joe Hardy.

"I don't suppose you suspect any one?"

Jack Dodd was thoughtful.

"I hadn't thought of it before," he said slowly; "but we had a hired man here up until last week who wouldn't be above playing a trick like that on us."

"Who was he?"

"His name was Gus Montrose. He worked here for about two months, but we had to let him go. He was lazy and he drank a lot and last week he had a quarrel with my father; so he was dismissed. I wouldn't say he stole the car and left it here, but he's the only person I can think of who might have cause to do anything like that."

"He might have had something to do with the fishing rod, at any rate," said Chet.

"He was a surly, bad-tempered fellow, and when he left he swore that he'd get even with us. But of course that may have been only talk."

"Talk or no talk, it's something to work on," Frank Hardy remarked. "Have you seen him around since?"

Jack shook his head.

"Haven't seen or heard of him."

"It's rather suspicious, having a thing like this happen so soon after he left. He might have found the stolen car himself and concluded that it was a good chance to pay off his grudge. Or he may have found the car hidden here and deliberately put the fishing rod in the seat so it would appear that you knew something about it. I wouldn't be at all surprised if Gus Montrose were mixed up in the affair in some way or another."

Jack's face flushed.

"I wish I had him here right now. I'd make him talk!"

"Just sit tight," advised Frank. "I know things look pretty bad, but something may turn up. We'll see if perhaps we can't do something for you."

Jack brightened up at this, for he knew that the help of the Hardy boys was not to be despised. The case looked black against him, but with Frank and Joe on his side he did not feel quite so disconsolate.

"Thanks, ever so much," he said gratefully. "I'm glad some one believes me."

"Those city detectives can't see any farther than the end of their noses," Chet Morton declared warmly. "Don't worry about them. If they put you in jail we'll dynamite the place to get you out." He grinned as he said this and his good humor alleviated the tension that had fallen over the group.

"Well, I guess we'll have to be going," said Frank, as he mounted his motorcycle. "Don't think too much about this, Jack. Something will turn up."

"I hope so," answered the boy.

Chet Morton and the Hardy lads said good-bye to their chum and rode out of the farmyard.

"No use chasing Mr. Fussy's car now," decided Joe.

"Gone but not forgotten," Chet said. "We might as well go home."

So, leaving Jack Dodd standing disconsolately in the yard, the three headed their motorcycles back toward Bayport.

CHAPTER IV

Out On Bail

On the following Monday, Frank and Joe Hardy noticed that Jack Dodd was not at school. They had heard no more about the case, although the disappearance of Isaac Fussy's automobile had increased public interest in the car thefts and the local newspapers were making much of the failure of the police to bring the thieves to justice.

The Bayport Automobile Club had already taken action by offering a reward of $500 for information leading to the recovery of any of the stolen cars and the arrest of those responsible. Three of the victims had also posted rewards of varying amounts, comprising another $500 all told, for the return of their automobiles. The affairs had mystified Bayport, because of the fact that not a trace of any of the cars had been found, save in the case of Martin's Packard, and motorists were apprehensive. No one knew whose turn would come next.

As the Hardy boys were on their way to school on Tuesday morning Frank pointed out one of the Automobile Club posters in a window.

"I sure wish we could land those car thieves. That's a nice fat reward."

"If we caught the thieves we'd likely get the cars, too," replied Joe. "A thousand dollars is a nice little bit of money."

"It would come in handy. Added to the rewards we collected in the other cases, we'd have a good fat bank account."

"Reward or no reward, I'd like to catch the thieves just for the satisfaction of clearing up the affair. Most of all, so we could prove the Dodds haven't had anything to do with it."

"I wonder if the police have done anything about Jack yet. He surely was mighty blue on Saturday."

"Can't blame him," Joe said. "I'd be blue myself if I was accused of stealing a car I'd never even seen before."

As the Hardy boys entered the school they were met by Chet Morton, who called them over to one side.

"Have you heard?" he asked.

"About what?"

"About Jack Dodd and his father?"

"No. What's happened?"

"They were arrested last night for stealing Martin's car. They're both in the Bayport jail right now."

There was a low whistle of consternation from Frank.

"Isn't that a shame!" he declared indignantly. "They had no more to do with stealing that car than the man in the moon!"

"Of course, it was found on their farm," Chet pointed out. "I know they didn't do it, but you can't blame the police for taking action, when you come to think it over. The public are raising such an uproar about these missing cars that they have to do something to show they're awake."

"It's too bad Jack and his father should be made the goats."

"Sure is."

"They're in jail now?" asked Joe.

Chet nodded. "They're coming up for hearing this morning, but it's sure to be remanded. It's mighty tough, because they haven't much money and it will be hard for them to raise bail."

Chet's news disturbed the Hardy boys profoundly. For that matter, it had a depressing effect on all the boys in the class, for Jack Dodd was well liked and all his chums were quite convinced of his innocence of the charge against him. At recess they gathered in little groups, discussing the misfortune that had befallen him, and at noon a number of the lads stopped Officer Con Riley on the street and asked if he had heard the outcome of the morning's hearing.

"Remanded," said Riley briefly.

"For how long?"

"A week. They'll get about five years each, I guess. Been too much of this here car stealing goin' on."

"They're not convicted yet," Frank Hardy pointed out.

"They will be," declared Riley confidently. "We got the goods on 'em."

It was one of Mr. Riley's little eccentricities that he preferred to refer to the entire Bayport police force as "we," as though he had charge of most of its activities instead of being merely a patrolman on the beat adjacent to the high school.

"Got the goods on them—nothing!" snorted Chet Morton. "A car was found on the Dodd farm, that's all."

"It's enough," said the unruffled Con. "Men have been hung on less evidence than that."

"Are the Dodds out on bail?" Frank inquired.

The officer shook his head.

"Couldn't raise it," he said. "They've gotta stay in the coop."

"Even if they may be found innocent later on!" exclaimed Chet.

"That's the law," said Riley imperturbably. "If they can dig up five thousand dollars bail they'll be free until the case comes up."

"Five thousand! They'll never be able to raise that much money!"

"Then," said Officer Riley, as he stalked away, "they'll stay in the coop."

Frank and Joe Hardy went home thoughtfully. At lunch, their father noticed their pre-occupation and asked what the matter was. They told him the whole story, of the discovery of the automobile on the farm, the finding of the rod, Jack's repeated declarations of innocence.

"I'm sure he didn't do it," Frank declared. "He's just not that sort of fellow. And his father is as honest as—as you are."

"Thanks for the compliment," laughed Fenton Hardy. "And you say they're being held on five thousand dollars bail."

Joe nodded. "They'll never raise it. I wonder, Dad, if we could—if you'd help us fix it up."

The boys looked at their father hopefully.

"Joe and I can put up some of our reward money," interjected Frank. "We hate to see the Dodds kept in jail."

Mr. Hardy was thoughtful.

"You must have great faith in them."

"We have," Frank declared. "They had nothing to do with stealing the car, we're certain. It seems tough that they should have to stay in jail just because it was found on their property."

"It's the law of the land. However, as you say, it is rather hard on them. If you lads have enough confidence in the Dodds to put up some of your own money for their bail, I suppose I can do the same. I'll make up the rest of the five thousand."

"Hurray!" shouted Joe. "I knew you'd say that, Dad!"

Mrs. Hardy smiled indulgently from the end of the table. Aunt Gertrude, a peppery old lady who was visiting the Hardys at the time, sniffed in derision. Aunt Gertrude was a maiden lady of advancing years who had very little faith in human nature.

"Chances are they'll go out and steal another car and run away," she snapped. "Waste of money, I call it."

"I'll take my chances with the boys," laughed Mr. Hardy.

"Five thousand dollars gone!" Aunt Gertrude predicted.

"I don't think it'll be as bad as all that, Aunty," said Frank, winking at his brother.

"Wait and see, young man. Wait and see. I've lived in this world a good deal longer than you have—"

"Years longer," said Joe innocently.

This reference to her age drew a glare of wrath from over Aunt Gertrude's spectacles.

"I'm older than you are and I know the ways of the world. It seems you can't trust anybody nowadays."

However, in spite of Aunt Gertrude's doleful predictions, Fenton Hardy stood by his promise, and after lunch was over he went with the boys to the office of the District Attorney, where they put up bail to the amount of five thousand dollars for the release of Jack Dodd and his father, pending trial.

In a few minutes, father and son were free. When they learned the identity of their benefactors their gratitude was almost unbounded.

"We'd have been behind the bars right until the day of the trial," declared Mr. Dodd. "I don't know how to thank you. I give you my word you'll have no cause to regret it."

"We know that," Mr. Hardy assured him. "Don't worry."

"You're real chums!" declared Jack to the boys.

"Forget it," Joe said, embarrassed. "You'd do the same for us if it were the other way around."

"If you run across any information that might help us find who left the car on your farm let us know," put in Frank. "And, by the way, see if you can find out where Gus Montrose is now and what he is doing. I have an idea that fellow knows something."

"I haven't heard anything about him, but I'll try to find out," Jack promised.

"Are you going back home now?"

"I don't know. I hate to miss any more school, for I've been a bit behind in my work."

"Go on to school with the boys," advised Mr. Dodd. "I'll go back home alone. No use losing any more time than can be helped."

Fenton Hardy nodded his head in approval of this sensible advice and the boys went on to school together, where Jack Dodd received an enthusiastic welcome from his classmates, all of whom stoutly asserted their belief in his innocence and confidently predicted that he would come through his ordeal with flying colors.

"It's a crying shame ever to have arrested you," said one of the lads loyally.

"Oh, the police of this town are a lot of doughheads," said another.

"It's not the fault of the police, exactly," Frank pointed out. "It was also the state troopers and detectives."