experiences at the Polucca place, for they had learned that one of the chief requisites of a good detective is to keep his ears open and his mouth shut and to hear more than he tells. At that, one mystery was enough for one dinner.
"I'd like to find out more about this affair," said Frank, when the meal was concluded and Mr. Kane sat back luxuriously in his chair and puffed at his pipe. "Perhaps that fellow is awake now."
"Wouldn't do any harm to see. You might ask him some questions. I'm just as curious about it as you are yourself."
They went upstairs. The stranger was sleeping when they looked into the room, but the slight noise they made awakened him and he gazed at them dully.
"Feeling better?" Joe asked.
"Oh, yes," replied the stranger weakly. "I must have lost a lot of blood, though."
"That was when they shot at you just before the boat blew up," said Frank.
The man in the bed nodded, but said nothing.
"What's your name, stranger?" asked Mr. Kane bluntly.
The man in the bed hesitated a moment.
"Jones," he said, at last.
It was so evidently a false name that the Hardy boys glanced at one another, and the farmer scratched his chin doubtfully.
