The Secret of the Old Mill/Chapter 13
CHAPTER XIII
Paul Blum
Frank Hardy reduced the speed of the motorboat, because he realized the dangers that lurked in the fog.
Almost any moment they might crash into another boat in the bay. Even worse, they might be so far out of their course that they would pile up on one of the rocky shores.
The fog was impenetrable. Frank did his best to judge their direction by the waves but this did not help greatly, as there were cross currents and the wind was shifting.
The Sleuth coursed on, feeling its way blindly through the haze that enveloped the bay. Frank peered ahead into the foggy veil.
Joe concluded his ministrations to the stranger, who was now beginning to stir. The man opened his eyes and groaned.
"Have you had enough?" asked Joe.
"Who hit me?"
"You hit your head against the side of the boat. Are you going to make any more trouble?"
The man groaned again, tried to get to his feet, found that his ankles were tied together, and sank back with a sigh.
"He won't give us any more bother," declared Joe, coming forward. It was plain that there was no more fight left in their captive.
"I wish this fog would lift," said Frank.
As though in answer to his words a sudden gust of wind sent the mist in scurrying wreaths, raising the heavy grey veil long enough to enable him to see Bayport lying almost directly ahead. He could make out the position of the row of boathouses and he headed the Sleuth toward them.
The curtain of fog descended again, but Frank was now fairly sure of his position.
"We're heading in the right direction now."
"Should we try to make the boathouse? I don't think we'll be able to find it in this mist."
"I guess you're right. We'll land at the big wharf."
In a short while, the boat was nosing its way through the fog, among the shadowy craft anchored near Bayport wharf. The city loomed up in a ghostly dark mass beyond the water
Finally the Sleuth drew alongside the wharf and nosed its way to one of the slips. To the surprise of the boys they saw several figures running along the wharf.
"What boat is that?" shouted some one from the fog.
"The Sleuth!"
"Good! That's them. I thought they'd land here," said the voice, evidently addressing some one else on the wharf.
"Looks as if we're expected," observed Joe.
A man came down the slip, and even in the fog they knew the figure was familiar. When he drew closer they saw that the man was none other than their father.
"Dad!" exclaimed Frank.
"Have you got him with you?" asked the detective quickly.
"Who? Joe?"
"No, no. The man you picked up at Barmet village. I had a telephone message about him."
"Yes, we have him here. He tried to hold us up with a revolver, but we got the better of him."
"Fine!" said Mr. Hardy, peering down into the boat, where the stranger was struggling to sit up. "All right, Chief!" he called, to a burly man who was coming down the slip. "They have him."
Chief Collig, of the Bayport police force, and Con Riley, one of his men, then appeared in view.
"Got him, hey?" said Collig.
"They have him here in the boat."
"All right. Hand him over."
Still wondering how their father had known that the stranger was in the boat with them and wondering also why the police were on hand, the Hardy boys untied the ropes that bound their passenger's ankles, and helped him over the side. He was immediately seized by the officers, who proceeded to search his pockets.
"Here!" he protested. "What's all this about?"
"Well, Paul Blum," said Fenton Hardy, "you thought you'd made a getaway, didn't you?"
The man started.
"You have my name wrong," he muttered.
"Oh, no, I haven't," contradicted Mr. Hardy. "They tell me you were 'shoving the queer' down in Barmet village this morning."
The Hardy boys had been told by their father that 'shoving the queer' was the underworld expression for passing counterfeit money.
"Those Secret Service men would have caught you if the boat hadn't been handy," went on Fenton Hardy. He turned to his sons: "What sort of story did this fellow tell you?"
"He said he had to catch a train, as he was going to be married, and some of his friends in the village were trying to hold him back, as a practical joke," answered Frank. "We thought the yarn was rather fishy and I was going to turn back but he drew a revolver on us."
"How did you get him tied up?"
"He got seasick and Joe knocked the gun out of his hand. Then we tackled him."
"Good work," approved Mr. Hardy. "I got a 'phone call from two Secret Service men this morning. It seems they've been trailing Paul Blum for some time and they were just about to arrest him when he made a bolt for liberty. They chased him down the street, but he disappeared, and the next thing they knew he was in your boat, heading for Bayport. They waved at you and tried to signal to you to come back—"
"So that's why the two fellows were running along the shore!" exclaimed Joe.
"But when you didn't turn back they telephoned to me to meet the boat and arrest him." Fenton Hardy turned to Chief Collig. "Did you find anything?" he asked.
The Chief straightened up, scratching his head.
"Not a thing. Nothin' but a dollar bill and some matches."
"No counterfeit money?" exclaimed Mr. Hardy, in surprise.
"Not a bit."
"That's strange. The detectives told me he had a big roll of bad bills."
"Why, that must have been what he threw overboard," said Frank. "He took something out of his pocket and tossed it over the side of the boat while we were fighting with him. At the time I couldn't imagine what it was."
"I guess that's how he got rid of it." Fenton Hardy turned to Paul Blum, who was standing sullenly, with his pockets turned inside out. "And what have you got to say for yourself, Blum?"
"Nothing. You haven't got anythin' against me."
"Perhaps not just now. But wait till those Secret Service men arrive from Barmet. You were passing counterfeit money in the village."
"Any counterfeit money I passed, I got from some one else," blurted the prisoner. "I'm not in that game."
Fenton Hardy turned to his sons.
"This doesn't happen, by any chance, to be the fellow who tricked you on that bad five dollar bill at the railway station, does it?" he asked.
They shook their heads.
"No, it isn't he."
"I'm convinced that he's associated with the gang in some way."
"You haven't got anything on me," Blum persisted doggedly. "Perhaps I did pass some bad money in the village. What of it? If I did, I didn't know it was bad. I got it from some one else. It ain't my fault."
"If you're so innocent, why did you run from the detectives?"
"I had to catch a train."
"Tell that to the judge," advised Chief Collig roughly. "I think I'll lock you up for a while, my friend, and let you just think things over."
"Yeh, put him in the cooler," piped up Con Riley.
"I don't want any advice from you," said the chief, crushing his subordinate officer with a frown. "Here—put the cuffs on this bird and lock him up."
There was a jingle of handcuffs as they were clapped about Paul Blum's wrists. The man protested, but he was quickly silenced by the chief.
"We're going to keep you until the Secret Service men get here," said Fenton Hardy. "Perhaps they'll have more to tell."
Chief Collig and Constable Riley trudged off, with Paul Blum between them. Fenton Hardy turned to his sons with a smile of approval.
"Good work!" he said. "You haven't lost any time making good use of the new boat, I see."
"I only wish we could have got hold of that roll of counterfeit bills he threw overboard," said Frank disconsolately.
"Well, it can't be helped now—although that would have cinched the case against Blum. He has been operating in this neighborhood for over a week. But I expcet the Secret Service men will have enough evidence to have him punished."
The fog was beginning to lift and the Hardy boys had no further doubt of their ability to locate the boathouse. They felt they had enough of motorboating for one morning, so they said good-bye to their father and left the wharf, guiding the Sleuth safely to the boathouse.
"If every trip we have in the Sleuth is as exciting as that one, we'll have no reason to kick," Frank remarked, as he shut off the engine.