Frank snapped his fingers. "Yes, and he could be one of the smugglers."
"But who threw that hand grenade at him?" Joe asked. "Not one of his own gang, surely. And those guys
in the other speedboat-they couldn't have been Coast Guard men, even in disguise. They wouldn't use
grenades."
"Joe's right on the second point," Mr. Hardy agreed. "But Jones may still be a smuggler."
"You mean he might have done something to make his boss mad and the boss sent out a couple of men
to get him?" Joe asked.
The detective nodded. "If this theory is right, and we can persuade Jones to talk before he either rejoins
the gang or starts trying to take revenge, then we might get him to turn state's evidence."
The boys were excited. Both jumped from their chairs and Joe cried out eagerly, "Let's go talk to him
right away! By morning he'll be gone!"
CHAPTER V
Pretzel Pete
"Just a minute!" Mrs. Hardy said to her sons. "How about supper?"
"We can eat when we come back from our interview with Jones," Joe answered. "Mother, he may
decide to leave the farmhouse any time."
Despairingly Mrs. Hardy returned to her husband. "What do you think, Fenton?"
The detective gave his wife an understanding smile, then turned to Frank and Joe. "Didn't you say Jones
was in pretty bad shape?"
"Yes, Dad," Frank replied.
"Then I doubt very much that he'll try to leave the Kanes' home before the time he set-tomorrow
morning. I'm sure that it'll be safe for us to eat Mother's good supper and still see our man in time."
Joe subsided, and to make his mother feel better, said with a smile, "Guess I let this mystery go to my
brain for a minute. As a matter of fact, I have an empty space inside of me big enough to eat two
suppers!"
Mrs. Hardy tweaked an ear of her energetic son, just as she had frequently done ever since he was a
small boy. He smiled at her affectionately, then asked what he could do to help with supper.
"Well, suppose you fill the water glasses and get milk for you and Frank," Mrs. Hardy said, as she and
Joe went downstairs together.
At the table, as often happened at meals in the Hardy home, the conversation revolved around the
mystery. Frank asked his father if he had made any progress on his part in the case concerning the
smugglers.
"Very little," the detective replied. "Snattman is a slippery individual. He covers his tracks well. I did find
this out, though. The law firm which is handling old Mr. Pollitt's affairs has had no luck in locating the
nephew to whom the property was left."
"Mr. Kane said he'd heard Mr. Pollitt call his nephew a no-good," Frank put in.
"That's just the point," Mr. Hardy said. "The lawyers learned from the police that he's a hoodlum and is
wanted for burglary."
Frank whistled. "That puts the nephew in a bad spot, doesn't it? If he shows up to claim the property,
he'll be nabbed as a criminal."
"Exactly," Mr. Hardy answered.
"What will become of the property?" Joe queried.
His father said he thought the executors might let the house remain vacant or they might possibly rent it.
"They could do this on a month-to-month basis. This would give added income to the estate."
"Which wouldn't do the nephew much good if he were in jail," Mrs. Hardy put in.
"That would depend on how long his sentence was," her husband said. "He may not be a dangerous
criminal. He may just have fallen into bad company and unwittingly become an accessory in some holdup
or burglary."
"In that case," Frank remarked, "he may realize that he wouldn't have to stay in prison long. He may
appear to claim the property, take his punishment, and then lead a normal, law-abiding life out at his
uncle's place."
"Well, I sincerely hope so," Mr. Hardy replied. "The trouble is, so often when a young man joins a group
of hoodlums or racketeers, he's blackmailed for the rest of his life, even though he tries to go straight."
The detective smiled. "The best way to avoid such a situation is never to get into it!"
At this moment the phone rang and Frank went to answer it. "It's for you, Dad!" he called, coming back
to the table.'
Mr. Hardy spent nearly fifteen minutes in conversation with the caller. In the meantime, the boys and
Mrs. Hardy finished their supper. Then, while Mr. Hardy ate his dessert, he told his family a little about
the information he had just received on the phone.
"More drugs have disappeared," he said tersely. "I'm positive now that Snattman is behind all this."
"Were the drugs stolen around here?" Frank asked.
"We don't know," his father answered. "A pharmaceutical house in the Midwest was expecting a
shipment of rare drugs from India. When the package arrived, only half the order was there. It was
evident that someone had cleverly opened the package, removed part of the shipment, and replaced the
wrapping so neatly that neither the customs officials nor the post office was aware that the package had
been tampered with."
"How were the drugs sent to this country?" Joe queried.
"They came by ship."
"To which port?"
"New York. But the ship did stop at Bayport."
"How long ago was this?"
"Nearly two months ago. It seems that the pharmaceutical house wasn't ready to use the drugs until now,
so hadn't opened the package."
"Then," said Joe, "the drugs could have been removed right on the premises, and have had nothing to do
with smugglers."
"You're right," Mr. Hardy agreed. "Each time drugs are reported missing, there's a new angle to the case.
Although I'm convinced Snattman is back of it, how to prove this is really a stickler."
Mr. Hardy went on to say that the tip he had received about 'Snattman being in the Bayport area had
been a very reliable one. He smiled. "I'll tell you all a little secret. I have a very good Mend down on the
waterfront. He picks up many kinds of information for me. His name is Pretzel Pete."
"Pretzel Pete!" Frank and Joe cried out. "What a name!"
"That's his nickname along the waterfront," Mr. Hardy told them. He laughed. "During the past few years
I've munched on so many of the pretzels he sells, I think I'm his best customer."
By this time the boys' father had finished his dessert, and he suggested they leave at once for the Kane
farmhouse. He brought his black sedan from the garage and the boys hopped in. It did not take long to
cover the six miles to the place where Jones was spending the night.
"Why, the house is dark," Frank remarked, puzzled.
"Maybe everyone's asleep," Joe suggested.
"This early?" Frank protested.
Mr. Hardy continued on down the lane. There was no sign of anyone around the place. Frank remarked
that perhaps the farmer and his wife had gone out for the evening. "But I'm surprised that they would
leave Jones alone in his condition," he added.
"I'm quite sure they wouldn't," his father averred. "If they're asleep, I'm afraid we'll have to wake them."
He pulled up in front of the kitchen entrance. Frank was out of the car in an instant, the others followed.
He rapped on the door. There was no answer.
"Let's try the front door," Joe suggested. "Maybe that has a knocker on it."
The boys walked around to the ocean side of the house. Although they banged loudly with the brass
door knocker, there was still no response.
"The Kanes must have gone out," said Joe.
"But what about Jones? Surely he's here."