The boys knew of two grade crossings some miles out of town and now headed for them. At the first one they learned that the regular flagman was home ill and his substitute had never heard of Red Jackley. Frank and Joe went on.
At the next crossing they found old Mike Hal-ley, the flagman there, busy at his job. His bright blue eyes searched their faces for a moment, then he amazed them by saying, “You’re Frank and Joe Hardy, sons of the famous detective Fenton Hardy.”
“You know us?” Frank asked. “I must confess I don’t recall having met you before.”
“And you ain’t,” the man responded. “But I make it a rule to memorize every face I see in the newspapers. Never know when there’s goin’ to be an accident and I might be called on to identify some people.”
The boys gulped at this gruesome thought, then Frank asked Halley if he remembered a railroad man named Red Jackley.
“I recollect a man named Jackley, but he wasn’t never called Red when I knew him. I reckon he’s the same fellow, though. You mean the one that I read went to jail?”
“That’s the man!”
“He out of the pen yet?” Mike Halley questioned.
“He died,” Joe replied. “Our dad is working on a case that has some connection with Jackley and we’re just trying to find out something about him.” “Then what you want to do,” said the flagman, “is go down to the Bayport and Coast Line Railroad. That’s where Jackley used to work. He was around the station at Cherryville. That ain’t so far from here.” He pointed in a northerly direction. “Thanks a million,” said Frank. “You’ve helped us a lot.”
The brothers set off on their motorcycles for Cherryville. When they came to the small town, a policeman directed them to the railroad station, which was about a half mile out of town. The station stood in a depression below a new highway, and was reached by a curving road which ran parallel to the tracks for several hundred feet.