The boys gazed reflectively down the tracks, gleaming in the sun. The rails stretched far into the distance. Only a few hundred feet from the place where they were seated, the Hardys could see both water tanks: the dilapidated, weatherbeaten wooden one, with some of the rungs missing from the ladder that led up its side, and the squat, metal tank, perched on spindly legs.
Frank took a bite of his sandwich and chewed it thoughtfully. The sight of the two water towers had given him an idea, but at first it seemed to him too absurd for consideration. He was wondering whether or not he should mention it to his brother.
Then he noticed that Joe, too, was gazing intently down the tracks at the tanks. Joe raised a cooky to his lips absently, attempted a bite, and missed the cooky altogether. Still he continued gazing fixedly in the same direction.
Finally Joe turned and looked at his brother. Both knew that they were thinking the identical thing.
“Two water towers,” Frank said in a low but excited tone.
“An old one and a newer one,” Joe murmured.
“And Jackley said-“
“He hid the stuff in the old tower.”
“He was a railroad man.”
“Why not?” Joe shouted, springing to his feet “Why couldn’t it have been this old water tower he meant? He used to work around here.”