A few minutes later a foreign-make, chauffeur-driven car drew up before the Hardy home. Mr.
Applegate was seated in the rear, his chin resting on his cane. The three Hardys went outside. When the detective mentioned the boys’ request, the man merely grunted assent and moved over. Frank and Joe stepped in after their father. The car headed toward Tower Mansion.
“I don’t really need a detective in this case!” Hurd Applegate snapped. “Don’t need one at all. It’s as clear as the nose on your face. I know who took the stuff. But I can’t prove it.”
“Whom do you suspect?” Fenton Hardy asked.
“Only one man in the world could have taken the jewels and securities. Robinson!”
“Robinson?”
“Yes. Henry Robinson-the caretaker. He’s the man.”
The Hardy boys looked at each other in consternation. Henry Robinson, the caretaker of the Tower Mansion, was the father of one of their closest chums! Perry Robinson, nicknamed “Slim,” was the son of the accused man!
That his father should be blamed for the robbery seemed absurd to the Hardy boys. They had met Mr. Robinson upon several occasions and he had appeared to be a good-natured, easygoing man with high principles.
“I don’t believe he’s guilty,” Frank whispered.