“That had occurred to me,” admitted Mr. Hardy. “If that’s the case, I’ll keep out of the affair. It’s just probable that he is a Secret Service man who discovered Snackley’s hang-out and was shot for his pains. That would explain why he wouldn’t tell you anything about himself. But there’s always the possibility that he is one of Snackley’s enemies; and in that case I may be able to persuade him to talk.”
Fenton Hardy asked the boys more questions about their adventure, but beyond a few trivial details they were unable to throw any further light on the mystery. However, it was decided that they should go back to the Kane farmhouse on the following day, which was Sunday, and report on the condition of the mysterious Mr. Jones.
With that they left their father, spending the rest of the afternoon in eager discussion and speculation concerning the strange events of the day. It had been an eventful holiday for them, and although they went over the incidents time and again they were unable to arrive at any solution of the puzzling affair in Barmet Bay. As for the happenings at the house on the cliff, they were inclined to accept their father’s theory that some practical joker had been to blame.
Next morning, after church, they took the motorcycles out of the garage and prepared to ride out to the Kane farmhouse, there to make inquiry as to the condition of the man they had rescued on the previous day.
“Remember!” warned their father. “Don’t ask him too many questions or he’ll get suspicious. Just find out how long he is likely to remain at the farm. If his injuries aren’t very serious he’ll be leaving in a day or so and we want to check up on him.”
The boys promised to follow the detective’s instructions. Unlike the day previous, this Sunday was clear and bright, and the rain of the afternoon before had laid the dust so that they enjoyed their journey out along the shore road.
“It would be a bad joke on us if Mr. Jones left before we got there,” remarked Joe.
“I don’t think he will. That wound in his side was enough to keep him laid up for a few days. And, anyway, he lost so much blood yesterday that it would take him a while to get back his strength.”
“I hope he isn’t a detective.”
“Why?”