Because of the pride they took in their achievements as amateur detectives, the Hardy boys felt very keenly the ignominy of being so easily fooled by the stranger who had passed the counterfeit money upon them.
"Dad will have the laugh on us now," muttered Joe, as they heard the distant whistle of the approaching train.
"Well, we'll tell him about it, anyway. Who knows but what a big case might arise out of this?"
The afternoon local pulled into the station, and Fenton Hardy stepped down from the parlor car, bag in hand, light coat over one arm. He was a tall, dark-haired man of about forty years of age. He had a quick, pleasant smile for his sons and he shook hands with them warmly.
"How's mother?" he asked, after the first greetings.
"She's fine," replied Frank. "She said there'd be something special for supper to-night, seeing you're back."
"Good! And what have you two been doing? Kept out of mischief, I hope."
"Well, we've kept out of mischief," said Joe; "but we haven't kept out of trouble."
"What's the matter?"
"We just got fooled by a smart stranger who stepped off the express. It cost us five dollars."