"Break in the door!" snapped Mr. Hardy.
Together they launched themselves against the door, and there was a splintering sound, but still the barrier held.
"Again!"
With a concerted rush they plunged forward once more. The door fell in with a crash.
Fenton Hardy switched on his flashlight, for the room was in darkness.
There was the printing press, there was the table with the packages of counterfeit money—but the counterfeiters were gone. The window was wide open. They had made their escape that way.
From beneath the window came the sound of rough voices, a shot, a loud yell. Mr. Hardy ran to the window and looked out.
"We got 'em, sir!" called out a voice.
Underneath the willow tree were six figures, and three of them were troopers. Each man held a prisoner. The counterfeiters had been captured.