"Better luck next time," said Frank, cheering up.
"We won't give up yet. Third time's luck, you know."
"Let's hope so. To-morrow night may tell."
They drove back into the city without incident, and when they reached their home they saw that there was a light in their father's study. Frank's face lengthened.
"I'll bet we're in for it now. He doesn't often stay up this late."
"He's likely sitting up to lecture us."
They put the car into the garage. The light in the study seemed ominous just then.
"Well," said Joe, "I guess we might as well go in and face the music. If the worst comes to the worst we'll tell him just what we were up to."
They went into the house. It would have been easy for them to have gained their room by the back stairs, but the boys had too much principle to dodge any unpleasantness in this manner, so they made a point of passing by their father's study. The door was open and they saw Fenton Hardy sitting at his desk.
He was not writing, but was gazing in front of him with a fixed expression on his face. A telephone was at his elbow.