Joe whistled softly. The boys read further:

The Hardy boys looked at one another in silence.

“I guess that will clear us,” said Frank finally.

“It doesn’t say so.”

“They can’t very well blame us after that.”

A familiar voice broke in:

“Hi, there! Hear the news?”

The Hardy boys looked up to see Chet Morton, one of their chums, approaching. Chet, too, had a newspaper under his arm.

“We were just reading it,” said Joe.

“It was coming to him,” declared Chet warmly. “I was talking to one of the men at the airport yesterday, and he said Ducroy ought to be fired. He was always drinking. None of them were surprised when he had that crash.”

“I’m sorry he has lost his job,” said Frank, “but I guess he deserved it. If they let him stay on he might get into a serious accident and kill somebody.”

“He mighty nearly killed us,” Joe reminded him. “If I only knew that this meant we were clear of blame I could write the rest of my exams with an easy mind.”

“Don’t worry,” advised Chet. “They won’t blame you chaps. The very fact that Ducroy has been let out means that they didn’t believe his story.”

Suddenly Frank nudged his brother.

“Here he comes now.”

“Who?”

“Ducroy,” whispered Frank.

Joe looked around. Coming down the street he saw the former air pilot. Ducroy’s face wore an angry look and he appeared not to notice the stares and the comments of the people near by.

“Don’t pay any attention to him,” said Joe. “There’s no use looking for trouble.”

But, if the Hardy boys were not going to pay any attention to Giles Ducroy, it soon became apparent that the pilot intended to pay some attention to them. He changed his course and came over toward the three boys.

“Now what’s the big idea?” muttered Chet.

Ducroy blustered toward them. He faced Frank and Joe angrily, brushing Chet to one side.

“Well,” he sneered, “I suppose you’re satisfied now?”

“What do you mean?” asked Frank.

“I suppose you’re satisfied now that you’ve lost me my job?” demanded Ducroy.

“You lost it yourself,” returned Frank. “We didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“You didn’t, hey? It was your fool driving that caused the crash, and it was because of the crash that I got fired.”

“The paper says something different,” said Joe calmly.

“It says I got fired because I was drunk, and I was as sober as I am now.”

“And you’re not any too sober now, either,” Chet reminded him sweetly.

Ducroy turned to him. “You keep out of this,” he snapped. “This is none of your business. I’ll thank you to keep your mouth shut.”

“Seeing you ask me so nicely, I will.”

Ducroy turned to the Hardy boys again. “I’m not through with you two yet,” he said. “I may have lost my job, but I’m going to get some satisfaction, anyway.”

“How?” asked Frank.

By way of reply, Ducroy drew back his right arm and lashed out suddenly. His fist struck Frank in the face and sent the youth staggering back. The blow had come so abruptly that he had no chance to defend himself.

But Joe, when he saw his brother attacked, lost no time in getting into action. He plunged at Ducroy without hesitation and planted a swinging blow on the pilot’s right eye, completely closing it. Ducroy gave a yell of pain and struck at Joe, but the blow was wild.

Frank recovered himself.

“Let me handle this,” he said to his brother. And with no further ado he advanced on Ducroy.

The pilot swung at him, but Frank ducked, came in, and stung Ducroy’s face with an uppercut. Ducroy was bigger than Frank and considerably heavier, but he was far from being a scientific fighter, relying chiefly on bull-like rushes and ponderous swinging blows that would have done damage had they landed, but seldom did. Ducroy rushed Frank back across the pavement, his heavy fists swinging, but Frank backed away, ducking and dodging, watching for an opening.

It soon came.

Ducroy swung so wildly that he left himself completely unprotected. Frank’s fist shot out. The blow caught Ducroy directly on the point of the jaw, and he went down in a heap.

“Is that enough?” asked Frank.

A crowd had collected, and Con Riley of the Bayport police force hastened forward.

“What’s all this?” he demanded. “Fightin’ on the streets? What’s the trouble?”

Frank turned away. “Just a little argument,” he explained. “This man hit me first and I had to hit him back.”

“That’s right,” chimed in Chet Morton. “I saw it all. I can prove it.”

Giles Ducroy got slowly to his feet and Riley seized him by the collar.

“I got a good mind to run you in,” said the officer. “What business have you got hittin’ a lad half your size?”

“I don’t want to lay any charge against him,” said Frank. “Better let him go.”

Con Riley looked dubious. Then he released his grip on Ducroy’s collar.

“Well, seein’ you ask it,” he said. Then he glared at Ducroy. “Take yourself out of here!” he ordered sharply. “If I catch you makin’ any disturbance on the street again it won’t go so easy with you.”

Giles Ducroy lurched away, muttering and defeated. Con Riley then turned his attention to the crowd and dispersed the bystanders with a wave of his stick. “Move on!” he ordered. “Move on out of here.”

The crowd scattered.

The Hardy boys and Chet Morton continued their journey down the street. Chet was warm in his praise of the artistic manner in which Frank had dealt with the bully.

“I’ll bet his jaw is sore for a week!” he declared.

“I hate a row like that,” said Frank. “Dad would be angry if he knew we were mixed up in a common street fight.”

“You couldn’t help it. You didn’t start the fight. It was all Ducroy’s fault,” said Chet. “He struck you first. Boy, that was a nice pasting you handed him!”

But Frank remembered the vindictive look in Ducroy’s face as the beaten man slunk away.

“I don’t think we’ve heard the last of this, by any means,” he said.

It was not until the next evening that the result of the investigation into the airplane crash was officially announced. Then, to the joy of the Hardy boys, they learned that the authorities held them blameless for the accident.

The report ran, in part:

Frank danced an impromptu jig. “Hurrah!” he shouted. “That takes a load off my mind.”

“I’ll bet dad put in an oar for us,” said Joe happily.

“Shouldn’t be surprised. Let’s go and ask him.”

When they entered Fenton Hardy’s study, the detective smiled at their evident delight.

“What’s happened?” he asked. “Have you fallen heir to a fortune?”

“Better than that. The post office people have announced that we aren’t to blame for that plane wreck,” declared Frank. “We’ve been worrying our heads off about it.”

“Did you help, Dad?” asked Joe.

“Oh, I may have said a few things to the inspector,” observed Mr. Hardy. “He is an old friend of mine and I have done him a few favors in my time. It really wasn’t necessary, because I don’t think they would have blamed you in any case. But it prevented them from being fooled by Ducroy, anyway.”

“That was certainly mighty fine of you. Dad!” exclaimed Frank. “I don’t know how we can thank you.”

“I know,” said their father. “You can go back to school to-morrow and dig into those examinations and graduate this year.”

“We’ll do our best,” they promised.

“The exams won’t be so bad, now that this worry is off our minds,” added Joe.

For the rest of the week the Hardy boys attacked their final examinations with such determination and enthusiasm, unmarred by any worries about the airplane accident, that when they handed in their final papers they knew that if they had obtained passing marks on the papers written earlier in the week there was little doubt of the final outcome.

“But that’s just the trouble,” groaned Joe. “I was so worried when I wrote those first papers that I’m sure I didn’t get by.”

“Forget it,” advised Frank. “The exams are over and we can’t change the papers now. We’ll just have to be patient and wait for the results.”

“I wish I knew them now,” said Chet Morton. “If I don’t pass this year, my dad will flay me alive. I might as well pack up and head for Alaska if I don’t get through. What are you fellows going to do, now that school is over?”

“Wait for the results,” returned Frank. “If we pass, I think dad wants us to go to college and we’ll have to start making our plans.”

Jerry Gilroy, another chum of the Hardy boys, sauntered up.

“How about you, Jerry?” asked Frank, “What are you going to do now?”

“I have a job,” announced Jerry calmly.

“Already?” the others exclaimed enviously.

“I start work Monday as a reporter for The Banner.” Jerry stuck out his chest and pulled his hat brim down over one eye.

“That’s a good job,” said Tony Prito, who joined the group at that moment. “You’ll be able to get into all the shows in town for nothing and get through the police lines at all the fires.”

“Well,” said Jerry doubtfully, “just at first they’re putting me at work writing up obituaries and real estate deals. But I’ll soon work my way up,” he added hastily.

Tony Prito announced that his parents had decided on a college course for him and that Phil Cohen was bound in the same direction.

“Looks as if the old gang will be broken up by next fall,” said Joe glumly.

“That’s true,” agreed Chet. “I think we all ought to get together as soon as we know the results of the exams and have one big party to celebrate.”

“A picnic!” exclaimed Frank.

“Good idea!” declared Jerry Gilroy. “I’ll write it up for the paper.”

“Where shall we have the picnic?” asked Tony. “Beach Grove?”

“Beach Grove is the only place for a picnic. We’ll have the whole graduating class,” Frank said. “The girls, too.”

“I don’t know about that,” demurred Chet, who did not care for girls.

“Go on with you. If we have a class picnic we can’t leave the girls out. Anyway, they’ll be sure to bring along lots of eats.”

“Oh, I forgot about that,” said Chet, who had a weakness for food. “By all means, we must have the girls along.”

“In the meantime, Jerry, keep your eyes open around your newspaper office and see if you can’t get a look at the examination results when they’re sent in for publication,” Frank suggested. “They’ll appear in the paper first, and if you get on the good side of the city editor he may let you have a look at them.”

“And phone us right away,” added Chet.

Jerry promised to keep on the lookout for the examination results.

Frank’s suggestion of a picnic met with the instant favor of the other members of the graduation class who were enthusiastic over the idea. They all realized that within the next few months the class would be scattered far and wide and that it would probably be their last opportunity of being all together.

Then they settled down to the tedious business of awaiting the all-important results. Two days passed, with no word from Jerry Gilroy, who had extracted a promise from his city editor that he would be shown the list as soon as it reached the office. The Hardy boys and their chums bided their time with such patience as they could muster. Frank and Joe went out on Barmet Bay in their motorboat, The Sleuth, and explored the countryside in their roadster.

On Thursday morning the boys were in the gymnasium in the barn back of the Hardy home. Chet Morton was sitting in a window munching at an apple, as usual. Biff Hooper was drumming away at the punching bag. Tony Prito was practicing some complicated maneuvers on the parallel bars, while Phil Cohen and Joe Hardy were engaged in a spirited wrestling match. Frank was busy trying to repair a broken baseball bat, with small success.

“Somebody calling you, Frank,” said Chet, glancing out the window.

Frank looked out. Aunt Gertrude was standing in the back door, beckoning to him.

“You’re wanted on the telephone,” she called.

“It must be from Jerry!” shouted Frank.

The others stopped their activities instantly. Frank almost tumbled down the stairs in his anxiety to reach the house in the quickest possible time. The other boys crowded to the window. They saw him disappear into the house. He seemed to be away for a long time.

“Bad news, I’m sure of it,” moaned Chet.

“Good news, I’ll bet a cookie,” said Joe, trying to be cheerful.

After a while they saw Frank come out of the house. His shoulders drooped. He walked slowly.

“What’s the verdict?” clamored Chet.

Frank looked up, shook his head mournfully, and sighed. They heard him coming up the stairs.

“I knew it,” Chet groaned. “We’ve all failed.”

When Frank came up into the gymnasium they crowded around him. He looked as though he had lost every friend he had in the world.

“For the love of Pete, don’t keep us in suspense!” demanded Tony. “Was it Jerry? What did he say?”

“It was from Jerry,” admitted Frank heavily. “Well, fellows, I don’t know how you’re going to feel about it, but as for me——” he shook his head again.

“Back to the high school for another year, is it?” asked Joe solemnly.

“Don’t take it too badly, fellows. Of course, we all knew the exams were harder than usual.”

“Yes, they were tough,” admitted Chet. “But, hang it all, didn’t some of us get through? I was sure I’d failed, but I thought the rest of you would make it.”

“The results are out,” said Frank. “I know you’re going to feel bad about it, but every one of us—every one, mind you—passed!”

“What?” they roared.

Frank turned a handspring.

“We all passed!” he yelled, in delight. Then he sat down on the floor and laughed at the expression on their faces. “Boy! didn’t I throw a scare into you?”

Biff Hooper hurled a boxing glove at him. Phil Cohen seized Tony Prito around the waist and danced about in glee. Chet threw away the core of his apple and stood on his head. Joe vaulted over the parallel bars. Pandemonium reigned.

School was over at last!

“And now,” shouted Frank, “for the picnic!”

Preparations for the picnic at Beach Grove on the following Saturday were in full swing during the next few days. All the members of the graduation class at Bayport High were enthusiastic, and the girls were busy baking cookies and cakes. From the standpoint of Chet Morton, at any rate, the success of the outing was therefore assured.

“As long as there’s plenty of food, it will be a good picnic,” he said.

Callie Shaw, who was Frank Hardy’s particular favorite among the girls of the class, admitted that she felt sad at the prospect of seeing “the crowd” broken up at last.

“We had some good times at High. Somehow, I wish now that we had all failed so we could go back for another year.”

“You didn’t feel like that when you were writing the math exam,” Iola Morton, Chet’s sister, reminded Callie.

“No. I suppose if I did go back I’d be grouching about the work all over again,” laughed Callie. “I’m glad we’re going to have the picnic, though. It will be nice to be all together again for once before the class is scattered.”

“There won’t be many of the gang left around town by next fall,” said Frank. “What with some going to college and others going to work, the class will be pretty well broken up by then.”

“I hope we’ll get good weather for the picnic,” ventured Joe.

“The class had good luck on the exams,” Iola reminded him; “so we should have good luck with the weather.”

Iola’s optimism was justified. When the day for the picnic dawned the sky was cloudless, the day was warm and clear. Mrs. Hardy had prepared a big basket of good things for the Hardy boys to take with them, and they stowed the basket in the roadster along with their bathing suits and baseball gloves. They had arranged to call for Callie Shaw in the car, while Iola was to go with Chet in his roadster.

It was to be a real picnic—“not one of these afternoon teas,” as Chet expressed it. All members of the class had been notified to meet at Beach Grove by ten o’clock in the morning and when Callie and the Hardy boys reached the grove they found a dozen others already on hand. Chet arrived a few minutes later with Iola and Biff Hooper, whom he had picked up on the road, and by half past ten the crowd was complete.

Beach Grove was just off the Shore Road and extended to a sandy beach on the shore of Barmet Bay. There were many paths through the woods, a grassy meadow which was ideal for baseball games and races, and the park keeper had granted them permission to use a little building in the grove where a stove and kitchen facilities were installed. The boys lit a fire and busied themselves bringing up driftwood from the beach, while some of the girls settled down to preparing lunch and opening up the numerous baskets at their disposal.

The Hardy boys and the other lads went down to the beach for a swim before lunch, and had some fine sport on an improvised raft which they took turns in defending against all comers. Chet Morton became unduly ambitious and tried to improvise a sailboat out of a plank and an old piece of tarpaulin he found on the shore, but the sailboat came to grief and tipped Chet into the water, to the hilarious delight of his companions.

By the time the swim was over and the boys returned to the Grove they had developed lusty appetites for lunch, and there were loud cheers when Callie, as chief cook, hammered a tune on a tin plate with a poker, announcing that the meal was ready. There was hot coffee, heaping bowls of baked beans, stacks of sandwiches, plates of potato salad, and cake and fruit without end. The boys and girls sat beneath the trees and ate from tin plates until they could eat no more.

Chet, alone, looked discontented when lunch was over.

“What’s the matter with you?” asked Tony Prito. “Didn’t you like it? I thought it was the best meal I ever tasted.”

“The meal was all right,” said Chet dolefully.

“Then why are you looking so glum?”

“I never have any luck,” confessed Chet. “Something always goes wrong.”

“Didn’t you get enough to eat?” asked Callie anxiously. “There is a lot more potato salad.”

“No, thanks. I don’t think I could eat any more potato salad—not just now, at any rate. It was very good potato salad but I couldn’t eat any more right now. Maybe in an hour or so—oh, well, it doesn’t matter.”

“If the meal was all right and you got enough, what’s all the trouble?” asked Frank Hardy.

“I saw you take three helpings of beans,” added Joe.

“That’s why I feel so badly.”

“Got a tummy-ache?” asked Iola solicitously.

“No. But, you see, I liked the beans so well that I took two helpings after the first one, and I liked the potato salad so well I took two helpings of that, extra, and then I saw some sandwiches I liked real well and I ate about a dozen of them, and then somebody passed around angel food cake so I ate that, and then I didn’t have any room for anything else.”

“I think you did very well,” remarked Jerry Gilroy. “I don’t see where you have any kick coming.”

“I like chocolate cake. It’s my favorite cake,” declared Chet gloomily.

“There was plenty of chocolate cake,” said his sister. “There are two chocolate cakes left right now.”

“Save ’em for supper,” advised Chet. “That was the big trouble. I like chocolate cake so well that I feel bad because I was so full by the time it reached me I couldn’t eat any.”

The others looked at one another helplessly.

“What can you do with a fellow like that?” demanded Phil Cohen. “He’s never satisfied.”

“I think he needs exercise,” said Iola threateningly.

“Now, don’t!” pleaded Chet, who had found a soft spot beneath a shady tree and was preparing to go to sleep.

“Maybe you boys don’t know it,” said Iola, “but I do. Chet is ticklish!”

“Don’t, Iola!” clamored the victim.

But Iola advanced on her brother and tickled him until he yelled for mercy, whereat the others, delighted at the exposure of this secret, pounced on the luckless Chet and rubbed his ribs until he was forced to make his escape. They chased him through the meadow, shouting with laughter, and back and forth among the trees until he could run no longer.

“It’ll help him digest those three helpings of beans and potato salad,” said Iola, without sympathy.

Having concluded their attentions to Chet, the classmates organized an impromptu program of sports, with races, a ball game and a blindfold boxing match between Biff Hooper, Jerry Gilroy, Phil Cohen and Tony Prito, which ended without casualties. Biff, who prided himself on his boxing ability, wandered away from the others and tackled a large tree, under the impression that it was Jerry. After dealing a dozen terrific blows without knocking out the enemy he tore off the blindfold and then looked very sheepish.

Most of the others went swimming during the afternoon, but the Hardy boys had decided to take advantage of the opportunity and investigate a mysterious little cabin at the far end of the grove. They had often been curious about the place, and it was Frank’s suggestion that perhaps the cabin was used as a hiding place for smugglers that prompted their decision to visit the place.

“May we come, too?” asked Callie Shaw, as the two boys were starting off together. She and Iola had remained behind to clear up the last of the picnic dishes while the other girls went swimming.

“Glad to have you,” answered Frank.

“Come on, Iola.”

The two girls went running across the grass, and the four young people set out down a winding path beneath the trees.

“Where are you going, Frank?” Callie inquired.

“We thought we’d take a walk over to that little cabin at the east end of the grove. Joe and I have often been curious about that place, but we’ve never been near it; so we thought this was as good a chance as any.”

“Oh, this is thrilling!” declared Iola. “Do you think there’s anything suspicious about it?”

Joe shrugged. “Perhaps. It will be fun to look the place over, though. We thought it might be used by smugglers.”

“Smugglers!” exclaimed Callie, stopping. “I’m frightened. I don’t think I care to go after all. I don’t want to meet any smugglers.”

“Nonsense!” laughed Frank. “There wouldn’t be any smugglers around at this time of day, anyway. We’re not sure about the smugglers in any case. Perhaps it’s just a perfectly innocent tumbledown old shack, with nothing strange about it at all.”

Callie gathered up courage and they went forward again. The little cabin was at the extreme end of the grove, and it was some time before they came within sight of it. Finally, rounding a bend in the path, they caught a glimpse of the place among the trees. The cabin had been built in the woods, several hundred yards back from the water.

“Mighty dingy looking cabin, it seems to me,” remarked Iola.

“Why, there are some smugglers now!” exclaimed Callie, wide-eyed. “Don’t you see them, Frank? Down in the bushes. Look, they’re going up toward the cabin!”

Frank called a halt.

“Just a minute!”

He could see three men making their way up a path in the direction of the cabin. The trio were apparently unaware that they were being watched, for they did not look around. For a moment they were hidden by the intervening branches. Then they appeared in view again. One of the men halted in front of the cabin, removed a key from his pocket, and unlocked the door.

The three men disappeared inside.

Frank turned to the others.

“I think we’d better go back,” he said quietly.

“Were they smugglers?” demanded Callie. “Let’s get out of here. They might start some trouble.”

They turned and retraced their steps toward the picnic grounds. Once Joe said:

“Do you know, I’m sure I recognized one of those chaps.”

Frank flashed him a warning look.

He did not want to alarm the girls, so he had said nothing. But Frank, too, had recognized one of the men, and he was none other than Giles Ducroy!

When the Hardy boys and the girls got back to the picnic grounds, the boys excused themselves and drew away to one side, while the girls went down to join the swimmers.

“I think we ought to go back there,” said Frank quietly.

“Why? Did you recognize any of them?”

“Did you?”

“I thought one of them looked mighty like Ollie Jacobs,” said Joe. “He’s a pretty shady customer, as you know. I’ve heard of more than one bad business he has been mixed up in around Bayport.”

“Ollie Jacobs, was it? Then the other fellow must have been Newt Pipps! He is always hanging around with Jacobs. They’re a bad pair.”

“Who was the other fellow? I didn’t get a good look at him.”

“I did,” returned Frank. “He was Giles Ducroy.”

Joe whistled in amazement.

“So that’s who Giles Ducroy is mixed up with now! I wonder what they’re doing down in that old cabin?”

“We’d better go and find out. We can get up to the back of the place without being seen, and perhaps we can overhear what they’re saying.”

“Come on. It’s worth trying, anyway. I’m interested.”

The boys hurried off down the path. Once Joe glanced up at some lowering clouds that had gathered above the trees.

“Looks like rain,” he remarked.

“It may hold off for a while. It won’t stop me from finding out what that gang is up to.”

“Not if I know it,” declared Joe.

When the boys came within sight of the cabin they proceeded more cautiously. They did not come out into the open, but edged their way around through the trees until they came to the rear of the little building.

“There’s an old road near here,” whispered Frank. “Perhaps that’s how they reached the place.”

“I can see it from here. And look—there’s a car! It’s parked under the trees.”

“That explains how they come to be here. They’ve probably arranged a meeting. There’s some funny business on foot, I’ll be bound.”

Cautiously the brothers went on through the undergrowth. It was fortunate that bushes grew within a few feet of the back of the cabin, so the boys were able to make their way near enough to overhear the conversation of anyone who might be within without danger of being seen themselves.

As they pressed close against the logs of the cabin they could hear a murmur of voices. They soon found a convenient chink in the logs where they could peep through. There, in the dimly lighted interior of the building, they saw Giles Ducroy, Ollie Jacobs, and Newt Pipps seated about a rude table, with a bottle and glasses before them.

“I tell you,” Ducroy was saying, “I know what I’m talking about. I’m giving you fellows a chance that lots of other men would jump at.”

“It sounds good,” admitted Jacobs, a short, ill-favored man with squint eyes. “But it’s mighty risky.”

“Nothing venture, nothing gain,” said Ducroy, taking a swig from the bottle.

“That’s true,” said Newt Pipps. “But I’m not anxious to get a bullet through me.”

“Bullets, nothing!” scoffed Ducroy. “We’ll get away with this as smooth as silk.”

“Maybe,” demurred Jacobs. “You say the money is sure to be there, all right?”

“I know it will be there. I wouldn’t tell you fellows about it if I wasn’t sure.”

Newt Pipps shrugged. “Well, I’m as brave as the next man,” he said, “but this is a mighty big job. It’s bigger than any I’ve ever tackled yet, and I can’t say I like it.”

“The bigger the job, the bigger the profit,” remarked Ducroy.

“Yes, and the bigger the risks, too.”

Ollie Jacobs looked around uneasily.

“Don’t talk so loud,” he said. “If anybody hears us, we’re done for.”

“Who could hear us?” demanded Ducroy, who was evidently half intoxicated. “That’s why I picked this cabin for a meeting place. There’s nobody within miles.”

“Oh, yes there is,” Jacobs answered. “A bunch of high school kids are having a picnic over in Beach Grove, and that’s not very far from here.”

“I thought I saw somebody over among the trees when we were coming in here,” said Newt Pipps.

“You did?” said Ducroy. “Why didn’t you speak up?”

“I might have been mistaken.”

“If you think there’s anyone around, go and take a look around the cabin. A person would have to be mighty close to the place to hear us talking.”

Then, to the horror of the Hardy boys, Newt Pipps got up from his chair, rather unsteadily.

“That ain’t a bad idea,” he remarked. “I’ll just do that.”

He moved over to the door, opened it, and stepped outside.

Frank and Joe had no time to lose. They knew that in another moment Newt Pipps might come walking around to the back of the cabin. They drew back quickly, yet cautiously, seeking the shelter of the undergrowth near by.

The bushes were small and afforded little cover, yet they did not dare move back farther for fear of being heard. So they crouched down as far as possible. They were not a second too soon. Scarcely had they flattened themselves in hiding than they heard heavy footfalls from the side of the cabin.

They were so poorly hidden that they could plainly see Newt Pipps as he came around the corner. But Pipps had been drinking and he had evidently little expectation of seeing anyone around. He did not search in their direction, but contented himself with a casual glance, then turned and went back again.

Frank breathed a sigh of relief.

“That was close!” he whispered.

“I’ll say it was,” affirmed Joe.

The Hardy boys waited until they heard the cabin door slam again. Not until then did they emerge and creep forward to the rear of the cabin once more.

Newt Pipps was sitting down at the table.

“Satisfied?” asked Giles Ducroy curtly.

“There’s no one around. Still you can’t be too careful,” said Pipps.

“That’s true,” agreed Jacobs. “Never know when somebody may be hanging around.”

“Well,” snapped Ducroy, “I can’t stay here all day. I’ve made a proposition to you men and I want to know what you’re going to do about it.”

Ollie Jacobs and Newt Pipps looked at one another.

“What do you say, Ollie?”

“I don’t know. There’s a lot of money in it for us, all right. And I could use some cash right now. I’m pretty near broke.”

Giles Ducroy leaned forward and pounded his fist on the table.

“There’s ten thousand dollars or more apiece in it for us,” he declared. “Where else could you make ten thousand dollars as easily, I’d like to know.”

“It’s easy money,” admitted Newt. “But it’s dangerous.”

“And we might get shot,” added Ollie.

“I’m taking that chance the same as you,” Ducroy answered. “Well, hurry up. I can’t wait here all day.”

“Ten thousand looks mighty good to me,” said Newt Pipps. “But I ain’t anxious to get shot earning it, for then it wouldn’t be any use to me.”

“Same here,” demurred Ollie Jacobs.

Just then there was a low growl of thunder overhead. Raindrops began pattering on the cabin roof. Frank and Joe Hardy looked up and saw that the brooding storm was already breaking.

“It’s starting to rain,” said Ducroy. “I want to get back to the city before the storm turns that road into a mud-hole. Can’t you make up your minds?”

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” said Ollie Jacobs, finishing the bottle. “Newt and me ought to talk this over a little more. There’s a lot of money in this job, but there’s a lot of risk too, and I want to make sure it’s safe.”

“Of course it’s safe!” raged Ducroy. “You’ll never make an easier ten thousand in your life.”

“That’s letting you tell it.”

“I think Ollie is right,” said Newt. “We’ll talk it over and let you know later.”

“When? I can’t wait long, you know. I’ve got my own plans to make yet.”

“We’ll let you know to-night,” declared Jacobs, getting up.

“All right,” grumbled Giles Ducroy. “But don’t take any longer. Come on, now. It’s starting to pour. I want to get back to town.”

The three men left the cabin. Rain was now falling on the roof in a steady downpour. The Hardy boys looked at one another, puzzled.

“I wonder what mischief those three are up to?” said Frank, as the brothers hurried back into the shelter of the grove.

The clouds were black overhead and the rain was pouring steadily as the Hardy boys hastened back up the path toward the picnic grounds. Once under the trees they were partly sheltered from the rain but in the open spaces they were thoroughly drenched. Thunder rolled continuously, lightning flashed, and the rain came in sheets.

“This ends the picnic,” panted Joe, as they ran back.

“It sure does. Everybody will be soaked.”

The trees were threshing and sighing in the wind. There was a vivid flash of lightning followed immediately by a crash and a clap of thunder.

“Must have hit a tree,” said Frank.

When they came in sight of the picnic grounds, Frank saw that he had guessed correctly. Only a few yards away from the cook-house, a great oak lay prone on the ground, a jagged fragment of the trunk sticking up out of the earth. The trunk had been sundered by the lightning and the great tree had been struck to earth.

Inside the cook-house, the boys and girls of the graduating class were huddled together. Many of them were badly frightened, for the lightning flash had come unpleasantly close, and the falling tree had missed their refuge by a scant few feet.

As Frank and Joe came racing across the sloppy ground, a cheer went up.

“Here they are!”

“Here come the Hardy boys!”

“At last!”

“Where have you two been?” shouted Chet Morton, as they dashed up onto the veranda, their clothes dripping wet. “We’ve been worried sick. Thought you’d got struck by lightning.”

“Looks as if you people were nearer to being struck than we were,” replied Frank, looking ruefully at his drenched garments.

“We’ve been awfully worried,” said Callie Shaw, pressing forward. “When the storm began, everybody gathered here except you and Joe, and we had no idea where you were.”

“Oh, we were just exploring around,” said Frank. “No harm done, except that we’re mighty wet.”

“No harm done!” exclaimed Iola Morton. “How about our nice picnic? It’s all spoiled now!”

“Well, we were nearly ready to go home anyway,” observed Chet. He turned to the Hardy boys. “Well, you two chaps missed the best display of fireworks I’ve seen since last Fourth of July.”

“Looks as if you had a mighty narrow escape,” said Joe.

“We certainly had. There was a flash of lightning that seemed to miss us all by about two inches, then the loudest crash of thunder I ever heard in my life, then a tearing and crackling, and we saw that big tree topple over.”

“It seemed to be coming right down on top of the house,” said Callie.

“We thought we were done for. If that tree had ever hit the roof we would have been crushed to death. And that would have spoiled the picnic for sure,” added Chet.

The very real danger they had been in and the storm had dampened the spirits of the graduating class, and when the rain finally began to die down there was not a dissenting voice when Frank Hardy suggested that they make a dash for the cars. Hastily packing up the baskets, they left their refuge and ran across the grass to the cars parked out by the gate. Everyone found a place, and within a few minutes the picnic grounds were deserted.

The lull in the storm had been only temporary. Rain came down in torrents before they had gone more than half a mile along the Shore Road, and some of those in open cars who had not taken the precaution of putting up the tops, received a second drenching. Frank and Joe, in their roadster, accompanied by Callie Shaw and Iola Morton, were more fortunate, and they soon arrived on the outskirts of Bayport without mishap.

The picnic party broke up without further ceremony, the cars scattering in various directions as the boys of the class drove the girls home. Frank and Joe drove Callie to her aunt’s store in Bayport and Iola decided that she would wait there for Chet, who was to drive her home that evening. In their wet clothes, the picnickers presented a sorry sight, but all in all they agreed that they had had a good time which even the thunderstorm could not spoil.

When Frank and Joe Hardy reached home and changed their clothes, their mother was sympathetic.

“It’s too bad,” she said, as she prepared a hot supper for them. “You had all been counting on that picnic.”

“Well, we had half a picnic, at any rate. We can be thankful for that much,” Frank observed. And then, when their mother was in the kitchen, he added to his brother: “I don’t call the day wasted.”

“You mean Ducroy?”

“Yes. We learned that he’s up to some funny business. I’d like to know what it’s all about.”

“Something crooked, I’ll be bound,” declared Joe.

“Ten thousand dollars apiece, he said. That’s a lot of money. I’m sure Giles Ducroy and his two precious friends could never earn that much money honestly.”

“It must be crooked. The big reason Ollie Jacobs and Newt Pipps objected to the scheme was because there was danger in it and they might be shot.”

“Maybe they intend to rob a bank,” ventured Frank.

“I wish we knew. Still, perhaps it was all just talk. They were half drunk, you know.”

“Yes, I thought of that.” Frank shook his head. “Still, now that Giles Ducroy is out of work, he might be turning his hand to some kind of thievery.”

“Do you think we ought to tell dad?” Joe suggested.

“Not yet. After all, those men were drinking and it might have been nothing more than drunken chatter. Perhaps Ducroy was only bragging and trying to make a big fellow of himself by telling them he could help them make so much money. We don’t know what they were talking about in the first place. We’d just look foolish if we went to dad with our story and nothing came of it.”

“He couldn’t do anything, anyway. No more than we can.”

“All we can do,” said Frank, “is to watch and wait.”

“We’ll watch, all right. We’ll try to check up on Giles Ducroy and find out what he’s up to. We have one big advantage—he doesn’t know we overheard what they were saying in the cabin.”

“He doesn’t know we were within miles of the place.”

“I’m puzzled about that conversation. If there was nothing in it,” said Joe, “why did they pick such an out-of-the-way spot to have their meeting?”

“It may have been because of the liquor. It’s against the law to have it,” Frank pointed out. “Perhaps we were only listening in on a drinking party after all.”

“I don’t think so. I have a pretty strong belief that there was more than that behind it. Giles Ducroy and that other pair are a bad combination. When you see those three together it means there is some trouble being hatched.”

Their mother came in just then with the tea things, so the boys turned the conversation to other matters. Mrs. Hardy wanted to know what was next on their program, now that school was over and the class picnic a thing of the past.

“Graduation exercises,” said Frank promptly. “Next week, at the high school.”

“I must get a new dress,” Mrs. Hardy declared.

“You’ll certainly have to get all dolled up to come and see your sons step up for their diplomas,” agreed Joe laughingly. “It only happens once in a lifetime, you know.”

“I’m glad to see you graduate, but in a way I’m sorry,” confessed their mother. “It means you’re growing up and you soon won’t be my boys any longer.”

“We’ll always be your boys, even if we live to be a hundred,” declared Frank, putting an arm about his mother’s waist.

“Have you decided what you want to do after the holidays are over?” she asked. “You know I’ve been counting on having you both go through college.”

The boys looked serious.

“We’ll have to think about that,” Joe said. “Still, there’s lots of time. A whole summer ahead of us.”

“Be sure and think seriously about it,” their mother warned. “It is a serious matter. Your whole future will depend on your decision.”

“Maybe by the end of the summer we’ll feel different about going to college,” said Frank. “Just now I’m so glad to be out of school that I never want to see another study book again as long as I live.”

“Me, too,” declared Joe.

Their mother smiled indulgently, and the matter of the boys’ future plans rested at that.