“Luckily, he’ll not have to satisfy Mr. Applegate, but will have to convince a jury—if it gets that far,” whispered Joe in his brother’s ear.
The automobile was speeding up the wide driveway that led to Tower Mansion, and within a few minutes it drew up at the front entrance. Mr. Applegate dismissed the driver, and Mr. Hardy and the two boys accompanied the eccentric man into the house.
Nothing had been disturbed in the library since the discovery of the theft. Mr. Hardy examined the open safe, then drew a magnifying glass from his pocket and with minute care inspected the dial of the combination lock. Then he examined the windows, the doorknobs, all places where there might be fingerprints. At last he shook his head.
“A smooth job,” he observed. “The fellow must have worn gloves. Not a fingerprint in the room.”
“No need of looking for fingerprints,” said Applegate. “It was Robinson—that’s who it was.”
“Better send for him,” advised Mr. Hardy. “I’d like to ask him a few questions.”
Mr. Applegate rang for one of the servants and instructed him to tell Mr. Robinson he was wanted in the library at once. Mr. Hardy glanced at the boys.
“You had better wait in the hallway,” he suggested. “I want to ask some questions, and it might embarrass Mr. Robinson if you were here.”
The lads readily withdrew, and in the hallway they met Henry Robinson, the caretaker, and his son Perry. Mr. Robinson was calm but pale, and at the doorway he patted his son on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry, son,” he said. “It’ll be all right.” With that he entered the library.