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 chase. What did the man say his name was?"

"Jones," answered Frank doubtfully.

Fenton Hardy raised his eyebrows. "Of course—there are lots of Joneses in the world. It might be his real name. But more than likely it isn't. Would he tell you anything about the reason for the chase? Did you question him?"

"He wouldn't tell us anything at all. We made a few inquiries, but he said he couldn't explain."

"Still more mysterious," reflected the detective. "Do you think he will talk when he gets better?"

"I'm afraid not. He seemed quite determined not to tell us anything about himself or about the men who were chasing him."

"Don't you remember, Frank?" exclaimed Joe. "When we brought him into the house, just as he became conscious again. What was it he said?"

"Oh, yes! I had forgotten. He said, 'Snackley got me, the rat!' Whatever that meant."

"Snackley!" exclaimed Fenton Hardy, starting up. "Are you sure he said Snackley? Are you sure that was the name?"

"I'm certain. Aren't you, Joe?"

"Yes, that was the name, all right."

"Well that does give us something to work