“Good work! Good work!” he muttered. “You saved the fellow’s life, anyway. And it looks as though you’ve stumbled on a mysterious bit of business in that motorboat 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 on,” the detective said. “Probably you have never heard of Snackley, but I have.” “Who is he?” asked Frank. “Ganny Snackley is a noted criminal. He is a smuggler—one of the leaders of a ring of smugglers who bring in opium and other drugs from the Orient. Is it possible that he is bringing drugs into the country at Barmet Bay?” CHAPTER VII BOUND AND GAGGED The Hardy boys were astonished by this information. Their father, tapping a pencil quickly on the desk, leaned forward in his chair. “You may have stumbled on some information of great value,” he said to them quietly. “I need hardly tell you that it is best to keep it to yourself. If Ganny Snackley is operating in this vicinity it will be a great feather in our cap to catch him.” “It’s an unusual name,” remarked Frank. “I’ll bet that’s the Snackley our man meant, all right.” “And the farmer said there was smuggling going on in the Bay,” Joe pointed out. “Of course, there always has been more or less smuggling carried on in Barmet Bay. But it’s been on a small scale. Ganny Snackley and his gang are international smugglers. The last I heard of him he was operating up on the New England coast. But probably things grew too hot for him and he moved down here. He seems to have dropped completely out of sight for the past six months or so.” “Perhaps this man Jones, at the farmhouse, will talk later on.”