The boys gave the kindly couple a description of their father, but Mr. Kane could not recollect having seen any one resembling Mr. Hardy near the farm at any time within the past week. He had been working in the fields, he said, and would probably have noticed any strangers on the road. So the boys returned to Bayport, puzzled and downhearted over the failure of their search. They could not imagine where Fenton Hardy could have gone if he had not been near the Kane farm. “Something has happened to him, I’m sure,” said Frank. “It isn’t like dad to stay away this long without sending some word.” “Perhaps he _did_ write that note.” “He would have explained a little more. And he would have put in the secret sign.” The fact that the Hardy boys were searching for their father gradually became known throughout Bayport, and one evening a thick-set, broad-shouldered man presented himself at the front door of the Hardy home and asked for the boys. Mrs. Hardy bade him step inside and he waited in the hall, nervously twisting his cap in his hands. When Frank and Joe came out the stranger introduced himself as Sam Bates. “I’m a truck driver,” he told them. “The reason I came around to see you was because I heard you were lookin’ for your father.” “Have you seen him?” asked Frank eagerly. Sam Bates shuffled his feet and looked dubiously at the floor. “Well, I have and I haven’t, you might say,” he observed. “I _did_ see your father quite a few days ago, but where he is now, I couldn’t tell you, for I don’t know.” Sam was evidently not a man of gigantic intellect. He spoke slowly and painstakingly and his most obvious statements were delivered with the gravity suitable to pearls of wisdom. “Where did you see him?” “I’m a truck driver, see?” “Yes, you told us that,” said Frank impatiently. “But where did you see our father?” Sam Bates was not to be hurried. He had a story to tell and he was bound to tell it. “I’m a truck driver, see?” he repeated. “Mostly I drive just in and around Bayport, but sometimes they give me a run out to some of them villages. That’s how I come to be out there that morning.” “Out where?” “I’m comin’ to that. I just forget what day it was, but I think it was about a week from last Monday. I know it was just after Sunday because when I went home to dinner that day the wife was washin’ clothes and dinner was late and I had to eat it out on the back steps anyway for the kitchen was all in a mess. You know how it is on wash day.” Sam Bates regarded them wistfully, as though hoping for some expression of sympathy and understanding. But the Hardy boys were eager for information, and impatient with the worthy truck driver’s circuitous method of telling his story. “But what has this got to do with our father?” demanded Joe.