Chet Morton thought it would be a good idea to start a fight in front of the police station just as Collig and Smuff were about to leave for the train. The possibility that they might all land in jail as a result made this suggestion unpopular. "If we were in Italy we could get the Black Hand to help," said Tony Prito. "The Black Hand!" declared Chet. "That's a good idea!" "We got no Black Hand society in Bayport," objected Tony. "Let's get one up. Send the chief a Black Hand letter warning him not to take that train." "And if he ever found who wrote it, we'd all be up to our necks in trouble," pointed out Joe. "I'd like to put a bomb under his old police station." "Fine idea!" applauded Tony. "Where we get the bomb?" "Leave it to me," announced Chet Morton mysteriously. "I'll get a bomb. I'll guarantee to keep the chief in town." "Not a real bomb?" asked Frank. "Why not?" said Chet. "Listen to me." Chet proceeded to lay forth his plan in a stealthy whisper. It was received with chuckles and murmurs of admiration. His companions clapped him on the back, and when he had finished the boys hastened down the street toward the Hardy home. In the rear of the house were a garage and an old barn. In the barn was a gymnasium that the Hardy boys had fitted out for themselves, and here was the usual collection of old toys, footballs, broken baseball bats and such paraphernalia, to be found wherever boys store their cherished possessions. Frank groped about among the rubbish in one corner until at last he rose with an exclamation of triumph, holding aloft a shining object. "It's here!" he said. "Let's get busy. There's no time to lose." An old box was quickly produced, and in it the shining object was placed. The box was then carefully wrapped up, and in a few minutes the boys left the barn, Tony carrying the package under one arm. Not far from the Bayport police station was a fruit stand over which presided an Italian by the name of Rocco. He was a simple, genial soul, who believed almost everything he heard and, like most of his countrymen, he was of an excitable nature. Toward Rocco's fruit stand the boys made their way. Rocco was sorting over his oranges when they approached. Tony, with the box under his arm, hung in the background, while Chet stepped boldly forward. "How much are your oranges, Rocco?" he asked. Rocco, with much explanatory waving of arms, recited the prices of the various grades of oranges. "Too much. There's a fellow at another fruit stand on the next street sells them a nickel a dozen cheaper."