"He won't give us any more bother," declared Joe, coming forward. It was plain that there was no more fight left in their captive. "I wish this fog would lift," said Frank. As though in answer to his words a sudden gust of wind sent the mist in scurrying wreaths, raising the heavy grey veil long enough to enable him to see Bayport lying almost directly ahead. He could make out the position of the row of boathouses and he headed the _Sleuth_ toward them. The curtain of fog descended again, but Frank was now fairly sure of his position. "We're heading in the right direction now." "Should we try to make the boathouse? I don't think we'll be able to find it in this mist." "I guess you're right. We'll land at the big wharf." In a short while, the boat was nosing its way through the fog, among the shadowy craft anchored near Bayport wharf. The city loomed up in a ghostly dark mass beyond the water. Finally the _Sleuth_ drew alongside the wharf and nosed its way to one of the slips. To the surprise of the boys they saw several figures running along the wharf. "What boat is that?" shouted some one from the fog. "The _Sleuth_!" "Good! That's them. I thought they'd land here," said the voice, evidently addressing some one else on the wharf. "Looks as if we're expected," observed Joe. A man came down the slip, and even in the fog they knew the figure was familiar. When he drew closer they saw that the man was none other than their father. "Dad!" exclaimed Frank. "Have you got him with you?" asked the detective quickly. "Who? Joe?" "No, no. The man you picked up at Barmet village. I had a telephone message about him." "Yes, we have him here. He tried to hold us up with a revolver, but we got the better of him." "Fine!" said Mr. Hardy, peering down into the boat, where the stranger was struggling to sit up. "All right, Chief!" he called, to a burly man who was coming down the slip. "They have him." Chief Collig, of the Bayport police force, and Con Riley, one of his men, then appeared in view. "Got him, hey?" said Collig. "They have him here in the boat." "All right. Hand him over." Still wondering how their father had known that the stranger was in the boat with them and wondering also why the police were on hand, the Hardy boys untied the ropes that bound their passenger's ankles, and helped him over the side. He was immediately seized by the officers, who proceeded to search his pockets. "Here!" he protested. "What's all this about?" "Well, Paul Blum," said Fenton Hardy, "you thought you'd made a getaway, didn't you?" The man started. "You have my name wrong," he muttered. "Oh, no, I haven't," contradicted Mr. Hardy. "They tell me you were 'shoving the queer' down in Barmet village this morning." The Hardy boys had been told by their father that 'shoving the queer' was the underworld expression for passing counterfeit money.