MRS. HARDY turned on a light in the living room and led the distraught caller to a chair.
"Please sit down," she said kindly.  "Mr. Hardy isn't here at the moment, but perhaps we can help you."

"No, no.  Only Mr. Hardy can help me!" the woman cried.  "Maybe you think I don't have enough money to pay a good detective, but I got a little put aside.  And I'll spend every cent of it on my boy Lenny if I have to!"

"Lenny is your son?" Frank asked.

"Yes, and a good boy.  In all his eighteen years he never did no wrong, but them racketeers - they're the cause o' his downfall!"

"Have you been to the police?" Joe asked.

The woman gave a shriek.  "Police?  I should say not.  They wouldn't understand.  They'd put my Lenny in jail.  That ain't never happened to a Stryker and it ain't goin' to happen now!"

As the woman paused for breath, Frank inquired if she was Mrs. Stryker.  The caller nodded, adding that she was a widow - a hard-working one too - and Lenny was her only child.

"I'm sorry you're having trouble," said Mrs. Hardy.  "When Mr. Hardy returns tomorrow -"

The caller wrung her hands. "Tomorrow?  I was hopin' he could do somethin' tonight.  You see, I got a message from Lenny just a little while ago, and somethin' ought to be done right away.  He said the gang nearly got caught, and he'd been shot in the leg."

"Shot!" chorused the three Hardys, and Frank added, "What Lenny needs is a doctor."

"No, no!  He needs a detectivel" Mrs. Stryker moaned.

The woman explained she did not know where Lenny was, and was afraid he would not receive proper care.  "That's why I want Mr. Hardy to find him."

"Did your son give you any hint about where he is?" Joe asked eagerly.

"I think so.  I'll tell you all I know."

The boys leaned forward in their chairs, waiting intently for the woman’s story.  She told them her son had acted mysteriously of late, and that she had suspected he had fallen into bad company.  He had gone out earlier that night.  Then, at eleven-thirty he had telephoned, saying he had been shot.