"I'll say he did. But it was just as well. He saved us a lot of trouble."
"Yes, we might have been going around in circles," Frank conceded.
Joe wagged his head. "It looks as if Dad has the inside track on the case-in
the city, anyway."
"What have you got in mind?" Joe asked.
"To concentrate on the country. We started out to find the thief because he
stole Chet's car. Let's start all over again from that point."
"Meaning?"
"Mr. Red Wig may have come back to the woods expecting to use Chet's car
again, and-"
"Frank, you're a genius! You figure the guy may have left a clue by
accident"
"Exactly."
Fired with enthusiasm once more, the brothers called to Mrs. Hardy where
they were going, then set off on their motorcycles. After parking them at the
picnic site, the brothers once more set off for the isolated spot where the
jalopy had been hidden.
Everything looked the same as it had before, but Frank and Joe examined the
ground carefully for new footprints. They found none, but Joe pointed out
six-inch circular marks at regular intervals.
"They're just the size of a man's stride," he remarked, "and I didn't notice
them before."
"I didn't either," said Frank. "Do you suppose that thief tied pads onto his
shoes to keep him from making footprints?"
"Let's see where they lead."
The boys followed the circular marks through the thicket. They had not gone
far when their eyes lighted up with excitement.
"Another due!" Joe yelled. "And this time a swell one!"
CHAPTER IX
Rival Detectives
"MAYBE," Frank said with a grin, "Dad will take us into his camp when he
sees these!"
"Just a minute," Joe spoke up. "I thought we were rivals now, and you and I
have to solve this mystery alone to earn the reward."
Frank held up a man's battered felt hat and an old jacket. "If these belong to
that thief, I think we've earned the money already!"
He felt through the pockets of the jacket, but they were empty. "No clue
here," he said.
"This hat has a label, though-New York City store," said Joe.
"And the coat, too," Frank added. "Same shop. Well, one thing is sure. If
they do belong to the thief, he never meant to leave them. The labels are a
dead giveaway."
"He must have been frightened off," Joe concluded. "Maybe when he found
that Chet's jalopy was gone, he felt he'd better scram, and forgot the coat
and hat."
"What I'd like to know," Frank said, "is whether some hairs from that red
wig may be in the hat."
Joe grinned. "Bright boy." He carried the hat to a spot where the sunlight
filtered down through the trees and looked intently at the inside, even turning
down the band. "Yowee! Success!" he yelled.
Frank gazed at two short strands of red hair. They looked exactly like those
in the wig which the boys had found.
Joe sighed. "I guess we'll have to tell Dad about this. He has the wig."
"Right."
Frank and Joe hurried home, clutching their precious clues firmly. Mr. Hardy
was still in his study when his sons returned. The detective looked up, frankly
surprised to see them home so soon. There was the suspicion of a twinkle in
his eyes.
"What! More clues!" he exclaimed. "You're really on the job."
"You bet we have more clues!" cried Frank eagerly. He told the boys' story
and laid the hat and jacket on a table. "We're turning these over to you."
"But I thought you two were working on this case as my rivals."
"To tell the truth," said Frank, "we don't know what to do with the due
we've found. It leads to New York City."
Mr. Hardy leaned forward in his desk chair as Frank pointed out the labels
and the two strands of red hair.
"And besides," Frank went on, "I guess the only way to prove that the thief
Joe and I don't have the wig."
With a grin the detective went to his files and brought it out. "Chief Collig
left this here."
The strands of hair were compared and matched perfectly!
"You boys have certainly made fine progress," Mr. Hardy praised his sons.
He smiled. "And since you have, I'll let you in on a little secret. Chief Collig
asked me to see what I could figure out of the wig. He says there's no
maker's name on it."
"And there isn't?" Joe asked.
His father's eyes twinkled once more. "I guess Collig's assistants weren't
very thorough. At any rate, I discovered there's an inner lining and on that is
the maker's name. He's in New York City and I was just thinking about flying
there to talk to him. Now you boys have given me a double incentive for
going."
Frank and Joe beamed with pleasure, then suddenly their faces clouded.
"What's the matter?" Mr. Hardy asked them.
Joe answered. "It looks as if you're going to solve the case all alone."
"Nothing of the sort," the detective replied. "The person who bought the wig
may not have given his name. The hat may have been purchased a long time
ago, and it isn't likely that the clerk who sold it will remember who bought it.
The same with the jacket."
Frank and Joe brightened. "Then the case is far from solved," Frank said.
"All these are good leads, however," Mr. Hardy said. "There is always the
chance that the store may not be far from where the suspect lives. Though it's
a slim chance, we can't afford to overlook anything. I'll take these articles to
the city and see what I can do. It may mean everything and it may mean
nothing. Don't be disappointed if I come back empty-handed. And don't be
surprised if I come back with some valuable information."
Mr. Hardy tossed the wig, coat, and hat into a bag that was standing open
near his desk. The detective was accustomed to being called away suddenly
on strange errands, and he was always prepared to leave at a moment's
notice.
"Not much use starting now," he said, glancing at his watch. "But I'll go to
the city first thing in the morning. In the meantime, you boys keep your eyes
and ears open for more clues. The case isn't over yet by any means."
Mr. Hardy picked up some papers on his desk, as a hint that the interview
was over, and the boys left the study. They were in a state of high excitement
when they went to bed that night and could not get to sleep.
"That thief must be pretty smart," murmured Joe, after they had talked long
into the night.
"The smarter crooks are, the harder they fall," Frank replied. "If this fellow
has any kind of a record, it won't take long for Dad to run him down. I've
heard Dad say that there is no such thing as a clever crook. If he was really
clever, he wouldn't be a crook at all."
"Yes, I guess there's something in that, too. But it shows that we're not up
against any amateur. This fellow is a slippery customer."
"He'll have to be mighty slippery from now on. Once Dad has a few clues to
work on he never lets up till he gets his man."
"And don't forget us," said Joe, yawning. With that the
boys fell asleep.
When they went down to breakfast the following morning Frank and Joe
learned that their father had left for New York on an early-morning plane.
Their mother remarked, "I'll be so relieved when he gets back. So often these
missions turn out to be dangerous."
She went on to say that her husband had promised to phone her if he wasn't
going to be back by suppertime. Suddenly she added with a tantalizing smile,
"Your father said he might have a surprise for you if he remains in New
York."
Mrs. Hardy refused to divulge another word. The boys went to school, but all
through the morning could scarcely keep their minds on studies. They kept
wondering how Fenton Hardy was faring on his quest in New York and what
the surprise was.
Slim Robinson was at school that day, but after classes he confided to the
Hardys that he was leaving for good.
"It's no use," he said. "Dad can't keep me in school any longer and it's up to
me to pitch in and help the family. I'm to start work tomorrow at a
supermarket."
"And you wanted to go to college!" exclaimed Frank. "It's a shame!"
"Can't be helped," replied Perry with a grimace. "I consider myself lucky to
have stayed in school this long. I'll have to give up all those college plans and
settle down in the business world. There's one good thing about it-I'll have a
chance to learn supermarket work from the ground up. I'm starting in the
receiving department." He smiled. "Perhaps in about fifty years I'll be head
of the firm!"
"You'll make good at whatever you tackle," Joe assured him. "But I'm sorry
you won't be able to go through college as you planned. Don't give up hope
yet, Slim. One never knows what may happen. Perhaps the thief who did rob
Tower Mansion will be found."
Frank and Joe wanted to tell Slim about the clues they had discovered the
previous day, but the same thought came into their minds-that it would be
unfair to raise any false hopes. So they said good-by and wished him good
luck. Perry tried hard to be cheerful, but his smile was very faint as he turned
away from them and walked down the street.
"I sure feel sorry for him," said Frank, as he and Joe started for home. "He
was such a hard worker in school and counted so much on going to college."
"We've just got to clear up the Tower robbery, that's all there is to it!"
declared his brother.
As they neared the Hardy home, the boys' steps quickened. Would they find
that their father had returned with the information on the identity of the thief?
Or was he still in New York? And were they about to share another of his
secrets?
CHAPTER X
A Sleuthing Trip
FRANK and Joe's first stop was the Hardy garage. Looking in, they saw that
only Mrs. Hardy's car was there. Their father had taken his sedan to the
airport and not brought it back.
"Dad's not home!" Joe cried excitedly. "Now we'll hear what the surprise
is." Dashing into the kitchen, he called, "Mother!"
"I'm upstairs, dear," Mrs. Hardy called back.
The boys rushed up the front stairway two steps at a time. Their mother met
them at the door of their bedroom. Smiling broadly, she pointed to a packed
suitcase on Frank's bed. The boys looked puzzled.
Next, from her dress pocket, Mrs. Hardy brought out two plane tickets and
some dollar bills. She handed a ticket and half the money to each of her sons,
saying, "Your father wants you to meet him in New York to help him on the
case."
Frank and Joe were speechless for a moment, then they grabbed their mother
in a bear hug. "This is super!" Joe exclaimed. "What a surprise!"
Frank looked affectionately at his mother. "You sure were busy today-getting
our plane tickets and money. I wish you were going too."
Mrs. Hardy laughed. "When I go to New York for a week end I want to have
fun with you boys, not trot around to police stations and thieves' hide-outs!"
she teased. "I'll go some other time. Well, let's hurry downstairs. There's a
snack ready for you. Then I'll drive my detective sons to the airport."
In less than two hours the boys were on the plane to New York City. Upon
landing there, they were met by Mr. Hardy. He took them to his hotel, where
he had engaged an adjoining room for them. It was not until the doors were
closed that he brought up the subject of the mystery.
"The case has taken an interesting turn, and may involve considerable
research. That's why I thought you might help me."
"Tell us what has happened so far," Frank requested eagerly.
Mr. Hardy said that immediately upon arriving in the city he had gone to the
office of the company which had manufactured the red wig. After sending in
his card to the manager he had been admitted readily.
"That's because the name of Fenton Hardy is known from the Atlantic to the
Pacific!" Joe interjected proudly.
The detective gave his son a wink and went on with the story. " 'Some of our
customers in trouble, Mr. Hardy?' the manager asked me when I laid the red
wig on his desk.
" 'Not yet,' I said. 'But one of them may be if I can trace the purchaser of this
wig.'
"The manager picked it up. He inspected it carefully and frowned. 'We sell
mainly to an exclusive theatrical trade. I hope none of the actors has done
anything wrong.'
" 'Can you tell me who bought this one?' I asked.
" 'We make wigs only to order,' the manager said. He pressed a button at the
side of his desk. A boy came and departed with a written message. 'It may be
difficult. This wig is not a new one. In fact, I would say it was fashioned about
two years ago.'
" 'A long time. But still-' I encouraged him," the detective went on. "In a few
minutes a bespectacled elderly man shuffled into the office in response to the
manager's summons.
" 'Kauffman, here,' the manager said, 'is our expert. What he doesn't know
about wigs isn't worth knowing.' Then, turning to the old man, he handed him
the red wig. 'Remember it, Kauffman?'
"The old man looked at it doubtfully. Then he gazed at the ceiling. 'Red
wig-red wig-' he muttered.
" 'About two years old, isn't it?' the manager prompted.
" 'Not quite. Year'n a half, I'd say. Looks like a comedy-character type.
Wait'11 I think. There ain't been so many of our customers playin' that kind
of a part inside a year and a half. Let's see. Let's see.' The old man paced up
and down the office, muttering names under his breath. Suddenly he stopped,
snapping his fingers.
" 'I have it,' he said. 'It must have been Morley who bought that wig. That's
who it was! Harold Morley. He's playin' in Shakespearean repertoire with
Hamlin's company. Very fussy about his wigs. Has to have 'em just so. I
remember he bought this one, because he came in here about a month ago
and ordered another like it.'
" 'Why would he do that?' I asked him.
"Kauffman shrugged his shoulders. 'Ain't none of my business. Lots of actors
keep a double set of wigs. Morley's playin' down at the Crescent Theater
right now. Call him up.'
" 'I'll go and see him,' I told the men. And that's just what we'll do, Frank
and Joe, after a bite of supper."
"You don't think this actor is the thief, do you?" Frank asked in amazement.
"How could he have gone back and forth to Bayport so quickly? And isn't he
playing here in town every night?"
Mr. Hardy admitted that he too was puzzled. He was certain Morley was not
the man who had worn the wig on the day the jalopy was stolen, for the
Shakespearean company had been playing a three weeks' run in New York.
It was improbable, in any case, that the actor was a thief.
The three Hardys arrived at Mr. Morley's dressing room half an hour before
curtain time. Mr. Hardy presented his card to a suspicious doorman at the
Crescent, but he and his sons were finally admitted backstage and shown
down a brilliantly lighted corridor to the dressing room of Harold Morley. It
was a snug place, with pictures on the walls, a potted plant in the window
overlooking the alleyway, and a rug on the floor.
Seated before a mirror with electric lights at either side was a stout little
man, almost totally bald. He was diligently rubbing creamy stage make-up on
his face. He did not turn around, but eyed his visitors in the mirror, casually
telling them to sit down. Mr. Hardy took the only chair. The boys squatted on
the floor.
"Often heard of you, Mr. Hardy," the actor said in a surprisingly deep voice
that had a comical effect in contrast to his diminutive appearance. "Glad to
meet you. What kind of call is this? Social -or professional?"
"Professional."
Morley continued rubbing the make-up on his jowls. "Out with it," he said
briefly.
"Ever see this wig before?" Mr. Hardy asked him, laying the hair piece on
the make-up table.
Morley turned from the mirror, and an expression of delight crossed his
plump countenance. "Well, I'll say I've seen it before!" he declared. "Old
Kauffman-the best wigmaker in the country -made this for me about a year
and a half ago. Where did you get it? I sure didn't think I'd ever see this red
wig again."
"Why?"
"Stolen from me. Some low-down sneak got in here and cleaned out my
dressing room one night during the performance. Nerviest thing I ever heard
of. Came right in here while I was doing my stuff out front, grabbed my