“I tell you it is my cap,” snapped the swarthy man, showing his yellow teeth in a snarl. “Don’t tell me I’m lying.”
Redhead stepped forward diplomatically.
“You’re mistaken, Klein,” he said. “I know the cap they mean. That’s the one I found on the road a few days ago.”
“You found it?” asked Frank incredulously.
“Sure, I found it. A grey cap—with bloodstains on it.”
“That’s the one. But why did you hide it when I went into the kitchen?”
“Well, to tell the truth, them bloodstains made me nervous. I didn’t know but what there might be some trouble come of it, so I thought I’d better keep that cap out of sight.”
“Where did you find it?” Joe demanded.
“About a mile from here.”
“On the shore road?”
“Yes. It was lying right in the middle of the road.”
“When was this?”
“A couple of days ago—just after we moved in here.”
“Let’s see the cap,” suggested Chet Morton. “We want to make sure of this.”
Redhead moved reluctantly toward the kitchen. The woman sniffed.
“I don’t see why you’re makin’ all this fuss about an old cap,” she said. “Comin’ around at this hour of the day disturbin’ honest folk.”
“We’re sorry to disturb you, ma’am,” said Joe. “But this is a serious matter.”
Redhead emerged from the house holding the cap in one hand. He tossed it over to the boys. They examined it eagerly.
Frank turned back the inside flap and there he found what he was looking for—the initials F. H. imprinted in indelible ink on the leather band.
“It’s dad’s cap, all right.”
“I don’t like the look of those bloodstains,” said Joe, in a low voice. “He must have been badly hurt.”
To tell the truth, the inside of the cap gave evidence that the wearer had been severely injured, for the bloodstains were of large extent. The boys examined them gravely.
“Are you sure you found this on the road?” Frank asked doubtfully.
“You don’t think I’d lie about it, do you?”
“We can’t very well contradict you. I don’t mind telling you that we’re going to turn this over to the police. This man has disappeared, and by the appearance of this cap he has met with foul play. If you know anything about it you’d better speak up now.”
“He doesn’t know anything about it,” shrilled the woman angrily. “Go away and don’t bother us. Didn’t he tell you he found the cap on the road? Why should he know anythin’ more about it than that?”
“We’re going to take the cap with us.”
“Take it,” snapped Redhead. “I don’t want it.”
The boys turned away. Nothing further was to be gained by questioning the trio in the yard, and at any rate the lads had gained possession of the cap.
“We’d better go,” said Frank in a low voice.
They went back toward the lane. As they entered it they cast a last glance back at the yard.
The woman and the two men were standing just where they had left them. The woman was motionless, her hands on her hips. Redhead was standing with his arms folded and the swarthy man was leaning on the axe.
All three were gazing intently and silently after the departing boys.
XIII
A Plan of Attack
Back in Bayport the boys discussed their visit to the house on the cliff from all angles.
None was satisfied with the explanation the redheaded man had given about the presence of the bloodstained cap in the house.
“I’m sure he knows more about it than he cares to tell,” declared Frank.
“The other chap started to claim it at first, and then he stepped in with his story,” Chet pointed out.
“That’s the most suspicious part of it. And then, when I went into the kitchen in the first place, why should he have hidden the cap?”
“It’s a mighty mysterious thing,” Joe said. “The fact that dad has disappeared and the fact that there are bloodstains on that cap—”
“We ought to turn it over to Chief Collig,” suggested Phil.
The boys looked at one another doubtfully. Chief of Police Collig was a fat, pompous official who had never been blessed by a superabundance of brains. His chief satellite and aide-de-camp was Oscar Smuff, a detective of the Bayport police force. As Chet was fond of remarking, “If you put both their brains together you’d have enough for a half-wit.”
“I don’t think it would do much good,” said Frank. “But it wouldn’t do any harm either. Collig might be able to throw a scare into them, anyway, if he went up to that house and began asking questions.”
The boys, therefore, trooped down to the police station and, after stating their business to the desk sergeant, were admitted to the chief’s private office. They found Chief Collig and Detective Smuff deep in a game of checkers.
“It’s your move, Smuff,” said the chief. “What is it, boys?” he demanded, looking up.
Frank, producing the bloodstained cap, explained how and where it had been found. Smuff, in the meantime, scratched his head diligently for a while, then captured one of his opponent’s kings.
Chief Collig grunted, whether in disappointment at the loss of the king or in acknowledgment of the information about the cap, the boys could not say.
“So it’s Fenton Hardy’s cap, eh?” asked the chief.
“It’s his, all right.”
“And what do you think has happened to him?”
“We don’t know. That’s what we want you to help find out. But, by the look of this cap, we’re afraid there’s been foul play.”
“Just a minute, Smuff—just a minute.” The chief contemplated the checkerboard for a few minutes, then made a move. He settled back in his chair. “Now try and beat that!” he said, and looked up at the boys again. “What do you want me to do?” he inquired.
“Help us find him.”
The chief regarded them benevolently.
“Mebbe he’ll show up in a day or so.”
“He’s been missing long enough already,” protested Joe. “We want you to go up to the Polucca place and question those people. They know more about the affair than they care to tell.”
“The Polucca
