“It’s the wig all right,” he declared, looking up. “Where did you find it? By the smashed car?”
“No. Hidden in the bushes near the place where Chet’s roadster was found.”
Mr. Hardy whistled solemnly.
“Good work.” He turned the wig over and over in his hands, carefully examined it under a microscope, and then tossed it back on the desk.
“There aren’t so many wigs sold that one can’t trace them,” he observed. “This happens to be made by a small company that doesn’t turn out a great many wigs in a year. It’s a sort of side line with them.”
“How can you tell?”
“There’s a little mark on the inside that distinguishes the manufacturer. Just a trademark—hardly noticeable.”
“And we found these as well,” said Frank, handing over the coat and hat.
Mr. Hardy’s eyes opened wide.
“Well, well!” he exclaimed. “You have been busy, haven’t you?”
“They were all hidden in the same place.”
“And well hidden, too, I’ll warrant.”
“We were sure there must be clues of some kind around that car, so we searched every inch of the woods roundabout.”
“Good!” said Mr. Hardy approvingly. “You didn’t miss any chances. I’m not saying these clues will lead to the capture of the fellow, but they will go a long way toward finding him.”
“What should we do with them?”
Mr. Hardy looked up at his sons and smiled.
“Well, you’ve shared your clues with me, so I suppose I may as well share some of my experience with you. What do you say if I go to the city and try to trace up some of these labels? This hat, for instance—” and he picked it up from the table, examining the band intently. “There is a label here. Of course, the hat may have been sold a long time ago, and it isn’t likely that the man who sold it would remember who bought it. But there is always the chance that the store may not be far from where the fellow lives. You get my idea? And the coat, too. If we can find any trace of who bought the wig we may be able to connect up the other things as well.”
“Gosh, I never thought of that!” admitted Frank.
“It’s a slim chance, but, as I said before, we can’t afford to overlook any chances. I’ll take them 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, the coat and the hat into a club bag that was standing open near his desk. The great 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 the first thing in the morning. In the meantime, don’t rest on your oars, as the saying is. Keep your eyes and your 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 library. They were in a state of high excitement, for they were confident now that they had made valuable progress in the case and they were sure that if the wig and the garments could be of any use at all toward locating the crook, Mr. Hardy would be the man to use them.
When they went to bed that night they could hardly sleep, so elated were they over their discovery near the abandoned roadway.
“He must have been a pretty smart crook,” murmured Joe, after they had talked long into the night. “That idea about the wig was clever. I’ll bet he was an experienced guy!”
“The smarter they are, the harder they fall,” replied Frank. “It’s the experienced crook that the police always look for. If this fellow has any kind of a record at all 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 ordinary amateur. This fellow must be 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.”
“Well, let’s hope he gets this one. He’ll think a lot more of us as detectives if he does.” And with that, the boys fell asleep.
When they went down to breakfast the following morning they found that Fenton Hardy had left for New York on an early morning train.
The Hardy boys went to school, but all through that morning they could scarcely keep their minds on their work. Their thoughts were far afield. They were wondering how Fenton Hardy was faring on his quest in New York and it was not until after Frank had drawn a reprimand from one of his teachers because he absentmindedly answered, “Red wig,” when asked to name the capital of Kansas that they settled down to work and tried to put the affair of the wig and the abandoned clothes from their minds.
Slim Robinson was at school that day, but after four o’clock he confided to the Hardy boys that he was leaving.
“It’s no use,” he said. “Father 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 for a grocery company.”
“And you wanted to go to college!” exclaimed Frank. “It’s a shame, that’s what it is!”
“Can’t be helped,” replied Perry, with a grimace.
