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
watch and money and a diamond ring I had lying by the mirror, took this wig
and a couple of others that were around, and beat it. Nobody saw him come
or go. Must have got in by that window.'
Morley talked in short, rapid sentences, and there was no mistaking his
sincerity.
'All the wigs were red,' he stated. 'I didn't worry so much about the other
wigs, because they were for old plays, but this one was being used right
along. Kauffman made it specially for me. I had to get him to make another.
But say-where did you find it?'
'Oh, my sons located it during some detective work we're on. The crook left
this behind. I was trying to trace him by it.'
Morley did not inquire further. 'That's all the help I can give you,' he said.
'The police never did learn who cleaned out my dressing room,'
'Too bad. Well, I'll probably get him some other way. Give me a list and
description of the articles he took from you. Probably I can trace him through
that.'
'Glad to,' said Morley. He reached into a drawer and drew out a sheet of
paper which he handed to the detective. 'That's the same list I gave the
police when I reported the robbery. Number of the watch, and everything. I
didn't bother to mention the wigs. Figured they wouldn't be in any condition
to wear if I did get them back.'
Mr. Hardy folded the list and put it in his pocket. Morley glanced at his
watch, lying face up beside the mirror, and gave an exclamation. 'Suffering
Sebastopol! Curtain in five minutes and I'm not half made up yet. Excuse me,
folks, but I've got to get on my horse. In this business I'll be ready in a
minute' doesn't go.'
He seized a stick of grease paint and feverishly resumed the task of altering
his appearance to that of the character he was portraying at that evening's
performance. Mr. Hardy and his sons left. They made their way out to the
street.
'Not much luck there,' Frank commented.
'Except through Mr. Morley's stolen jewelry,' his father reminded him. 'If
that's located in a pawnshop, it may lead to the thief. Well, boys, would you
like to go into the theater via the front entrance and see the show?'
'Yes, Dad,' the brothers replied, and Joe added, 'Tomorrow we'll try to find
out the name and address of the thief through his coat and hat?'
'Right,' the detective said.
The Hardys enjoyed the performance of The Merchant of Venice with Mr.
Morley as Launcelot Gobbo, and laughed hilariously at his comedy and
gestures.
The next morning the detective and his sons visited the store from which the
thief's jacket and hat had been purchased. They were told that the styles
were three years out of date and there was no way to tell who had bought
them.
'The articles,' the head of the men's suit department suggested, 'may have
been picked up more recently at a secondhand clothing store.' The Hardys
thanked him and left.
'All this trip for nothing.' Joe gave a sigh.
His father laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. 'A good detective,' he said,
'never sighs with discouragement nor becomes impatient. It took years of
persistence to solve some famous cases.'
He suggested that their next effort be devoted to doing some research in the
city's police files. Since Mr. Hardy had formerly been a member of the New
York City detective force, he was permitted to search the records at any
time.
Frank and Joe accompanied him to headquarters and the work began. First
