Mr. Schwartz shook his head. 'I haven't sold a red wig in months, or even
rented one. Everybody seems to want blond or brown or black lately. But you
understand, I don't usually sell wigs at all. I rent 'em.'
'I understand,' said Frank. 'We're just trying to find out about a man who
uses a red wig as a disguise. We thought he might have bought or rented it
here and that you would know his name.'
Mr. Schwartz leaned across the counter. 'This man you speak of-he sounds
like a character. It's just possible he may come in to get a wig from me. If he
does, I'll be glad to let you know.'
The boys thanked the shopkeeper and were about to leave when Mr.
Schwartz called, 'Hold on a minute!'
The Hardys hoped that the dealer had suddenly remembered something
important. This was not the case, however. With a grin the man asked the
boys if they would like to help him open some cartons which had arrived and
to try on the costumes.
'Those folks at the factory don't always get the sizes marked right,' he said.
'Would you be able to stay a few minutes and help me? I'll be glad to pay
you.'
'Oh, we don't want any money,' Joe spoke up. 'To tell you the truth, I'd like
to see your costumes.'
Mr. Schwartz locked the front door of his shop,
then led the boys into a rear room. It was so filled with costumes of all kinds
and paraphernalia for theatrical work, plus piles of cartons, that Frank and
Joe wondered how the man could ever find anything.
'Here is today's shipment,' Mr. Schwartz said, pointing to six cartons
standing not far from the rear entrance to his shop.
Together he and the boys slit open the boxes and one by one lifted out a
king's robe, a queen's tiara, and a Little Bopeep costume. Suddenly Mr.
Schwartz said:
'Here's a skeleton marked size thirty-eight. Would one of you boys mind
trying it on?'
Frank picked up the costume, unzipped the back, and stepped into the
skeleton outfit. It was tremendous on him and the ribs sagged ludicrously.
'Guess a fat man modeled for this,' he remarked, holding the garment out to
its full width.
At that moment there was a loud rap on the front door of the store. Mr.
Schwartz made no move to answer it. 'I'm closed,' he said. 'Let him rap.'
Suddenly Frank had an idea. The thief who used wigs might be the late
customer, coming on purpose at this hour to avoid meeting other people.
Without a word to the others, he dashed through the doorway into the store
and toward the front entrance.
He could vaguely see someone waiting to be admitted. But the stranger gave
one look at the leaping, out-of-shape skeleton and disappeared in a flash. At
the same moment Frank tripped and fell headlong.
Mr. Schwartz and Joe, hearing the crash, rushed out to see what had
happened. Frank, hopelessly tangled in the skeleton attire, was helped to his
feet. When he told the others why he had made his unsuccessful dash to the
front door, they conceded he might have a point.
'But you sure scared him away in that outfit,' Joe said, laughing. 'He won't
be back!'
The boys stayed for over half an hour helping Mr. Schwartz, then said
good-by and went home.
'Monday we'll tackle those other two wig shops,' said Frank.
The following morning the Hardy family attended church, then after dinner
Frank and Joe told their parents they were going to ride out to see Chet
Morton. 'We've been invited to stay to supper,' Frank added. 'But we
promise not to get home late.'
The Hardys picked up Callie Shaw, who also had been invited. Gaily she
perched on the seat behind Frank.
'Hold on, Callie,' Joe teased. 'Frank's a wild cyclist!'
The young people were greeted at the door of the Morton farmhouse by
Chet's younger sister Iola, dark-haired and pretty. Joe Hardy thought she
was quite the nicest girl in Bayport High and dated her regularly.
As dusk came on, the five young people gathered in the Mortons' kitchen to
prepare supper. Chet, who loved to eat, was in charge, and doled out various
jobs to the others. When he finished, Joe remarked, 'And what are you going
to do, big boy?'
The stout youth grinned. 'I'm the official taster.'
A howl went up from the others. 'No workee, no eatee,' said Iola flatly.
Chet grinned. 'Oh, well, if you insist, I'll make a little side dish for all of us.
How about Welsh rabbit?'
'You're elected!' the others chorused, and Chet set to work.
The farmhouse kitchen was large and contained a group of windows in one
corner. Here stood a large table, where the young people decided to eat. They
had just sat down when the telephone rang. Chet got up and walked out in
the hall to answer it. Within a minute he re-entered the kitchen, his eyes
bulging.
'What's the matter?' Iola asked quickly.
'I-I've been th-threatened!' Chet replied.
'Threatened!' the others cried out. 'How?'
Chet was so frightened he could hardly speak, but he managed to make the
others understand that a man had just said on the telephone, 'You'll never
get your jalopy back. And if you don't lay off trying to find me or your car,
you're going to get hurt!'
'Whew!' cried Joe. 'This is getting serious!' Callie and Iola had clutched
their throats and were staring wild-eyed at Chet. Frank, about to speak,
happened to glance out the window toward the barn. For an instant he
thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. But no! They were not. A figure
was sneaking from the barn and down the lane toward the highway.
'Fellows!' he cried suddenly. 'Follow me!'
CHAPTER IV
Red Versus Yellow
BY THE time the Hardy boys and Chet had raced from the Mortons' kitchen,
the prowler was not in sight. Thinking he had run across one of the fields, the
three pursuers scattered in various directions to search. Joe struck out
straight ahead and pressed his ear to the ground to listen for receding
footsteps. He could hear none. Presently the three boys met once more to
