The Tower Treasure thb-1

by Franklin W. Dixon

  "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

  owns these clothes is by comparing the hairs in the hat with the red wig. And

  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.'
r />   " '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