POINTED QUESTIONS
Frank thought quickly. He must ascertain the truth!
The cap, he was almost sure, was the one his father had worn on the
morning he had left home. But he wanted to look at it closely, because
he knew he might be mistaken and that it would not do to make any
accusations unless he were sure of his ground.
“I’m very thirsty,” he said quickly. “Do you mind if I have a drink?”
Redhead and the woman looked at one another without enthusiasm. It
was plain that they wished to get rid of their visitors as soon as
possible. But they could not refuse such an innocent and reasonable
request.
“Come into the kitchen,” said Redhead grudgingly.
This was just what Frank wanted. He followed the man into the kitchen
of the Polucca place. Redhead pointed to a water tap. A dipper was
hanging from a nail near by.
“Go ahead,” he grunted.
Frank went over to the tap and as he did so he passed the cap on the
peg. He took a swift look at the cap.
He had made no mistake. It was his father’s.
Then he received a shock that almost stunned him. For a second he
almost stopped in his tracks, but then he recollected himself and moved
mechanically on toward the tap.
He had seen bloodstains!
On the lower edge of the cap were three large stains, reddish in color.
They could have been made by nothing but blood.
In a daze, Frank turned on the water, filled the dipper and drank.
At last he turned away, conscious that Redhead had been eyeing him
carefully all the time.
“Thanks,” he said, and again cast a glance at the peg.
The cap was gone!
Redhead had undoubtedly snatched it away and hidden it. Frank gave no
sign that he noticed anything amiss, and walked out of the kitchen into
the yard, where he rejoined the others.
“I guess we may as well be going,” he said.
“You might as well,” snapped the woman. “There’s been no strangers
around here.”
“We’re sorry we troubled you,” said Joe. “Good-bye.”
Redhead grunted a curt farewell. The woman and the other man said
nothing as the boys turned away and retraced their steps out to the
lane. For a while they walked on in silence and then, when they were
out of sight of the house, Frank turned to the others.
“Do you know why I went into the kitchen?” he asked.
“Why?” they demanded eagerly, and Joe put in:
“I thought there was something fishy about the way you asked for that
drink. What did you see?”
“I saw dad’s cap hanging on a peg!”
This caused an immediate sensation. Phil Cohen whistled in amazement.
“Then he _has_ been here! They were lying!”
“Are you sure it was dad’s cap?” asked Joe.
“Positive. I’d recognize it anywhere. And more than that, there were
bloodstains on it.”
“Bloodstains!”
Frank nodded.
The boys looked at one another in silence.
“This is serious,” declared Joe finally. “We can’t let them get away
with this.”
“I’ll say we can’t,” agreed Chet. “Let’s go back.”
“I was going to argue it out right there and then, but I thought I’d
better tell the rest of you first so that you’d know what it was all
about,” Frank explained.
“He may have been—” Joe left the sentence unfinished.
“He may have been murdered,” said Frank firmly. “And we’re going to
find out about it.”
“What do you think we’d better do?”
“I think we’d better go back and tell them we saw that cap and ask how
it got there. That’ll force a showdown. They don’t like us any too well
as it is, so we won’t have to be over polite to them.”
The boys held a council, and it was unanimously agreed that the matter
should not be dropped. Each was of the opinion that the trio now
occupying the house on the cliff were far from savory and that the
fact of Fenton Hardy’s cap being seen in the kitchen was a clue of
first-rate importance.
“He snatched the cap away when my back was turned,” went on Frank.
“That shows there is something wrong,” Chet affirmed. “We’ll go back
and tackle him right away.”
“No time like the present. Let’s go.”
The boys accordingly started back down the lane toward the house. When
they emerged into the yard again they found the two men and the woman
standing together by the shed, talking earnestly. The boys were almost
up to them before the woman caught sight of them and spoke warningly to
the red-headed man.
“What do you want now?” demanded Redhead, in a surly manner, as he
advanced.
“We want to know about that cap in the kitchen,” said Frank firmly.
“What cap? There’s no cap in there.”
“There isn’t now—but there was. It’s a grey cap and it was hanging in
there when I went in for a drink.”
“I don’t know anythin’ about no cap,” persisted Redhead.
“Perhaps you want us to ask the police up to help us find out,” put in
Tony Prito cheerfully.
Redhead glanced meaningly at the woman. The other man stepped forward.
“I know the cap he means,” he said. “It’s mine. What about it?”
“It isn’t yours, and you know it,” declared Frank. “That cap belongs to
the man we’re looking for.”
“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.