The Tower Treasure Read Free Page A

Frank promised. “Maybe he’ll give us some leads.”
    â€œI sure hope so, fellows,” their friend replied as they climbed onto the motorcycles.
    The same thought was running through Frank’s and Joe’s minds: maybe this mystery would turn out to be their first case!

CHAPTER III
    The Threat
    â€œYOU’RE getting to be pretty good on that motorcycle, Frank,” Joe said as the boys rode into the Hardy garage. “I’m not even scared to ride alongside you any more!”
    â€œYou’re not scared!” Frank pretended to take Joe seriously. “What about me—riding with a daredevil like you?”
    â€œWell,” Joe countered, “let’s just admit that we’re both pretty good!”
    â€œIt sure was swell of Dad to let us have them,” Joe continued.
    â€œYes,” Frank agreed. “And if we’re going to be detectives, we’ll get a lot of use out of them.”
    The boys started toward the house, passing the old-fashioned barn on the property. Its first floor had been converted into a gymnasium which was used after school and on week ends by Frank and Joe and their friends.
    The Hardy home, on the corner of High and Elm streets, was an old stone house set in a large, tree-shaded lawn. Right now, crocuses and miniature narcissi were sticking their heads through the light-green grass.
    â€œHello, Mother!” said Frank, as he pushed open the kitchen door.
    Mrs. Hardy, a petite, pretty woman, looked up from the table on which she was stuffing a large roasting chicken and smiled.
    Her sons kissed her affectionately and Joe asked, “Dad upstairs?”
    â€œYes, dear. He’s in his study.”
    The study was Fenton Hardy’s workshop. Adjoining it was a fine library which contained not only books but files of disguises, records of criminal cases, and translations of thousands of codes.
    Walking into the study, Frank and Joe greeted their father. “We’re reporting errand accomplished,” Frank announced.
    â€œFine!” Mr. Hardy replied. Then he gave his sons a searching glance. “I’d say your trip netted you more than just my errand.”
    Frank and Joe had learned early in their boyhood that it was impossible to keep any secrets from their astute father. They assumed that this ability was one reason why he had been such a successful detective on the New York City police force before setting up a private practice in Bayport.
    â€œWe ran into some real excitement,” Frank said, and told his father the whole story of Chet’s missing jalopy, the wrecked car which they suspected had been a stolen one also, and the attempted holdup at the ferryboat office.
    â€œChet’s counting on us to find his car,” Joe added.
    Frank grinned. “That is, unless the police find it first.”
    Mr. Hardy was silent for several seconds. Then he said, “Do you want a little advice? You know I never give it unless I’m asked for it.” He chuckled.
    â€œWe’ll need a lot of help,” Joe answered.
    Mr. Hardy said that to him the most interesting angle to the case was the fact that the suspect apparently used one or more wigs as a disguise. “He may have bought at least one of them in Bayport. I suggest that you boys make the rounds of all shops selling wigs and see what you can find out.”
    The boys glanced at the clock on their father’s large desk, then Frank said, “We’ll have time to do a little sleuthing before closing time. Let’s go!”
    The two boys made a dash for the door, then both stopped short. They did not have the slightest idea where they were going! Sheepishly Joe asked, “Dad, do you know which stores sell wigs?”
    With a twinkle in his eyes, Mr. Hardy arose from the desk, walked into the library, and opened a file drawer labeled “W through Z.” A moment later he pulled out a thick folder marked WIGS: Manufacturers,