The Tower Treasure Read Free Page B

distributors, and retail shops of the world.
    â€œWhy, Dad, I didn’t know you had all this information—” Joe began.
    His father merely smiled. He thumbed through the heavy sheaf of papers, and pulled one out.
    â€œBayport,” he read. “Well, three of these places can be eliminated at once. They sell only women’s hair pieces. Now let’s see. Frank, get a paper and pencil. First there’s Schwartz’s Masquerade and Costume Shop. It’s at 79 Renshaw Avenue. Then there’s Flint’s at Market and Pine, and one more: Ruben Brothers. That’s on Main Street just this side of the railroad.”
    â€œSchwartz’s is closest,” Frank spoke up. “Let’s try him first, Joe.”
    Hopefully the boys dashed out to their motorcycles and hurried downtown. As they entered Schwartz’s shop, a short, plump, smiling man came toward them.
    â€œWell, you just got under the wire fellows,” he said, looking up at a large old-fashioned clock on the wall. “I was going to close up promptly tonight because a big shipment came in today and I never have time except after business hours to unpack and list my merchandise.”
    â€œOur errand won’t take long,” said Frank. “We’re sons of Fenton Hardy, the detective. We’d like to know whether or not you recently sold a red wig to a man.”
    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.”
    â€œI 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.
    â€œThose 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.”
    â€œOh, 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.
    â€œHere 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:
    â€œHere’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.
    â€œGuess 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