“Well, to tell the truth, we don’t know just what to do with what we’ve found,” admitted Frank. “And, anyway, we know you’ll be fair with us, so it doesn’t matter. Look!”

And with that he tossed the red wig on the table. He kept the coat and hat behind his back.

Fenton Hardy leaned forward quickly and picked up the wig with an inquiring glance at his sons.

“So!” he murmured. “You found the wig?”

He examined it intently. Then he opened a drawer of his desk and produced the fragment of wig that the boys had found in the smashed car by the road. This he applied to a torn part of the wig itself. It fitted perfectly.

“It’s the wig all right,” he declared, looking up. “Where did you find it? By the smashed car?”

“No. Hidden in the bushes near the place where Chet’s roadster was found.”