The hair was thoroughly examined and parted strand by strand to see if there were any identifying designations on the hair piece. Frank could discover nothing.
“I’m afraid this isn’t going to help us much,” he said in disgust. “But I’ll show it to the different wig men in town.”
As he finished speaking the telephone rang and Iola went to answer it. Chet turned white and looked nervous. Was the caller the man who had threatened him? And what did he want?
Presently Iola returned to the kitchen, a worried frown on her face. “It’s a man for you, Chet. He wouldn’t give his name.”
Trembling visibly, Chet walked slowly to the telephone. The others followed and listened.
“Ye-yes, I’m Chet Morton. N-no, I haven’t got my car back.”
There was a long silence, as the person on the other end of the line spoke rapidly.
“B-but I haven’t any money,” Chet said finally. •”I_ Well, okay, I’ll let you know.”
Chet hung up and wobbled to a nearby chair. The others bombarded him with questions.
The stout boy took a deep breath, then said, “I can get my jalopy back. But the man wants a lot of money for the information as to where it is.”