“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.