“I don’t think it would do much good,” said Frank. “But it wouldn’t do any harm either. Collig might be able to throw a scare into them, anyway, if he went up to that house and began asking questions.”
The boys, therefore, trooped down to the police station and, after stating their business to the desk sergeant, were admitted to the chief’s private office. They found Chief Collig and Detective Smuff deep in a game of checkers.
“It’s your move, Smuff,” said the chief. “What is it, boys?” he demanded, looking up.
Frank, producing the bloodstained cap, explained how and where it had been found. Smuff, in the meantime, scratched his head diligently for a while, then captured one of his opponent’s kings.
Chief Collig grunted, whether in disappointment at the loss of the king or in acknowledgment of the information about the cap, the boys could not say.
“So it’s Fenton Hardy’s cap, eh?” asked the chief.
“It’s his, all right.”
“And what do you think has happened to him?”
“We don’t know. That’s what we want you to help find out. But, by the look of this cap, we’re afraid there’s been foul play.”
“Just a minute, Smuff—just a minute.” The chief contemplated the checkerboard for a few minutes, then made a move. He settled back in his chair. “Now try and beat that!” he said, and looked up at the boys again. “What do you want me to do?” he inquired.