The Tower Treasure Read Online Free Page B

thief who evidently wore hair disguises to suit his fancy.
    Frank and Joe asked Chet if they might take along the gray wig and examine it more thoroughly. There might be some kind of mark on it to indicate either the maker or the owner. Chet readily agreed.
    But when supper was over, Callie said to Frank with a teasing gleam in her eyes, “Why don’t you hot-shot sleuths examine that wig now? I’d like to watch your super-duper methods.”
    â€œJust for that, I will,” said Frank.
    He went to get the wig from the hall chair, and then laid it on the kitchen table. From his pocket he took a small magnifying glass and carefully examined every inch of the lining of the wig.
    â€œNothing here,” he said presently.
    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.
    â€œI’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.
    â€œYe-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.
    â€œB-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.”
    â€œOh, I’m glad you’re going to get your car back!” Callie exclaimed.
    â€œBut I haven’t got any money,” Chet groaned.
    â€œWho’s the man?” Frank demanded.
    There was another long pause before Chet answered. Then, looking at the waiting group before him, he announced simply, “Smuff. Oscar Smuff!”
    His listeners gasped in astonishment. This was the last thing they expected to hear. The detective was selling information as to where Chet would find his missing jalopy!
    â€œWhy, that cheap so-and-so!” Joe cried out angrily.
    Chet explained that Smuff had said he was not in business for his health. He had to make a living and any information which he dug up as a detective should be properly paid for.
    Frank shrugged. “I suppose Smuff has a point there. How much does he want for the information, Chet?”
    â€œHis fee is twenty-five dollars!”
    â€œWhat!” the others cried out.
    After a long consultation it was decided that the young people would pool their resources. Whatever sum they could collect toward the twenty-five dollars would be offered to Oscar Smuff to lead them to Chet’s car.
    â€œBut make it very plain,” Frank admonished, “that if it’s not your jalopy Smuff leads us to, you won’t pay him one nickel.”
    Chet put in a call to Smuff’s home. As expected, the detective grumbled at the offer of ten dollars but finally accepted it. He said he would pick up the boys in half an hour and take them to the spot.
    About this time Mr. and Mrs. Morton returned home. Chet and Iola’s father was a good-looking, jolly man with his son’s same general build and coloring. He was in the real-estate business in Bayport and ran the farm as a hobby.
    Mrs. Morton was an older edition of her daughter Iola and just as witty and lighthearted. But when she learned what had transpired and that her son had been threatened, she was worried.
    â€œYou boys must be