“I thought there was something fishy about the way you asked for that drink. What did you see?” “I saw dad’s cap hanging on a peg!” This caused an immediate sensation. Phil Cohen whistled in amazement. “Then he _has_ been here! They were lying!” “Are you sure it was dad’s cap?” asked Joe. “Positive. I’d recognize it anywhere. And more than that, there were bloodstains on it.” “Bloodstains!” Frank nodded. The boys looked at one another in silence. “This is serious,” declared Joe finally. “We can’t let them get away with this.” “I’ll say we can’t,” agreed Chet. “Let’s go back.” “I was going to argue it out right there and then, but I thought I’d better tell the rest of you first so that you’d know what it was all about,” Frank explained. “He may have been—” Joe left the sentence unfinished. “He may have been murdered,” said Frank firmly. “And we’re going to find out about it.” “What do you think we’d better do?” “I think we’d better go back and tell them we saw that cap and ask how it got there. That’ll force a showdown. They don’t like us any too well as it is, so we won’t have to be over polite to them.” The boys held a council, and it was unanimously agreed that the matter should not be dropped. Each was of the opinion that the trio now occupying the house on the cliff were far from savory and that the fact of Fenton Hardy’s cap being seen in the kitchen was a clue of first-rate importance. “He snatched the cap away when my back was turned,” went on Frank. “That shows there is something wrong,” Chet affirmed. “We’ll go back and tackle him right away.” “No time like the present. Let’s go.” The boys accordingly started back down the lane toward the house. When they emerged into the yard again they found the two men and the woman standing together by the shed, talking earnestly. The boys were almost up to them before the woman caught sight of them and spoke warningly to the red-headed man. “What do you want now?” demanded Redhead, in a surly manner, as he advanced. “We want to know about that cap in the kitchen,” said Frank firmly. “What cap? There’s no cap in there.” “There isn’t now—but there was. It’s a grey cap and it was hanging in there when I went in for a drink.” “I don’t know anythin’ about no cap,” persisted Redhead. “Perhaps you want us to ask the police up to help us find out,” put in Tony Prito cheerfully. Redhead glanced meaningly at the woman. The other man stepped forward. “I know the cap he means,” he said. “It’s mine. What about it?” “It isn’t yours, and you know it,” declared Frank. “That cap belongs to the man we’re looking for.” “I tell you it _is_ my cap,” snapped the swarthy man, showing his yellow teeth in a snarl. “Don’t tell me I’m lying.” Redhead stepped forward diplomatically. “You’re mistaken, Klein,” he said. “I know the cap they mean. That’s the one I found on the road a few days ago.” “You found it?” asked Frank incredulously.