“I’m sure he knows more about it than he cares to tell,” declared Frank. “The other chap started to claim it at first, and then he stepped in with his story,” Chet pointed out. “That’s the most suspicious part of it. And then, when I went into the kitchen in the first place, why should he have hidden the cap?” “It’s a mighty mysterious thing,” Joe said. “The fact that dad has disappeared and the fact that there are bloodstains on that cap—” “We ought to turn it over to Chief Collig,” suggested Phil. The boys looked at one another doubtfully. Chief of Police Collig was a fat, pompous official who had never been blessed by a super-abundance of brains. His chief satellite and aide-de-camp was Oscar Smuff, a detective of the Bayport police force. As Chet was fond of remarking, “If you put both their brains together you’d have enough for a half-wit.” “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. “Help us find him.” The chief regarded them benevolently. “Mebbe he’ll show up in a day or so.” “He’s been missing long enough already,” protested Joe. “We want you to go up to the Polucca place and question those people. They know more about the affair than they care to tell.” “The Polucca place!” exclaimed the chief, pursing his lips. “We-ll, you see, it ain’t in the city limits.” “But Fenton Hardy is a Bayport citizen.” “What d’you think about it, Smuff?” “Just a minute—it’s my move.” Smuff meditated over the checkerboard for a while, made his move, then looked up judicially. “To tell you the truth, chief,” he said, “I think we’d be just as well stayin’ away from that Polucca place. There’s been queer stories about it.”