And with this philosophic reflection the Hardy boys were obliged to comfort themselves against the impatience that possessed them to learn what progress their father was making in the city toward following up the clues they had given him. CHAPTER XII DAYS OF WAITING Fenton Hardy had high hopes of a quick solution of the mystery when he went to New York. Possession of the wig, the hat and the coat gave him three clues, any one of which might lead to tracing the previous owner quickly, and the detective was confident that it would not be long before he would unravel the tangled threads. He had not stated his optimism to the boys, being careful not to arouse their hopes, but in his heart he thought it would be but a matter of hours before he ran the owner of the red wig to earth. But obstacles presented themselves before him in bewildering succession. The wig appeared to be his chief clue, and when he arrived in the city he went directly to the head office of the company that had manufactured it. When he sent his card in to the manager he was readily admitted, for Fenton Hardy's name was known from the Atlantic to the Pacific. "Some of our customers in trouble, Mr. Hardy?" asked the manager, when the great detective tossed the red wig on his desk. "Not yet. But one of your customers _will_ be in trouble if I can ever trace the purchaser of this wig." The manager picked it up. He inspected it carefully and frowned. "We are not, as you know, a wig-making firm," he said. "That is, the wig department is a very small side line with us." "The very reason I thought it would be easier to trace this," replied Mr. Hardy. "If you turned out thousands of them every year it might be more difficult. You sell to an exclusive theatrical trade, I believe." "Exactly. If an actor wants a wig of some special nature, we do our best to please him. We only make the wigs to order." "Then you will probably have a record of this one." The manager turned the wig over in his hands, glanced carefully at the inside, felt of the weight and texture, then pressed a button at the side of his desk. A boy came and departed with a message. "It may be difficult. This wig is not new. In fact, I would say it was turned out about two years ago." "A long time. But still--" "I'll do the best I can." A bespectacled old man shuffled into the office at that moment, in response to the manager's summons, and stood waiting in front of the desk. "Kauffman, here," said the manager, "is our expert. What he doesn't know about wigs isn't worth knowing." Then, turning to the old man, he handed him the red wig. "Remember it, Kauffman?" The old man looked at it doubtfully. Then he gazed at the ceiling. "Red wig ... red wig ..." he muttered. "About two years old, isn't it?" prompted the manager.