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mind?” Joe asked.
    â€œTo concentrate on the country. We started out to find the thief because he stole Chet’s car. Let’s start all over again from that point.”
    â€œMeaning?”
    â€œMr. Red Wig may have come back to the woods expecting to use Chet’s car again, and—”
    â€œFrank, you’re a genius! You figure the guy may have left a clue by accident.”
    â€œExactly.”
    Fired with enthusiasm once more, the brothers called to Mrs. Hardy where they were going, then set off on their motorcycles. After parking them at the picnic site, the brothers once more set off for the isolated spot where the jalopy had been hidden.
    Everything looked the same as it had before, but Frank and Joe examined the ground carefully for new footprints. They found none, but Joe pointed out six-inch circular marks at regular intervals.

    Frank and Joe examined the circular marks
    â€œThey’re just the size of a man’s stride,” he remarked, “and I didn’t notice them before.”
    â€œI didn’t either,” said Frank. “Do you suppose that thief tied pads onto his shoes to keep him from making footprints?”
    â€œLet’s see where they lead.”
    The boys followed the circular marks through the thicket. They had not gone far when their eyes lighted up with excitement.
    â€œAnother clue!” Joe yelled. “And this time a swell one!”

CHAPTER IX
    Rival Detectives
    â€œMAYBE,” Frank said with a grin, “Dad will take us into his camp when he sees these!”
    â€œJust a minute,” Joe spoke up. “I thought we were rivals now, and you and I have to solve this mystery alone to earn the reward.”
    Frank held up a man’s battered felt hat and an old jacket. “If these belong to that thief, I think we’ve earned the money already!”
    He felt through the pockets of the jacket, but they were empty. “No clue here,” he said.
    â€œThis hat has a label, though—New York City store,” said Joe.
    â€œAnd the coat, too,” Frank added. “Same shop. Well, one thing is sure. If they do belong to the thief, he never meant to leave them. The labels are a dead giveaway.”
    â€œHe must have been frightened off,” Joe concluded. “Maybe when he found that Chet’s jalopy was gone, he felt he’d better scram, and forgot the coat and hat.”
    â€œWhat I’d like to know,” Frank said, “is whether some hairs from that red wig may be in the hat.”
    Joe grinned. “Bright boy.” He carried the hat to a spot where the sunlight filtered down through the trees and looked intently at the inside, even turning down the band. “Yowee! Success!” he yelled.
    Frank gazed at two short strands of red hair. They looked exactly like those in the wig which the boys had found.
    Joe sighed. “I guess we’ll have to tell Dad about this. He has the wig.”
    â€œRight.”
    Frank and Joe hurried home, clutching their precious clues firmly. Mr. Hardy was still in his study when his sons returned. The detective looked up, frankly surprised to see them home so soon. There was the suspicion of a twinkle in his eyes.
    â€œWhat! More clues!” he exclaimed. “You’re really on the job.”
    â€œYou bet we have more clues!” cried Frank eagerly. He told the boys’ story and laid the hat and jacket on a table. “We’re turning these over to you.”
    â€œBut I thought you two were working on this case as my rivals.”
    â€œTo tell the truth,” said Frank, “we don’t know what to do with the clue we’ve found. It leads to New York City.”
    Mr. Hardy leaned forward in his desk chair as Frank pointed out the labels and the two strands of red hair.
    â€œAnd besides,” Frank went on, “I guess the only way to prove that the thief owns these clothes is by comparing the hairs in the hat with