"Find out!" he retorted.
An ugly look crept into Red's face.
"Is that so?" he snarled. "Won't talk, eh? I'll soon make you talk."
He leaned forward and wrenched open Frank's coat. Frank's wrists were handcuffed and he was helpless to resist. Red pulled him roughly to one side and groped in the inner pocket of the coat. There was a rustle of paper and he withdrew two or three letters. Frank bit his lip in exasperation. He had forgotten about the letters and he knew that any hope of concealing his identity was now lost.
The red-headed man brought the letters over to the fire and squinted at the addresses. His eyes opened wide; his jaw dropped.
"Frank Hardy!" he gasped.
"What?" demanded one of the other men.
"All these letters are addressed to Frank Hardy!" declared the astonished gangster. "What d'you know about that!"
With a sudden movement, Pete grasped Joe by the collar and held him while he turned his pockets inside out. Finally, with an air of triumph, he produced Joe's membership card in a Bayport athletic association, on which his name was written in full.
"Joe Hardy!" he read. "Why, these are the real Hardy boys!"
