Footprints Under the Window

A plot to steal a top-secret instrument vital to the United States space program poses a challenging case for Frank and Joe Hardy. The whereabouts of their famous detective father is a mystery, so Frank and Joe are on their own to foil the plotters.

After rescuing a South American stowaway who mutters a cryptic warning about âFootprints,â then flees, the boys learn they are up against a ruthless espionage ring. The next day Frank and Joe discover that documents belonging to Mr. Hardy are missing, and, noting strange footprints under a window, they suspect the stowaway.

The young detectivesâ search for the diabolical mastermind of the âFootprintsâ spy ring takes them on a flight to a group of islands off the coast of South America. Here they risk the wrath of a cruel dictator, and also make a grisly discovery deep in the jungle.

During a spine-chilling vigil in a cemetery, followed by entrapment in the flooded compartment of a wrecked ship, the courage and resourcefulness of the Hardys and their pal, Chet Morton, are tested to the utmost.

Hardy Boys fans will find this exciting tale crammed with suspense, intrigue, and action.

âTh-the tomb door! Itâs opening!â Chet gasped

Copyright Â© 1993, 1965, 1960, 1933 by Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved. Published by Grosset & Dunlap, Inc., a member of The Putnam & Grosset Group, New

eISBN : 978-1-101-12758-2

eISBN : 978-1-101-12758-2

http://us.penguingroup.com

CHAPTER I

Shots Offshore

Â 

Â 

Â 

âFRANKâIâve never seen so many guards at Micro-Eye beforel And that steel wire fence is new. Think something is up?â

Blond, seventeen-year-old Joe Hardy, at the convertibleâs wheel, had stopped for a red light. His brother, dark-haired and a year older, peered out at Bayportâs sprawling photographic plant.

âMust be a special project,â Frank suggested.

The traffic light showed green and the Hardysâ car moved past the block-long complex of buildings. Three uniformed guards were inspecting a departing Corporated Laundries truck at the gate.

Frank whistled. âMicro-Eye must be working on something thatâs top secret,â he said. âI wonder if Dad knew about it before he leftââ Frank broke off as the boys approached the rear of the main plant. A man was crouched on the outside of the fence. He was trying to cut through it with a pair of powerful shears!

âJoe! Stop!â

Joe instantly braked. Even before the car screeched to a halt alongside the curb, Frank had opened his door. He jumped out and sped toward the crouching figure. Joe swiftly followed.

âGuards!â Frank shouted.

Startled, the broad-nosed, stockily built man whirled to his feet, then glanced quickly back at the alerted guards. The next instant he hurled the shears directly at Frank.

âLook out!â Joe yelled in horror.

His brother ducked as the lethal blades spun crazily past, missing his head by inchesl Frank and Joe sprinted in pursuit of the fleeing man. A guardâs voice rang out.

âStop him!â

But the fugitive was darting across the street, heedless of the heavy traffic. When the boys reached the other side, Joe spotted their quarry leaping into a black sedan a block away. It roared off in a cloud of gas fumes.

âDid you get the license?â Frank panted.

Joe shook his head. âThere was another man at the wheel and the motor was running.â

Three security guards ran up to the Hardys.

âWe certainly owe you boys our thanks,â a tall, round-faced officer said, holstering his pistol. âConfidentially, itâs internal security that seems to be our problem.â

âYou mean thereâs a security leak at Micro-Eye?â Frank asked as the group walked back toward the main gate.

âWe have reason to think so,â a burly guard replied, âdespite the careful screening and clearance of all plant workers.â

Two other guards had already retrieved the wire cutters but admitted they probably had no fingerprints, since the man had worn gloves. At the Micro-Eye guardhouse Frank and Joe gave a detailed description of the escaped man, who had sideburns and a dark complexion.

âHe may be foreign-born,â Joe remarked.

At this, the round-faced officer glanced at the other guards, then turned to the Hardys. âWe already suspect that aliens who entered the country illegally are operating in this area. Your description may be a great help to us.â

âYou meanâspies?â Frank inquired.

The officer nodded, but did not reveal any more details. He thanked the boys for their vigilance, then the Hardys returned to their car and headed homeward.

âSpies!â Joe exclaimed. âJust our luck to let one get away! He had some nerve, trying to cut through the fence in broad daylight.â

Frank grinned. âMaybe we can pick up another clue for Micro-Eye.â

A sharp eye for clues came naturally to the brothers. They were sons of Bayportâs renowned private detective, Fenton Hardy, formerly of the New York police force. Joe was impetuous by nature, Frank more deliberate. Ever since solving the mystery of The Tower Treasure, they had helped their father track down criminals and proven their courage and abilities as independent sleuths. Recently they had faced a dangerous challenge in a case known as While the Clock Ticked.

âToo bad Dad isnât here,â Joe said. âHeâd certainly be interested in what happened at Micro-Eye.â

âYes. His new case really must be hush-hush. He didnât even leave an address.â

The car turned into the drive of the Hardysâ attractive, tree-shaded house at the corner of High and Elm streets. The boys lugged two huge boxes of groceries into the kitchen.

âWhew! Iâll be glad when Mother gets back!â Joe exclaimed. âWe keep running out of everything.â

Mrs. Hardy was away visiting relatives, and was expected to be gone for two weeks.

âI wonder how Aunt Gertrudeâs enjoying Rio,â Frank mused. Their peppery maiden aunt, Mr. Hardyâs sister, had been in South America since earlier in the summer.

âBrazil will never be the same again,â Joe quipped, âbut I canât wait until sheâs back. If I have to live through any more of your cookingââ

Frank laughed, and went for the mail. He returned with a stack of envelopes. âGuess we canât forward these to Dad.â He held out four letters addressed to their father.

There was also a blue envelope for the boys. When Frank read the enclosed note, his hand flew to his head.

âWhatâs the matter?â Joe asked in alarm.

âItâs from Aunt Gertrude! She says sheâll arrive in Bayport on the Dorado in eight days. This is postmarked eight days ago!â

âToday!â Joe groaned. âAnd this place looks as if a hurricane hit it!â

Frank phoned the North Lines office and learned that the Dorado, a freighter, was due to dock early that evening. âJoe! The dishes and beds! Whereâs the furniture polish? If Aunty finds the house in this shape, weâll really get a lecture!â

The whisk of brooms, the whirring of the vacuum, and the clang of pots and pans filled the air as the boys feverishly cleaned the house from attic to basement.

âWell, that should do it.â Frank sighed as the exhausted pair sat down to a light supper. But suddenly Joe jumped up.

âThe laundry! There must be a mountain of it upstairs in the hall closet!â

The boys charged up the stairs and gathered the crumpled garments and linen. While Joe tied it up, Frank checked his fatherâs closet and removed two pair of slacks which needed cleaning. As he did so, Frank noticed some papers bulging from the inside pocket of one of Mr. Hardyâs suit coats.

âLooks as if Dad forgot these,â he called. âHope they werenât important. Say, weâve only ten minutes before the cleaner closes!â

âWe can go from there to the pier.â

Frank drove into town and parked in front of Corporated Laundriesâ large new shop which handled dry cleaning.

As Joe ran in with the bundle, a burly, middle-aged man pushed ahead of him to the counter.

âI want these shirts done special. Charge it to my account,â he announced loudly.

âYes, sir, Mr. North!â said the clerk, a thin, man with bushy eyebrows. But the overbearing customer had already stalked outside. Joe left his bundle, then rejoined Frank.

âSome nerve!â Joe growled. âOrrin North just elbowed me out of the way in there,â he told his brother as they headed toward the Bayport waterfront. âEven if he does own a shipping line, he could use some manners!â

âThey say his passenger business isnât doing so well these days,â Frank said. Both boys knew North as a prominent Bayport resident who prided himself on being a successful man.

When the Hardys reached the waterfront, Frank parked at the North Lines pier where the Dorado would dock. The customs area bustled with officials. At several piers the boys noticed watchful plainclothesmen.

âThere must be something to what that Micro-Eye guard said about illegal immigrants,â Joe observed.

âA person would have to be pretty clever to get through all these precautions,â Frank said. He turned to a customs inspector and learned that the Dorado was expected in an hour. The man added that the ship was taking very few passengers these days.

âI guess Aunt Gertrude was lucky,â Joe said. âWhat say we take a spin in the Sleuth? We can watch the Dorado coming in and still be back here by the time she docks!â

âGood idea!â

In minutes the brothers reached the boathouse where their sleek craft was berthed. Frank started the motor and pulled out into the sunset-golden waters of Barmet Bay.

Darkness was falling by the time they headed down the coast. Soon Frank sighted the big hulk of an approaching vessel, plying lazily through the long swells. Joe grabbed the binoculars.

âSheâs the Dorado all right. Maybe we can spot Aunt Gertrude on board.â

Frank circled nearer the lighted ship, and followed a parallel course, hugging the coast. The boys looked in vain for the tall, straight figure of their aunt. Above the deck a ghostly plume of smoke curled up into the night sky.

âShe may still be below,â Frank began. âIfââ

Crack! Crack!

âJoe! Those sounded like pistol shots!â

âFrom the Dorado! Look, thereâs a commotion at the stern!â

The boys saw several men scuffling at the fantail of the freighter. The next instant a figure leaped over the rail and plunged into the dark waters!

Instinctively Frank sent the Sleuth speeding to the rescue. Soon Joe spotted a bobbing form, and a few minutes later pulled a gasping, sputtering man aboard.

Slender and dark-complexioned, with a thin mustache, he was dressed in a crewmanâs blue uniform. A quick examination showed no wounds, but the stranger seemed too exhausted to speak. The boys made him comfortable and Frank sped past the Dorado and in the direction of Barmet Bay.

Joe shouted above the noise of the engine, âI wonder who he is and what all the excitement was about.â

âBeats me. But weâll have to contact authorities on shore pronto,â Frank said worriedly. âLetâs just hope Aunt Gertrudeâs all right!â

Frank sent the Sleuth speeding to the rescue

Instead of going to their own boathouse, he pulled into the end of the public dock. The crewman revived, and the boys helped him out of the Sleuth.

Frank said, âIâm Frank Hardy and this is my brother Joe. We donât know whatââ

âHardyâyou saidâHardy?â The man, speaking broken English, was plainly startled.

Before he could say more, a stranger strode briskly up to the trio. He was short and bald, and he wore a badge on the lapel of his black raincoat. He grasped the crewmanâs arm and snapped:

âThe Dorado radioed us about you. Iâm an immigration officer. Come along! You kids can beat it now.â

Suddenly the crewman shook loose and his fist rocketed against the strangerâs jaw! The officer staggered back with a grunt.

Frank grabbed at the sailor, but the man dodged and ran, turning only for a fraction of a second to hiss, âFootprints will getââ

He raced off the dock onto the road and was swallowed up in the darkness.

CHAPTER II

Night Prowler

Â 

Â 

Â 

âAFTER him!â Frank shouted.

He and Joe ran from the dock and down the road in pursuit of the crewman. They heard footsteps pounding rapidly ahead, then Joe saw a shadow dart between two small bay-front buildings.

âThereâto the right!â

The Hardys dashed through back lots and a deserted alley. But the man had vanished. Finally Frank and Joe gave up the chase and hastened back to the docks. âWeâd better see if that immigration officer is hurt,â Frank said.

When they reached the dock, there was no sign of the short man with the badge.

âMaybe he went to alert his office that the man escaped,â Joe said.

âIf he was from the immigration office,â Frank cut in. âThere was something phony about his telling us to âbeat it.â â

Joe agreed. âAt any rate, weâll report this.â

â âFootprintsâ!â Frank mused, recalling the crewmanâs strange words. âWhat could that mean? And whom are they going to âgetââus?â

Joe shook his head. âThat man seemed to know our last name! Where did he find out? Did you notice his accent? Sounded like South American Spanish.â

The Hardys hurried to the customs office and gave a detailed account of the recent events. The man in charge took down the information. When Frank described the bald man who had claimed to be immigration officer, the customs man made a quick telephone call. He hung up, puzzled.

âNo one like that works for Immigration,â he said. âWeâll look into this. Thanks, boys.â

The Hardys hurried to the pier where the Dorado had just docked. Only a handful of passengers debarked from the gangway, but Miss Hardy was not among them. Worried, Frank and Joe spoke with a uniformed customs inspector.

The official consulted a short list of passengers. âWe have no such person listed.â

Frank and Joe exchanged dumfounded glances. âAre you sure thereâs no mistake? Weâre expecting our aunt,â Frank insisted. Just then a heavy-set man wearing a blue cap approached.

âBoys, hereâs the Doradoâs skipperâCaptain Burne. You can ask him.â

The newcomer seemed to be distressed as he hurried up to the inspector.

âMr. Clark, we have a missing stowaway thief to report!â the captain announced. âWe tried to stop him but he jumped overboard, andââ

âWe picked him up but he got away again,â Joe put in quickly. He and Frank introduced themselves, then related their experience.

The captain stared in surprise at the boys.

âCaptain,â said Frank, âisnât there a Miss Gertrude Hardy on your shipâfrom Rio de Janeiro? Sheâs our aunt, and wrote us sheâd arrive tonight on the Dorado.â

Burne shook his head. âNobody by that name aboard. Only nine passengers this tripâthe last time weâll take on passengers.â

âMaybe your aunt decided to stay longer in Rio,â Mr. Clark suggested. âDonât worry, boys.â

âI guess she must have changed her mind,â Joe said, relieved that their aunt had not been exposed to the shooting incident. The Hardys now asked the captain about the escaped stowaway.

âIs he really a thief?â Frank asked.

âYou bet he is!â Burne fumed. âStole a crew uniform, cleaned out a cashbox in my office, then shot at us when we went after him. He must have sneaked aboard in Cayenne.â The captainâs eyes narrowed. âDid you boys get any leads on where he went?â

âNo.â Frank signaled Joe with a glance not to mention the stowawayâs peculiar warning to them about âfootprints.â

The captain shrugged. âWell, at least you got descriptions of him and that phony immigration officer. If you two get any clues, will you inform Mr. Northâs office?â

âWeâll keep our eyes open,â Frank promised.

Still a bit uneasy about Miss Hardy, the brothers returned the Sleuth to their boathouse, then drove home.

âAunt Gertrude must be having a ball,â Joe ventured.

Frank laughed wryly. âAll that housecleaning for nothingl But,â he went on, âthis stowaway thief puzzles me. Why was he so startled at hearing our name? I think weâd better find out more about it before we mention âfootprintsâ to anybody.â

The boys decided to try getting word to their father by phoning Sam Radley. Sam was an ace detective and assistant to Fenton Hardy.

âIâll do my best to contact him, Frank,â Sam promised. âSounds very strange. Keep me posted.â

After a snack of milk and crackers, the brothers went to bed. A fresh summer breeze came through the window of their second-floor room in the quiet house.

Sometime later, Joe awoke from a sound sleep. He squinted groggily at the radium clock. âTwo A.M. Whatââ He stiffened. Was it his imagination or did he hear a noise downstairs?

A muffled, scuffing step was barely audible, then there was silence. Joe sat up and listened. Clump, clump! This was followed by the creaking of a floor board!

Joe shot out of bed and roused his brother, who was awake in a flash. They stood poised at the doorway.

Scuff, scuff! Silence again.

âA prowler!â Joe whispered.

âLetâs jump himâquiet!â

With fists tightly clenched, both boys inched out into the hallway. Peering into the darkness downstairs, Frank could barely make out a tall figure starting up the stairs! Crouching forward, Frank and Joe waited, tensing their bodies like taut bowstrings.

âNow!â

Instantly the two thundered down the stairs. As Frank grabbed the shoulders of the intruder, a high scream filled the hallway.

âEek! Stop! Help! Murder! Bandits!â

Utterly astounded, Joe darted to a wall switch. Light flooded the scene, revealing a disheveled, struggling woman wildly swinging her pocketbook.

âStop! Let go of meâmy goodness! Frank Hardy!â

âAunt Gertrude!â

Wordless with amazement, the two boys helped Miss Hardy into an easy chair.

âGee, Aunt Gertrude, we thought you were a prowler!â Joe said sheepishly.

âAre you all right, Aunty?â Frank gulped. âCan we get you anything?â

âOf course Iâm all right!â their exasperated aunt puffed, fanning herself with a ribboned straw hat. âThrough no thanks to you, Frank and Joe Hardy! A prowlerâhumph! Fine greeting from my two nephews after all these weeks!â

The boys apologized profusely, and Frank added, âWeâre sure happy to see you home safe. Weâve been pretty worried about you.â

Joe spoke up. âAunty, when and how did you get here? We met the Dorado tonight but you werenât on it.â

âI should have cabled you that I wasnât coming on that run-down old freighter,â she explained. âThey wouldnât take any more passengers than they had already booked.â

Miss Hardy had sailed instead on a North Lines passenger ship, the Capricorn, which had docked just before midnight. The ship had been due the following day but had made better time than expected. Her traveling companion, Mrs. Berter, had driven her home.

âI tried not to disturb you boys, but look what happened! I thought I was being attacked by Amazon head-hunters!â

âYou pack a pretty mean pocketbook yourself, Aunty.â Frank laughed. âDid you have a good time? How was Brazil?â

âWonderful,â replied Miss Hardy. She arose and gave the room an appraising glance, then nodded slightly, as if pleased to see no dust on the furniture.

Joe grinned. âPretty good housekeepers, arenât we? But we still had time for running into some mysteries.â

âMercy! I should have known!â Aunt Gertrude pretended to disapprove of her nephewsâ sleuthing, but secretly was proud of their successes.

Frank and Joe described the dayâs events, concluding with the escaped stowaway. âYou missed all the excitement, Aunty, by not sailing on the Dorado,â Joe added.

âNot exactly,â Miss Hardy said in a mysterious tone. âI had an adventure on shipboard myself.â

No amount of persuasion would induce her to explain further. âItâs far too late. Youâll have to wait until Iâm rested.â

With that, Aunt Gertrude marched upstairs. The boys, bursting with curiosity, picked up her bags and followed.

CHAPTER III

Missing Papers

Â 

Â 

Â 

AUNT Gertrude had another surprise waiting for her when she entered the kitchen the next morning.

âBreakfast is served!â Joeâs voice rang out. She stared in astonishment as her younger nephew turned away from the stove. âMorning, Aunty! Hereâs bacon. Frank will have your eggs ready in a minute.â

âLess than that!â Frank lifted a skillet from the range. He grinned. âSizzling omelet!â

âWell, you two must be up to something,â she said as Joe pulled out her chair and she sat down. âBut this is thoughtful of you,â she conceded. âYou must have awakened early!â

Their aunt was customarily the first one up in the morning. Frank stifled a yawn as he served the slightly burned omelet, then winked at his brother.

âOf course this is temporary, isnât it, Joe?â

âYou bet. We wouldnât put one of the worldâs best cooks out of a jobâno sir!â

Aunt Gertrude eyed the boys suspiciously as they took their places. The two immediately besieged her with questions. âWas South America exciting?â Joe began.

âVery. And perilous,â she replied. âFull of animals, insects, spiesââ She picked a piece of shell out of her omelet and sniffed.

âAunty,â Joe coaxed, âwhat about thisâerâadventure you had on board ship?â

Miss Hardy put down her fork. âWell, first of all,â she said, âthere were those luggage thieves.â

âLuggage thieves?â Joe echoed.

âYes. I met poor Mr. and Mrs. Taylor at a stop-over in Cayenneâthe capital city of French Guiana. Theyâre from around hereâHarper-town, and were traveling by plane. Almost the minute they arrived at the airport, all their bags were stolen. The thieves got away.â

The discussion was interrupted by the squeal of brakes outside.

âChet!â Frank exclaimed. âHeâs never up this early during vacation!â But a rap on the back door and the appearance of a plump boy with a round, freckled face affirmed the fact that the caller was the Hardysâ best friend, Chet Morton.

âHowdy, breakfasters!â he sang out. âWhy, Miss Hardy, welcome home!â

âThank you, Chester.â Aunt Gertrude smiled and invited the newcomer to join them.

âWhat brings you out of the sack so early?â Joe asked him.

Chet explained that he was on an errand for his father at Oak Hollow, where a housing development was nearing completion. Mr. Morton, a realtor, was handling prospective sales.

âBut I sure worked up an appetite on the way,â Chet added, looking hopefully at Miss Hardy. He sniffed the aroma of toast and bacon. âAny crumbs left over?â

âAunt Gertrudeâs our guest this morning,â Frank informed him, handing over three eggs, âbut youâre welcome to cook your own grub.â In a flash Chet had eggs scrambling in the pan.

Joe asked him, âSay, have you seen any stray stowaways floating around?â

âWha-at?â Chet stared at his pals. âOh, no! Youâre not mixed up in another mystery!â

The stout boy was not fond of danger, but had often become involved with the brothersâ cases, and always proved a loyal assistant. While Chet ate, the Hardys brought him up to date.

âIâd like to track down that fellow who jumped overboard,â Joe said. âSomething tells me he was trying to give us a message.â

Miss Hardy, obviously enjoying herself, continued her story. âEven stranger doings on the Capricorn, though. A man disappeared.â

âDisappeared!â

The boys waited patiently while Miss Hardy paused for a sip of coffee. Then she told of having met a very nice gentleman on the homeward trip, a Mr. Ricardo. She had not learned his first name. âHe had heard of your father and asked me questions about Fentonâs latest caseâeven wanted to know where he was.â Miss Hardy described the man as tall, with an angular face and wearing a white suit and dark glasses.

âHe was very pleasant,â she continued, âbut of course I couldnât answer his questions. Thenâall of a suddenâhe vanished.â

âFrom the ship?â Joe asked, incredulous.

âYes. I went to say good-by to him a few hours before we docked and he was gone!â

âMaybe he was ill,â Frank suggested. âDid you try the shipâs infirmary?â

âYesânot a sign of him. And the stewards werenât very helpful. Iâll never travel North Lines again,â she added. âI only hope nothing awful happened to the poor man.â

âSounds weird to me,â Frank mused, recalling the Dorado stowawayâs familiarity with the name Hardy. Was there any connection?

Their aunt stood up. âBefore you start sleuthing, I have some work for you to do.â

âBut, Aunty,â Joe protested, âweâve already cleaned the house!â

âWeâll see about that.â

Chet chuckled as the brothers shrugged helplessly. After the dishes were rinsed and put in the washer, Chet grabbed an apple and the trio trailed Miss Hardy through the downstairs rooms. Armed with a dustcloth, she probed with eagle eyes into every corner and under the cushions of the living-room furniture.

âWell,â she conceded, âmaybe you did touch the high spotsâtsk, look at this dust!â She ran a finger along a chair leg and held it up disapprovingly. The boys exchanged grins.

âWe even swept out the closets,â Frank defended himself.

Next, Miss Hardy inspected the rooms on the second floor.

A little later Frank opened the closet in his fatherâs room. Suddenly he stared at the suit coat which had contained the papers.

The inside pocket was empty!

Frantically the boys checked the entire closet, but the papers were not there. Aunt Gertrude said she knew nothing about them.

âAre you sure they were here?â Chet asked.

âPositive!â Frank said. âJoe and I both noticed them yesterday. Somebody else has been in this house!â

Immediately a thorough search was begun. Finding no clues to the intruder, the boys went outside.

âWhoever he was, heâs a pretty slick operator,â Joe said, âbut he may have dropped something on our grounds.â

While he looked around the garage, Frank and Chet inspected the area near the house. Suddenly Frank yelled, âIâve found something!â

The others rushed to where he was kneeling beneath a window. Frank pointed to the ground.

Several impressions were visible in the soil directly beneath the sill of a dining-room window.

âFootprints!â

âJust the front part of the soles,â Frank observed. âThese marks look fresh, and neither Joe nor I was out here recently. The prowler had an easy time getting in since the windowâs unlocked.â

Joe ran up to their lab over the garage and returned with a fingerprint and cast kit. Together, the three boys checked the window sill and the dining room, but the thief appeared to have left no clues.

âHe must have been wearing gloves,â Frank said, recalling the man they had chased at the Micro-Eye plant. In the next instant another thought struck him. âJoe! The Dorado escapee!â

âJimminy, I forgot all about him!â

âWhat do you mean?â Chet asked, puzzled.

Frank repeated the cryptic reference to âfootprints.â

âYou think heâs the one who stole your dadâs papers?â Chet asked.

âItâs just a guess,â Joe replied. âHeâs been accused of stealing money on the freighter, and besides, he did seem to know our name.â

âBut why would anyone warn us in advance if he meant to break into the house?â Frank argued. âIt could have been a warning about somebody else. But it sounds crazy that he couldâve known what sort of clues that person would leave, when he had just jumped off a ship from Cayenne.â

The others watched as Joe took a moulage of the shoe tip. The Hardys were dissatisfied. âIf only he had left a heel print!â Joe complained.

âIt looks like about a size ten shoe,â Frank remarked, making a mental note of the distinctive cracks in the sole.

Chet shrugged. âThat narrows it down to a few million men. Were your dadâs papers important?â

âWe donât know,â Joe said. âThey must have been for somebody to steal them. Weâll be lucky if we can get in touch with Dad to tell him.â

They took the completed cast to the garage lab, then went to the house. Frank telephoned Sam Radley again, but was disappointed to learn that Radley had been unable to locate Mr. Hardy.

After telling the operative about the theft of the papers, Frank asked, âShall we notify the police?â

âIâll talk to them,â the assistant said. âIf I hear from your dad, Iâll call you.â

As Frank reported the conversation to the others, the brothers became apprehensive. Had anything happened to their father?

âWell, I certainly hope not,â Aunt Gertrude said. âBut donât you worry about any more desperadoes getting into this house! Iâll be on guard!â

The boys smiled. âWeâll Ieave that to you,â said Joe, âwhile we pursue the mystery.â

Chet sighed. âLook, fellows, Iâll help. But first, how about you driving out to Oak Hollow with me?â

âOkay!â

The three boys piled into Chetâs jalopy and in minutes were heading toward the outskirts of Bayport. Oak Hollow was a small, shrubbed valley which had lain remote from the townâs progress for many years.

The construction of attractive, medium-priced homes there had been undertaken by the father of another close pal of the Hardys, Tony Prito. Frank and Joe had not visited the site since the early stage of development, and were interested to see the completed houses.

âWhen will owners be able to move in?â Joe asked as they wound up a hill road.

âIn a week or so,â Chet replied. âThis development will be great for Bayport, and Dadâs real excited about it.â

They turned down a muddy road past large construction vehicles and a row of handsome frame houses, each separated by wide, newly seeded lawns.

âWow!â exclaimed Joe, impressed.

âAnd theyâre not all alike,â Chet added. âIâll show you a model.â

As the jalopy neared the end of the street, the boys were startled to hear a chopping sound, followed by the tinkle of glass!

âThat sounded like a windowpane!â Joe cried out. âHey! Look!â

Astonished, the boys saw two men in dungarees outside one of the houses. They were hacking at the wood with machetes!

âVandals!â Chet gasped, skidding to a stop.

He and the Hardys jumped out and rushed the men. As Frank tackled one, Joe side-stepped a swinging blow and grabbed the other around the neck. But the thug threw him off. Joe lost his footing in the mud and went down on his back.

Stunned, he looked up to see an ugly face and an extended arm. Sunlight glittered off a raised machete!

CHAPTER IV

Peril in the Air

Â 

Â 

Â 

AN instant before the man swung the machete down in a vicious chop, Joe rolled aside.

Thwack! The blade crunched resoundingly into the ground.

Joe immediately kicked out at his attacker. The man dodged, but Frank and Chet grabbed him, and Joe scrambled to his feet. The next instant the manâs partner, swinging his machete, forced the three boys back.

âCome on. Letâs beat it!â he snarled.

The two vandals ran behind the house and disappeared into thick woods covering the slope. The three boys took off in pursuit. But as they emerged from the woods, a motor roared to life from around a bend in the dirt road.

âWeâre too late!â Frank groaned. He pointed to automobile tire tracks and a cloud of dust.

Back at the development, the boys found Mr. Prito and two other men inspecting the damage. Jagged holes gaped in numerous windows, and splintering slashes had been made in the walls and moldings of many houses.

âThe windows are easily replaceable,â Mr. Prito said, his face grim, âbut repairing the other damage will take time. Weâll have to delay occupancy for weeks!â

âWhat a vicious trick!â Joe stormed, stepping over broken glass and fingering a huge notch in a freshly painted door.

âBut why would they do it?â Chet said, equally disconsolate.

âI donât know. The whole thing is senseless,â Mr. Prito said. âWeâll have to put on a watchman.â

When Mr. Morton and the police arrived, the boys provided descriptions of the hoodlums and pointed out the tire prints. The motive for the vandalism was a puzzle to everyone.

âI know of no rival contractors who might be bitter at not having landed this job,â Mr. Morton said. âIf this was malicious mischief, itâs pretty expensive mischief for us.â

On a hunch Frank inspected several footprints left by the thugs, but there was no similarity to the partial ones found under the window at their home. The Hardys had just climbed into Chetâs jalopy when a manâs smirking face peered in at them.

âThe early bird gets the worm, eh? Any clues?â

Oscar Smuff, a plump, would-be detective, was well known to Frank and Joe. Keen on proving his ability to Chief Collig of the Bayport Police Department, he actually succeeded more in muddling cases than in solving them. Although he was meddlesome, the Hardys good-naturedly humored him.

âNothing much yet,â Joe replied.

Smuff cocked his head knowingly. âWell, Iâll take a look around and try to clear this thing up. Call me if you need advice.â

âOh, sure.â Joe stifled a grin.

Chetâs motor started with a whine, and the jalopy headed east from Oak Hollow.

Joe spoke up. âNow to get down to business. First, we must trace the guy who took Dadâs papers, then look for that stowaway, andââ

Chet broke in. âOkay. You two can hunt crooks. Iâm off to study the clouds.â

âThe clouds!â Joe echoed. âYouâre kidding!â

âI am not. Listen, clouds are really interestingâand I want to learn more about them.â

The Hardys grinned. They were accustomed to their friendâs taking up one hobby after another. âBut why clouds?â Joe asked.

âFor weather forecasting. What else?â

Frank had a suggestion. âSay, Chet, youâve given me an idea. Maybe we can go for a plane ride. You could study clouds, while Joe and I look at the Micro-Eye setup from the air.â

âGreat!â Joe said eagerly. âLetâs see if Jack Wayne can take us.â

Jack was a young charter pilot who often flew Mr. Hardy on long trips. Chet needed no persuasion and drove west toward the airfield. Presently Joe noticed a shabby green sedan behind them. Two turns later it was still in sight.

âChet, double back at the next cornerâI think weâre being tailed!â

Chet obeyed. âCreeps! I hope it isnât those machete men!â he said nervously.

But when the jalopy rounded the block, there was no sign of the sedan. âGuess I was wrong,â Joe apologized. They drove on to the airport.

The boys spotted Jackâs blue, silver-winged plane inside its hangar. They met the lean, tanned pilot near the end of the field.

âBe glad to take you fellows up,â he said after greeting them warmly. âYouâre lucky to catch me between taxi jobs.â Jack explained that he had been flying scientists in and out of Bayport.

âFor Micro-Eyeâs secret project?â Frank asked.

âYes. Whatâs going on over there is really hush-hush. Give me twenty minutes to finish some flight reports. Be right back.â

As Jack disappeared into the building, the boys strolled over to the terminal. They noticed an elderly man complaining to an official about a stolen suitcase. The Hardysâ keen ears caught the phrase âin Cayenne.â

âThatâs where Aunt Gertrudeâs friends had all their luggage taken,â Frank said.

Minutes later, the four were airborne in Jackâs sleek Skyhappy Sal. Chet chattered excitedly and pointed out various cloud formations.

âTheyâre cumulus clouds,â he said, indicating large fluffy masses extending eastward. âAnd to the south is the stratus layer. The wispy, curly ones you see way up high are cirrus.â

âSounds like a fruit,â Joe teased. âBut I must say you talk like a scholar, Chet.â

The chubby boy beamed as Jack banked into a smoky, towering bulge of cloud. âBoy, at sunrise it must be like diving into cotton candy!â

When the Sal emerged into the clear ocean of air again, they spotted the Micro-Eye plant below. The panorama revealed long roofs, multiple fenced-off areas, and numerous moving dark specksâworkmen and guards.

âLooks just as secure from up here,â Frank remarked. âHow about a quick pass above Oak Hollow, Jack?â

âRoger! If we start buzzing Micro-Eye, theyâll have me on the carpetâand I donât mean a cloudy one!â

High over the outskirts of Bayport, the boys saw the new houses nestled among the wooded slopes, along which ran a winding dirt road. Jack took the plane lower, and Frank and Joe scanned the surrounding terrain. Except for a private, fenced cemetery in the valley and a few picnic areas, there were only woods.

âDo you have some special interest in the housing development?â Jack asked.

The boys told of the vandals, and the pilot whistled. âI wouldnât buy a house there,â he remarked, âuntil those thugs are caught.â

Frank said thoughtfully, âThatâll be hard on Chetâs father. Do you suppose the men using machetes are from a tropical country?â

âLike somewhere in South America?â Joe guessed. âThe guy that spoke had an accent.â

Jack was now flying south along the coast. He dropped down and circled a large inlet surrounded by a pine barren. Whitecaps washed against countless black rocks which barely projected from the water.

âCobblewave Coveâand thereâs the wreck of the old Atlantis.â Joe recognized the tilted hulk of a freighter which lay in the midst of the rocks.

Cobblewave Cove had been a danger to incoming vessels for years. When the Atlantis had foundered on the sharp rocks during a violent gale, the wreck had been left as both a memorial to its crew and a warning to other seamen.

âIâd like to explore that wreck someday,â said Chet. âMaybe weâd find treasure aboard.â

âWhat!â Joe said in mock horror. âYou donât believe the legend of the Atlantis?â

Chet waved a disdainful hand. âYou mean about wails of dying mariners inside the hold? I donât believe that ghost stuff.â

âBrave words, pal.â Joe grinned.

Jack began circling to turn northward. âIâm due back at the field, fellows.â But when the craft banked steeply into a stiff wind, they all felt a sudden lurch. Then another!

âWhatâs wrong?â Joe exclaimed, alarmed.

âDonât knowâsheâs not flying right!â Frantically Jack worked the controls. Despite his efforts, the plane snapped to the left. The boys peered out and gasped with horror.

Shredded pieces of metal were streaming from the outboard section of the left wing. A bend appeared about three feet in from the tip.

The outer section then began to flutter violently in the wind, as if making ready to separate itself from the airplane!

CHAPTER V

Suspect at Large

Â 

Â 

Â 

âThe wing!â Frank cried out. âItâs breaking up!â

Simultaneously the Hardys and Chet were flung against their seat belts. The engine screamed. The plane plunged into a downward spiral. After four turns, the gyrations tightened into a spin.

âWe must be losing nearly a fourth of our lift on the left wing!â Jack shouted. âOur aileron is almost useless!â

He chopped engine power, shoved full right rudder, and snapped the stick forward. Recovery was slow, but Jack finally maneuvered the plane back to straight and level.

Looking out, the boys saw the damaged wing section still attached. But jagged ribbons of metal were trailing from its lower surface.

âWill we make the airport?â Joe asked.

Jack stared tensely ahead, then glanced back. âWeâve already stretched our luck, but if we take it slow, we should make it. Donât move around!â

Carefully he guided the craft back to the outskirts of Bayport. Chet, his face white, crouched next to Joe with his fingers crossed. âM-me and m-my big hobbies!â he groaned.

In silence Jack maneuvered the plane skillfully out over Barmet Bay. Descending, he banked west toward the airport. Minutes later, he brought the craft to a safe landing. Relieved, everyone climbed out.

Jack and the boys looked at the damaged wing. The pilot frowned. âI donât understand how it couldâve happened.â

The outer section of the wing hung slightly awry from an uneven breach in the metal. Aghast, Joe spotted several dents around the cut.

âThis was no accidentâthe wing was slashed!â

Jack grimly affirmed Joeâs suspicion of sabotage. âOne clean blowâclean enough for us not to notice it before taking off. The wind did the rest. It could have been an axââ

âOr a machete!â Frank broke in. âThat green sedan behind us on the way hereâmaybe those vandals were tailing us, and did this job.â

âFor revenge!â Chet said, rolling his eyes in fear.

Frank disagreed. âThatâs a pretty strong dose of revenge coming from vandalsâunless they arenât just vandals.â

Jack led them back to the hangar. âWhoever slashed the wing was willing to take me into the nose dive too. Iâm wondering if it had any connection with my taxiing scientists who are working for Micro-Eye. Iâve flown several of them.â

âYou mean somebody intended to put a cog in the plantâs projectâto slow it down?â Joe asked.

âItâs possible,â the pilot said grimly. âI hope he doesnât try again.â

At the hangar one of the ground crew informed Jack and the boys he had seen two swarthy strangers leaving the field in a run-down green sedan. His descriptions fit the vandals.

Joe whistled. âYouâre right, Frank. Those two are mixed up in something worse than house-wrecking.â

Frank nodded. âAll we have to find out isâwhat?â

Jack promised to notify them of any leads, then the three sleuths returned to the jalopy and headed back to Bayport.

Chet spoke up glumly. âFrom now on, Iâll study clouds from the ground!â

Frank nudged his brother. âWe can always use a weather prognosticator. Right, Joe?â

âYou bet. Howâs the forecast for sleuthing?â

âStormy! That I can tell you.â Hopefully Chet changed the subject. âSay, donât forget about our going to Cobblewave Cove!â

âOkay, weâll make it soon,â Joe said.

Chet dropped the brothers off at Elm and High and chugged along homeward. Frank and Joe headed up the walk to their house.

âMaybe thereâll be some word from Dad,â Frank said. âWeâveââ He broke off abruptly. A man was peering at them from behind a large spruce tree across the lawn. The Hardys started toward him, but the man ran off.

âHeâs the stowaway!â Joe cried out. âStop!â But the slender fugitive leaped a hedge and tore across the street. Joe bounded off the curb in pursuit, but was grabbed by Frank just as a car swerved to avoid hitting him. By now their quarry had disappeared. After searching the neighborhood for twenty minutes without luck, the brothers returned home.

âBoy, heâs a slippery eel,â Joe said as they went inside.

âI canât figure him out. Was he spying on us, orââ

âSpies!â Aunt Gertrude sailed into the hall âWho? Where?â

Frank quickly explained. Miss Hardyâs lips tightened. âMore desperadoes!â she exclaimed. âWhat is this house coming to?â

Frank and Joe had decided not to mention the machete attack or plane sabotage. Their aunt told them Sam Radley had called. âHe still hasnât heard from your father,â she added..

Disappointed, the boys followed their aunt to the luncheon table. Joe sighed. âWell, if we wanted a mystery, we sure got one. Do you think that fellow was casing our house?â

âHe acted that way. I wonder if he took Dadâs papers, and came back to steal some others,â Frank speculated. âCould be heâs part of a plot against Dad.â

âBut why? Dadâs not even home. But maybe the guy doesnât know that.â

Frankâs eyes narrowed. âThe Dorado thiefâs from South America,â he reasoned. âAnd maybe those vandals are, too.â

âI wouldnât bet against it. Sure wish we could consult Dad.â

âFirst thing weâd better do is report to the immigration people,â said Frank.

When the meal was over, the brothers drove to the dock area and pulled up at a small building which housed the office of the United States Customs and Immigration departments. The boys were directed into an inner office where a young immigration officer named Scott sat at a desk.

The Hardys introduced themselves and Frank explained their two contacts with the Doradoâs escapee.

The officer nodded. âWeâve been giving your first report close attention. Youâre sure it was the same man you saw this morning?â

âYes, sir,â Joe replied. âDark-complexioned, slender, with a thin mustache. But this time he had on old faded clothes.â

Scott snatched a sheet of paper and quickly took down the information. Suddenly Joe noticed two well-dressed men standing at a nearby desk, obviously taking an interest in the boysâ statements.

The young officer, meanwhile, knit his brows and drummed his pencil. âVery odd,â he said. âThe switchboard operator reported a man came here this morning to see me. I was out. Her description of him matched the one you gave of the stowaway last nightâexcept todayâs caller wore no uniform, and was poorly dressed.â

The revelation was perplexing. âIt sounds crazy,â Frank remarked. âA wanted thief daring to show up at your office. What did he want?â

âInformation, apparently. He mentioned several South American names and asked if any such persons from the Huella Islands had ever sought political asylum in this area.â

The Huellas, Frank and Joe recalled, were an island group off the coast of French Guiana, South America. The largest of them, Baredo, had been in the news recently due to the repressive actions of its ruler, Juan Posada, a dictator known to be unfriendly to the United States.

âBut we have no record of anyone arriving from the Huellas,â the officer added. He showed the list of names to the Hardys, but they recognized none of them.

Mr. Scott shook their hands. âWe appreciate your help. Weâre concerned these days with illegal entrants, since some of them may be sent here for espionage purposes. This escaped man could actually be assigned to spy on Huellan refugees, some of whom may be in or near Bayport without our knowledge.â

He added that the bald immigration officer the boys had met was an impostor. âThe authorities would like to get hold of him too.â

âWeâll keep a sharp lookout for both men,â Frank promised.

The Hardys said good-by and hurried across the office. âWe must find out more about this âfootprintsâ business,â Joe muttered.

As they reached the doorway, the Hardys were astonished to find their path suddenly blocked by one of the two strangers they had noticed.

âJust a minute!â he said. âYou boys arenât going anywhere!â

CHAPTER VI

Waterfront Sleuthing

Â 

Â 

Â 

THE HARDYS stood dumfounded as the tall, expressionless stranger rooted himself firmly in the doorway.

âThere must be some mistakeââ Frank began. A voice from behind cut him off.

âNo, thereâs not, boys. Come with us. Weâd like to have a word with you.â

They turned to face a distinguished-looking, gray-haired man, the other stranger Joe had seen. The boys started to protest, then saw Scott nod reassuringly. Puzzled, the Hardys followed the two men into an unoccupied file room.

As the taller man closed the door, the other held out a leather identification case. âRoy Dykeman, United States Intelligence.â

Frank and Joe examined the credentials, then handed them back. Dykeman introduced his companion as Mr. Crothers, also of Intelligence.

âIâm sorry to detain you, but something you said to Mr. Scott caught our attention.â Dykeman looked directly at the Hardys. âWhat do you two know about âfootprintsâ?â

âFootprints?â Frank glanced at Joe. âNot much, sir. We heard the word last night, and then we found something at our house later that made us wonder whether there was a connection.â

âWill you give us complete details?â Mr. Crothers asked. âItâs important.â

Frank told the men of their experience with the Dorado stowaway, including his mysterious âfootprintsâ warning. âWe didnât mention this in our statement. We thought it might have to do with a private case of our father, Fenton Hardy.â

âFenton Hardy?â Mr. Dykeman glanced at Crothers. âPlease continue, boys.â

Joe related the theft of Mr. Hardyâs papers.

âWeâve been trying to put two and two together,â Frank explained, âbut we havenât been able to contact Dad. The papers must be important, if somebody wanted to steal them!â

Mr. Dykeman paced the floor. âYou were right not to reveal anything that could be detrimental to your father,â he stated.

âDo you know where Dad is?â Joe pressed.

âNot exactly,â the agent replied. âLet me explain. I am here in Bayport to supervise security for a vitally important project.â He paused and smiled. âWe owe you two boys a debt of thanks for your alertness yesterday.â

âYou meanâat Micro-Eye Industries?â Frank exclaimed.

âThatâs right. I know you both can be trusted to keep this matter confidential. Micro-Eye is in danger of espionage by aliens, internally as well as externally. We are counting heavily on your fatherâs help.â

âThen Dadâs assignment is for Micro-Eye?â Joe asked excitedly.

âYesâbut as a field agent. Even Mr. Crothers and I donât know where he is. The plot we are up against appears to be extensive geographically.â

âYou believe that somehow âfootprintsâ are involved with this plot?â Frank queried.

The intelligence officer glanced at his associate, who nodded slightly. âI can tell you this muchâwe are aware of a conspiracy to uncover, and perhaps steal Micro-Eyeâs secret work. We believe it to be centered in South America, and directed from there, and it operates, we think, under the code name Footprints.â

âFootprints!â Joe echoed. âThen the stowaway may be part of this plot! And that phony immigration officer too!â

âWeâll have to track them down before we know,â Mr. Crothers replied. âWeâve had our men constantly watching incoming ships and planes for people entering the country illegally, but they manage to slip in, nevertheless.â

Frank and Joe promised their full cooperation. After giving the boys a card with their secret telephone number, the two agents thanked them for the assistance. Outside the building, the Hardys hurried to their car.

âWell, at least weâve found out what Dadâs working on,â Joe remarked. âHey! Do you think heâs in South America?â

âCould be. I wonder if the Footprints members may have infiltrated Micro-Eye. Question is, where do the stowaway and the immigration impostor fit into the scheme?â

âAnd the machete men,â Joe added.

Frank remembered Scottâs mention of the Huella Islands. âIâm wondering if those South American names that the stowaway asked about belong to spies or refugees.â

âEither way, he sure took a risk showing up at the immigration office,â Joe stated.

âWeâd better warn Aunt Gertrude to keep an eye out for suspicious-looking South Americans,â Frank suggested.

Joe grinned. âOr vice versa.â They reached the car and headed home.

As they turned the corner at a warehouse, Frankâs attention was suddenly caught by a tall, white-suited stranger crossing the street.

Frank pulled over to the curb. âThat man matches the description Aunt Gertrude gave of the vanishing Mr. Ricardo!â

Joe peered out the window as the stranger stepped onto the sidewalk a few yards ahead. Suddenly the man glanced at them through dark glasses and hurried past the car.

âYouâre right!â Joe whispered. âAngular face and all! Do you think itâs just a coincidence?â

âMaybe, but letâs see where heâs heading!â

The boys waited a few moments, then stepped out and followed the man. They kept a blockâs distance. But the stranger looked back again, and pulled his panama hat lower over his hawk-nosed face. His pace quickened.

âLooks as if heâs on to us. Letâs go!â Frank urged.

The white-suited man suddenly cut sharp right and disappeared down a narrow side street.

âDonât let him get out of sight!â Joe urged.

Pretense abandoned, the boys broke into a run. With Frank at his heels, Joe nimbly dodged two laborers shouldering a long metal pipe and whipped around the corner.

Wham!

Joe had collided full tilt with a man, and he fell backward onto Frank. Both boys landed in a sitting position on the pavement. They looked in astonishment at the roly-poly figure of the man, who was slowly getting to his feet.

Oscar Smuff!

âOowwww!â Groaning, the would-be investigator glared at the Hardys. âYou! You! You would get in my way!â

Smuff, muttering furiously, snatched up a notebook from the sidewalk. He continued to sputter. âYou Hardys! Who else would interfere just when I was on the track of conspirators!â

âOf conspââ The boys stared in dismay past the self-styled detective. Their own pursuit seemed hopeless. The side street was deserted.

âWhat conspirators?â Frank asked, gritting his teeth to hide his irritation.

âDonât know yet,â Smuff raged, âbut Iâm hot on their trailâor was until you two meddling amateurs bumped into me.â

âYou sort of got in our way yourself,â Joe retorted.

Smuff ignored him. He peered around the corner, then darted off after the workers carrying the pipe. Despite their annoyance, Frank and Joe were curious and followed.

âWhatâs up?â Joe asked. Smuff gave him a reproving look, then whipped out a pencil. His round face glowed with importance.

âThe code of the underworld!â he whispered, and waddled faster. âIâm trying to break it!â

Frank frowned. âThe what?â

âYouâll see. Stick with me and learn something about detecting!â Smuff motioned them ahead to overhear the laborersâ conversation.

âYou Hardys would get in my way!â Smuff groaned

âIf they donât take the pennant this year,â one was saying, âtheyâll never win it. The league is getting too tough.â

âSay,â the other replied, âIâve got peanut butter and jelly today. Whatâd you bring?â

âSardine, and a bacon and tomato.â

Smuff, perspiring heavily, frenziedly wrote in his notebook.

âDonât you get it?â he asked the boys. âThatâs all a secret lingo. âPennantâ is a munitions plotâand âleagueâ is the explosive! âToughâ means itâs hard to get!â

Frank bit off a smile. âI see. But how about the peanut butter and jelly?â

âHavenât figured âem out yetâthe âsardineâ means the plotâll take place at sea.â He detected Joeâs grin and grimaced. âYou wonât laugh when I crack this case wide open.â

The workmen placed the pipe in a truck, then leaned against it and opened paper bags. Smuff edged closer as the men took out thick sandwiches. They now noticed the pudgy fellow peering curiously at them. âWant somethinâ, Mac?â one of the workers called out. Smuff flushed and backed away. The men shrugged and bit into their sandwiches, resuming their conversation.

Joe clapped Smuffâs shoulder. âGood luck on the bacon and tomato! Hope theyâre not too dangerous.â

Smuff stalked off indignantly, and the Hardys returned to their car. Joe roared with laughter. âWow, talk about wild-goose chases! âUnderworld codeââin sandwiches!â

âThink what Oscar the Sleuth could make of a whole menu!â Frank said, chuckling.

The brothers still chafed over the disruption of their chase.

âIf only we could have found out where that man was headed!â said Joe. âAnd if he actually is the Mr. Ricardo from Aunt Gertrudeâs ship.â

âHe certainly wanted to get away from us,â Frank added. âItâs possible Ricardo planned to disappear from the ship. And I donât like it that he quizzed Aunt Gertrude about Dad.â

The brothersâ discussion ended abruptly as they approached their car and Frank said, âFlat tire!â He pointed to the scraps of rubber near the left-rear wheel. There was a gaping gash in the tire.

âSomebody did this on purpose!â he exclaimed.

Joe yanked open the front door and gasped with alarm. âFrank, look at this!â

Rolls of gouged-out stuffing covered the entire seat. Driven deeply into the driverâs seat was the long blade of a black-handled machete!

As Joe grimly whipped out a handkerchief and wrapped it around the handle, a piece of paper fluttered from the seat. Pasted on it were bits of newsprint forming the message:

A warning: Mind your own business.

Joe asked angrily, âAre you thinking the same thing I am?â

âIf you mean the vandals are responsibleâYes.â Frank opened the trunk and grabbed a jack. The boys rolled out the spare, changed the tire, then headed home.

âRicardoâor whoever that stranger isâsaw us park here,â Joe pointed out. âDo you think he could have doubled back and done the damage?â

Frank doubted this. âIâm sure the man wasnât carrying a machete.â He looked at Joe. âItâs possible Ricardo and the vandals are in cahoots, though.â

The Hardys reached home and hurried inside. Frank glanced into the living room and gave a cry of alarm.

Aunt Gertrude lay motionless on the floor!

CHAPTER VII

Reward or Bribe?

Â 

Â 

Â 

âAUNT Gertrude!â

The boys rushed to her side. With a slight shriek Miss Hardy jumped to her feet.

âAunty, what happened?â Frank asked with relief. âAre you all right?â The tall spinster quickly removed a curtain rod stretched between two chairs.

âOf course Iâm all right!â she snapped, apparently flustered at the boysâ sudden entry. âJustâerâslipped and lost my balance. Knocked the wind out of me a moment.â

âWhew, you gave us a scare!â said Frank.

Aunt Gertrude walked quickly to the hi-fi set, snatched a disc from the turntable, and slipped it into an album. Frank peeked at the garish orange-and-purple cover.

ââLimbo for Hot-spirited Latins!â Wow!â

The boys glanced at the curtain rod in their auntâs hands and grinned widely.

âAunt Gertrude! You werenât trying to do the Limbo!â Joe exclaimed, referring to the âdanceâ in which one arched backward beneath a horizontal bar held lower and lower.

âThe what? Nonsense!â Miss Hardy picked up a dustcloth and began vigorously polishing a table. âSilly voodoo music! I was just playing that record out of curiosity.â

Joe and Frank winked at each other as their aunt propped the curtain rod in a comer. âHow about a Limbo lesson, Aunty?â

âNever you mind, Joe Hardy,â she remarked, and changed the subject. âWhy, look at that dirt all over your trousers! Where on earth have you two been?â

The boys told of having seen the man they thought was Mr. Ricardo, and of their futile pursuit. Aunt Gertrude was astonished.

âYou mean he really didnât disappear?â

âItâs possible he just wanted it to seem that way,â Frank reasoned.

âYou boys have too much imagination,â Miss Hardy scolded. âI suppose you think Mr. Ricardo is a pirate in disguise or some other kind of villain.â

The boys asked if there had been any word from Mr. Hardy.

âNo. Oh, I almost forgot,â she added. âThere was a telephone call for you boys.â

âWhere from?â Frank asked.

âMr. North, the shipping magnate, of all people. He called three times, and was very brusque. I almost told him a thing or two about how inefficiently his ships are run!â

âDid he leave a message?â

Miss Hardy reported that North wanted the brothers to come to his office the next morning at ten oâclock to discuss some âimportant business.â The boys were puzzled.

âMaybe he wants some information about the Dorado stowaway,â Joe said.

After supper the boys checked the machete for fingerprints. There were none.

âBut look at this!â Joe exclaimed. âA Cayenne trademark on the blade! This is from South America! We must report our find to Mr. Dykeman!â

Frank took a world atlas from a bookshelf, flipped to the back index, and ran a finger down the list. âThe Huella Islands,â he said, âare off the coast of Cayenne!â

âThe stowaway got aboard there,â Joe said. âHe could be one of the higher-ups in the gang. Anyhow, weâd better get our car fixed.â

The Hardys drove to an auto accessories place, and were told that repairs would be finished by morning.

The next day the brothers picked up their car and drove to the grimy North Lines Building. They were ushered into Orrin Northâs large, plushly furnished office on the top floor. The bulky magnate was relaxing behind a mahogany desk near a picture window overlooking Barmet Bay.

âGlad you could come. Have a seat.â Without getting up, North waved the Hardys toward a small sofa. âLike my setup, boys?â

âVery comfortable, Mr. North,â Frank commented. Both he and Joe were at once struck by the disparity between the lavishness of the office and the run-down exterior of the building. They recalled the reports of Northâs failing business.

âLike it myself,â the shipowner admitted proudly. âAnd itâs all mineâplanned by me, earned by me, and preserved by me. Shows what incentive will do. Smart kids like you could do as wellâif you play your cards right.â

Frank and Joe made no comment. It was rumored in Bayport that Northâs rise to wealth had not been entirely honest. Each boy wondered what he was leading up to.

The husky tycoon leaned back in his chair. âI understand you boys ran into that thief who jumped ship from my Dorado.â

âWe did,â Joe affirmed.

âThatâs why I called you in. The hoodlum not only stowed away, but stole a good deal of money. The whole business could give my line a bad name! You two got a good look at him and Iâll make it worth your while if you can find him for me. By the way, did the fellow say anything?â

Frank replied cautiously, âNot much. He was too weak to talk.â

North seemed satisfied. âToo bad. We might have had more luck if you had gone straight to Captain Burne.â His voice showed irritation. âLet me hear first if you get any leads.â

âDo you know the stowawayâs nameâor background?â Joe countered.

The burly magnate shrugged. âNot me. Burne thinks he sneaked on at Cayenne. Personally, I have a feeling heâs a spy!â

âItâs possible,â Frank agreed, a bit startled. Had North a motive in saying this? Or was it merely an offhand remark?

North escorted the brothers to the door, where Frank reservedly said they would âkeep in touch.â

âI guess you boys know the ropes, being sons of Fenton Hardy.â He smiled. âWhatâs your dad up to these days? Havenât seen him around. Big case?â

âHeâs always busy,â Frank answered.

Mr. North nodded. âWell, boys, donât forget about that reward! By the way, Iâd like to keep this thing out of the newspaper.â

As the boys walked back to the car, they mulled over the meeting. âSomething about Orrin North rings false,â Frank concluded. âHe doesnât seem to want the authorities to get to that stowaway before he does. Why?â

âGood question,â Joe answered. âIâll bet the stowaway stole something besides money, or maybe heâs got something on North!â

âLike what?â

âNorth himself might be part of the Footprints plot Mr. Dykeman told us about.â

Frank looked doubtful. âHe may be involved in some shady financial dealings, but Northâs too prominent to risk being in a spy racket.â

âGuess so,â said Joe. âDid you notice how he tried to fish something out of us about Dad?â

âI sure did! Come on. We have some checking to do.â

The Hardys drove to the freighter pier. Here they learned that the Dorado was on its way back to Cayenne and other South American ports. At the passenger office they found that the name Ricardo was not on the Capricornâs manifest, nor on that of any other ship arriving recently.

The boys returned to their car. âHe must have registered under another name,â Joe said.

Frank slipped behind the wheel. âWeâve got to find that stowaway! Heâs the key to this whole thing.â

âFine, but we havenât any kind of lead.â Joe hopped in beside his brother.

Frank snapped his fingers. âOur boathouse! He learned about our owning the Sleuth and might have gone there to hide outâor to snoop!â

âRoger!â

Frank followed the road which wound around the bay to the dock area. Suddenly the boys noticed three men in black raincoats stealthily approaching a run-down boathouse. As Frank and Joe watched, two of the men disappeared around the far side of the building. When the third moved along the near wall, they recognized the short, bald man!

âThat phony immigration officer!â Frank jolted the car to a halt. âIt looks as if theyâre after someone!â

The impostor by now had scurried inside. At once the Hardys jumped out. Frank signaled Joe to head left. He went to the right of the boathouse. Cautiously they stole through the high weeds surrounding the building.

A harsh voice was audible from within. âYou wonât get away this time, Gomez! Weâll teach you to run out on us!â

Joe was the first to reach the waterside of the boathouse. He inched along the narrow walkway and peered cautiously inside the entrance.

Three men, spread out on the catwalk, were facing a solitary, slender figure crouching on the rear platform. One of his opponents slowly pulled a rope from his pocket. Together, the men converged on the cornered man.

The Dorado stowaway!

CHAPTER VIII

Cobblewave Cove

Â 

Â 

Â 

THE menâs steps echoed eerily in the shadowy boathouse as they advanced on the stowaway. Joe glanced over at Frank, who had posted himself at the other side of the entrance.

The fat, bald man paused and rasped out, âDonât give us trouble. Valdez, Walton, and I are going to take real good care of you!â

The speakerâs two companionsâone stocky, the other huge and bushy-hairedâkept stalking their prey. The stowaway braced himself defensively. Frank nodded to Joe and shouted, âHey!â

Startled, the attacking men whirled. âGreber! Itâs those Hardy kids! Get âem!â snarled the stocky thug. The boys recognized him at once as the swarthy-faced Micro-Eye trespasser!

His bushy-haired partner lunged at Joe. The youth dodged nimbly and tripped the man, who fell sprawling onto the rickety dock. But he grabbed Joeâs leg and pulled the boy down. The two grappled, rolling perilously close to the water.

Frank, meanwhile, had charged inside the boathouse. He landed a blow in the midriff of the stocky man, who staggered, half-stunned. A second later the stowaway raced outside!

âWait!â Frankâs cry was choked off by a rope whipped around his throat from behind. Gasping, he tried to get his fingers inside the rope, but it was drawn tighter!

Desperate, Frank jabbed his elbow full force into his assailantâs stomach. Taken off balance, the pudgy man teetered, let go the rope, and landed in the water with a splash.

But the next instant something heavy crashed down on Frankâs head. He sank to the floor, unconscious.

The young sleuth had no idea how much time passed before he revived and saw Joeâs worried face looking down. âFrank, are you all right?â

âGuess so, except my head hurts.â Frank stood up and touched a swelling bruise.

âNo wonder! You got conked with this.â Joe picked up a brick.

âOh great!â Frank grimaced. âHeyâthe stowaway and those other menâwhere are they?â

âGone,â Joe said glumly. âAll three lit off after Gomez. I started to chase them, until I realized you werenât following me.â

The Hardys hurried outside. There was no sign of Gomez or his pursuers.

Frank said, âAt least we know thereâs some link between Gomez and the wire-cutter fellow. He must be the one called Valdezâand the big guy is Walton. The otherâs Greber.â

âBut why the attack on Gomez by the others?â Frank asked.

âMy guess is he cut out from the gang and wants to blow the whistle on his pals. That could explain his stowing away and jumping ship. Also his warning about Footprints.â

âBut why would he have stolen Dadâs papers?â

âMaybe somebody else did.â

âAnother puzzler. If Gomez does want help, why run away from us?â

The brothers returned to the car and Joe took the wheel. âBetter get you home to take care of that bump,â he advised his brother.

âOkay. But weâll make some reports on the way. What do we tell Mr. North?â

âJust let him know we saw the stowaway. Maybe we can get some information out of him.â

A few minutes later they stopped at a drugstore and hurried inside to the two phone booths. Joe dialed the secret number of Mr. Dykeman, and told him of their experience at the old boathouse. The agent was doubly alarmed when Joe mentioned the earlier machete warning.

âAt least we know the four men are in the vicinity,â said Dykeman. âWeâll redouble our efforts to track them down.â

Frank, meanwhile, had phoned Orrin North.

âHumph!â the magnate sounded displeased at the boyâs report. âToo bad you didnât get Gomezâcanât pay you for no results.â

âJoe and I arenât worried about the money,â Frank said coolly. âWeâd like to find out whatâs at the bottom of all this.â Hoping to draw the man out, he described the trio pursuing the runaway. âDo you know any of them?â

âOf course not!â North snapped. âIf you get something new on that thief, post me at once.â

Frank hung up thoughtfully. Did North have another reason for wanting the stowaway captured other than the thefts from the Dorado?

Back at the house, the boys told Aunt Gertrude a mild version of how Frank had received his bump. She looked worried, however, and insisted Frank apply a cold compress to his head.

Just after lunch they heard the loud squawk of a horn outside. A moment later Chet bounced jauntily into the house. âAll aboard for Cobblewave Coveâin the Sleuth, I hope!â

âNot today,â Joe protested. âWe have a few spies to catch up with.â

Chet was crestfallen. âOh, come on, fellows. You promââ He stopped and stared at Frank. âWow, what collided with you?â

âA large brick and a few thugs.â

Chetâs eyes bulged as the brothers brought him up to date. âWhew! Sounds like a fistful of ugly customers! Say,â he added coaxingly, âsome fresh salt air is just what you need!â

âWell, all right,â Frank agreed finally. âWeâll take a run out to Cobblewave Cove.â

Joe grinned. âWhatâs the weather outlook from the Morton Cloud Bureau?â

Chet held his palm upward and eyed the ceiling intently. âExcellent! All clear!â

Aunt Gertrude cautioned the boys, âNow donât take chances climbing around that old shipwreck. Itâs dangerous.â

Chet drove the boys in his jalopy to the Hardy boathouse. They were greeted by dark-haired, good-looking Tony Prito. He hurried over from where his motorboat, the Napoli, was moored.

âHi, mates! You missed the excitement!â

âWhat? Where?â

Tony explained that police and plainclothesmen had been combing a deserted boathouse up the road. âMust have been some kind of trouble there,â Tony said.

âWe can vouch for that,â Frank said ruefully.

Tony whistled at the Hardysâ account of their struggle. âSpy suspects!â

The Hardys asked him if there had been any more vandalism at the Oak Hollow housing development. âNo,â Tony replied, heaving a sigh. âBut Dad is sick about it. Making repairs is costly.â

He looked somber upon hearing of the suspected machete sabotage on Jack Wayneâs plane. âWhat does your dad think?â

Frank explained that his father was working incommunicado for the present.

âSo you and Joe are prime targets, apparently,â Tony said.

âLooks that way.â Joe scowled. âThose thugs must be hiding out around Bayport.â

Chet impatiently urged that the boys start for the cove, and Tony gladly accepted an invitation to join his pals aboard the Sleuth.

Twenty minutes later the sleek craft, with Frank as helmsman, was streaking into a brisk wind down the coast. Its bobbing bow cut blue waves into jewels of salt spray and left behind a foamy, meandering wake.

While Frank, Joe, and Tony discussed the mysteries, Chet stretched out in the stern. âA perfect cumulus!â he announced, pointing to a white fluffy cloud as he munched a chocolate bar. âYes, itâs fair weather ahead, my friends.â

Frank throttled down for the turn into Cobblewave Cove. âToo bad Iola and Callie didnât come along.â Iola, Chetâs sister, was Joeâs favorite date, while pretty Callie Shaw was Frankâs.

Chet sat up and grinned. âYou two detectives have competitionâsea shells.â

âWhat?â Joe pretended indignation.

âThe girls wanted to go combing for some old shells. Besides, theyâre scared of the spooky legend about the shipwreck.â

By now the Sleuth had entered the cove, and was approaching the hull of the foundered ship.

âYou donât mean Iola and Callie are really scared by that ghost business,â Joe said.

The chunky boy gestured dramatically. âListen! Just yesterday Iola said she heard reports of horrible cries from deep inside!â

âI thought you didnât believe that hogwash, Chet,â Joe said, chuckling.

âOf course I donât!â Chet retorted, but he shifted uncomfortably.

âShip ahoy!â Frank sang out.

He guided the Sleuth past glistening black rocks, banking around the bulky, weather-torn stern of the half-sunken freighter. Beneath thick rust the name Atlantis was faintly visible.

The barnacled hull leaned to the north, shored up by a small sand bar beneath the gashed-in port bow. The foreship hung against a toothlike rock formation. Above, two toppled booms angled over a crushed deck rail. The wreck lay some hundred yards out from shore.

âOld man North must have had a fit when this crate cracked up,â Tony remarked.

The Hardys were surprised. âThe Atlantis was a North Lines ship?â Frank asked.

Tony nodded. âMy dad was talking about it the other day. He said the wreck happened shortly after Mr. North started in business.â

Frank cut the engine as they inched between the rocks near the bow of the ship.

âLetâs see if we can board her and have a look around,â Joe said eagerly.

He and Tony clambered forward. Tony was first to spot a rusted ladder against the freighterâs prow. âWe can go up there!â

But Joe had seen something else. âOhâoh!â He pointed to a warning sign which hung from the bow anchor:

DANGERâDO NOT BOARD THIS VESSEL
TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED
ORDER OF U.S. COAST GUARD

âGuess thatâs official,â Frank observed, nudging the Sleuth near the ladder. The rung crumbled into flakes.

âItâs pretty dangerous all right,â he admitted. The boys were disappointed.

Chet shrugged. âThere probably isnât any valuable cargo. Weâd better go back.â

The other boys exchanged winks. âLet the ghosts have the treasure, eh?â Tony needled.

Chet opened his mouth to retort. But instead his eyes widened in fear. âListen!â Chet squeaked. âIâI heard a scream.â

The four listened intently. But the only sound was the gentle lap of the waves. Chet sank back. âGuess it was only my imagination.â

The Hardys and Tony laughed as Frank guided the Sleuth toward the cove entrance. A white yacht, churning northward, arced slowly to turn in. Frank steered out of its path. Suddenly the boys noticed the yacht swing about, and at increased speed head directly toward them!

âThe skipper must think this is a drag strip!â Frank said, and honked the Sleuthâs horn. Still the powerful boat bore down on them.

âWhat does he think heâs doing!â Joe cried out.

Frank signaled again, steering closer to the rocky shore of the cove mouth to make way for the yacht. But still it churned relentlessly toward them, the sleek jaw of its prow slicing out wings of froth. Forty yards! Twenty!

Frank frantically swerved the Sleuth to the left, past jagged rocks. Joe, Chet, and Tony waved desperately to the heedless pilot.

Then with horror Tony saw a swirling, shadowed eddy dead ahead of their bow. A massive ledge of rock! âFrank! Look out!â

But the waves kicked up by the onrushing yacht rolled against the Sleuth, driving it straight for the submerged rock!

CHAPTER IX

Thief in the Crowd

Â 

Â 

Â 

âTHE rock!â Joe shouted. âWeâre going to hit!â

Grimly Frank swung the wheel hard right, and the Sleuth missed the deadly rock by inches. The yacht curved away at the last minute. Now it approached the Sleuth at slackened speed.

The craft was handsomely trimmed in brass and about forty feet in length. The boys saw the name of the ship in red letters: Northerly.

âOrrin Northâs yacht!â Joe shouted.

A man in blue uniform stepped out on the bridge as the craft drew parallel with the Sleuth.

Frank cupped his hands. âWhat were you trying to doârun us into the rocks?â

âNo, I was trying to warn you about them.â

âWarn us!â Frank yelled angrily.

âYes. Sorry if I shook you up. You ought to keep away from that old wreck. This isnât a safe place to go boating.â

âWith you around it isnât!â Chet piped up.

There was no response from the Northerly. Instead, it swept around in a wide circle and plowed out of the cove southward. Frank revved up the engine and steered the Sleuth into the open sea.

âWhew!â Chet breathed out. âI could just feel us scraping Davy Jonesâs locker. You sure did some smart piloting, Frank.â

Joe burst out, âDoes Mr. North think he owns the whole ocean?â

Tonyâs eyes widened. âMaybe his crew has orders to keep anyone from getting hurt near the Atlantis.â

âTo keep him from getting sued you mean,â Joe said, still fuming. ââWarn usâ! Iâd like to go back and âwarnâ him!â

âI didnât notice North on deck,â Chet observed.

Tony nodded. âBut Iâve seen him at the helm sometimes, plowing around Barmet Bay as if he were a fleet commander!â

The Hardys were perplexed. Why had the Northerlyâs helmsman risked a collision in order to âwarnâ the boys? Why not signal?

âThereâs sure something fishy about North.â Joe scowled. âEspecially his asking us to find that stowaway.â

Frank had steered the Sleuth into the mouth of Barmet Bay and cut speed. Now he said thoughtfully, âI have a hunch we should scout around Cobblewave Cove again.â

Chet perked up. âIola and Callie want to do some shell hunting near there tomorrow, at Barren Sands. Why donât you fellows come along?â

âItâs a date,â Frank agreed.

Tony said he could not join his friends because he would be helping his father at Oak Hollow.

âCall us if thereâs any more trouble,â Frank urged.

âWill do!â

The Sleuth was soon docked, and Chet drove the Hardys home. âSee you tomorrow.â The plump boy waved and the jalopy chugged away.

Later, Frank phoned Jack Wayne at the airport. The pilot reported he had been in touch with Micro-Eye Industries about the plane sabotage. No clue to the culprits had yet been found, but his plane had been repaired satisfactorily. âAnd just in time. Iâm due to fly to South America in about two days to investigate luggage thefts in Cayenne!â

âCayenne!â Frank echoed.

âThatâs right. The airline people here are concerned about the pilfering of baggage there. I know some French, was available, andâthanks to my detective training working with you Hardysâthe investigators here think I can handle it.â

âNeed any help?â Frank asked hopefully.

Jack laughed. âAs a matter of fact, I have some extra space. Would you and Joe like to come along? Chet Morton, too.â

âCount us in!â

Frank at once spoke to Aunt Gertrude, who gave her consent for the trip. Next, Joe called Mr. Dykeman, then Chet, whose response was excited, although apprehensive.

âDonât we have enough danger around here?â he argued. But in a few minutes their friend reported he had obtained permission to go.

âSwell. Lucky we all have up-to-date health certificates and passports.â

âPassports to trouble!â Chet prophesied.

During supper the brothers elatedly discussed the prospective trip. Aunt Gertrude said with a sigh, âI donât know what your father will say about your flying recklessly into the wilds.â

Joe grinned. âDad wouldnât stand in the way of our solving a mystery. Besides, Aunty, you were in Cayenne, and got home okay.â

Aunt Gertrude looked at her nephews. âNever mind. I wasnât trailing thievesâor spies.â

The boys feigned surprise. âWhat makes you think we are?â Frank asked.

âHumph. The trouble at Micro-Eyeâthe stowaway from South Americaâthat man you think is Mr. Ricardoââ Her nephews laughed.

After supper the boys tried to fathom what the Micro-Eye project could be.

âIt must be a camera of some kindâa real powerful one,â Joe surmised, âor else a telescope.â

âWhatever it is, I wish we knew,â Frank said. âEverything weâve run into points to this Footprints spy plot. Yet we donât even know what it is theyâre after!â

Later the boys drove around the waterfront, hoping for a glimpse of the escapee, Gomez. But there was no sign of him. They returned home at ten oâclock and went to bed.

The next morning Frank and Joe drove to the Morton farm to meet Chet and the girls for their shell-hunting date. As the Hardys pulled up the broad drive, Chet and pretty, blond Callie Shaw came to meet them.

âHi!â Callie smiled, her eyes sparkling. âI hear you boys are off for South America!â

Joe looked around. âWhereâs Iola?â he asked.

Chet said his sister had driven into town earlier with Mr. Morton to do some errands. âWeâll meet her at the dry cleanerâs.â

The Hardys noticed that Chet seemed downcast. âWhatâs up?â Joe asked him.

âTrouble at the agency,â Chet explained. He referred to the Voyager Travel Bureau of which Mr. Morton was part owner. The office had been broken into during the night but nothing had been stolen. âItâs happened to other agencies, too,â Chet added.

âSounds queer,â Joe noted, intrigued. âWonder what the intruder was after.â

âThatâs what weâd like to know,â said Chet as the four young people piled into the Hardysâ convertible.

âTry not to worry,â Callie told Chet. âJust think of the luscious picnic your mother and I packed.â

The plump boy brightened and everyone laughed. Later, Frank parked not far from the Corporated Laundries store. Joe spotted Iola hurrying up the street and went to meet the attractive, dark-haired girl. She carried a large shopping bag filled to capacity.

âHi, Iola! HereâIâll take that.â

âThanks, Joe. It weighs a ton.â

They headed back to the car. Chetâs brown-eyed sister chatted excitedly about the sea shells she and Callie had already collected.

âYouâll probably find lots more atâHey!â Joe suddenly felt a jolt from behind. The shopping bag was snatched from his grasp!

Joe whipped around. A stocky man in a black raincoat was running down the street, the bag clutched in one hand. Iola screamed.

âStop, thief!â Joe yelled, and instantly took off after the fleeing figure, who darted in and out of the throng of pedestrians, and sprinted over a crowded crosswalk.

Leaping ahead, Joe just made the yellow light. The fugitive had spun around the corner onto State Street. Dodging waves of shoppers, Joe ran full steam along the curb, skirted two parked cars, then made the turn. People kept surging into his way, but he squeezed through the startled crowd and broke into the open. By now the thief was out of sight.

Joe stopped. The bag snatcher could have taken any direction. Disgusted, Joe ran back to Iola. The others were grouped around her.

âDid you get a good look at him?â Frank asked his brother quickly.

âNot his face. From his build, he could be the fellow we chased at Micro-Eye.â

With a nervous look around, Chet muttered, âNo matter where we go, those spies turn up.â

At this, the girls were visibly upset. âSpies!â Iola gasped.

The Hardys explained as much as they felt was politic. Then Frank asked, âIola, what did you have in the bag?â

âA box of clothes from Corporated Laundriesâmostly Chetâs, some things for Mother, and a magnifying glass,â she murmured nervously. âI think thatâs all.â

âToo bad to lose them,â said Joe. âBut why would anyone else want them?â

Two policemen arrived on the scene and were given an account by Joe and Iola. The officers, whom the Hardys knew, were especially interested to learn that Joe thought he recognized the thief. âLet us know if you spot him again. Weâve been working on that boathouse investigation,â one policeman said.

Callie put a comforting arm around Iola and the group returned to the car.

Chet groaned. âHe would have to filch my duds.â

âAnd our magnifying glass,â Iola added, managing a smile. âCallie and I were going to use it to study sea shells. Joe, weâll have to depend on your eagle eyes instead!â

Joe called Mr. Dykeman. Chet telephoned home. His mother was disturbed by the incident, but she insisted the group not cancel their plans.

Soon they were driving south toward Barren Sands. They talked of the theft.

âWhy should he pick on me?â Iola complained. âDid he figure I had a treasure in the bag?â

âMaybe he took the bag because Joe was carrying it,â Frank suggested. âHe might have hoped to get some clue to what weâre doing.â

Half an hour later Frank turned off Shore Road and parked in a little-used dirt lane. The boys and girls trekked through high, coarse grass and came out on the wide, deserted beach of Barren Sands. Just south of it they could see the mouth of Cobblewave Cove.

Callie and Iola immediately kicked off their shoes and began prowling through the surf to find interesting shells. The boys, meanwhile, walked farther down the beach toward the cove. A brisk wind had come up, lashing the breakers. Thunder-heads reared up on the horizon.

âOh, oh,â said Chet. âStormâs brewing. But itâll blow over.â

Presently Callie called, âBoys, help us search!â

âLetâs eat first,â Chet insisted.

After a hearty lunch the teen-agers spread out, meeting occasionally to inspect one anotherâs discoveriesâark shells, clam shells, channeled whelks, snail shells, and many more varieties.

âThis is probably a New England Nassa.â Iola excitedly held up a yellowish, spiraled shell.

Joe grinned. âYou sound like a professor.â

âLook at this one, everybody!â Callie waved from atop a slope that led down to the water. The others ran up and admired an unusual, conelike shell she had plucked from the sand.

âThatâs a honey!â Chet said. âWhat kind is it?â

Callie studied the whitish univalve, about two inches wide with a keyhole groove in its blue interior. Neither girl could identify it.

Just then Frank looked down and noticed something that aroused his curiosity. A circular pattern of large, barefoot prints surrounded the spot where the shell had lain. Before he could comment, someone ran up behind them. They turned to face a swarthy stranger, unshaven and wearing patched clothing and sandals.

He cried out angrily, âGive me that shell! Itâs mine!â

To everyoneâs astonishment, he snatched the shell from Callieâs grasp!

CHAPTER X

Discreet Intruder

Â 

Â 

Â 

âITâS my shellâI found it!â Callie protested. But at the unkempt strangerâs savage expression, she stepped back in fright.

âShe did find it,â Joe asserted firmly. âWhatâs the big idea, mister?â

The manâs eyes gleamed suspiciously at the teen-agers. Gripping the shell tightly, he started down the slope.

Frank blocked his path.

âJust a minute,â he said evenly. âWhat right do you have to this shell? Who are you?â

âIâm called Sandy,â the man said sullenly. He jammed the object into his pocket. âI found this shell earlier and put it here.â

âThatâs not likely,â Frank disagreed, pointing toward the incline. âThose footprints up there are too big to be yours. Besides, why would you have left the shell here?â

As the others stepped closer, the man shifted uneasily, as if groping for an excuse.

âPlease,â Iola spoke up, âmy friend Callie and I collect shells. There are lots of other pretty ones left on the beach.â

Sandy shook his head stiffly. âNo. I must take this to Mr.ââ He broke off, then continued, âYou see, I sell shells to get enough money so I can eat. Itâs my only job.â

So sudden was his change of manner that Callie relented. âAll right, you may keep the shell.â

She had scarcely finished speaking when the man marched quickly away. He soon disappeared around a bend in the beach.

âYou shouldnât have given it to him, Callâ Chet insisted. âHe as much as admitted he was lying!â

Callie sighed. âWell, heâs evidently very poor, and needs the shell more than I do. Maybe we can find another!â

Both Frank and Joe were studying the circle of footprints. âTheyâre damp,â Frank observed. âWhat strikes me is the perfect pattern, as if to mark where that shell was.â

Joe then noticed a jumbled series of prints leading toward the water. The brothers followed the trail down the slope. Here they diverged into two distinct sets of tracksâone coming and one going. Both ended at the waterâs edge.

âLetâs separate and see if there are more prints along the beach,â Frank suggested.

The Hardys combed the surf in opposite directions. When they rejoined the others later, neither boy had spotted any further trace of footprints.

âWhoever made the prints must have either swum a long distance,â Joe said, âor come ashore from a boat.â

Chet glanced at the Hardys. âIâll bet you two have some theory cooking,â he said.

Frank nodded. âThat beachcomberâs fishy story, these footprintsâIâll bet something important was inside that shell.â

âA message?â Callie asked.

âItâs a good guess,â Frank replied.

Secretly he and Joe were wondering if the mysterious prints and shell had a connection with the Footprints plot! âWild hunch,â Frank told himself. âBut Iâd like to know whoâs buying that shell.â

For the next hour the young people hunted shells, but found none like the beachcomber had taken. Frank and Joe scanned the area in vain for any further sign of the stranger.

Suddenly Chet shouted, beckoning to the others. âStormâs coming up fast!â

The sky was rapidly filling with black clouds. Rumbles of thunder could be heard. Iola gathered the collection of shells into a large kerchief. By this time drops of rain had become a downpour.

The girls and boys dashed to the car and clambered in. Torrents of rain drummed on the steaming roof as they rode homeward. Joe reminded Chet of his optimistic weather forecast.

Chet, in back with Joe and Iola, asked innocently, âSo what am I, a barometer?â

After dropping Chet and the girls off, the Hardys stopped at the immigration office to inquire about Gomez. No trace of him or of the three thugs had been found.

âWeâve been turning this town upside down,â Scott told them. âIf the gang hasnât left Bayport, it has certainly found good hideouts.â

Back home, the Hardys determined to return to Barren Sands and watch for another possible âpickupâ by the beachcomber.

After supper an urgent phone call came from Mr. Morton. The realtor asked the brothers to hurry to the Voyager Travel Bureau. Frank and Joe lost no time in driving downtown.

Mr. Morton quickly let them into the street-level office. He looked worried.

âFrank and Joe! Glad to see you! Somebody has broken in here again!â

âWhen did you find out?â Frank asked.

âJust before I called you. Weâd closed up, but I came back for some papers. I was just in time to spot a stocky, flat-nosed man dropping out the back window. I couldnât catch him.â

Joe whistled at the description. âFrank! Sounds like the fellow we chased at Micro-Eyeâand tangled with in the boathouse!â

Frank asked what had been taken. Mr. Morton led them into the back office, switched on a light, and looked around, perplexed.

âThatâs just itânothing. Same as before.â The police, he added, had found no fingerprints.

âWas anything disturbed tonight?â Frank asked.

âYes.â Mr. Morton pointed to a thin sheaf of papers on top of a desk. âRecords of our travel customers this week. I found the papers flipped over when I returned from chasing the intruder.â

Frank sat down and studied the booking list. It included destinations, tour plans, prices, and means of travel. Most of the clients were Bayport residents.

âWhat use could these be to an outsider?â Joe wondered, peering over his brotherâs shoulder.

Mr. Morton sank wearly into a chair. âI canât imagine. Thatâs why I called you boys.â

Frank continued reading the list. Suddenly he pointed to an entry near the bottom:

Mr. Raymond Martin. Cayenne. Jetliner.

âHmm.â Joeâs eyes narrowed. âItâs the only South American destination listed for tonight!â

âDo you think this is significant?â Mr. Morton asked quickly.

âPossibly,â Frank replied. He asked Chetâs father about Mr. Martin.

âI donât know him personally. I believe the arrangements were made by phone.â Mr. Morton sighed. âThe Oak Hollow trouble and now this!â

âItâs a puzzle,â Frank agreed. âI have an idea, but Iâm going to let it simmer until we do some legwork.â He asked Mr. Morton to notify Micro-Eye Industries of the prowler he had seen.

âSure will. Thanks for your help, boys.â

Outside, Joe started to ask Frank about his idea, but his brother rushed him into the car. âIâll tell you on the way to the airport.â

âThe airport!â

Frank slipped behind the wheel and headed west. âRaymond Martin,â he explained, âis scheduled to leave by plane tonight. We might be in time to get a look at him.â

Joe snapped his fingers. âYou figure the intruder was after something in particularâlike Mr. Martinâs name?â

âRightâand that could be an alias.â

Frank recalled the luggage thefts Jack Wayne was to investigate. âThis plane stops over in Cayenne. Martin could either be slated as a possible victim of the thievesâor in league with the spy ring!â

The Hardys parked near the main terminal at Bayport Airport. Inside the spacious building, they quickly found the passenger gate for Flight 54.

âMartin should come through here,â Frank whispered, checking his watch. âThe plane takes off in ten minutes.â

Frank asked the gate attendant if a Mr. Martin had yet boarded the plane. The man shook his head. âI doubt it. Nobody by that name has shown me a boarding pass. But heâd better hurryâplaneâs readying for take-off.â

The attendant agreed to nod to the Hardys if Martin appeared. Frank and Joe went to stand inconspicuously against a baggage locker nearby and watched boarding passengers file through the gate. Beyond a steel-laced glass wall, landing planes blinked like huge fireflies.

Both boys felt tense. Would they recognize Raymond Martin? Was he an ordinary traveler, or could his name be an alias for Gomez or any of the other elusive suspects?

Five minutes passed. The jets of the silver Brazil-bound liner screamed to life.

âNo, you havenât missed him,â the attendant assured the Hardys. âMr. Martinâs the only passenger not aboard.â

âIt looks as if heâs not going to show,â Joe concluded, disappointed.

âMaybe he spotted us here,â Frank said. âQuick! Letâs pretend to leave.â

The boys hurried off through the crowd. Joe turned his head casually. The next second he grabbed Frankâs arm. âLook!â

A middle-aged, well-dressed man was rushing toward the Flight 54 gate, trailing a white raincoat from his arm.

âWait!â he shouted. âHold the plane!â

The Hardys were close enough to see that the manâs face was completely unfamiliar. As the passenger darted through the gate, his coat hem caught on the end of the metal railing. The man snatched the coat free, but a large piece of lining was torn off and dropped to the floor.

The man did not stop. He ran to the landing ramp and climbed into the jetliner. A minute later the huge craft taxied off and soon rose into the night sky. Frank and Joe stood at the gate staring in chagrin after the plane.

âThat was Mr. Martin, all right,â the attendant affirmed. âToo bad you boys didnât get a chance to visit with him.â

Frank retrieved the piece of bright plaid lining, and the brothers walked back across the terminal. âWell, I guess I led us on a wild-goose chase,â Frank apologized.

But as he examined the torn material, he noticed a glossy, black edge protruding from a ripped seam.

âJoe, look at this!â

Frank pulled at the edge. A small roll of celluloid fell to the floor!

CHAPTER XI

A Secret Revealed

Â 

Â 

Â 

FRANK stooped and picked up the celluloid coil from the floor of the air terminal.

âJoe, itâs film!â

The Hardy boys examined the torn patch from the strangerâs raincoat. A tiny pocket, now ripped, was visible in the plaid lining.

âPretty clever,â Joe murmured. âThe film must have been sewn in to avoid detection.â

âSomething tells me weâd better take a good look at this film,â said Frank.

The brothers hastened to a quiet corner of the terminal. Frank unfurled the strip of small film and held it up to the overhead lighting.

âWhat does it show?â Joe asked excitedly.

âItâs hard to make out.â Frank squinted up at the tiny frames. âMachinery of some sortâmaybe a factory interiorâwait! Jumping crickets, look at this!â

Joe grabbed the bottom of the strip and inspected the frame near his brotherâs thumb. It was an outdoor view showing a high, steel fence and two uniformed figures. Joe gasped.

âThe Micro-Eye plant!â

âYou bet it isâand taken from inside the fence!â

Half-incredulous, the Hardys scrutinized the filmâs other framesâclose-ups of the complex and labeled diagrams.

âBlueprints!â Joe whispered as Frank quickly wrapped the spool in the scrap of raincoat.

The boys had no doubt of the importance of what they had come upon: chilling evidence of espionage at Bayportâs top-secret project!

âBut if Raymond Martin is a spy,â Joe wondered, âwhy didnât he stop to pick up the torn piece?â

âHe may not have realized it contained the film. Come on! Weâre going to get this to Mr. Dykeman pronto!â

Frank and Joe surveyed the terminal. Satisfied that nobody had been watching them, they walked to an outside telephone booth where Frank contacted Roy Dykeman.

He urgently related what had happened, but, as a precaution, omitted precise details of the film. The intelligence agent reacted immediately.

âStay right where you are,â he directed tersely.

Minutes later, the Hardys were greeted by two plainclothesmen, who quickly identified themselves with credentials as Miller and Kyle. The boys followed the men out to the parking lot.

Inside the agentsâ sedan, the boys related what had happened. The men rapidly jotted down notes. When Frank turned over the film, both agents were impressed.

âGreat going, boys! Too bad Martin slipped by, but heâll be watched when he lands. This evidence could shed light on the Footprints plot. Be careful! Weâll be in touch.â

The sedan roared off, and the Hardys went to their car. Back home, Joe checked the Bayport telephone directory. A Raymond Martin was listed at a residential address. The brothers took turns dialing the number at intervals, but there was no answer. They found that Mr. Hardyâs criminal files had no record of the suspect.

The brothers tumbled into bed, but neither fell asleep immediately. Speculations raced through their minds. Who was the mysterious Mr. Martin, now airborne to South America?

The next morning after breakfast the Hardys had a phone call from Mr. Dykeman. He asked them to come at once to the photographic plant.

Excitedly Frank and Joe dashed outside to their car and in twenty minutes drew up at the Micro-Eye gate. Agent Kyle, to whom they had given the film, looked in their window, then nodded to the guards.

âMr. Dykemanâs expecting these boys,â he said.

The Hardys were waved through. They parked in the employeesâ lot and were escorted by a guard to a second-floor office adjoining the main plant.

Mr. Dykeman, looking tired, rose from his desk in the small, map-lined room. His expression was grave as Frank and Joe took seats.

âWhat you two came upon at the airport last night is a major breakthrough for us,â the agent said. âBut itâs also given us cause for serious concern.â

âThen that film was taken by a spy?â Frank asked.

âNo question about it. This is proof of an internal security leak at Micro-Eye.â

Joe told of the boysâ futile efforts to phone Raymond Martinâs home.

Dykeman smiled. âIt seems he is a highly respected insurance executive who was recently transferred to Bayport. He has no family.â

âSo he probably isnât knowingly involved in the film business?â Frank queried.

âWe believe thatâs the case,â replied Dykeman. âHe is going to Cayenne supposedly on business. Of course, Martin could be a courier for the espionage ring in Bayport, told to wear the raincoat but not why.â

âWhich would mean,â Joe put in, âthat the film was meant to be picked up in Cayenne.â

âYes.â Dykeman went on, âWeâve wired our people there to watch for Martin, and also, for anyone who tries to get his coat. Weâre hoping the spies wonât learn of our recovering the film until after Martinâs arrival.â

The Hardys were also told that no trace of Gomez or the other three men had as yet been uncovered. The intelligence officer walked to the window and looked across at a long brick building. He turned and smiled at the boys.

âI imagine youâre curious about the nature of the Micro-Eye project.â

Joe and his brother exchanged glances. âI guess weâd have to admit that!â Frank grinned.

The agent nodded. âWeâve already had you cleared. You have a right to know the basics of the project, considering your involvement and cooperation in the Footprints case. And because your own lives stand in considerable danger.â

Frank and Joe waited tensely.

âIn simple terms,â Dykeman continued, âMicro-Eye is building a powerful satellite camera.â

The boys leaned forward, their interest doubly aroused. âHow powerful?â Joe inquired.

âOne so strong in range and definition it will be capable of telescoping terrain from the highest altitudes. Evenââhe chuckledââa babyâs footprints on a gravel path.â

âWow!â Joe repressed a whistle. âA camera like that would have terrific military value! No wonder spies are after it.â

Mr. Dykeman explained that after secret project drawings were found missing, the satellite cameraâs completion had been delayed by âdecoyâ work undertaken at the plant.

Dykeman held up the familiar spool of film. âFortunately, whoever took these pictures fell for some phony blueprints. But we cannot delay the project any more. The government is pressing us.â

Frank spoke up thoughtfully. âSince the code name of this spy ring is Footprints, maybe there is a link with the Huella Islands.â

âHuella,â Joe repeated, then snapped his fingers. âYouâre right. Huella is Spanish for âfootprintâ!â

Mr. Dykeman and the boys studied a detailed map of South America. Like jagged footprints, the small Huella island group extended north off French Guiana.

Since the dictator there is unfriendly to the United States, he may well be a party to the plot,â Joe suggested.

âPerhaps,â Dykeman agreed. âWeâve discovered that there is great dissatisfaction among the people, even though Posada did away with the infamous prison colony on the island as a concession to them.â

âHave you any idea who took the pictures?â Frank asked Mr. Dykeman.

The agent motioned the Hardys to accompany him. He led them downstairs and across the yard some distance from the building.

âTo answer your question, Frank,â he said in a low tone, âweâre turning this place upside down for clues. There are several hundred employees, including engineers and technicians. Weâre running a check on everyone. So far, no suspects. The outside concessions for food and laundry service are kept to restricted areas, and there are constant spot checks at the gate.â

âHow about the guards?â Joe inquired.

âThoroughly screened, and all trustworthy,â the agent declared. He added that the menâs posts were frequently shifted as a double check.

âYou think we could have a look around?â Frank asked, glancing over at the main plant.

âI was just about to suggest that.â Mr. Dykeman fastened visitorsâ badges to the boysâ lapels.

âThese will allow you the run of the place,â he said, smiling. âStop back at my office if you come up with any hunches!â

Minutes later, Frank and Joe were touring the interior of the one-story plant, which hummed with intense activity throughout its extensive interior. Technicians, intent on their work, scarcely looked up at the boys.

The Hardys were impressed by the steady vigilance of the guards stationed in every department. âHow could anybody take unauthorized pictures with them around?â Joe murmured.

âSeems impossible,â Frank agreed.

Next, the young sleuths walked through the grounds of the complex. At the isolated maintenance building they were stopped by a heavy-eyebrowed, mustached security guard. He apologized.

âSorry, boys. Didnât see your badges at first.â

After examining the steel fences, the Hardys went back through the main plant.

Joe shook his head. âI canât see a kink in this whole setup,â he remarked as they entered the design and drafting section. âThis place is as tight as a drum!â

âSure looks that way,â said Frank. âMr. Dykeman hasâJoe, look! Up there!â

At the end of the room a security captain and two guards had just seized a slender man in overalls. Draftsmen gaped in astonishment and the Hardys rushed to the scene. The technician was protesting violently.

Grim-faced, one of the guards snapped, âI just found this in your work jacket, Pryce! Youâll have some explaining to do.â

He held out a tubular, glass-capped object, then turned to a second guard.

âItâs a camera!â

CHAPTER XII

âStrangerâ Sighted

Â 

Â 

Â 

âBUT I know nothing about this camera!â the technician protested. He tried to wrench free from the guards.

The Hardys looked on tensely. Each had the same thought. Had the film they had found come from this odd-looking camera in the employeeâs jacket? Was he in league with the spies?

The security captain turned the device over in his hands. âClever disguise. It looks like a tool. All right, Pryce. Come along!â

âSomebody put it into my pocket!â the technician insisted. âThis is all a horrible mistake!â

Mr. Dykeman was summoned and given a full report. The intelligence agent inspected the camera, then nodded to the guards. Pryce was led away, still maintaining his innocence.

The men went back to their drawing boards, and Mr. Dykeman beckoned the Hardys to one side. âCould be a big break in our case.â

Frank whispered, âDo you think Pryce is the security leak?â

âGood chance,â the agent replied. âBut weâll check out the camera for prints and see if we can find anything to indicate it held the film you boys found. Right now, weâll interrogate Pryce. Keep everything youâve seen here today strictly confidential.â

âWill do!â Frank agreed. âBy the way, sir, have you any word from Dad?â

Mr. Dykeman shook his head. âBut Iâm sure heâll be contacting us.â

âOne more question,â Frank said. âDo you know Mr. Orrin North?â

âNorthâthe shipping magnate? Not personally. I understand heâs prominent in town. Why?â

The Hardys told the agent of Northâs reward offer for finding Gomez. Mr. Dykeman seemed interested but puzzled. He looked at the boys keenly. âYou suspect he has an ulterior motive?â

âYes, we do,â Frank replied promptly. âWeâll play along with his request and see what happens.â

The boys said good-by and left. On the way to their car they saw the Corporated Laundries truck parked near the maintenance building.

âGuess they have the concession here,â said Joe.

At the gate the Hardys turned in their badges. They noticed the laundry truck behind them. It was stopped, inspected, and logged out.

âThose security guards would find a needle in a haystack!â Joe commented as he turned into the street.

âIf one is in the haystack,â Frank quipped.

On the way home the young sleuths excitedly talked about Raymond Martin, the suspected employee Pryce, and the secret Mirco-Eye project.

âSome camera!â Joe remarked. âIâll bet the Footprints gang will try anything to get it.â

âSpeaking of prints, I vote we return to Barren Sands right after lunch.â

âMe too! That beachcomber may come back for another pickup. Letâs buzz Chet.â

Aunt Gertrude had plates of sizzling hamburgers and crisp French fried potatoes ready for the boys at home. They grinned in anticipation and ate hungrily.

âThis hits the spot, Aunty!â Joe said.

Miss Hardy unfolded her napkin. âGlad to hear that,â she remarked. âI suppose you two are up to your ears in more mysteries.â

Frank laughed. âOver our heads, Iâd say.â

âRan into a mystery myself today,â Aunt Gertrude announced a bit smugly.

âA mystery!â Frank echoed. âWhere?â

âDowntown, while I was shopping. I met Mr. Ricardo.â

âMr. Ricardo! Youâre sure?â

âOf course. I never forget a face.â She paused. âBut thatâs not all. Guess whose car he was getting into?â

Joe groaned. âI give up. Whose?â

âMr. Orrin Northâs,â she replied. âAnd do you knowâMr. Ricardo said he had never seen me before!â

The boys plied their aunt for details. She told them the South American had seemed uncomfortable at her greeting, brusquely insisting she had made a mistake. The two men had driven off quickly.

âThe cheek of him!â she huffed. âAnd here I had thought he was so well-mannered!â

âThen it was Ricardo we chased the other day!â Frank exclaimed.

Aunt Gertrude went on indignantly, âI should have realized there was something suspicious when he asked me on the Capricorn about your father.â

After lunch the boys traded ideas. âTwo bits says this Ricardo is in the country illegally,â Frank ventured. âAnd another two says heâs from the Huella Islands!â

âAnd North helped him disappear by smuggling him off the ship!â Joe exclaimed. âBut why? Oh, thereâs the phone.â

Orrin Northâs voice came harshly through the receiver when Joe answered. The shipowner asked if the boys had any news of the missing stowaway.

âNo.â At a signal from his brother, Joe added, âWe have a hunch Gomez is from the Huella Islandsâa refugee, maybe.â

âRefugee!â North snorted. âIâm convinced heâs a dangerous criminal. You boys had better nab him, and quick!â

Joe hung up, saying to Frank, âI was tempted to throw Ricardoâs name at him.â

âGood thing you didnât,â Frank cautioned. âWeâd better not show our full hand. Now letâs call Chet and get out to Barren Sands!â

The Hardys had decided to reach the area before two oâclock, the time the beachcomber had arrived the day before.

Chet was waiting outside when the Hardys drove up and jumped into the car. Soon the three were heading south along the coast.

When Chet learned of his friendsâ trip to Micro-Eye, he looked at his pals in awe. âYou really rate!â he exclaimed.

Although curious about the project, he realized that the Hardys could tell him nothing further for the present.

Half an hour later Frank parked the car in the lane leading to Barren Sands. The trio made their way swiftly through the tall grass onto the deserted beach. Soon they reached the spot where Callie had found the sea shell.

âNo circle of footprints today,â Joe said.

âLetâs scout the rest of the beach,â Frank suggested.

Farther along it, the boys stopped short. A double path of fresh, damp footprints, ending at the water, led to and from a circular pattern of prints!

âLook!â Joe pointed to the circle. In the center lay a small spiral shell.

âThe same kind Callie found!â Chet observed. âNow what?â

âGet out of sight before the beachcomber shows up,â Frank decided. He stooped and picked up the shell. âCome on. Letâs have a look!â

The three boys backtracked, brushing over their own footprints. They hid in a sandy hollow, screened by reeds and coarse shrubs.

Frank took out his penknife. As the others watched closely, he carefully worked the small blade into the shell opening. Then he heard the crisp scratch of paper.

âSomethingâs inside.â

Slowly Frank extracted a rolled-up piece of white paper. Joe and Chet stood by breathlessly as he unfolded it.

CHAPTER XIII

Ragged Caller

Â 

Â 

Â 

âITâS a message!â Joe cried as Frank held up the paper from the sea shell.

âWhat does it say?â Chet asked eagerly.

Frank read the handwritten message aloud:

ââTo HuellasâFinally got something:
Santilla, Colomboâ â

Joe jumped at the first words.

âThe Huella Islands!â

âBut what could âSantillaâ and âColomboâ mean?â Frank murmured. âTheyâre not the names Gomez inquired about at the immigration office.â

âBeats me.â Chet shrugged. âMaybe theyâreââ

âDown! Get downâquick!â

At Joeâs whispered warning they all ducked low. âWh-whoâs coming?â Chet quavered.

âSh! Sandy, the beachcomber.â

Cautiously the boys peered from the hollow. The ragged figure was scuffing along the beach past their hiding place. Occasionally he stopped and looked back over his shoulder.

The boys watched intently as the man started up the slope. Reaching the top, Sandy feverishly combed through the sand near the circle of footprints.

âItâsâWhere is it?â he shouted, looking frantically in every direction.

Finally the beachcomber scrambled down the incline. He stopped for a moment as if trying to decide where to search, then headed for the hollow. Frank quickly pocketed the shell and the boys crouched, motionless.

They could hear the man muttering as he drew near, and the sound of bushes being slapped angrily aside. Presently the muttering ceased.

Frank raised himself stealthily and looked out. Sandy was hastening up the beach.

âCome on! Letâs see where he goes!â

âWhew, that was close!â Puffing hard, Chet climbed out of the hollow behind the Hardys.

Bent low, they ran forward, keeping shielded from view by clumps of high grass. Suddenly the beachcomber veered up the beach toward the road, and the next moment dropped out of sight behind a dune. Seconds later the boys heard a car start. They raced to the top of the dune and saw a red-and-white hardtop pull away from the side of the road and head in the direction of Bayport.

âThere he goes!â Joe cried out.

The three dashed to the convertible. Frank took the wheel and spun out of the lane after the hardtop. He kept far enough behind so its driver would not suspect pursuit.

âThatâs a jazzy wagon for a beachcomber to own,â Joe remarked. âHe must get good money for his sea-shell pickups.â

âIâll bet heâs heading straight to the person who hired him,â said Frank. âAnd that person must know something about the Huella Islands.â

âAnd the spy plot!â Joe finished. âThis note clinches it.â

Chet was skeptical. âThat beachcomber doesnât seem smart enough to be a spy.â

âMaybe he isnât,â Frank replied. âCould be he doesnât even know whatâs in the shells.â

âYou mean the gang is using Sandy as they probably did Raymond Martin,â Joe said.

Frank nodded, keeping his eyes on the red-and-white car. Soon it turned into the street which ran to the center of Bayport. The trail led through the business section of town and finally into a wealthy residential area. To the boysâ surprise, their quarry turned into the drive of a hedge-bordered estate.

Frank, now a block away, pulled to the curb and the boys hopped out. Joe pointed to a gold-lettered sign at the front of the driveway which read âNorth Manor.â

âOrrin Northâs home!â he exclaimed.

Excitedly the trio hurried along the quiet street and stopped at the estateâs winding drive. They saw the unkempt beachcomber rush to the front door of the brick mansion.

The boys ducked back and peered around the hedge. The door was flung open and the angry face of Orrin North appeared. âYouâyou foollâ he rasped. âI told you never to come here!â

He irately surveyed the grounds, then pulled the man inside and slammed the door.

âFor Peteâs sake!â Joe exclaimed. âNorth is tied in with the spies!â

âApparently the shells are delivered to him at some other place,â said Frank. âWonder where.â

The boys crept up to the house. The first-floor windows, high off the ground, were shut.

âShall we take a peek in?â Joe proposed.

âBetter not risk itâwe canât overhear anything,â Frank replied.

Chet agreed. âCome on, fellows! They might spot us.â

âWait!â Frank whispered. He went over to scrutinize a jumble of footprints in the soil beneath a side window overlooking the drive. The others joined him.

âTheyâre probably our prints,â Chet said.

âNo, theyâre not. Look at those cracks near the front of the sole, Joe. Theyâre just like those of the intruder at our house!â

âYouâre right! Think theyâre Northâs?â

âNoâunless he sneaks around his own house,â Frank murmured. âWhoever left these was trying to get in through that window.â

The Hardys were baffled. âWhich means,â Joe said, âthe person who took Dadâs papers must also be up to something in connection with North. It doesnât make sense.â

âFigure it out later,â Chet said nervously. âLetâs go!â

Before the boys could move, footsteps came from the rear. The three friends darted behind some ornamental evergreens in front of the house. A moment later the beachcomber shuffled down the driveway to his hardtop.

âLetâs grab him!â Joe whispered impulsively.

Frank shook his head. âNot yet. We donât want to alert North we suspect him.â

After Sandy had left, the young sleuths waited, wondering if Orrin North would emerge. Half an hour went by with no sign of the shipowner, so the boys returned to the convertible.

âWhat next?â Chet asked.

âThe sea-shell note,â Frank replied. âWe must find out who Santilla and Colombo are.â

âIâll make a wild guess,â Chet offered. âTheyâre men North wants kidnapped and shipped to the Huella Islands!â

âNot bad,â Frank conceded. âOne of the names could even be an alias for Gomez.â

Joe took up the speculation. âOr the words âTo Huellasâ could mean the note itself is to be sent there.â

âIn which case, the names might refer to people now on the islands,â Frank reasoned. âIf we only knew who wrote the note!â

âMaybe Mr. Ricardo,â Joe ventured. âAnother puzzleâdo those names belong to spies or refugees?â

The Hardys decided to report to Mr. Dykeman and drove directly to Micro-Eye. Chet waited in the car outside the gate while the Hardys hastened into the agentâs office. They showed him the shell, handed over the note, and gave complete details, including their suspicions of the man called Ricardo.

âGood work!â the agent said, returning the shell to Frank. âIâll have the note analyzed.â He frowned. âWe have records of every South American refugee in the Bayport area, but Santilla and Colombo donât ring a bell.â

âThen unless theyâre in hiding hereâthey may still be on one of the islands,â Joe suggested.

âYes. Unluckily, the dictator, Posada, is not cooperative with United States Intelligenceâweâll have a rugged time finding out.â

âAre you going to question Orrin North?â Frank asked.

âNot at present. I suggest you boys play it cooL Weâll keep a tail on him, in hope that heâll lead us to the whole spy nest if he is guilty. But North will be doubly alert, since he knows someone else picked up the shell.â

Joe asked about the suspected Micro-Eye employee, Pryce. Dykeman shook his head.

âThe camera discovered in his jacket took the pictures on the film found in the torn piece of Martinâs raincoat. Certain defects on that roll showed up on a fresh film we ran through. But Pryce still claims he knows nothing and we gave him a thorough grilling.â

Dykeman added that the camera had revealed no fingerprints. âOf course Pryce could have worn gloves. Then, again, the camera could have been planted.â

The agent had shocking news for the Hardys: Raymond Martin had disappeared.

âDisappeared!â

âYes, in Cayenne. Martin was kept under surveillance, but nevertheless he vanished from a small hotel yesterday after he checked in.â

âSpies in Cayenne may have seized him when they found out about the torn raincoat,â Frank said.

The Hardys spoke of their planned flight to Cayenne with Jack Wayne. âWeâll try to uncover some clues to Martin and to his captors.â

âFine. You may find out more than our department could, since you can pose better as tourists. Meantime, Iâll circulate a description of Ricardo. Heâs here illegally, Iâm sure, and for no good reason.â

Back at the car, Frank handed the sea shell to Chet. âThanks!â He grinned. âCallie and Sis will be happy.â

On the way home Joe voiced another idea. âI wouldnât be surprised if the Huella Islands are headquarters for this Footprints gang.â

Frank agreed. âI have another theory, too. Weâre pretty sure North smuggled Ricardo inâso he may be smuggling in spies from Cayenne, too.â

Chet shifted uncomfortably. âGolly, fellows. You still want to go there?â

âYou bet!â Joe replied. âAnd to the Huellas, if possible.â

Chet heaved a sigh. âI smell trouble already.â

That evening Frank and Joe packed. Aunt Gertrude hovered about them, offering a constant stream of advice and warnings.

âDonât worry, Aunty,â Joe assured her. âWe four will stick together down there.â

Frank in turn offered his aunt a suggestion. âAunt Gertrude, maybe youâd like to visit your friend Mrs. Berter while weâre gone, and compare notes on your trip.â

Miss Hardy gave him a sharp look. âYou think I canât take care of myself? Iâm not afraid to stay here alone, young man!â

Nevertheless she finally agreed to the idea, and made plans to leave the following day. The boys were getting ready for bed when the telephone rang. âMaybe itâs Dad!â said Joe, picking up their extension phone.

The caller was Chet Morton. âGuess what!â he exclaimed. âSis and Callie looked up that shell in a book. Itâs unusual all rightâitâs the shell of a Cayenne keyhole limpet!â

âCayenne!â Joe repeated.

âRight. âDiodora cayenensis,â and itâs not native to this area!â

The Hardys were excited. One more link in the chain of espionage!

Would their visit to Cayenne reveal others?

CHAPTER XIV

Blind River

Â 

Â 

Â 

FRANK, Joe, and Chet clambered excitedly out of a taxi at Bayport Airport the next morning. They tipped the driver and scooped their suitcases out of the trunk.

âThereâs Jack!â Joe announced, spotting the plane at the end of a runway. The boys trotted across the field.

âAll set?â the pilot greeted them.

âYou bet!â

The luggage was hoisted aboard, then the Hardys and Chet climbed in. Jack swung behind the controls and turned to Chet. âHowâs the weather forecast, Mr. Morton?â

âDoing just fine!â Chet parried. âUndercast, with blue clouds expected by dayfall.â

Amidst the laughter, the propeller clacked over, then spun at top speed. The craft took off, steadily gained altitude, and leveled off at ten thousand feet. Jack said he would land it in Cayenne the following afternoon.

Then Frank asked about the repaired wing, Jack replied, âI had her carefully checked out this morning. Also, Iâve been keeping a sharp lookout for visitors with machetes.â

âThatâs a relief!â Chet said emphatically.

Joe asked Jack if he had had anv leads on the luggage thefts at Cayenne.

âOnly that the victims so far have come mostly from the Bayport area.â

Hours passed as the plane flew southward through a bright, clear sky. The boys talked about what to expect in Cayenne. At noon they broke out sandwiches and a thermos of lemonade.

Jack landed that evening at San Juan, Puerto Rico, and they spent the night at an airport motel. Shortly after sunrise they were airborne again.

âNext stopâFrench Guiana!â Chet mumbled as he dozed off. When he awoke later, he sat up, yawned, and squinted out the window. Instead of endless, gray sea, lush green terrain drifted slowly beneath them.

âWow!â Chetâs eyes flew open. âJungles!â

When the plane headed briefly out to sea, the Hardys recognized a line of staggered islands below. âThe Huellas!â Frank exclaimed. âThat big one must be Baredo.â

Jack banked inland over dense jungle broken only by twisting brown rivers. There seemed to be no sign of life.

When the Cayenne airfield came into view, the Bayporters fastened their seat belts. There was a wait while a jet from the United States landed; then Jack touched down and brought his craft to a smooth stop.

Joe pushed open the cabin door and caught his breath. It was like stepping into an oven!

Chet grimaced. âI feel like a broiled hamburger already.â

The boys dropped onto the glaring, sunlit field. After Jack had handed down the baggage, they went quickly through customs.

Passengers from the jetliner thronged outside toward waiting buses and taxis. Around the small airport only wild, green jungle could be seen. The air seemed dead with heat.

A womanâs shrill cry startled the boys. Frank wheeled around to see two ill-dressed, swarthy men break out of the crowd, each carrying a blue suitcase.

âHelp! Help! Thief!â

âJoe! Theyâve stolen that womanâs luggage!â

Like lightning, the Hardys tore after the thieves. A police whistle shrieked. An officer fired two warning shots in the air, then joined the chase.

âAttendez! Attendez!â

The thieves skirted the control tower and ran across the airfield. Frank and Joe soon outdistanced the pursuing policeman. But the thieves reached the end of a runway and in a moment disappeared into the jungle.

âCome on!â Joe plunged into the thick growth. The next instant he felt a crashing blow on the head, toppled over, and lay half stunned.

âOkay, monsieur?â

âJoe! Are you all right?â

The policemanâs and Frankâs voices pierced a ringing blackness. Groggy, Joe was helped to his feet. âThe thievesââ

âThey got away,â Frank told him grimly. The officer said he had tracked the men for a short distance, but lost them in a tangle of vines.

âHowâs your head?â Frank asked.

âIâll be all right after the ache stops. One of those lugs must have landed a suitcase on me.â

The Hardys and the officer emerged from the jungle. Jack, Chet, and two more policemen joined them and they all walked back to the terminal.

Chet wiped his moist face and groaned. âI tried to catch up with you but no go.â

Later, the boys and police officers spoke with the victims of the robbery, a middle-aged American couple named Griffin. Mr. Griffin could not add much to the thievesâ description, except that he judged them to be natives.

Joe felt a crashing blow on the head

âAlice had expensive jewelry in her bag,â he said disconsolately. His wife wept quietly.

The police were apologetic, and assured the Griffins that anyone spotted trying to sell the stolen items in Cayenne would be arrested.

Jack explained his mission to the police, who promised full cooperation. He and the boys then hailed a taxi. On the way to the city they mulled over the incident.

âFive minutes here and weâre right in the thick of the luggage thefts,â Jack said. âDid you know the Griffins were from Taylorville?â

âNear Bayport?â Joe asked.

âThatâs right.â

Frank said thoughtfully, âWhy are people from our area the only targets? There must be a good reason!â

Jackâs plan was to confer with local airline people and try to trace possible suspects. The boys would work independently. Soon the taxi turned into a dirt road on the outskirts of Cayenne and pulled up at a modest hotel.

Chet brightened. âCivilization at last!â he rejoiced.

The four checked into comfortable rooms overlooking palm-covered slopes. Chet immediately rushed into the shower and turned on the cold water full blast. The Hardys followed in turn.

After changing into fresh clothes, the boys walked down to the center of Cayenne. Jack had already headed back to the airport.

âSay, how about some chow?â Chet suggested.

âAfter we scout around,â Frank said.

The boys had decided first to seek some clue to Raymond Martinâs whereabouts in Cayenne. The next day they would go to Baredo. Frank inquired about transportation and learned that a launch ferried passengers to and from the island.

The trio reached the centrally located Place des Palmistes, and strolled through the cool park, shaded by towering palm trees. Botanical gardens and a sports stadium were visible to the east.

The Hardys recalled that Cayenne, populated by a mixture of peoples, lay at the mouth of the Cayenne River, which curled inland through wild, heat-drenched wilderness.

Presently the boys came to the beach, along which stretched a row of summer homes. To the north they could barely make out the forbidding Huellas. Frank and Joe looked for the Dorado, but the freighter was not in port.

At a restaurant, shaded by a grove of bamboo trees, the visitors stopped for fruit drinks. On the way back to town they purchased straw hats from a vendor and asked directions to the hotel from which Martin had disappeared. They found it without difficulty.

âDykemanâs already checked this place,â Frank said. âBut letâs see what we can find out.â

The young sleuths entered the dim, stuffy lobby and went up to the desk. Casually Frank asked the clerk if Mr. Martin had returned. The thin-faced man looked sullen.

âI already tell everybodyâhe just disappearâpoof! And not pay his bill either.â

Further questioning proved futile and the boys left. âOur best bet now is to keep looking for him in town,â said Joe.

Hindus, Arabs, natives, and Europeans milled past the boys. Flies buzzed at fish stands and butchersâ meat stalls. Near some gray stone public buildings Chet gasped as a huge bull-like beast with curved horns clopped by hauling a cart.

âA water buffalolâ Frank exclaimed.

âIf heâs taking to land, Iâll take to water!â Chet shuddered.

âThere are piranhaâflesh-devouring fishâin the river,â Joe informed him challengingly.

âFlesh-devouring!â Chetâs eyes bulged.

ââNot to mention centipedes, poisonous snakes, scorpions, and crocodiles in the jungle,â Frank added somberly.

The Hardys grinned as they strolled on. The Bayporters paused beneath a handsome mahogany tree. A scar-faced vendor was hawking cheap garments at a nearby shop front. The vendor, spotting the boys, held up one piece after another.

âPantsâshirtsâcheap?â he offered in broken English.

Joe shook his head. The peddler shrugged and next proffered a wrinkled white raincoat.

Suddenly Frank hastened over. âJoe! Chet! Come here!â Frank had flipped over the coat to reveal a bright plaid lining and a large jagged hole at the hem!

âRaymond Martinâs raincoat!â Joe gasped.

âThis hole matches the piece we found at the airport!â

Frank asked the puzzled vendor where he had obtained the coat. The man summoned a tall ear-ringed Guianan from the shop and spoke with him in rapid French.

âLa fleuve,â the peddler told the boys, pointing to the river. âDown two, three mile. You buy?â

âOui.â Frank brought out several francs and handed them over.

âBut how will we get down the Cayenne River?â Joe whispered. âThatâs real jungle.â

âHe take youâfor price,â the vendor confided, motioning to the native.

Arrangements were made for the trip and the boys followed their guide toward the river. On the way Chet bought some tropical fruit.

Soon they came to a short wooden dock. Next to it was a dugout canoe with hornlike stern and bow curving upward. The native beckoned the boys to climb in. âTo coat manâI take you.â

Chet was uneasy. âDo you think we can trust him?â he whispered to the Hardys.

âI think so,â Frank replied. âWe havenât much choice if we want to find Martin.â

With Frank and the guide paddling, and Joe and Chet seated in the middle, the canoe glided out into the motionless, mud-colored water. A searing sun burned down as they slipped past lush green jungle banks. White clouds were mirrored in the still river surface.

Presently they passed a clearing of thatch-roofed Indian huts. Farther along, several native women were beating laundry with flat sticks at the waterside. After a while the only sound was the chatter of birds from the depths of the jungle. Something in the primeval stillness prompted the boys to speak in whispers.

âItâs like another world!â Joe said, awed.

Past a bend a flock of beautiful flamingos scattered at the canoeâs approach. Several crocodiles lay sleepily along the banks. Chet held his breath until they had left the ugly creatures behind.

Several miles farther, the native pointed to a channel off to the right. Frank nodded and they steered in. Enormous mangrove trees arched overhead, blocking out the sun. Gnarled vines hung in trailing loops. The travelers ducked as low-hanging branches tore at their shirts and faces.

âHere!â The guide steered toward a bank covered by thick roots. The boys sat breathlessly, their hearts pounding. Were they about to meet the missing Raymond Martin?

The canoe glided against the bank, where the Guianan pointed to a long, overhanging branch, then at the torn raincoat. Frank understood.

âHe means he found the raincoat hanging from that branch!â

âA distress signal by Martin!â Chet guessed.

âThe coat manâwhere is he?â Joe asked the guide.

The native hopped out, secured the craft, and motioned the boys to follow. They clambered after him up the bank into the jungle. Something in his expression made the boys uneasy. Was he leading them into a trap?

âStick together,â Frank cautioned Joe and Chet.

Patches of blue sky broke through the dense foliage. The guide stopped at a small clearing and the boys peered ahead at the remnants of a campfire. A laceless black shoe lay nearby.

Joe picked it up and read the faded brand name, one familiar to the boys. The clearing seemed eerily deserted. The Guianan led them to a patch of thick shrub. âHereâcoat man!â

With a sweep of his arm he threw back the dropping mass of leaves, disclosing a long white form. The Hardys and Chet gasped.

A human skeleton!

CHAPTER XV

City of Silence

Â 

Â 

Â 

THE three boys peered, shocked at the skeleton. Frank stepped back as a centipede slithered out of the skull.

Chet backed away, shuddering. âL-letâs get out of here!â

The Hardys, too, had instinctively recoiled, but now inspected the skeleton more closely.

âThis canât be Raymond Martin.â Frank pointed out the parched discoloring and cracks in the bones. Several fragments were missing. âThese are oldâmaybe a year or more. Look how the grass has grown around them!â

Joe also recalled their fleeting glimpse of Martin. He was a taller man than the skeleton would indicate. Frank turned to their puzzled guide and said, âNot coat man.â

The native looked disappointed and shrugged. Through gestures he indicated that he knew nothing more.

The boys searched for clues. Finding none, they returned to the dugout. Joe took the bow paddle this time and they headed back upriver.

Frank said he felt that the raincoat had been left there as a trick by the person or persons who had kidnapped Martin; also, that the shoe and campfire were part of the scheme.

âYou think heâs still alive?â Joe asked.

âYes, though itâs just a hunch. Spies may be holding him to find out what happened to their missing Micro-Eye film.â

âOr to keep him from telling Dykemanâs men how the film got into his coatâif he even knows that,â Joe ventured.

Chet had a guess. âMaybe they sneaked into his house the way the intruder did at Dadâs travel agency,â Chet suggested.

Frank snapped his fingers. âIf he wanted the names of persons flying to Cayenne, maybe Martin was to be a victim of the luggage thievesâonly they planned to take his coat instead of his suitcase.â

Chet whistled. âThen the suitcases stolen down here may carry spy messages?â

âThatâs rightâbrought in by innocent people.â

âA sudden wind came up and the bright blue skies turned to a smoky leaden hue. The paddlers increased speed and reached the dock at Cayenne just as the clouds opened in a blinding downpour.

The boys and their guide leaped ashore and dashed to a nearby shop for shelter. Torrents of rain drummed on the roof like thunder, and the tall coconut palms swayed and bent in the gale.

âChet, you didnât forecast this cloudburst,â Joe needled.

âHow could I? Tropical storms come up out of nowhere!â Chet defended himself.

In several minutes the squall ceased as suddenly as it had begun. Frank paid their guide, who grinned widely and ambled off. The boys walked back through the town to their hotel, where they dried off and once more changed clothes.

Refreshed, the boys joined Jack at supper in the hotel restaurant. He listened with interest as they recounted their adventure in low tones. When Frank presented his theory on the luggage thefts, the pilot was intrigued.

âItâs possible,â he admitted, frowning, âthat travelers from Bayport and nearby towns unwittingly transmit Micro-Eye secrets. But how are the films or devices put into the suitcases?â

âWeâre not sure yet,â Joe confessed. âSomebody probably sneaks into the personâs home and conceals the information in the baggage.â

âCould be,â said Frank.

âMy conferences today didnât bring me any clues,â Jack told the boys. âBut if youâre right, fellows, this is a job for United States Intelligence. Iâll case Cayenne tomorrow, myself, and try to follow out this new angle. Weâll have to fly back the day after.â

The Hardys reviewed what they must learn: the real identity of Gomez, the meaning of the names in the sea shell, some clue to Northâs tie-in with the Huellas, and the whereabouts of Martin.

âItâll be a tight schedule,â Frank said. âWeâll catch the earliest launch for Baredo tomorrow morning.â

Jack said, âLetâs report to Mr. Dykeman.â

He cabled the intelligence officer, using guarded language. Later, as they again discussed the mystery, Jack expressed concern over the boysâ proposed trip to Baredo.

âBe extremely cautious,â he warned. âDictator Posada has lookouts all over the place.â

At his suggestion the boys signed a statement that they were entering Baredo the following day. âAt least this will be evidence if weâreâerâdetained,â said Frank, handing the paper to Jack.

âWhat a cheerful thought!â Chet muttered.

The young sleuths soon went to bed, and despite the sultry heat, slept soundly. Chet had a nightmare. He was trying to step into the river for a swim, but hungry fish nipped his toes.

Suddenly he awakened with a violent start. Something was on his right foot! He reached down and touched a furry object.

âYYYYoooowwwww!â

At Chetâs howl the others leaped out of bed, and Joe switched on the light. Chet was hopping up and down, shaking his foot. A dark winged creature flew out the window.

Jack examined Chetâs foot and smiled with relief. âNo blood. Fortunately, you shook him off in time. I think it was a vampire bat.â

âA v-vampire b-bat?â Chet clapped a hand to his brow. âOh man! Thatâs all I need!â With a groan he got back into bed and wrapped himself tightly in the sheet.

The boys rose at six and breakfasted quickly downstairs. Then they walked to the coastal docks. Frank said he had promised Jack they would be back by ten that evening.

Chet, apprehensive, followed the Hardys to the dock where the tourist launch was berthed. The boys were met by a fat, thick-lipped man in uniform, evidently a Huellan official.

âAmerican tourists?â he said, sneering. âYou go just for day to Baredo?â

âYes.â

The official scrutinized the travelers, then their passports. âVery well,â he said finally. âSee you mind your own business and no pictures.â

âFriendly guy,â Chet whispered as the boys climbed aboard.

The whistle blew and a few minutes later the launch moved away toward the mist-covered Huellas. There were no other passengers.

The thickset helmsman and his assistant were taciturn. After a sharp glance at the boys they paid them no further attention.

The Hardys and Chet stood at the rail as they approached the palm-lined shore of Baredo. A hill of green jungle rose above the roofs of the capital town. Was their destination the stronghold of the Footprints spy ring?

The boatâs whistle tooted three times, and chugged into the harbor. This consisted of several weather-beaten piers and a few small docks. The launch pulled alongside one of them.

When the boys clambered onto the dock, the helmsman grunted, âUp there.â He pointed to a small guardhouse at the foot of the dock. Here a surly port officer studied their passports at length. âTourists only allowed on Baredo one day!â he snapped. âYou must leave tonight!â

âGracias,â Frank murmured, and the trio headed up the bleak main street.

âWith that kind of welcome, they must do a crashing resort business here,â Joe remarked.

The boys had noticed numerous motorboats marked Policia cruising about the island, apparently to control passage out of the Huellas.

âNo wonder the people here want to leave,â Chet whispered.

Impressive public buildings fronted the harbor. But in the town itself the boys saw rows of tottering, unpainted shacks along unpaved roads. Shabbily dressed people wandered past dingy stores, many of which appeared to be closed. The atmosphere was both tense and depressing.

âBoy, this place gives me the willies,â Chet murmured as he noticed a gray-uniformed man watching them from one of the few cars.

âNever mind. Letâs just try to look like happy tourists,â Joe advised.

They climbed to the top of a hill outside town and surveyed the harbor. Only their launch and a battered fishing vessel were tied up.

Frankâs eyes narrowed. âIt would be impossible for a big freighter to dock here.â

âYou mean like the Dorado,â Joe said.

His brother nodded, then suggested they try to track down the names Colombo and Santilla, and also ask about Gomez.

Back in town, the boys located a rickety public telephone booth. Casually Frank entered it and opened a thin directory. None of the names he sought was listed. âThere canât be more than a hundred or so names in here,â he reported. âI guess most of the citizens canât afford phones, or else Posadaâs tight on giving them out.â

âDoesnât leave us much of a starting point,â Joe said. âLetâs try asking around.â

They stopped an elderly man and mentioned the three names, but he shrugged, stared blankly, and walked away. The boys continued their quest. But they always met the same response.

âLetâs try a different part of town,â Joe recommended. They headed into a small market place and made more inquiries without success.

âColomboâSantillaâGomez?â Frank repeated to a poorly dressed boy.

The youthâs expression stiffened. He shook his head and quickly hurried off.

âI donât get it,â Joe fumed. âAre the people so afraid of something that they wonât talk at all? Or is there something special about Colombo, Santilla, and Gomez that scares them?â

âItâs the secret police!â Chet declared uneasily. âWhy else would everybody clam up?â

The boys noticed another man in a gray uniform striding past. He eyed the boys suspiciously. The trio immediately pretended to be sightseeing. Chet whistled shakily as they nonchalantly left the market place.

âWeâd better call it quits for a while,â Frank whispered. âAndââ He broke off. âLook!â

Crossing the main street, not far from the boys, were two men carrying blue suitcases.

âThe luggage thieves!â Joe gasped.

âCome on! Weâre going to find out where theyâre headed!â Frank urged.

CHAPTER XVI

The Gate of Doom

Â 

Â 

Â 

THE Hardys and Chet walked faster, keeping the two thieves ahead in sight. When the men turned swiftly up a hilly, sun-baked street, the boys paused briefly at the corner, then followed.

âWherever theyâre going, they mean business!â Frank said.

The men hastened up the hill. At the top they made a beeline to a large white stone building, surrounded by a spiked iron fence with a huge gate in front. The pair stopped and spoke briefly to an armed guard, who let them in. The men hurried through and disappeared around the side of the building.

âThereâs probably a rear entrance,â Joe murmured as the guard slammed the gate shut.

The boys approached the building. Carved over the portal was: EDIFICIO ADMINISTRATION DE LAS HUELLAS

âHuellas Government Building!â Frank translated. âAnd Iâll bet a cool shower it adds up to âFootprints Intelligence Bureauâ!â

âThe spy headquarters!â Joe added in a low voice.

A chill went up Chetâs spine. âYou think those men really are delivering Micro-Eye secrets hidden in the suitcases?â he asked.

âYes,â Frank replied. âThis must be the receiving end for the security leak at the plant!â

The Hardys speculated about the two thievesâwere they Colombo and Santilla? Noticing the guard, who eyed them with mistrust, the boys sauntered nonchalantly toward the rear of the building.

âWhere do we go from here?â Joe asked. âWe canât break in.â

Chet agreed heartily. âAnd we sure canât hang around waiting for those spy agents.â

At his urging they stopped at a dingy restaurant to have lunch. But the trio felt too edgy to eat much. Back outside, the afternoon sun burned down on the perspiring boys. Two oxcarts rolled lazily down the dusty street.

âIf only we could get some lead on these names!â Joe chafed. âTimeâs running out.â

The trio walked on to a section they had not visited beforeâconsisting mostly of small shops and rickety dwellings. The three separated in order to appear less conspicuous while they continued their inquiries. After an hour they met. Each reported no luck.

Just then the boys noticed a dark, well-built man in khakis resting beneath a palm tree across the road. They went over and Frank once more repeated the three names. The Huellanâs eyes focused intently on his questioner, then studied Joe and Chet.

âNo, lo siento,â he said finally, quickly moving away. He looked back once, then disappeared into a ramshackle store.

âAt least we got an answer,â Joe said wryly. âHeâs âsorry.â â

âHe didnât act frightened like the others,â Frank observed. âI have a feeling he knew the names, all right, and was trying to size us up.â

They renewed their inquiries. But after another sweltering hour, the boys had reached a dead end. They had covered the town itself, and now found themselves on the western outskirts.

âIâm ready to throw in the towel,â Chet announced. âThis is no manâs land.â

The Hardys did not reply. They had noticed the door of a small building slowly opening. A face peered out. It was the same khaki-clad man Frank had approached earlier!

âMaybe heâs tailing us!â Joe whispered.

The stranger stared at the boys for a second, then suddenly burst outside and sprinted for the nearby jungle. Joe and Frank sped after him, with Chet following reluctantly.

In minutes the boys found themselves on the bare semblance of a trail. There was no sign of the Huellan.

âHeâs probably waiting to jump us!â Chet declared.

Frank set his jaw. âLetâs follow this trail. It may be risky, but we canât give up any possible lead.â

The three were forced to proceed single file. Progress was slow and arduous over twisting roots and through masses of hanging vine. A dense cloud of mosquitoes enveloped them, attacking Chet in particular.

âOuch!â Swat! âGet away from me!â Chet flailed desperately at the buzzing pests.

âSsssh!â

âI canât help it. Theyâre eating me up.â

Frank, in the lead, stopped abruptly and held up his hand. There came a faint rustling ahead. Cautiously the boys crept around a bend in the trail. To their surprise, a large section of jungle was hacked away. In the middle was an abandoned quarry.

âLooks like an old bauxite deposit,â Frank whispered.

Chet pointed to several rusted pickaxes on the ground. âWonder what happened to the workers.â He shuddered.

The boys skirted the yawning pit, treading over crumbling red rock, then re-entered the jungle. There was still a barely perceptible path. The high grass growing along it was freshly trampled.

âBet that guyâs right ahead of us,â Joe said softly. âHe must be used to trekking the jungle.â

Chet was all for turning back, but the Hardys persuaded him to press on. The trail ended abruptly at a high, crudely constructed stucco wall. Farther along it was an arched gateway with a faded splintered sign: LA PUERTA DE LA MUERTE.

ââThe Gate of Doomâ!â Joe translated. âThe old prison!â

Reluctantly Chet trailed the Hardys along the wall and through the gateway. Interspersed among towering bamboo trees which blotted out most of the sunlight were long, thatch-roofed shacks.

âProbably the old prison barracks,â Frank whispered. âThat man may be hiding out in one.â

They advanced cautiously, catching occasional glimpses through the foliage of the encircling wall. Lonely bird caws echoed around the deserted compound. The air hung hot and still. Pickaxes and broken machetes littered the ground. Looking up, the boys saw several ugly vultures hunched in the trees.

Chet gulped. âUgh!â

The trio paused behind a bamboo tree, then slipped between two shacks facing a large clearing. In the center of this stood a platform and atop it was a guillotine.

Chet stood rooted to the spot, quaking with fright. Frank pointed to a shack across the clearing. At his signal the boys darted over to it and crouched low. A trail of footprints ended beneath the single small window.

âTheyâre fresh!â Joe whispered.

The boys crept to the window and Joe slowly arose to peer inside. His eyes had just reached the window level when gasps from the others made him spin around.

A dozen armed, grim-faced men in khaki stood spread out in the clearing.

âDonât try to run,â Frank said in an undertone. âAct calm.â

âOh, s-sure,â Chet stammered, white as a sheet.

The men advanced threateningly. Some wore bandoliers and battered straw hats, and several carried gleaming machetes. Among them the boys recognized the man they had pursued. The Hardys felt a cold chill of terror, but stood outwardly calm.

Were these men soldiers of Dictator Posada? An older, bearded man with a military bearing stepped forward and uttered a brisk command in Spanish.

The boys were marched off toward the guillotine!

Chetâs knees almost buckled, but he relaxed as the Bayporters were led past the gruesome platform and into an isolated shack. The first objects they saw were cots and old leg irons which were attached to a center bar the length of the hot, dusty room.

The Hardys and Chet were prodded to a wooden table. Lighting a kerosene lantern, the bearded man sat down and addressed the prisoners brusquely in English.

âWho are you? What is your business here?â

Frank hesitated. He must choose his words carefully!

âWeâre Americans, just visiting here for the day. Iâm Frank Hardy, this is myââ

âAmericansââ The manâs steely eyes relaxed for a moment, then tightened. âYou ask in town for Colombo, Santilla, Gomez. Why?â

âWe donât really know,â Frank said. âWe came across the names in our town of Bayport and thoughtââ

âNamesâin Bayport!â

The leaderâs astonished exclamation was accompanied by a rapid stream of excited Spanish conversation among his followers.

âDo you know the three men?â Joe spoke up.

âMy friend who led you here is Carlos Santilla,â the bearded man replied. âI am Miguel Colombo.â

Despite their dangerous position, Frank pressed further. âAre you under orders from Dictator Posada?â

Suddenly the table rocked under Colomboâs fist. âPosadaâthat mercenary spyâthat tyrant robber of our people? No! We of the underground will unseat him one day!â

The men roared approval.

Frank shot a look of relief at Joe and Chet. An underground movement! They were among friends! Colombo and Santilla then shook the boysâ hands cordially.

âI am sorry for your unpleasant reception,â said Colombo, âbut we have always to be careful.â

âThen you thought we might be working for Posada?â Frank asked.

Santilla nodded. âOne is always afraid these days in the Huellas. That is why the lips are closed in town. If Posada knew we meet here, he would send his army to crush us!â

Colombo then directed one of his men to go outside and stand guard. âWe do not wish to be caught by surprise,â the leader said. âPosadaâs soldiers often search the jungle.â

Joe asked the Huellans whether or not the dictator was the power behind the Footprints ring.

âIndeed he is.â The leader leaned forward. âBut I am troubled. My name, Santillaâsâhow do you young men learn these? And what do you know of Gomez?â

Omitting confidential details, the Hardys related the events which had led them to Baredo.

âAnd in that sea shell, you found my name and Santillaâs?â he murmured.

âYes,â Frank answered. âLater, a beachcomber led us to the house of a rich American in Bayport. We suspect this man to be involved in the Footprints plot. His name is North.â

âNorth! Orrin North?â

âYes, the shipowner. Youâve heard of him?â

âHeard of him!â The bearded leader of the underground held up his hands with pride. âSenor North is our greatest ally!â

CHAPTER XVII

Homestretch

Â 

Â 

Â 

THE Hardys and Chet could scarcely believe Colomboâs words. Orrin Northâan ally!

âThen North is not in league with Posadaâbut is in your underground movement?â Frank asked.

âCertainly. For months he has helped our people to escape on his ship Dorado to America.â

Joe looked at Frank. âSo Gomez isnât a spy!â

âNo,â Colombo said. âHe is one of our best men, sent to rally American support. Days back, he by himself escaped to Northâs ship. But from what you say, he is in bad trouble.â

Carlos Santillaâs face showed alarm. âSomething is wrong! These people Gomez asked about at your immigration office are Huellan refugees who escaped earlier on Senor Northâs Dorado!â

âThey never reached the immigration officelâ Joe exclaimed.

Colombo walked to the window, stunned. âIt cannot be!â

âHave you heard from any of the refugees since they escaped?â Frank asked.

âNo. For a while we thought it is because of Posadaâs mail censorship. But now,â Colombo added gloomily, âI am not so sure.â

The Hardys and Chet exchanged looks. Their suspicions of Orrin North were confirmed!

âNorth is double-crossing you!â Joe burst out.

Colombo and Santilla stared in shocked disbelief. âHe deceives us?â Santilla said hoarsely.

âSeÃ±or Colombo,â countered Frank, âhave any of your men been arrested lately by Posadaâs police?â

âSi, two last week,â Colombo said grimly. âWe do not know how Posada found them out.â

It was the answer Frank had dreaded. âI think I doâfrom the Footprints spies! North got the names for Posada from the refugees.â

âAnd Gomez must have found out about it on the Doradoâthatâs why he jumped ship,â Joe added.

âBut,â Colombo protested, âour compatriots would never betray us!â

âThey may have been tricked into revealing the names!â Frank said.

The leaderâs face was pale. âPosada may have ordered themâkilled!â

The Hardys did not agree. âI think itâs more likely theyâre prisoners, and that North will ship them back for Posada to deal with!â Frank turned to Chet and Joe. âWeâve got to find those refugees before itâs too late!â

Joe said, âThat explains why Gomez wanted to keep out of sightâto find the refugees North has sold out.â

Santilla relayed the boysâ words in Spanish to the other men, who had been looking on intently. Angry mutters ran through the group.

The boys learned that Colombo and his lieutenant did not know about Raymond Martin or the luggage thefts. But at Joeâs description of the mysterious Mr. Ricardo, they both gasped.

âManuel Bedoya is his real name!â Colombo almost shouted. âHe is the feared mastermind of Posadaâs spies.â

âYouâre sure?â

âPositive! We know Bedoya left the Huellas a week past.â The underground chief added somberly, âHe is a dangerous and cruel man. It is not good for your governmentâs secret project, amigos!â

âBut why would the small Huellas be after the Micro-Eye secret?â Chet wondered. âDoesnât figure.â to

Joe had a theory. âMaybe to sell the information to a larger powerâas part of a deal.â

Colombo agreed, adding that Posada was known to be friendly with certain anti-American regimes.

Suddenly the lookout came bursting into the cabin and spoke rapidly to his leader. Colombo scowled and extinguished the lantern.

âEveryone be silent!â he commanded.

The Bayporters and the Huellans obeyed. Voices could be heard faintly in the distance, then they died away. The chief relighted the lantern.

âWho was that?â Joe asked.

âPosadaâs men,â Santilla replied.

A few more minutes elapsed in tense waiting, but there was no further disturbance. Colombo then bade the visitors relax, and had simple rations of bread and dried beef served for supper. The boys ate hungrily. When they finished, it was growing dark.

âWe have to get back,â said Frank, remembering their promise to Jack.

Colombo, Santilla, and two other Huellans led the boys through a jungle route toward the docks. The hot tropical night was silent, speckled by fireflies. Miguel Colombo and his aide stopped at the jungleâs edge. They thanked the boys fervently for their support.

âBut what about you and SeÃ±or Santilla?â Frank asked in concern.

âWe shall be all right,â Colombo assured them, smiling. âWe shall soon escape to the mainland. But one day we will return triumphant.â

After hearty handshakes with their new friends, the boys hurried to board the waiting launch.

âIâd like to get my hands on that skunk North right now!â Joe muttered with fierce resolution.

âWe will,â Frank declared. âBut weâve also got to find Gomez and stop Bedoyaâs plot against Micro-Eye!â

In relief the boys finally stepped off the launch in Cayenne. At the hotel Jack Wayne listened to their story in amazement. âSo Posada may be behind these suitcase thefts,â he exclaimed, âand be selling the smuggled information to a major power hostile to the United States!â

Jack whistled. âYou fellows have done the work of a squadron. Ready to head back tomorrow?â

âYou bet!â Chet gingerly touched his mosquito-bitten face.

Jack reported that he had uncovered no leads to Raymond Martin, but that Dykemanâs men would continue the search in French Guiana.

After a satisfying nightâs sleep, the four reached the airport early the next morning. As Jack zoomed into the sun, the boys looked back at the trail of green islands. Could they find, and save, Colomboâs missing friends?

Following an overnight stop, they landed in Bayport the next afternoon. The Hardys found Aunt Gertrude back home from her visit. She sighed with relief at seeing her nephews safe.

âThank goodness!â she gasped. âThe newspapers are full of Posadaâs villainous threats.â

She informed the boys that Mrs. Hardy would be home in a week. There was still no clue to the whereabouts of their father.

âBut that rude Mr. North!â she fumed. âSomehow he found out that I was at Mrs. Berterâs. He phoned me there and demanded to know where you boys were!â

âDid you tell him?â Frank queried.

âI should say not!â

After unpacking, Frank and Joe decided to inform Mr. Dykeman at once about their trip. On their way to Micro-Eye the brothers stopped at Corporated Laundries and Joe took in a bundle of soiled clothing. As he was leaving the counter, he noticed a man with thick eyebrows in the back working room who seemed familiar.

âFunny,â he mused. âI have a feeling Iâve seen him recently somewhere else, yet somethingâs different.â

At the Micro-Eye gate the Hardys were quickly admitted, and escorted to the intelligence office. Roy Dykeman welcomed them cordially.

âGlad to see you back! Mr. Wayneâs report of your theory about spies smuggling secrets in luggage may break our case wide open!â

Mr. Dykeman listened attentively as the brothers related all that had happened in Cayenne and in the Huellas. At hearing the information on Orrin North and Manuel Bedoya, the intelligence officer grabbed a pencil and jotted down notes.

âPosadaâs master spyâon our soil!â he exclaimed. âHe must have been whisked off Orrin Northâs Capricorn!â

âCan North be arrested now?â Joe asked.

âNo. We donât have an ounce of tangible proofâyet. Heâs acted clean as a whistle since weâve been watching him. But more important, we want to get the whole bunch without risking the lives of these missing Huellans!â

âHow about Bedoya, alias Ricardo?â Frank asked.

âIâm sending out an alert to find him at all costsâalso to apprehend Captain Burne and crew immediately in South America.â

The agent reported that Gomezâs whereabouts were not known, and the Micro-Eye security leak was still a mystery. His men failed to locate the United States headquarters for the Footprints conspiracy.

âPryce may be our man,â he admitted, âthough Iâm not convinced of it. At any rate, weâve reached the homestretch. Micro-Eyeâs satellite camera was completed this morning!â

The project was finished! Frank and Joe were elated. The top-secret instrument was to be moved under heavy protection to Washington late the following day.

âWe donât want anybody to get wind of it,â Dykeman added, âso weâre running the usual guard shifts and concession deliveries. Once that camera is on the truck, Micro-Eyeâs problems are over.â He gave a dry chuckle. âBut not mine!â

The Hardys vowed to continue their search for Gomez, but the agent cautioned them: âWherever Gomez is, the Footprints gang is looking for him too. Until we have Bedoya, be very careful!â

Frank and Joe gave their assurances and drove home. The boys enjoyed a delicious dinner, but all the while were trying to figure out a way to track down Gomez. Later Chet arrived and insisted that they drive out with him to Oak Hollow. The damage to the houses had been repaired.

âDad says Mr. Pritoâs men finished and left after supper tonight,â Chet said as they rattled along in his jalopy. âOccupancy in a week!â

It was dusk when the boys reached Oak Hollow. They parked and got out to survey the houses at close range. The hacked doors and windows and broken windows had been completely replaced.

Frank looked puzzled. âIt still beats me why those machete fellows picked on this place.â

The night watchman strolled by with a wave, then the trio walked to the rear of one house. It overlooked the valley, now in black shadows except for brilliant patches of moonlight.

âNice view,â Joe observed.

Suddenly the boys saw a clump of bushes stir below them to the left. A manâs face looked out, then vanished.

Gomez!

âWait!â Frank yelled.

They rushed down to the bushes. But there was only silence. Frank called Gomezâs name several times. No response.

âItâs useless,â Chet muttered. âHe has probably high-tailed it into the woods.â

Just then, through a grove of trees to their right, Joe spotted several upright white objects. âCome on!â

The others followed him through the grove, emerging at the foot of a grassy hillock. Frank bumped into an iron fence before he recognized the objects as gravestones. âThe cemetery!â

Finding the gate, the boys slipped through and crouched near a large gravestone. Was Gomez hiding somewhere within the cemetery itself? Atop the slope stood a square building with no windows and a single door of bronze and glass. Chet shuddered. âA mausoleum.â

âThis must be a private cemetery,â Frank whispered. âBut whatâs Gomez doing around here?â

âW-what are we doing around here? Letâs go!â Chet begged.

âNothing doing. If Gomez is here, itâs for a reason.â

Suddenly Frank felt Chet tug at his arm. âWhat is it?â he asked.

The chunky youth pointed up the slope, his eyes glazed with fear. His words would hardly come.

âTh-that tomb up th-there! The d-door is opening!â

CHAPTER XVIII

A Sinister Meeting

Â 

Â 

Â 

As if hypnotized, the three boys watched the tomb. Slowly its metal door opened wider.

They froze as a tall, shadowy figure emerged and walked in long strides to the edge of the hill. The boys crouched lower. Chet tried to swallow the lump of fear in his throat.

The gaunt figure stood in ghostly silhouette. There was no mistaking the dark-spectacled, hawk-nosed profile.

Manuel Bedoya!

The three boys were dumfounded. Had he actually appeared from the tomb! Or were they seeing things?

âHeâs no ghost!â Joe whispered finally.

The spy appeared to be waiting for someone. He glanced frequently at his wrist.

Moonlight painted the cemetery in an eerie, silvery glow. As the boys huddled behind the large gravestone, Joe squinted to make out its inscription. He nudged the others. They gaped at the name beneath the birth and death dates:

JAMES NORTH

âThis might be Orrin Northâs private family cemetery! Maybe James was his father.â

âAnd North lets the gang hide out in the tomb!â Frank exclaimed. âThat would explain the Oak Hollow sabotage.â

âTo keep people from occupying the houses!â Chet added, âuntilââ

The boys spoke in whispers, keeping an eye on Bedoya. Soon they heard faint voices from beyond the cemetery. The gaunt spy disappeared down the other side of the slope.

âHeâs meeting someone!â Frank said.

âNowâs our chance!â Joe urged. âIf they go inside the tomb, weâll never hear anything.â

Chet gulped. âYou m-mean we go inside?â

âYes!â

âButâbut somebody else may be in there,â Chet objected. âWeâd better get the police!â

âBedoya might leave in the meantime,â said Frank. âEven if two of us stayed, thereâd be no car to follow him. I say we chance it!â

They looked up the hill at the half-opened tomb door. A red glow from within was visible. The boys decided that one of them should remain as lookout at the gravestone. Frank turned to Chet. âWould you rather wait here?â

âAlone? Not on your life!â

âIâll stay,â Joe offered.

Frank and Chet started cautiously up the slope. Chet, his heart pounding, kept close at Frankâs heels. At the top Frank paused, then broke for the tomb. Reaching it, he signaled Chet, who quickly followed. They peered around one corner toward the rear. Voices still drifted up from below. There was not a sound from inside.

âOkay, here goes!â

Frank slipped through the door, then Chet. They stopped and looked around the square, stone chamber.

The air in the vault was dead and musty. In the middle of the room stood a wooden table strewn with newspapers in Spanish. The reddish glow came from a kerosene lamp on the table. Several machetes lay near a locker stocked with canned foods. A small short-wave set stood in one corner.

âThe last place anybodyâd suspect of being a hideout,â Frank murmured. âBut no Gomez, or Huellan refugees.â

Voices could be heard approaching. âBedoyaâs coming back!â Chet quavered. âAnd heâs not alone!â

It was too late for the boys to slip out unseen! They looked desperately around for a hiding place. Frankâs keen eyes spotted a small descending spiral stairway in the shadows.

âDown here!â

Quickly the boys swung down the metal steps, Chet first. Frankâs head dropped below floor level just as the first man entered the tomb. The two boys crouched tensely.

In a moment a jumble of voices echoed from above, some speaking in Spanish, others in English. The talking died down as the heavy door clanked shut. Chetâs throat went dry, and Frank felt a twinge of fear. Below them, they discerned several cots in the dimness, but no sign of any prisoners.

âGood evening, gentlemen,â said a suave, accented voice. âEveryone accounted for? Bueno. Let us begin.â

The voice was undoubtedly Bedoyaâs! It continued:

âEverything is ready to carry out Posadaâs orderâto get the satellite camera at all costs. By eight tomorrow morning Dykemanâs precautions will have been for nothing and our Footprints mission completed!â

âNot soon enough for me,â a gruff voice commented. âIâm sick of this bone house!â

Frank caught his breath. A plot to steal the government camera itselfâtomorrow!

âNever mind that,â the first voice said coldly. âDecker, will 41 be offshore for delivery at the given time?â

âPrecisely. I reached them by radio from the Northerly two hours ago. There will be room for all of you.â

âGood. We cannot fail! With this fool Pryce under suspicion, the plant may have false confidence in their security. Are your plans set, Valdez?â

âSi. The smoke bombs are ready. We will knock out the guards. Mr. North has two cars for usâRodriguez and I will take one, while Greber and Walton will use the other.â

A voice that sounded vaguely familiar to Frank added, âThe uniforms are ready, Senor Bedoya. The change will take only an instant.â

Frank racked his brain. Where had he heard the voice before? Carefully he mounted the steps until he could just see into the vault.

Bedoya, alias Ricardo, wearing a white suit, stood at one end of the table, encircled by seven men. Hunched over the flickering red lantern, Posadaâs chief spy seemed poised like a vulture. Frank looked over the rest of the group.

Of three, ill-kempt, swarthy men, he recognized two as those who had vandalized the Oak Hollow houses. One must be Rodriguez. The third was the stocky man with sideburnsâValdez.

The huge, bushy-haired thug, Walton, was present, and a short, bald man whom Frank also recognizedâthe impostor who had tried to arrest Gomez.

To Bedoyaâs left, near the door, sat the pilot of Northâs yacht. âHe must be Decker,â Frank reasoned, âsince he has the âoffshoreâ job.â

The boyâs attention was finally riveted on a thin, heavy-browed man speaking at the opposite end of the table. His was the voice Frank had recalled hearing before.

The man complained, âThis luggage business has been too stickyâand now we find out from the boss those blueprints we photographed were phonies!â

âThat camera will be no phony,â Bedoya remarked gloatingly. âYou are sure it will fit into our waterproof bag, Al?â

âCertain of it,â was the reply.

Suddenly Frank visualized a mustache on Alâs clean-shaven face and stiffened. Of course!

âHeâs the guard who stopped Joe and me near the plantâs maintenance building on our tour!â Frank recalled. âHeâs the Micro-Eye security leak. We must stop them!â

Bedoya and his henchmen spoke for some time in Spanish. Frank caught the name âMartinâ several times. Now the chief spy leaned forward.

âOne unpleasant item,â he said, raising his voice. âI received word tonight that those meddling sons of Fenton Hardy went to Baredo seeking Gomez, and two subversives, both of whom I regret to say escaped to French Guiana. Posada is not pleased.â

The men muttered uneasily. Chet had crept up behind Frank. The two boys felt a surge of joy. Colombo and Santilla had gotten away!

âThose young punks,â Walton growled. âToo bad Greber and Valdez and me didnât finish âem off at the boathouse.â

Bedoyaâs lips curled scornfully. âYou were all fools to muff the chance!â

âNext time I get my hands on the Hardy pests and their fat friendââ Walton clenched and unclenched his huge fists. Chet felt a trickle of sweat running down his brow.

There was a sudden sharp cry from outside the tomb. Manuel Bedoya straightened up. âThat was JosÃ©! He must have caught somebody snooping!â

An icy chill went through Frank and Chet. Was Joe in the enemyâs clutches? The next instant Bedoya doused the lantern and the eight men rushed outside.

âChet! Come on!â

Frank whipped up the stairway and leaped for the closing tomb door, but too late. It clanked firmly shut! Frantically the boys pushed against it to no avail. They were sealed in!

Chet gasped. âWeâll never get out alive!â

Frank noticed a fine slot near the door handle. âBedoya must have had a key!â

Suddenly a click sounded from outside, and the door began to open. The two boys braced themselves for battle.

âItâs all rightâitâs me!â

âJoe!â

âThank heavens!â Chet sighed, faint with relief.

Frank started to speak, but his brother motioned them out of the tomb. In the woods to their right, the boys could hear a commotion of voices. They circled to the back of the vault and ran down the slope into a stand of pine trees.

âTheyâveâgotâGomez,â Joe panted.

âWhat?â

âYes. Bedoya had two guards hidden near the cemetery. I saw Gomez a second before they captured him. The others rushed out of the tomb before I could do anything!â

âJoe, theyâve hatched a plot to get the Micro-Eye camera tomorrow morning!â Quickly Frank recounted all they had heard. âWeâve got to tell Dykemanâbut we canât leave Gomez helpless!â

The boys listened intently. Now only silence met their ears. Swiftly and silently, the Hardys and Chet circled the cemetery. Still no sounds, or sign of anyone.

âFunny,â Joe muttered. âI didnât hear a car start up.â

Chet again urged they go for the police.

âGuess weâll need help,â Frank agreed. âAnd we have to warn Micro-Eye!â

They pushed through the dark woods, Chet plowing ahead like a tank in a thicket. âBoy, am I glad to get out of here!â

Joe had just started up the rise toward the housing development when a beam of light flashed out from the right. Then another! To their left, still another!

âLook out!â

Before the boys could retreat, rough arms seized all three from behind. Frank and Joe bucked and kicked at the men holding them. Joe grimaced with pain as his captor applied a vicious arm lock. Frank, helpless in a choking grip, saw Chet had been thrown to the ground after a valiant struggle against two assailants.

The boys, hopelessly outnumbered, were gagged and dragged a short distance. Frank was first to sight the limp, gagged form of Gomez at the feet of a white-suited figure.

Manuel Bedoyaâs voice uttered one menacing word. âStrike!â

The next instant blows crashed upon the boysâ heads. They sank down, unconscious!

CHAPTER XIX

Ghost Ship

Â 

Â 

Â 

SLOWLY Joe revived. His arms were bound tightly behind his back.

He felt the steady throb of a motor and a rocking motion. As a splash of water hit his face, he sat up but fell back as a strong gust of salty wind hit him. Joe now realized he was in the stern of a boat moving at top speed through the darkness.

Frank and Chet, also tied up, lay inert on deck next to him. As a wave leaped the rail and doused them, they both sat up groggily.

Frank winced. âMy headâwhere are we?â

Joe whispered, looking around, âI think weâre aboard the Northerly!â

Two Huellan thugs, whom the boys recognized as the machete men, glared at the trio from the taffrail. Nearby lay the unconscious form of Gomez. To starboard, the boys could just see the mainland. They were heading south, but where? The Hardys strained futilely against their bonds. Prisoners! And a sinister spy scheme to be executed against Micro-Eye within a few hours!

âWatch the rocks!â a voice called out. The boys spotted Bedoya standing on the bridge above. Chetâs teeth chattered.

Presently the yacht turned into a slow arc, then the engines stopped. The Northerlyâs lights were cut, except one beam to the fore.

The shoreline was in complete blackness. Suddenly, ahead, the three boys made out a huge, hulking outline. They drew closer to the enormous shadow.

Frank gasped. âThe Atlantis!â

Moments later, the captives were rudely pulled to their feet and untied. The Huellan, Rodriguez, prodded them with a blunt instrument.

âOne sound and you are finished.â

In grim silence the Hardys and Chet were thrust into a dinghy with one man at the oars; then Gomez, still unconscious, was lifted in. The two thugs climbed in and the oarsman pushed off. Bedoya and his other henchmen followed in a second boat.

The two craft made directly for the old wreck. Nearer and nearer it loomed, until the tilted hull hovered over them. A rope ladder was lowered from the portside.

âUp!â Rodriguez ordered the captive youths.

Frank, Joe, and Chet gripped the swaying ladder and climbed to the freighterâs deck. The three men seized and handcuffed them.

Chet crouched against the strong wind, trying desperately to keep his balance on the slanted deck. A shaft of light pierced the darkness as one of the men opened a hatch.

âDown there!â he barked.

The trio obeyed, with their captors following. Below, the boys were led aft through a dim passageway lined with broken rusted piping to an open doorway. Here an olive-skinned muscular man yanked the boys inside.

They found themselves in a large compartment, illuminated dimly by several lanterns. Cots and chairs were scattered about. A battered desk stood near a rack of rifles. On the desk lay a crate of fruit, several sea shells of the keyhole limpet variety, and a riding crop.

The boysâ attention was quickly drawn to a group of weary-looking people seated on blankets at the rear of the hold. The eight men and three women looked Latin American. Their wrists and ankles bound, they seemed too exhausted to show much surprise at the new arrivals.

One of the men moaned. Seeing lash marks across his face, Frank grimaced. âThe Huellan refugees!â he whispered. âThank heavens theyâre alive!â

âUp!â Rodriguez ordered the captive youths

âNot by much!â Joe commented, appalled. âBedoya must have them beaten. I wonder how long theyâve been kept here.â

âWeeks, probably,â Frank estimated. âWeâve got to get all of us out of here!â

âThen I really did hear voices out at the cove that day!â Chet whispered, nudging both Hardys. âProbably these prisonersâ cries!â

Frank nodded. âWith Bedoya at work here, it would explain the Atlantis âghost screamsâ!â

Gomez, now conscious, was led in by the muscular man. The refugees cried out joyously:

âGomez!â

âLuis!â âPedro!â âAmigosââ

Gomezâs greeting to his captive countrymen was cut short by a brutal slap from the thug. Reeling, Gomez was thrust next to the boys, who in whispers quickly established friendly terms with him.

âWe owe you some apologies,â Frank said, and briefly explained what they had learned.

Gomez was astonished upon hearing of the boysâ visit to Baredo. âIf only I had not become frightened and run away from you!â he muttered ruefully to Frank and Joe. âI was afraid to trust anybody before finding my missing friends.â

The news of Colombo and Santillaâs escape cheered Gomez. He had not been aware of the plot against Micro-Eye, nor of Bedoyaâs presence in Bayport. Gomez had learned of Northâs double-dealing while on the Dorado and also overheard Captain Burne speak of âthe investigator, Fenton Hardy.â The Huellan added that the search for his betrayed compatriots had finally led him to the cemetery at Oak Hollow and his capture.

The four stopped talking as Manuel Bedoya entered, followed by a heavy-set figure with his coat collar up. As the second man faced them, they gasped. Orrin North!

The magnate squinted balefully at the boys and Gomez. âYou three have been a headache to us,â he rasped angrily. âAnd you!â He strode over and shook his fist at Gomez. âYou almost wrecked my ârefugeeâ business!â

âBusiness!â Joe retorted. âYou mean kidnapping and treason!â

âShut up!â North snapped, his eyes blazing. âYou Hardys will regret not cooperating with me. Too bad you would not heed the machete warning of Rodriguez and his friend.â

âWhatâs your motive in this spy game, North?â Frank asked coolly.

âLetâs just say money.â

Frank went on, âYou pretended Gomez was a thief, provided the tomb hideout, plus the Atlantis for Posadaâs Footprints plot?â

âYou catch on fast,â North said mockingly. âThe warning sign I put up here, and the ghost legend helped keep people awayâbut not you nosy kids. My pilot saw you snooping around the cove last week. Iâll bet you copped that sea shell, too!â

North went on, boasting that leaving messages in the sea shells had been his idea. He pointed to the brawny thug. âMusco here swam the shells ashore.â

âAfter you tricked these Huellans into giving names of underground friends,â Joe accused him.

âNot me personally,â North qualified, âbut youâve got the idea. Sometimes Bedoya had to be moreâpersuasive.â He chuckled. âNice system, eh? The shells were picked up, the names and other information hidden in clothes, and sent to Cayenne. How do you like my title: Orrin North, Liberator of the Huellas?â

Gomezâs eyes blazed and he kicked at the magnate. âYou dog!â

North stepped back, laughing raucously. He turned to Bedoya. âManuel, Iâm not hanging around here any longer than I have to. Everything ready for this morning?â

âEverythingâif the Northerly is.â

âItâs shipshape.â North rubbed his hands and said to the boys, âToo bad youâll miss seeing us pull off our big job today. Manuel, theyâre all yours!â he added, and left.

Chet nervously watched as Bedoya leaned against the desk and fingered the riding crop. Frank glanced up at a clock on the wall. Four A.M.! He decided to take the offensive.

âSo Posada sneaked you in here via the Capricorn to get the Micro-Eye camera!â he said.

âYes,â Bedoya said, cracking the whip against the desk. Chet jumped.

The master spy continued, âI failed to learn from Miss Hardy on shipboard of your fatherâs whereabouts, but I understand he is far from here, unfortunately for you!â

âYou think youâre going to break into Micro-Eye?â Joe taunted. âYou donât have a chance!â

âI think we have a perfect chance,â Bedoya countered blandly. He laughed.

Frank suddenly recalled Al, the spy, he had seen at the tomb meeting.

âWe know you have an inside man,â the young detective spoke up. âHow did he get clearance as a guard?â

âOh, but Al Rakerâs not a guard,â Bedoya said, raising his brows. âHeâs a laundryman.â

âA laundryman!â

âOf course!â Joe burst out. âThe man I thought I recognized at Corporated Laundries! And I saw North in thereâprobably leaving a message!â

âCorporated Laundries!â Frank exclaimed. âSo thatâs how Raker took photos inside the plant. But the maintenance building is isolatedâwhere did Raker suddenly get a guardâs uniform?â

Bedoya cracked the riding crop again, close to Frankâs face. âYou are very inquisitive.â He smiled. âBut I can afford to tell you.â

The Huellan reached into a foot locker and pulled out a white work outfit. Stitched over one of the jacket pockets in red was the word âCorporated.â

âSimple,â he began. âRaker rides with Galeâalso one of our menâin the truck to Micro-Eye. Raker sits in the back with the clean laundry. They are admitted by the gate guards. Thenââthe chief spy grinnedââcomes our little miracle.â

Bedoya quickly turned the white jacket and trousers inside out. The boys gasped. They were identical to a Micro-Eye guardâs uniform!

âThe rest is easy,â Bedoya continued. âRaker dons a mustache and forged badge, then he is let out at the maintenance building by Gale. Next, he walks to the main plant. Dykemanâs guard-shifting plan helpedâRaker goes about unsuspected.â

âAnd with a miniature camera!â Joe cut in.

âCorrect. Raker then returns to the maintenance building and Gale sneaks him back into the truck, where he once more reverses the uniform.â

âBut,â Frank interrupted, âthe gate has logged in two laundry employees in the truck. If Gale handles the laundry alone, wouldnât any guards watching be suspicious?â

âGale doesnât work alone,â Bedoya said smugly. âSince our laundrymen collect and deliver regularly at the maintenance building, the gate guards do not inspect the bundles.â

âInside one of which is another spy!â Joe finished. âHe takes Rakerâs place until he gets back!â

âIngenious, no?â Bedoya boasted. âOur third man comes in as âcleanâ laundry and leaves in a pickup bundle. But today that bundle will leave with the satellite camera.â

âThen why did you have Valdez try to cut through the fence that day?â Frank asked. âHe didnât have a chance of getting in.â

âOf course not,â Bedoya agreed. âBut it helped to make Dykeman think we were working from outside.â

Frank pressed further. âAnd you used the luggageâand clothingâof innocent travelers to smuggle out the films and stolen data to Cayenne?â

âCorrect,â Bedoya affirmed. He admitted that Valdez had broken into travel agencies and obtained names of tourists flying to Cayenne.

Their agents at Corporated Laundries would wait for the travelers to leave dry cleaning there, the Huellan added. The Micro-Eye secrets were then cleverly sewn into some of the garments which the customer indicated he would take on the trip. In certain cases Valdez would have to risk entering the personâs home to make sure the information was in the suitcase.

âAnd what happened to Raymond Martin?â Joe demanded.

âOh, we have him safely tucked away.â Bedoya would explain no further. Just then Musco whispered something in his ear. Leaving two armed thugs with the boys, the men left the compartment.

Frank, Joe, and Chet looked around for some means of escape. Their heads throbbed with pain. Gomez and the refugees slumped into dejected silence.

Suddenly clanking sounds from below and the gurgle of rushing water aroused the four prisoners. Frank again looked at the clock.

âSix-thirty!â he thought. âWe have to get free!â

At that moment Bedoya re-entered with Musco. The boys and Gomez were unhandcuffed and pushed through the door toward a companion-way.

âAnd now, we must part,â Bedoya said jeeringly.

The Hardys, Chet, and Gomez were jostled down the rusted stairs. Musco, Rodriguez, and Bedoya followed closely. The sound of rushing water became louder. The group came to a halt outside a watertight door.

âI would have enjoyed testing your endurance at greater length,â said the spy leader. âBut time is short. All right, Musco!â

Musco threw open the steel door to the thundering din of gushing water. It was a dark aft compartment flooding from gashes in the hull!

âYouâll never get away with this!â Frank shouted.

But the next instant the boys and Gomez were thrust savagely into the turbulent chamber. Torrents of ice-cold sea water enveloped them as Bedoyaâs mocking voice rang out. âIf you are found, it will appear as an accident. Rememberâthis is a ghost ship!â

His laughter reverberated. Then the heavy door swung shut and clinked. The icy water rose higher and higher, swirling about the foursome.

CHAPTER XX

Countdown

Â 

Â 

Â 

THE Hardys, Chet, and Gomez floundered in the darkness, trying to keep their heads above the rising water. They clawed around, groping blindly for a way out.

âThis whole stem section must be submerged!â Frank realized.

The Hardys tried yanking at the steel door, but it would not budge. By now, none of them could stand. âIâI canât stay up much longer!â Chet gasped. As a furry rodent brushed his cheek, he choked on a mouthful of salt water.

Frank said, âTry to find out where the waterâs coming in! Itâs our only way out!â

The three dived again and again, desperately seeking a breach in the hull large enough for them to squeeze through. Their breathing grew labored.

Gomez groaned. âIt is no use! The openings are too small!â

âKeep looking!â

Joe, bursting above water, touched the overhead with his hand. There was almost no room left!

Then suddenly Frank felt a strong pressure against his feet. He plunged beneath the surface, fingering the bulkhead. An inrushing stream of water led him to a jagged hole about two feet high and a foot wide. Frank shot above.

âIâve found the opening!â he shouted. âBut weâll have to widen it!â

Joe and Chet wrenched loose a section of rusted pipe near the overhead and swam toward Frankâs voice. âHere!â

With not a second to lose, the two boys dived and battered at the side of the opening. As they came up for air, Joe gasped, âWe canât get enough force behind the pipe!â

Desperate, the four prisoners submerged again, each gripping the pipe. They pushed it against one end of the gash and tried to bend out the edge. Suddenly, to their amazement, the lever began to jockey with new force.

Someone on the outside was trying to help them!

The opening grew wider!

The boys felt as if their lungs would burst, but finally Gomez wriggled through, then Joe. He pulled Chet outside, and Frank followed.

When they broke the sunlit surface of Cobblewave Cove, the four drew in long, shuddering gulps of air. Utterly exhausted, they floated to a large hump-shaped rock and collapsed onto it.

Who had been their rescuer? Frank sat up.

âFellows, look!â From the shadow of the Atlantis, somebody was swimming toward them! As the figure neared the rock, the Hardys cried out in astonishment:

âDad!â

âFrank! Joe!â

Fenton Hardy grasped his sonsâ hands and climbed up. He wore old, torn clothes.

âDad! How?âWhere?ââ

The well-built, keen-dyed detective was equally amazed at seeing his sons. Catching his breath, he explained, âI spotted Orrin Northâs yacht out here an hour ago from a motorboat Iâd rented, and swam to the Atlantis. Are you all right?â

âBarely,â Chet said with a weak smile.

Gomez was quickly introduced, then Mr. Hardy continued his story. Upon hearing menâs voices from the wrecked freighter, he had dived near the stern. âWhen I saw the pipe coming through the hole, I knew someone was trapped, so I pitched in, not dreaming it was you at the other end!â

âYou saved our lives!â Frank said. âBut, Dadâyou havenât been away? Youâve been in Bayport?â

âYes, in order to watch Northâs activities. But tell me what youâre doing here.â

The boys tersely recounted their involvement with Micro-Eye, and explained Bedoyaâs imminent plot to steal the camera.

âAt eight oâclock!â the detective repeated, shocked. âI saw the Northerly start up the coast a short while ago.â

âWith Bedoya and his men aboard!â Joe guessed. âCome on!â

Overcoming their fatigue, the five swam to shore. They raced across the beach, through the pine barrens, and up a dirt road.

Fenton Hardy looked at his waterproof watch. âItâs almost eight now!â

Frank urged, âLetâs flag the first car!â

Gomez, concerned for his imprisoned friends, was reluctant to leave. âYou wait here,â Mr. Hardy said. âWeâll notify the Coast Guard and have them send a boat to the Atlantis.â

âGracias!â

A sedan approached, and the boys signaled frantically. The car stopped, and the Hardys and Chet jumped in.

âMicro-Eye Industries! Quick! Emergency!â

The young driver recognized the Hardys, and though puzzled at their bedraggled appearance, reacted instantly. âYou bet!â

The sedan shot north along the coast. It was now ten after eight! Reaching town, the driver sped up a boulevard leading directly to the Micro-Eye plant. They heard sirens wailing. Eight-fifteen!

As the plant came into view, they gasped. Billowing smoke almost obscured the buildings. Squad cars idled along both curbs. Policemen and armed plant guards seemed to be everywhere.

âBedoyaâs smoke bombs!â Frank exclaimed. He directed the driver to stop at the main gate, as Joe yelled, âThere goes the laundry truck!â

The brown vehicle was just turning the comer at the far end of the block!

âTheyâve stolen the camera!â Joe cried out.

âChet,â Mr. Hardy snapped, âfind Mr. Dykeman! Have him call the Coast Guard!â

âYes, Mr. Hardy.â

As Chet hopped out, the detective addressed the driver. âWe need to borrow this car. Will you trust us with it?â

âSure thing!â

The young man alighted and Frank slipped behind the wheel. He sped off, heading directly for the waterfront. As they neared Bay Street, the Hardys saw the laundry truck ahead. It swerved around a corner. Frank followed just in time to see a large white bundle tossed from the rear of the truck. It landed in an empty lot!

âThe camera!â Joe cried out.

âThis may be a trick!â his father argued.

Frank had already screeched to the curb. Joe sprinted over and tore open the bundle. Empty!

In a flash he was back in the car, and Frank made for the boathouse area. He braked to a halt at the Northerlyâs dock. The yacht was nearing the mouth of Barmet Bay.

âTheyâve made the pickup!â Joe cried out. âLetâs get the Sleuth!â

The boys and their father leaped out and started for the Hardy boathouse. Suddenly, from behind a green car parked nearby, two figures rushed toward them. The hulking Walton, and behind him Greber, wielding a machete!

The huge man lunged for Mr. Hardy, but the detective side-stepped nimbly and jarred him to the ground with an uppercut. Frank and Joe tackled Greber. Two punches to the midriff sent the machete flying and he sank to his knees.

âLeave them for the police!â Mr. Hardy said.

He and his sons rushed into their boathouse and boarded the Sleuth, with Frank at the wheel. He sped across the bay. The yacht had already reached the open sea.

âTheyâre going to transfer the camera to another boat!â Joe shouted, recalling the spiesâ planned âoffshore pickupâ by â41.â

âProbably in international waters!â the investigator guessed as the Sleuth streaked from the bay.

The Northerly now raced full speed ahead, some hundred yards to port. In the distance the pursuers saw a small, net-draped sailing vessel. The Northerly plied directly for it, cutting speed.

âA fishing trawler!â Mr. Hardy exclaimed. ââ41â!â

âIâll try to get between them!â Frank steered straight for the tip of the Northerlyâs bow.

The yachtâs pilot swung left to avert a collision. The maneuver had worked! But as Frank looped back toward the yacht, the larger ship veered sharply, and came at the Sleuth. The Hardys could see Manuel Bedoya, enraged, shouting to the pilot, Decker.

Joe yelled at his brother, âLook out, theyâll cut us in two!â

Frank was forced to turn aside, and the Northerly resumed course for the trawler. Suddenly there came a thunderous boom!

The Hardys looked south at a rising patch of smoke. Two sleek, gray cutters with forward guns were advancing at full steam.

âThe Coast Guard!â

Instantly the trawlerâs motors chugged to life. It headed out to sea, away from the Northerly. Bedoyaâs frantic shouts could be heard.

âStop! You cannot desert us! Wait!â

But already one of the cutters blocked the Northerlyâs path, and a stern voice blared out:

âHeave to!â

The yacht throbbed to a halt. At the same instant, Bedoya darted to the rail and flung a bundle overboard.

âThe camera! Frank, quick!â

The Sleuth shot to where the object splashed into the sea. Joe dived and grasped the sinking bundle. He brought it up and was helped aboard by his father. By this time the trawler was a speck on the horizon.

Meanwhile, six Coast Guard men had boarded the Northerly and ordered Decker to head back. Manuel Bedoya stood sullenly in the grip of two officers.

With a Coast Guard cutter on either side, the Northerly returned to Barmet Bay. The Sleuth kept close behind. Within an hour after docking, Bedoya and all his cohorts had been arrested, and the camera found intact in a waterproof bag.

Soon afterward, a large jubilant group sat in the Hardy living room, awaiting lunch. Aunt Gertrude was spellbound by the whole story.

Mr. Dykeman arose from a chair. âFenton,â he said warmly, âwords canât express what you, your sons, and Chet Morton have done for our government.â

The boys beamed, then Joe remarked, âThe great âliberator,â Orrin North, is out of business for good, I guess.â

âI should think so,â Aunt Gertrude said tartly. âAnd to think that I actually was on board ship with Posadaâs head spy!â

Dykeman reported that the smoke bombs had caused little damage to Micro-Eye and no one had been injured. âBut the confusion did allow the phony guard Raker to take the cameraâsupposedly to safety, then to knock out two plant guards before he put the camera in the truck.

âBy the way, Pryce has been exonerated,â the intelligence man said. âRaymond Martin was found half-starving but alive in a remote shack outside Cayenne. The two suitcase thieves were with him. They confessed to having left âhis skeletonâ to fool any prowlers.â

Captain Burne and the Dorado crew had been apprehended in South America. The boys were pleased to learn that Gomez and the Huellan refugees had been assured of homes and a new start in the United States.

âLetâs hope the spiesâ failure puts a big dent in Posadaâs power,â Frank said. âBy the wayâthat fishing trawlerâdoes it just get away?â

âIâm afraid so,â Mr. Hardy replied, âbut empty-handed, at least. Authorities believe the vessel belongs to a large, anti-American countryâand, as you and Joe suspected, that Posada did plan to trade the satellite camera for money and arms.â

Mr. Dykeman chuckled. âNot even I suspected your whereabouts, Fenton.â

Chet was still puzzled by the theft of Iolaâs shopping bag. âI can explain that,â Mr. Dykeman said. âWhen your dry cleaning was left at Corporated Laundries, Bedoyaâs spies mistakenly sewed the film into your clothing. They confused Morton for Martin, so Valdez had to get them back.â

âOne more unsolved mystery,â said Joe. âThose footprints under the window, both at our house and Northâs.â

Mr. Hardy burst into hearty laughter. âRemember, you werenât the only sleuths around here.â

âDad! They were your footprints?â

âGuilty.â The detectiveâs eyes twinkling. He added, âTo crack this spy plot, it was important that no one knew I was in town.â The âstolenâ papers, he revealed, were part of a dossier on North which he had to pick up.

Joe gaped. âWell, if that doesnât beat everything!â Unknown to him, however, the Hardys would soon be challenged by an even more baffling case, The Mark on the Door.

âAnyway,â Chet said, sighing and relishing the prospect of a titanic meal, âone thingâs sure about this mystery. There was an awful lot afoot!â

The others laughed heartily.