THE FLICKERING TORCH MYSTERY

TWO unexplainable plane crashes near an airport on the East Coast plunge Frank and Joe Hardy into a bizarre case.

When their famous detective father is called to New York City by a group of insurance companies to investigate air freight thefts at Kennedy International Airport, Mr. Hardy asks Frank and Joe to take over his current case of the suspicious plane accidents.

From the moment Frank and Joe find a radioactive engine in an airplane junkyard, unexpected dangers strike like lightning. Despite the repeated attempts on their lives, the teen-age detectives pursue their investigation and make a second startling discovery involving contraband uranium isotopes. These two vital clues and others that Frank and Joe unearth provide the solution to one of the most baffling mysteries the boys and Mr. Hardy have ever encountered.

The force of the manâ€™s blow caused Joe to lose his balance!

Copyright Â© 1971, 1943, by Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved.

Published by Grosset & Dunlap, Inc., a member of The Putnam & Grosset
Group, New York. Published simultaneously in Canada. S.A.
THE HARDY BOYSÂ® is a registered trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Grosset & Dunlap, Inc.

eISBN : 978-1-101-07636-1

http://us.penguingroup.com

CHAPTER I

Mysterious Accidents

âBOYS, Iâm on a new case and Iâve run into a problem,â Fenton Hardy said. He had walked into his sonsâ second-floor bedroom, which was vibrating from the sounds of Joeâs guitar.

âSorry, Dad,â said the seventeen-year-old blond boy. âDidnât hear you come in. Frank and I were testing this new amplifier.â He set down the guitar as Mr. Hardy took a seat.

âWhatâs the matter?â asked Frank, dark-haired and a year older than his brother. âCan we help in any way?â

âI think so,â his father replied. âThis case has me up a tree. Itâs a baffling mystery. In fact, two of them. A couple of light planes crashed recently near Marlin Crag Airport outside Beemerville. They were coming in from the sea for a landing and hit the cliffs. Both pilots died.â

âWhat a shame,â Frank said. Both he and Joe were licensed pilots and shared the comradery of fliers.

âAny theories?â Joe asked.

âWeather conditions were bad in both cases. Heavy fog. But the two men, Jack Scott and Martin Weiss, were experienced and could have come in on instruments.â

âI take it the Federal Aviation Agency has investigated?â Frank said.

âRight. Now Scottâs family has asked me to look into it. Sam Radleyâs done some preliminary work.â

Fenton Hardy was world-renowned as a sleuth. Trained in the New York City Police Department, he had resigned to become a private investigator in Bayport, a medium-sized town on the East Coast.

His sons were following in his footsteps. Starting with the mystery of The Tower Treasure, Frank and Joe had proved their detective ability. Most recently they had cracked a tough case, The Clue of the Broken Blade.

Sam Radley was Fenton Hardyâs assistant. A skillful operative, he could be relied on to stick to a case till it was solved.

âSam obtained taped interviews with the Scott family,â Mr. Hardy continued. âIâd like you boys to listen to them when he returns to Bayport in a few days.â

âMeanwhile our assignment is to snoop around Marlin Crag Airport,â Frank concluded.

âExactly. Ask questions. Talk to the manager and find out if anyone knows any details about the crashes. You can fly up in our plane.â

âIt would be easier to go by car,â Joe said.

âI know. But with the plane you can take the same approach as those pilots did and perhaps learn something as to why they crashed.â

Mr. Hardy showed his sons a piece of paper with the flight route of the two planes.

âNow all we need to start out are the aircraft and engine numbers,â Frank said.

âIâve got them right here,â Mr. Hardy said and handed him another piece of paper. The numbers were neatly typed in two columns.

âWhat about you, Dad?â Frank inquired. âWill we see you in Beemerville?â

âNo. Iâll be in New York working on a case for some insurance companies. Theyâre worried about a ring of freight thieves who have been hitting the airports. Millions of dollars are involved.â

âSo weâll be on our own,â Joe commented.

Fenton Hardy nodded. âPlay it by ear, and Iâll get in touch with you as soon as I can.â

He rose from the chair and slapped Frank on the shoulder. âContinue your guitar practice. You both can drive me to the airport in a couple of hours and start your case tomorrow.â

As their father went down the stairs, Frank said, âOkay, letâs try the amp again.â

Joe started playing a folk rock number. The amplifier picked up the sound and sent it reverberating through the house.

Frank and Joe were getting ready for a rock festival at the local park. They had a combo, in which Joe played the lead guitar. Frank handled the rhythm guitar. Three of their friends were on the other instrumentsâBiff Hooper bass guitar, Phil Cohen at the portable organ, and Tony Prito on the drums.

Moments later, above the sound of the twanging strings, the boys heard the rackety cough of a back-firing motor. A battered jalopy bucked along and jolted to a stop in front of the Hardy house. A plump youth with a freckled face eased out from behind the wheel.

Joe went to the window and chuckled. âChetâs music doesnât turn me on, Frank. I wish heâd trade the ancient heap in for a later modelâlike 1950, perhaps.â

The Hardys ran downstairs and met their friend on the porch. Chet Morton, who lived on a farm outside of Bayport, was bubbling with excitement.

âWhatâs up?â Frank inquired.

âUp is right! Up in the air! Iâm building me a flying machine!â

Frank and Joe knew all about Chetâs mania for hobbies. Almost every time they saw their chum he was involved in a new project.

âOkay, letâs try the amp again!â Frank said

âItâll take a jumbo jet to lift you off the ground,â Joe needled their hefty visitor.

âAw, cut it out,â Chet protested. âIâm serious. Look. You know Beemerville?â

The Hardys exchanged glances. âSure, itâs sixty miles up the coast from here,â Frank replied. âWhat about it?â

âIt has an airplane junkyard. Mountains of old motors, fuselages, wheelsâeverything. Just the place for me to collect the parts for my plane. But I need your help.â

âWhy?â Frank queried.

âWell, you guys are licensed pilots, right? You even fly your fatherâs plane. I want you to come along and help me pick out what I need.â

âWeâve got a few weeks before the rock festival,â Joe mused and gave his brother a knowing wink.

Frank clapped Chet on the shoulder. âAll right, weâll go with you.â

âYou will? Terrific!â

âSee you at the airport tomorrow morning at eight,â Frank said.

âYou want to fly? But itâs only a little over an hour by car!â

âWell, weâre combining the trip with a little assignment for Dad,â Joe said and explained their mission to Chet.

âOh, I see. Iâm only second fiddle,â Chet said with a grin. âWell, I donât mind. See you tomorrow!â

The next day was Saturday. Chet was waiting when the Hardys arrived at the airport. Frank, at the controls of their single-engine aircraft, took off smoothly and the shoreline flashed past beneath their wings. The sixty miles passed quickly. When they came in sight of Marlin Crag Airport, Frank swung out to sea in a big arc.

Then he turned back inland again toward the airport about two miles ahead. âThis is the approach Scott and Weiss took,â he said to Joe.

âBoy, these cliffs are for real!â Chet exclaimed. âTheyâre like an accordion, the way the rocks wave in and out.â

âAnd that oil refinery to the right looks like a beacon,â Joe said. âYou canât miss the high pipe burning off gas.â

Glancing down, they saw the surf breaking over a rugged headland studded with huge boulders. The high escarpment fell in a sheer drop to the rocks below.

âFrank, watch it,â Joe cried suddenly.

A light plane zoomed up under their left wing. They could see the face of the pilot, a square-jawed fellow with a long scar along his left cheek. Frank veered to the right to let the other pilot swish past under his left wing with little room to spare!

âSome nerve that guyâs got!â Chet exploded.

âHe just wasnât paying any attention,â said Frank. Wiping some beads of perspiration from his face, he added, âAt least I hope it was just negligence and he didnât do it on purpose!â

âHeâs going into Marlin Crag,â Joe observed. âMaybe we can have a little talk with him when we land.â

âIâll talk to him all right!â Chet said, flexing his muscles. âIâll show himâHey, thereâs the airplane junkyard!â

Excitedly he pointed below to a large enclosed area with piles of plane parts strewn about.

âOkay, Chet, weâll check it out as soon as weâre finished at the airport,â Frank promised and radioed the tower for permission to land.

Soon they were in the office of Airport Manager Steve Holmes, a short, slender man with a high forehead. He identified the reckless pilot as Dale Nettleton. âBut heâs left already,â Holmes added, âso Iâm afraid you wonât be able to speak to him.â

âToo bad,â Frank said, then changed the subject. âMr. Holmes, can you give us any information on the Scott and Weiss crashes?â

âBoth flights originated in Morrisville, New Jersey. The reason for the accidents must have been bad weather conditions.â

âWhere are the wrecks now?â

âI have no idea.â

A man came into the room and was introduced as Bill Zinn, the assistant manager. Of average build, he walked with a rolling gait, and his manner was breezy.

âWhy are you interested in those two accidents?â he asked with a quick smile.

âWe might be using this airport in the future,â Frank said casually. âSo weâd like to know if thereâs any danger.â

âLike hitting the cliffs,â Joe said.

âNo danger at all,â Zinn said affably. âNot if you know how to fly.â He turned and left the office seconds before a teen-age youth entered.

âHi, Hal,â Holmes greeted him. âWe were just speaking about the crashes.â He turned to his visitors. âBoys, this is Hal McGuirk. Heâs an airport buff and hangs around here all the time.â

âWhat do you know about the accidents?â Joe asked Hal.

âReally nothing. Except about a week before he crashed, I saw Scott spin down out of an overcast. He pulled up in time, but I wondered what caused it.â

Holmes looked surprised. âDid you tell the FAA investigators?â

Hal shook his head. âNobody asked me.â

Frank said, âThat definitely sounds like instrument trouble.â

âWell, fellows,â Chet pleaded, âletâs get on to the airplane junkyard.â

âOkay, flyboy,â Joe said.

âHave you got enough energy to walk over there? Itâs at least a couple of miles,â Frank teased their chubby friend.

âOh,â Hal said, âyou flew in. I can drive you in my car, if you want.â

âHey, thatâs great. Thanks a lot!â Chet grinned.

As the Hardys were saying good-by to the airport manager, Chet, impatient to get to the junkyard, opened the door and strode out. He nearly collided wth Zinn, who mumbled something and hurried off.

When Frank, Joe, and Hal came out of the office, Chet whispered to the Hardys, âThat guy Zinn was eavesdropping on us!â

CHAPTER II

Engine Trouble

FRANK and Joe were dumbfounded. As they walked through the lobby, they saw Zinn enter a telephone booth at the other end of the long hall.

âI wonder what heâs up to,â Frank mumbled to Joe.

They stopped for a quick sandwich, then continued on to the junkyard. It was located on gently sloping land surrounded by a sheet-metal fence. The place was crammed with fuselages, wings, engines and other parts from planes that had either been wrecked or retired because of old age. In one corner stood a boxlike structure, obviously the office. A giant crane was moving parts from one spot to another.

âBoy, this place is cool!â Chet exulted.

âThe ownerâs name is O. K. Mudd,â Hal said. âHere he comes now.â

Approaching was a thick-set man in work clothes with a bullethead and bushy black brows. His slit eyes took in the visitors with quick movements. Then he flashed a wide smile.

âWhat can I do for you?â he asked.

When Chet expressed an interest in buying airplane parts, Mudd invited them to look around while he went over to talk to the crane operator.

As Chet examined some fuselages, Joe poked through a pile of small engines. Suddenly Joe straightened up and gestured to Frank.

âKnow what this is?â he asked, running a finger across the number of an engine.

Frank gasped. âScottâs engine. What do youâ?â He broke off when he saw Mudd approaching.

âHave you found anything that interests you?â he asked. âThis engine hereâs no good, but if you want to look over there, youâll see a few in pretty decent shape.â

He pointed to a corner of the enclosure, where a mound of parts was covered with a heavy tarpaulin. As Frank and Joe walked toward the heap, Chet suddenly screamed, âWatch out!â

The giant crane had swung up over their heads with an airplane wing. The jaws opened, and the wing came hurtling down at the Hardys!

Frank threw himself to one side in a judo roll. Joe lunged in the opposite direction, but slipped in a patch of oil and hit the ground face down. Instinctively he clasped his arms over his head for protection.

The heavy plane wing smashed between the Hardys, sending up a cloud of dust.

Frank got up. âAre you all right, Joe?â he called out.

Chet and Frank pulled Joe shakily to his feet. He flexed the fingers of his left hand before replying, âI got a pretty good bang on the arm from the wing tip, but Iâll live.â

They looked around. The crane had stopped. The operator was scowling at them from his cab and Mudd rushed over. âWhat do you guys mean getting in the way?â he stormed. âYou might have been killed!â

The boys were flabbergasted. Joe exclaimed, âIt wasnât our fault!â He pointed to the crane. âIt was that stupidââ

The junkyard proprietor flushed angrily. âDonât give me any of your lip, wise guy! Now beat it!â

Frank was suspicious of Muddâs unreasonable behavior, but decided that further argument would be futile.

âLetâs go,â he muttered to his companions.

Hal, who had watched the whole thing in a state of frozen shock, led the way back to the car. âI donât know what got into old Mudd,â he said. âHeâs usually a pretty agreeable guy. He should have apologized instead of yelling at you. If I were you, Iâd sue him for negligence!â

âHe might have been afraid of just that,â Frank said, âand therefore wanted to shift the blame on us. By the way, what time is it? My watch stopped.â

âFour-thirty,â Joe replied.

âFive oâclock,â Chet said.

âThatâs funny,â Joe observed. âMine stopped too!â

âAnd at the same time as mine,â Frank stated.

âMaybe it was the shock when you hit the ground,â Hal suggested.

âPossible. Weâll have to take them to the watchmaker Monday.â

The Hardys thanked Hal. âWeâll be back here soon,â Joe said. âSee you then.â

âI wonât be around for a while,â the boy replied. âGoing to California to visit my aunt for two weeks.â

Joe grinned. âLucky you. Have fun!â

Early Monday morning the Hardys took their electric watches to the jeweler. He examined their interior mechanisms and whistled in disbelief.

âThe quartz crystal oscillators have been damaged,â he said. âHave you been fooling around with any radioactive material?â

âNot that we know of,â Frank replied.

âMaybe there was some in that junkyard,â Joe said.

The watchmaker was curious. âWhat junkyard has fissionable material? That could be quite dangerous.â

Frank evaded the question and said, âCan you fix the watches?â

âYes. But it will take a couple of weeks.â

He took their names and address promising to send a postcard when the timepieces were ready.

As the Hardys drove home, Joe mulled over the jewelerâs theory concerning the cause of the trouble with their watches. âWe didnât get much chance to case Muddâs place,â he said. âHe could have an atom smasher hidden somewhere for all we know.â

âThereâs something fishy up in Beemerville,â Frank agreed. âWeâd better have another look-see.â

Sam Radley was waiting for them in the house. Fenton Hardyâs assistant drew a cassette from his pocket. âI recorded this at Jack Scottâs home,â he said. âI got interviews with his wife, son, and daughter. What they said doesnât solve the mystery of Jackâs crash, as far as I can tell. Well, you boys might spot something I missed.â

The three adjourned to the Hardysâ lab, where Joe placed the cassette in the machine and pressed the âonâ button. They could hear Sam asking questions, and the members of Scottâs family answering as best they could.

The first side of the tape told about Scottâs background. His wife and children insisted he was an honest, hard-working man who enjoyed being a pilot. They stressed his clean flying record, which showed no accidents until his fatal crack-up against the cliff at Marlin Crag.

The tape petered out. Joe turned it over. Mrs. Scottâs voice came through. She told about her husbandâs job.

âJack flew a taxi service from Morrisville to Marlin Crag.â

âMrs. Scott, did Jack always carry passengers?â Sam asked.

âNo, sometimes he made deliveries.â

âWhat kind?â

âI donât know, Mr. Radley.â

âDo you have any clues at all?â

âThereâs only one thing I can think of. Several weeks before his accident Jack received a call. He took it in the hall while the rest of us were in the dining room. He carried on a long conversation, and sounded excited and angry.â

âWhat did he say?â

âSomething about a flickering torch.â

âDid you hear any explanation?â

âNo. Jack put the phone down, came over, and closed the door. We couldnât hear any more.â

âDid he mention the subject when he returned to the dining room?â

âNo. He seemed upset, though. Obviously didnât want to talk about it. So I didnât ask.â

âWas that like Jack?â

âNo, not at all. Thatâs why I remember the incident.â

The tape went dead. âThatâs it,â Sam declared, snapping off the machine. âWhat do you make of it?â

âThe flickering torch might be the vital clue we need,â Frank said.

âSure,â Joe added. âMaybe Jack Scott meant a beacon. He might have referred to that oil refinery near Marlin Crag Airport!â

âThe high pipe burning gas!â Frank exclaimed. âItâs a flickering torch if I ever saw one.â

âMaybe the flame from the pipe lured Scott off course,â Joe said.

Sam agreed. âThatâs a possibility.â

âBut how can we explain Scottâs spin out of the overcast at the airport before his accident?â Frank asked. âOh, I forgot you havenât heard about that, Sam.â Quickly he clued Radley in about Hal McGuirkâs observation.

âThatâs odd,â Sam commented. âAn experienced pilot isnât supposed to go into a sudden spin like that.â

âMaybe his gyro horizon conked out,â Joe said. âThat would mean big trouble.â

The three probed the problem for a while without finding any solution. Sam promised to investigate the oil refinery before he left, and the boys decided to go ahead with their plan to revisit Muddâs airplane junkyard in Beemerville. They phoned Chet, who agreed to come along.

They got out their Geiger counter, a metal box about as large as a medium-sized dictionary. They made sure it was in working order and stowed it in the trunk of their convertible.

Then they donned special coveralls under their clothes to protect themselves against possible radiation.

âIâll take one for Chet, too, just in case,â Frank said.

Chet Morton was waiting when they arrived at his house. He quickly put on the coverall, then they set out for Beemerville.

âThe car makes more sense than the plane on this trip,â Frank said as he kept the convertible wheeling steadily along.

âBetter for a quick getaway, too,â Joe noted.

Chet glanced suspiciously at his two pals. âListen, you guys, if this is a getaway car, donât get away without me!â

Joe grinned. âWhatâs the matter? Getting cold feet?â

Chet pretended to be hurt. âWhen did I ever get cold feet?â he asked plaintively.

âThis is your last chance to quit,â Frank said as he brought the car to a stop in a vacant alley behind the airplane junkyard. âWeâre headed for enemy country.â

He took the Geiger counter out of the trunk and led the way to the back gate.

âThe place seems deserted,â Joe said. âNot even a watchman on duty.â

âMaybe Muddâs in the office,â Frank said and tried the gate handle. âUnlocked. Come on.â He pushed the barrier open and slipped through, closely followed by his companions.

They looked cautiously around. The crane was parked near the office. Frank gestured toward the pile where Joe had discovered the engine to Jack Scottâs plane.

âThatâs our objective,â he said. âLetâs not waste any time. No telling when weâll have Muddâs hired hands breathing down our necks. Chet, you and Joe stand guard. Iâll make the test as fast as I can.â

Joe and Chet moved off while Frank advanced to the engines. Reading the numbers, he finally spotted the one from Scottâs plane.

Gingerly he shifted the Geiger counter close to the engine. The box began to emit a clicking sound. Frank glanced knowingly at Joe and Chet, who were positioned some distance away.

Scottâs engine was radioactive!

Suddenly the office door slammed loudly. Footsteps could be heard coming around the building at a rapid pace.

Joe signaled to Frank, who ran toward Chet and tossed the Geiger counter to him. âQuick,â he whispered, âstash this in the car.â

As Chet darted back to the gate, Mudd came around the corner and strode up to Frank and Joe. Had he spotted the Geiger counter?

CHAPTER III

Frank Springs a Trap

âJUST a minute!â O. K. Mudd called out. âI want to talk to you!â

He walked with his jaw thrust out and his fists clenched. Coming to a halt a couple of feet away, he broke into a friendly smile.

âI didnât want you to get away before I had a chance to show you some new things,â Mudd declared. âA shipment of airplane parts came in early this morning.â

The Hardys were surprised by the manâs change of demeanor.

âOh, I know what you think,â Mudd continued. âThe other day I wasnât exactly a bosom buddy of yours. Got up on the wrong side of the bed, I expect. It just wasnât my day. No hard feelings, I hope.â

âForget it, Mr. Mudd,â Frank replied. âWe werenât bothered by what happened.â

âBut your brother got hurt when the airplane wing fell. Howâs the arm, young man?â he asked, turning to Joe.

âBruised, but otherwise ready for a fast game of tennis,â Joe assured him.

âThat accident wasnât your fault,â Mudd said. âThe crane operator shouldnât have let the wing drop. Now, back to business. Do you see anything youâd like to buy?â

âThereâs one item weâre interested in,â Joe answered. He pointed to Scottâs engine.

Mudd smiled again. Rubbing the palms of his hands together, he responded, âBut of course. If thatâs what you want, thatâs what youâll have. How much were you thinking of paying for this model?â

Frank promptly mentioned a ridiculously low figure.

Mudd hesitated and frowned. He looked down at the engine and then at Frank, finally flashing his smile again.

âItâs yours. I admit itâs battered, so Iâll let it go at a sacrifice. How will you cart it away?â

âWe have our car outside,â Joe said.

âI doubt that it will fit,â Mudd objected.

âWell, letâs try it anyhow.â Joe went to get the convertible and rode back with Chet.

By now Frank was holding his checkbook in one hand and a pen in the other, ready to pay for their purchase.

Frank had barely written the date on the check when the boys heard a thundering rattle of heavy wheels. Startled, they turned around in time to see a junkyard truck bearing down on them. Nobody was at the wheel!

The boys leaped aside and the truck smashed into their convertible with a sickening crunch!

Frank groaned. âIt just had a new paint job!â

âGood night! What rotten luck!â Mudd declared.

Chet walked around the two vehicles, examining them with a practiced eye. âYour car isnât ruined, Frank,â he said. âBut itâll sure need some repair work!â

âSo will my truck,â Mudd declared. âHowever, Iâll see that theyâre both fixed. My driver parked without setting the hand brake, so Iâll be glad to pay up. I admit itâs my responsibility.â

âWeâll be without a car for a while,â Joe said glumly.

Frank shrugged. âCanât be helped.â

âNo sense in getting uptight about it,â Chet declared.

âNice of you to take the accident so calmly,â Mudd commented. He summoned a tow car and had the convertible taken to a repair shop in Beemerville. The three boys rode along.

âThis jobâll take a week,â said the mechanic.

âOkay, weâll leave it,â Frank told him. He opened the trunk and removed the Geiger counter, then gave the key to the mechanic.

The boys left and strolled down Beemervilleâs Main Street.

âWhatâll we do now?â Chet asked.

âWell, we still own the engine in the junkyard,â Joe observed. âAnd we donât want to lose track of it after all our trouble. Weâve got to find out why itâs radioactive.â

âLetâs take it now!â Frank urged. âI noticed a trucking firm down the street. We can have a pickup truck haul the engine to Bayport.â

âSure thing,â the trucker said when they explained the assignment to him. âI haul lots of airplane parts from the junkyard. In fact, Mr. Mudd just called me about a job. Itâll tie me up for an hour or so. But I can make the run down to Bayport later this afternoon.â

âFair enough,â Frank said. âWeâll meet you at the junkyard in an hour. We havenât had lunch yet, anyway.â

Chet beamed. âLunch! Follow me, men!â

Joe grinned. âMeaning youâve spotted a likely place to stow away some grub.â The Hardys knew there was nothing Chet liked better than eating.

âIâm with you,â Frank said. âMy inner man craves sustenance, too. Where shall we go?â

âAn eatery down the block,â Chet said. âI noticed it while we were riding the tow truck.â

The three walked to the diner, settled into a booth, and ordered.

âSay, this chow is great!â Chet exclaimed after sampling the food on his plate. âI picked the right place!â

âMust be the best diner in Beemerville,â Joe agreed.

Frank, however, was deep in thought and hardly noticed what he was eating. âThereâs something going on at that junkyard,â he said gravely. âEvery time we show up there we have an accident. Iâm sure Mudd is the cause. But why?â

âItâs strange, all right,â Joe agreed. âWhatâs his game?â

âWell, now that I feel better,â said Chet, patting his belt buckle, âIâm ready for any of O. K.âs tricks.â

âAll right,â Frank said with a grin, draining his glass. âLetâs go back and load up the engine.â

âDonât forget,â Chet reminded him, âIâm here to buy a fuselage. So far you guys have had all the action.â

âWell, select what you want and the truck can take it, too,â Joe said.

They left the diner and strolled back to the junkyard. Suddenly Frank stopped, grabbed Joe by the elbow, and pointed to the pile of engines.

Scottâs engine was gone!

âMaybe Mudd had it moved,â Joe said.

âWeâll soon find out,â Frank answered. âI saw him in his office when we walked by the window. Letâs ask him what gives.â

Mudd greeted them with an apologetic smile. âToo bad about that engine, boys,â he said. âAnother customer came in about an hour ago. He bought it.â

âBut you agreed to sell it to us!â Joe reminded him.

âSure. You were ready to take our check,â Frank protested.

Mudd smirked. âI never took your check, however. So it was no deal.â

Frank shrugged helplessly.

âYou see,â the junkyard owner went on in an oily tone, âthis customer made a much better offer than you did. And paid cash.â

Joe winced.

âDonât worry,â Mudd went on. âI have lots of other engines, better ones, too.â

âAll right,â Frank muttered. âWeâll look around.â

âAnd I want a fuselage,â Chet said.

The boys left the office.

âJoe, while Chetâs checking out fuselages, letâs see if we canât find the engine from Martin Weissâs plane,â Frank suggested.

The Hardys split up and met again half an hour later. Neither had spotted anything.

âWhat do you make of this whole thing?â Joe asked his brother.

âWell, this much is pretty obvious,â Frank said. âMudd removed the engine because he didnât want us to have it. In order to delay us, he had our car wrecked.â

Joe nodded. âQuestions: Did he know it was Jack Scottâs engine? Did he know it was radioactive? Did he see our Geiger counter and realize we knew it, too?â

âI wish we had the answers,â Frank replied. âMaybe weâll find them if we find the engine.â

Just then Chet returned, bursting with enthusiasm. âI got me a fuselage. Made a deal with Mr. Mudd. Iâll pay him in installments. Makes it easier on the Chet Morton pocketbook.â

Their hired pickup swung through the gate and the boys explained that the cargo for Bayport would be a fuselage instead of an engine.

The crane lifted Chetâs purchase into the back of the truck, where Chet decided to ride. Frank and Joe sat in the cab.

The driver took it slow and easy at first, edging around corners and through traffic until he made the turn onto the highway. Then he shifted into high.

Nothing was said for a while. Frank, acting on a hunch, broke the silence.

âWas the job Mudd had for you this morning a tough one?â he asked.

The driver gave him a shifty-eyed glance. âOh, not too bad.â

âNo big cargo to move?â

âWell, it wasnât a jet plane,â the driver joked without further explanation.

Noting his evasiveness, Frank decided to spring a trap on him. The Hardysâ detective training had taught them that an unexpected question often did the trick with a suspect.

âWasnât it funny about that engine?â Frank asked suddenly, looking hard at the driver.

The man became tense, his hands gripping the wheel. He caught his breath and stared down the highway as if hypnotized.

âWhy would anyone want to do that with an old piece of junk?â Frank pressed the point home, watching the man intently.

The driver relaxed. âOh, so you know about it? O. K. told me the job was a secret. All very hush-hush. He didnât let on you guys were in on the operation.â

Frank laughed loudly. So did Joe, who was backing Frank up.

âWeâve been in on it from the beginning,â Frank said. âOnly O. K. didnât tell us in advance about shifting the engine today.â

The driver snickered. âSince you guys know so much, maybe you can tell me why Mudd had me drop the thing over the Marlin Crag Cliffs!â

CHAPTER IV

Boat Crash

THE Hardys were thunderstruck by the driverâs story. For a few seconds there was silence.

Finally Frank remarked casually, âI guess Mr. Mudd didnât have any use for that engine.â

âIt was kind of beaten up,â Joe added. âWe couldnât care less what happened to it.â

âMe neither,â the driver said.

After they had driven a little more than an hour, the trucker said, âBayportâs just ahead. Where do you want me to go?â

âThe Morton Farm,â Frank replied. âItâs on the edge of town. Take the road to the right.â

After bumping for a couple of miles over a roughly tarred surface, they came to a mailbox marked âMorton.â The driver turned into the entranceway and braked to a halt beside the house.

Gleefully Chet jumped out of the back. He supervised while the other three lifted the fuselage off. âRight here, under this shed,â he called out. âEasy now, I donât want it damaged.â

âYour pal likes giving orders, donât he?â the driver grumbled. âWhy donât he give us a hand?â

âHe figures his brain is the most important part of the operation,â Frank puffed.

âYou guys are hurting my feelings,â Chet said, finally grasping the fuselage. âAnybodyâd think I was lazy.â

Frank and Joe laughed as they released their burden and allowed it to settle into place under the shed. Chet paid the trucker, who stepped up into the cab and set off for Beemerville.

Then Chet drove his friends to their home.

âWell, Iâm glad to see youâre in time for dinner!â a familiar voice greeted them.

The speaker was their Aunt Gertrude. Although extremely fond of her two nephews, she never missed an opportunity to chide them about the dangerous risks they took when working on an assignment.

âWe made a special effort to be on time, Aunty,â Frank said soothingly.

âWe wouldnât stand up the best cook in Bayport,â Joe chimed in.

âYouâre a couple of flatterers,â Miss Hardy said, laughing. She looked pleased just the same. âYour mother and I are just about to serve. Hurry up!â

Mrs. Hardy, a slim, pretty woman, greeted her sons with a hug as they sat down at the table.

After the meal Frank and Joe went to their room and discussed O. K. Mudd and his suspicious actions.

âWe know the radioactive engine was dumped over the cliffs,â Frank began, âbut we donât know where. That means weâll have to search along the shore.â

Joe nodded. âWe can do it in the Sleuth.â

The Sleuth was their powerboat. They kept it in a boathouse on Barmet Bay near their home, and used it mostly for fun. But several times the Hardys had relied on their craft in searching for criminals along the coast.

âWhat about the tides?â Joe asked.

Frank went to a cabinet where they stored their maritime charts. He removed one containing information about the tides of Marlin Crag, and placed it flat on the table.

âItâs a pretty narrow shore,â Joe commented, leaning over his shoulder.

Frank agreed. âThat means weâll have to wait for low tide. The engine might have tipped out away from the cliffs. Could be under water at high tide.â

Next morning, after a hearty breakfast of pancakes, sausage and eggs, Frank and Joe drove to the boathouse and eased the Sleuth out into the open water. It was a sleek craft powered by a rugged inboard motor.

Frank took the wheel. The propeller churned the water into a white froth and the powerboat roared across the bay.

âLetâs see what she can do!â Joe yelled into the wind.

Frank gave it full throttle and curved around in a big circle in the middle of the bay. He drove the Sleuth toward shore, zipped between two small islands, followed the buoys and veered back out again. He slowed the craft suddenly, went into reverse, and then raced straight forward again at top speed. Finally he cut the power and allowed the boat to idle.

âThat was a good warming up,â Joe said. He added, âLook, whatâs that coming?â

A dot in the distance began to grow larger on the surface of the bay. Another powerboat was headed in their direction.

âHey, itâs Tony Pritoâs Napoli!â Frank exclaimed.

Tony was a dark-haired, lively youth whose father ran a construction company in Bayport.

âWhoâs that with him?â Joe inquired.

Frank shaded his eyes with his hand. âBiff Hooper is my guess. Heâs too big to be anybody else.â

Biff was a husky six-footer who knew how to use his fists when the going got rough. He and Tony had been in on several of the Hardysâ investigations, and many a criminal had felt the iron of Biffâs wallop.

The Napoli pulled alongside the Sleuth and they bobbed up and down together in the waves.

âHi, you guys,â Tony saluted the Hardys. âWhat are you doing?â

âTrawling for flounder?â Biff quipped. âOr have you got some crooks on the line?â He reached a big hand out to grasp the Sleuthâs gunwale and held the boats together.

âWeâve got a nibble, Iâd say,â Frank replied and explained the situation.

âSo you see,â he concluded, âweâve got to scout the shore below the Marlin Crag Cliffs.â

âCan we help?â Biff asked.

âThatâs an idea! How about making this a combined operation? Joe and I will scout the shore. You and Tony could drive along the top of the cliffs. That way we can look for clues in both places.â

âSure,â Tony agreed. âWe may find the spot where the truck stopped. Thatâll be where the engine went over.â

âThen you flag us,â Joe suggested, âand weâll know just where to look.â

Suddenly the Sleuthâs ship-to-shore radio began to squawk. Frank answered. âWhy, Aunt Gertrude,â he said in surprise, âwhatâs the matter?â

âItâs about Chet Morton,â she declared in a worried voice.

âWhat about Chet?â

âHis airplane fuselage has been stolen!â

âWhat? How did that happen?â asked Joe, who had been listening in.

âChet wasnât there at the time. His mother saw a big truck with two men drive into the yard. She thought Chet had hired them, and didnât pay much attention.â

âAnd the men loaded up the fuselage and left?â Frank asked in a perplexed voice.

âRight. Anyway, Chetâs waiting for you at the farm.â

âWeâll get there as fast as we can,â Frank promised.

He told their friends what had happened and they postponed their trip to the next day. Then Frank and Joe pushed away from the Napoli and the Sleuth churned toward the shore. Frankâs mind was on the fuselage. He said, âJoe, do you thinkâ?â

âLook out!â Joe shouted. âA floating log!â

Too late! The bow of the powerboat struck the log and careened over it. Frank and Joe flew head over heels into the bay.

Frank went down until his lungs began to pound. Kicking violently, he shot back to the surface and looked for Joe, who bobbed up beside him, puffing and spluttering. They swam to their boat and clung to its sides until the Napoli raced up to them.

âLucky we saw what happened,â Tony called out.

âAny chance of getting to shore under your own power?â Biff inquired.

The Hardys clambered on board and examined the engine. âNo go,â Joe reported.

âAll right. Weâll give you a tow,â Biff said, tossing a rope aboard.

Frank and Joe felt discouraged when they reached shore. âWeâll never be able to use the Sleuth tomorrow for our investigation,â Frank lamented.

âNo problem. Take the Napoli,â Tony offered.

âThanks, thatâs great,â Frank said gratefully. âItâll change our plan, though. Youâll handle your own boat. Suppose Joe goes with you. Biff and I will scout the cliffs by car.â

Frankâs idea was accepted unanimously. The disabled Sleuth was berthed for repair and the Napoli purred off. Frank and Joe jumped into their car and headed for the Morton farm.

There they met Callie Shaw and Chetâs sister Iola in the driveway.

Vivacious and carefree, blond Callie was Frankâs favorite date. Iola, who had dark hair and dimples, usually paired off with Joe. It turned out that the girls had arrived just in time to see the truck leaving.

âWhat company did it belong to?â Frank asked.

Callieâs brown eyes searched for an answer. âI couldnât tell,â she said. âThere was no name on it.â

âDid you get the license number?â Joe said.

âSorry,â Iola replied. âThat was covered with mud.â

Further questions revealed that the girls did not get a look at the men in the cab, neither had Mrs. Morton.

At that moment Chet stormed out of the shed where he had been looking for clues. âThis is outrageous robbery!â he fumed.

âAn airplane engine and a fuselage disappear without apparent reason,â Frank observed. âCould there be a connection between them?â

âFind one, maybe we find both,â Joe suggested.

âIf we could locate the truck it would help,â Frank said. âWhat did it look like?â

The girls gave a description as best they could.

âWell, it wasnât the one we hired to bring the fuselage down here,â Frank said.

âWhatâs at the bottom of all this?â Chet groaned.

Joe looked grim. âThatâs what weâll have to find out, Chet!â

âMeanwhile,â Iola put in, âdonât forget youâve got some practicing to do here tonight!â

Joe slapped his forehead. âOur combo! Is this the night?â

âSure is,â Callie answered. âAnd the rest of us expect you to be here.â

âWe will,â Frank promised. Then the Hardys left.

Phil Cohen was the first to arrive at the Morton barn that evening. A thoughtful, handsome youth, and a good student, he usually had a book in his pocket. Phil was another of the Hardysâ dependable allies when it came to solving cases.

As the others entered, Phil played a few chords on the organ which was kept in the barn where the boys usually practiced. âThe grand entrance!â he boomed. âA fanfare for the worldâs greatest detectives!â

Frank grinned. âItâs good to know that weâre appreciated around here.â

âYou Hardys got it all wrong,â Biff quipped. âPhil was referring to Tony and me!â

Everyone laughed. Then Frank called the group to order. He adjusted the new amplifier, and they swung into a piece of country music. But the rhythmic sound could not cheer up Chet, who sat by gloomily, thinking about his prized fuselage.

The young musicians practiced for an hour and a half before piling into the kitchen for cokes and sandwiches.

âCome on, Chet, buck up,â Joe said. âThat fuselage would be pretty hard to hide. The police will find it!â

âYeah, at the bottom of a cliff, maybe!â Chet muttered.

In the morning Frank and Joe stopped at headquarters to see Chief Collig. He was a husky man with a weathered face, who had often cooperated with Fenton Hardy on his cases and was fond of Frank and Joe.

Collig held out a broad hand as the boys entered. âI guess youâre here about the theft at Chetâs place,â he said. âThat was a pretty bold heist all right.â

Frank nodded. âAny leads, Chief?â

âNot a one so far. But weâre working on it!â

After their talk with the chief, Frank and Joe proceeded to the dock where they met Biff and Tony. Frank and Biff climbed into Biffâs fatherâs station wagon.

âWeâll do some sleuthing while weâre waiting for you up there,â Frank said.

âOkay, good luck!â Joe waved to them as he boarded the Napoli with Tony. He stowed the Geiger counter, also some food they had brought in case they decided to stay overnight. Then they started up the coast. After a few hours they ran into heavy fog.

âBad visibility,â Tony said, frowning.

âBetter slow down,â Joe cautioned. âSomebody might beââ

Joe never had a chance to finish his warning. A big fishing boat loomed up out of the fog, careening along at full speed. In a second the larger craft would smash into the Napoli!

CHAPTER V

Fire in the Night

IN desperation, Tony spun the wheel sharply to the right. The nose of the Napoli swung beneath the tall bow of the fishing boat. Its stern swerved past with a grinding noise as the two craft bumped.

The powerboat bounced off, bucking and pitching in waves created by the bigger vessel. The two boys were drenched in a deluge of spray that broke over them.

Joe wiped salt water out of his eyes. âQuick thinking, Tony,â he gasped. âI thought weâd had it!â

âWe didnât miss it by much,â Tony muttered. âAnyway, the fog is lifting. I can see the cliffs at Marlin Crag.â

They scouted the shoreline beneath the cliffs for an hour without sighting anything.

âWell, suppose we try the cove next,â Tony said. He guided the boat carefully between the rocks studding the surf. Reaching the shore safely, he and Joe dragged the bow of the Napoli up on the sand.

They walked along the beach for a mile or so, peering behind boulders and scuffing sand piles with their feet.

âNothing here,â Joe said finally.

Then a voice called down to them from the top of the cliff. Looking up, they saw Frank and Biff.

Frank cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, âWe may be on to something. Tire tracks leading to the edge of the cliff!â

âA car or small truck has been here,â Biff called down. âThis could be the spot where the engine was thrown over. It might have landed where you guys are standing.â

Joe looked at the incoming tide. âWeâll check it out later,â he said. âThe waterâs getting too high to do anything now.â

âThe boat!â Tony exclaimed. âSheâll hit the rocks if we donât get her out of the cove!â

He and Joe raced down the beach. The Napoli was bobbing in heavy breakers when they got there. Her hull banged ominously against a jagged outcropping of rock.

Frantically they pushed the powerboat away from the shore. Tony started the motor. He sped through the entrance of the cove and into calmer waters.

âBoy, the Napoli had another close call that time!â he exclaimed. âThis isnât our day!â

They discussed their situation over sandwiches as darkness sifted down over Marlin Crag. The gloom was pierced by a licking flame high in the air. Subsiding for a moment, it blazed up again, tossing wildly in a rising wind.

âGood night! Whatâs that?â Tony said.

âAn oil refinery. Itâs a high pipe burning off the excess gas. Frank and I noticed it when we flew up here.â

The pipe itself was no longer visible, but the flames flickered eerily in the growing darkness as if they were disembodied spirits in the sky.

âSure looks spooky, Joe.â

âWhat we were wondering,â Joe said, âis whether thatâs the flickering torch Jack Scott referred to. It might have pulled him off course.â

âDeliberately, you mean?â

Joe nodded soberly. âSomeone could have turned the flame up as Scott was coming in for a landing. He might have thought it was a beacon at the Marlin Crag Airport.â

âI get it,â Tony said. âScott would have flown into the cliff without knowing it.â

As he spoke, a roaring sound overhead caused the boys to glance up. A plane zoomed through the darkness toward the airport.

âI hope that fellow makes a better landing than Jack Scott,â Joe muttered. âHe seems to be wobbling. Or is he?â

The pilot dipped his left wing. Spiraling down, he made a wide circle, straightened out, and headed right for the Napoli.

âHeâs buzzing us!â Tony yelled. âHit the deck!â The boys ducked. Joe turned his head to get a look at the plane.

It zipped over them with only yards to spare. The roar of the engine nearly deafened them. The backwash of air rocked their boat violently.

For a split second the pilot glared down at them. Then he gained altitude and disappeared over the cliffs in the direction of the airport.

Tony picked himself up. âFriend of yours?â he asked.

âIt looked like Nettletonâs plane, Tony. But I couldnât tell whether that was he flying or not. Weâd better contact Frank and Biff.â

Taking out a code blinker, Joe flashed signals to the top of the cliff. When Frank answered, Joe proposed a get-together at a deserted wharf nearby. âWill do,â Frank signaled back.

After tying up the Napoli, the four held a conference at the wharf.

âThe guy who buzzed us might be back,â Biff said. âHe knows weâre here.â

âAnd he might bring a gang with him,â Frank warned.

âSo weâd better stick together,â Tony suggested.

âLetâs take our sleeping bags and find a protected spot over there where those shrubs are,â Joe said, pointing, âinstead of sleeping in the boat.â

âGood idea,â Frank agreed. âAnd weâll take turns standing guard so we donât get taken by surprise. Suppose Tony takes the first watch, Biff the second, Joe the third, and me the last, okay?â

They found a good hiding place not far from the wharf and soon everyone but Tony was sound asleep. When his watch was over, he woke Biff, who did his turn and was succeeded by Joe.

The younger Hardy settled himself for his stint. Suddenly, in the stillness of the night, he heard a board creak. Rising to a crouching position, he peered through the darkness.

Dimly he could see someone slipping stealthily across the wharf toward the powerboat. The stranger carried a steel bar in his hand.

Joe had no time to wake the others. He raced forward on tiptoe, and jumped the intruder from behind. They went down in a tangle of arms and legs. The steel bar clattered onto the wharf.

Joe and his adversary rolled over and over. For a moment they teetered at the waterâs edge. Joe felt the manâs hand under his chin, forcing his head back. Desperately he broke the hold. They wrestled wildly back over the boards.

By now the others were wide awake. Seeing Joe locked in combat with the intruder, they scrambled to their feet and came charging forward. But the stranger managed to break away from Joe. Jumping up, he dashed across the wharf and vanished.

They went down in a tangle of arms and legs

The boys took up the chase, but finally had to give up and returned to the wharf.

âWe lost him!â Biff complained disgustedly.

âAt least he didnât have a chance to sabotage the Napoli,â Frank remarked. âDid you get a good look at him, Joe?â

âNo. It was too dark.â

Frank stooped and picked up the steel bar. âImagine what that guy could have done to Tonyâs boat with this!â

Tony shuddered. âI donât know about you,â he said, âbut I wonât get any more shut-eye now!â

âWell, itâs almost daylight,â Frank noted. âSince I didnât have to stand watch, Iâll go for coffee and buns.â

He trudged to an all-night diner on the road to the airport. Half an hour later Frank was back. The boys eagerly munched the rolls and drank the coffee.

Afterward, Biff gathered the cups and waxed paper, put the debris in the bag, and deposited it in a litter basket on the wharf. He and Frank then returned to the top of the cliff, while Joe and Tony boarded the Napoli for a run back to the beach.

The tide was out. Tony jumped out into the wet sand. Joe followed with the Geiger counter. After a search of about twenty minutes, Tony suddenly ran toward a couple of rocks at the waterâs edge.

âJoe, here it is!â he called out excitedly.

An airplane engine was wedged in the sand between the rocks. Joe scraped the number clean.

âScottâs engine, all right,â he said. âLetâs get it out.â

âHow about taking a reading on the Geiger counter first to make sure it isnât dangerous?â Tony suggested.

âOkay.â Joe ran the instrument over the battered metal and the needle showed a small amount of radioactivity. âThatâs not enough to be harmful,â he remarked.

They dug the sand away. Hauling and straining, they rolled the engine up the beach toward the cliff. Here Joe took another test.

âThe vacuum pump shows the highest reading,â he said.

âWhyâs that?â

âSearch me. Letâs take a closer look.â

They examined the vacuum pump housing at the rear of the engine. The vacuum line was broken off, allowing a view of the interior.

âThatâs funny,â Joe exclaimed, âthe housingâs empty! The works have been taken out. Now why would an experienced pilot like Jack Scott be flying without a vacuum pump? He should have known that without it he would lose control of the plane when flying on instruments in bad weather.â

âMaybe it fell out during the crash,â Tony theorized.

âCould be,â Joe admitted. âBut why is the housing radioactive? Thatâs the real puzzler. Anyway, we might find some answers when we put the engine through the lab test.â

âHow are we going to get it home, by boat or car?â Tony asked.

âI think itâd be easier by car,â Joe said. âIt might be rather heavy on the boat, especially if we hit rough water.â

He called up the cliff to Frank and Biff, announced the discovery of the engine, and told them to drop a rope.

Biff did so, attaching the other end of the rope to the bumper of the station wagon.

The boys below wrapped the rope around the engine, fastened it securely, then signaled to Biff. He started the car. The rope tightened, lifting the burden clear off the ground. Foot by foot it rose toward the top of the bluff.

Halfway up, however, the rope frayed, then snapped! The heavy airplane engine plummeted!

CHAPTER VI

The Stolen Fuselage

JoE and Tony scrambled for safety as the engine hurtled down. It struck a jutting rock, ricocheted off, and flipped over the boysâ heads into deep water.

Chips of stone and a heavy shower of powdered rock enveloped the two boys. Coughing and sneezing, they stumbled away and collapsed onto the sand. There they lay gasping for breath.

âI nearly choked,â Joe said when he was able to speak.

âMe too,â Tony wheezed, wiping dust from his eyes. âBoy, that engine didnât miss us by much!â

âYou guys all right?â Frank called anxiously.

âWe will be, soon as we can breathe again,â Tony replied.

âWhat about the engine?â came Biffâs voice.

âItâs underwater. Weâll need a stronger rope.â

âDonât have one.â

âThen weâll have to leave it until later,â Joe said.

Frank agreed. âWe might as well make tracks for Bayport. Letâs have a powwow at our house.â

He and Biff got into the car and drove off. Joe and Tony took the Napoli out into deep water for the run down the coast.

Later in the day they all gathered at the Hardy home. Frank phoned Chet to come over. Mrs. Hardy served refreshments in the living room.

Frank and Tony occupied the sofa. Joe and Biff took the easy chairs. Chet sprawled on the floor, propping himself on one elbow. He had a tall glass of milk and a big plateful of crackers within easy reach.

âHow about giving out with some info,â Chet said, downing a long gulp.

The others described their adventures at Marlin Crag.

Chet whistled softly under his breath. âWow! Youâre lucky to be in one piece!â

Biff nibbled on a cracker. âSomebodyâs out to change that. But who? Mudd? If so, why?â

âWhoever it is has a good spy system,â Tony said. âThey knew we found Scottâs engine!â

Joe nodded. âThatâs why that roughneck tried to stave in our boat. They thought we were taking the engine out by sea!â

Frank considered the whole problem. âSince itâs too late to take the Napoli back to Marlin Crag today, our best bet now is to start a search for Chetâs missing fuselage.â

Chet swallowed the remains of a cracker and reached for another. âIâm with you on that, Frank!â

Frank chuckled. âI knew youâd be. Anyway, the fuselage is pretty big. The gang would have trouble hiding it.â

âThey hid it from the police quite successfully,â Chet muttered.

Biff and Tony had to go home, so it was decided that the Hardys and Chet would scour the area between Bayport and Marlin Crag by car.

Frank wanted to check with the police first and called headquarters. He asked the sergeant on the desk whether any sign of the fuselage had been reported.

âYouâll have to talk louder,â said the sergeant. âThis is a bad connection. I can hardly hear you.â

Frank repeated his question.

âOh, yes,â came the reply. âTake the highway north past the bridge, turn right, and continue a mile. Youâll find it right there.â

âWhat luck!â Frank exclaimed as he hung up. âLetâs go!â

He, Joe, and Chet hurried out of the house and piled into the Hardysâ family car. Frank headed north at speed limit.

Spotting the bridge, he turned right. âMust be a dump weâre looking for. Keep your eyes open. Iâll clock the speedometer at exactly one mile, as the sergeant said.â

Frank slowed down when they covered that distance. âSee anything?â he asked.

âNothing,â Joe reported.

They continued on until they saw a motel ahead.

âMight as well turn around there,â Frank decided. âWe must have missed it.â He drew up in the motel driveway. The words on a large bright neon sign glared: HUGHIEâS LODGE.

The truth hit the trio at the same time. Despite their disappointment, they burst out laughing.

âFrank,â Joe chortled, âwhen you said fuselage the sergeant must have mistaken it for Hughieâs Lodge!â

After discussing their predicament, the boys decided to look at the big dumps northward from Bayport to Marlin Crag. At the first three they drew a blank.

âThis plan isnât working,â Joe said, discouraged.

Chet sniffed. âLooking is better than doing nothing, Joe!â

âLetâs try one more,â Frank proposed. âIf we score another goose egg, maybe weâll come up with a new plan.â

The next dump was approximately halfway between Bayport and Marlin Crag. Frank drove in and circled past mountains of debris, some of it smoking from spontaneous combustion.

They were nearly at the exit when Chet called out, âHold it, Frank. I see something!â

As the car stopped, Chet scrambled out in great excitement. He ran behind a pile of broken furniture and other discarded household items. A moment later he exclaimed, âIâve found it!â

Frank and Joe ran over to see the lost fuselage, which looked none the worse than when Chet had bought it. All three began to drag the cumbersome load out onto level ground.

The Hardys examined what had once been the cockpit of the airplane. âHereâs the number,â Frank said. âLooks pretty well smudged, but I can make it out. Chet should make a note of it.â

He called off the number, one figure at a time. Suddenly he stood up straight. âJoe! You know whose plane this is from?â

âThe one Martin Weiss was flying when he cracked into the Marlin Crag cliff!â Joe said in a strained voice.

Frank circled around the rear, where he paused for a longer inspection. âSomething bothers me,â he said.

âWhatâs that, Frank?â Chet asked.

âThe tailpost and the rear wheel are missing!â

âSo?â

âIt was there when you bought the thing.â

âWell, maybe it fell off in transport. Whatâs a tailpost, anyway?â Chet asked.

âA hollow metal tube,â Frank explained. âIt controls the movements of the rear wheel.â

âFirst we find Scottâs engine, with a missing vacuum pump, then Weissâs fuselage with a missing tailpost,â Joe mused. âAnd Mudd doesnât want us to have either.â

âWe have no proof that Mudd stole the fuselage,â Frank objected.

âNo proof, but I donât have any doubt.â

âIâm with you,â Frank said. âWell, letâs get this thing back to the farm, okay?â

The boys hired a local trucker to cart the fuselage to Bayport. Chet could hardly wait for his bulky prize to be unloaded.

Joe winked. âSuppose you fly us to Marlin Crag next time. We could use a crack pilot.â

âSorry, Joe,â Chet replied. âIâm off your case. This baby will take up all my time.â He patted the fuselage affectionately.

âYouâd better lock it up,â Frank suggested, âso it wonât disappear again.â

He and Joe helped Chet move the fuselage into the barn, then they left. At home they found Sam Radley, who had just come from the oil refinery at Marlin Crag.

âThe Gamble Oil Company, which operates the refinery,â he reported, âis a reputable firm. They burn off their excess gas at odd times, and Iâve been told that no one can manipulate the flame. Also, the pilots know about the stack and its location and could hardly be lured off course by it.â

Frank was disappointed. âNot much to go on,â he said glumly.

âNo. And I drew another blank,â Sam went on. âTried to get hold of Martin Weissâs parents, but they werenât home. Neighbors tell me theyâll be back tomorrow. Suppose you fellows ride down to Pittston and interview them?â

âGlad to,â Frank said.

âWhat about the radioactive engine?â Joe queried.

âWeâll pick that up on the way home. Letâs take a block and tackle this time.â

âAnd Biff. Weâll need his muscle. Iâll call him,â Joe said.

Eager to get on with the case, the boys left early the next morning and drove to the Weiss home, a modest cottage in the center of Pittston. The pilotâs parents received them cordially, and after explaining their mission, Frank plunged directly into questioning.

âMr. Weiss,â he began, âdo the words âflickering torchâ mean anything to you?â

The man nodded. âYes. Martin went there many times!â

CHAPTER VII

Down the Cliff

FRANK and Joe were elated to find the answer to the riddle.

âWhat is the Flickering Torch?â Frank asked eagerly.

âItâs a restaurant, not far from Beemerville,â Mr. Weiss told them.

Frank and Joe stared at each other.

âWhy did Martin go to the Flickering Torch?â Frank asked.

âWell, my son liked country music. A combo plays there weekends,â Mr. Weiss explained. âAlso, he met his friends there. The place was popular with the crowd from the airport.â

âDid Martin ever tell you the names of his buddies?â Joe said.

Their host shook his head.

âBut that was all over anyway,â Mrs. Weiss spoke up. âAbout a week before the crash Martin said he didnât like the Flickering Torch any more. Besides, he was quitting his job!â

âWhy would he do that, Mrs. Weiss?â Frank inquired.

âHe didnât like flying the taxi service between Morrisville and Marlin Crag. Something about it was getting on his nerves.â

âWe donât know what was bothering him,â Mr. Weiss continued. âDo you think it had anything to do with his accident?â

âWe intend to find out,â Frank said.

âWell, I do hope weâve been of some assistance,â Mrs. Weiss murmured as she and her husband showed the boys to the door.

âYouâve both been very helpful,â Frank assured her. âNow that youâve identified the Flickering Torch for us, we can check it out.â

âWe might find the clue to the mystery there,â Joe added.

As Frank, Joe, and Biff left Pittston, the sky grew ominously dark, and by the time they were halfway to Marlin Crag, a heavy rainstorm broke loose. It swept in from the sea in blinding sheets.

âOh, great!â Biff groaned. âHow are we going to get the engine in this kind of weather?â

âThe waves will be pounding against the cliffs,â Frank said. He flipped on the car radio for the weather forecast.

The announcer said, âRain through early afternoon, tapering off by this evening. Drive carefully.â

âWell, thatâs that,â Joe declared. âLetâs go home, have lunch, and wait till it clears up.â

On the way back to Bayport the boys discussed the latest break in the case.

âWeâre going to hear some real cool folk rock pretty soon,â said Frank, skillfully maneuvering in and out of the traffic.

âAt the Flickering Torch, you mean?â Biff asked.

âRight. We can take the girls, too. Mix dancing with detective work.â

They dropped Biff off at his house, then went home. Shortly after they had arrived, the phone rang. Joe answered, then gestured to Frank to listen in.

The caller was Fenton Hardy, who asked for a briefing on the Marlin Crag case.

Frank and Joe took turns describing the events of the past few days. âDad, what do you think is our best lead now?â Frank ended the recital.

âThe radioactive engine,â Mr. Hardy replied. âThe low yield reported by the Geiger counter may not be too significant. But it could be the debris of a large amount of some radioactive substance.â

The detective pointed out that strict laws governed the handling of subatomic energy. âThe hot stuff is too dangerous to be left lying around,â Mr. Hardy said. âPeople who handle it illegally often do just that. Some of them couldnât care less who gets a lethal dose of radiation.â

âDo you believe that Scott transported radioactive material illegally?â Frank asked.

âWho knows? Weâll have to find out more about it.â

Joe said that he and Frank intended to go back to Marlin Crag for the engine as soon as the rain had let up. âWeâll put it through a lab test,â he declared. âMaybe we can isolate the radioactive element.â

After they had discussed all possible angles to the mystery, Frank asked about his fatherâs investigation.

âIâm making some progress by posing as a hood,â Mr. Hardy revealed. âIâve discovered the stolen goods from the airport are being hauled away in trucks. Destination unknown. Thatâs where you fellows come in.â

âHow?â his sons asked in unison.

âWhile hobnobbing with the crooks I located an informer whoâs willing to talkâfor a price. Trouble is, he wonât say anything to me or Sam Radley. Heâs afraid weâd be spotted and the mob might give him a one-way trip to the bottom of the bay.â

âAnd you mean Joe and I can contact him without causing suspicion?â Frank asked.

âExactly.â

âWhere do we find him?â Joe asked.

âI canât tell you yet. Heâs to let me know in a few days. When he does, Iâll get back to you. Be ready to move quickly. And remember, this is a dangerous mission. You may run into some tough customers. Keep your wits about you.â

âOkay, Dad.â

After Mr. Hardy had hung up, Frank and Joe decided to hold another conference with their friends. Joe called Tony.

âWhatâs up?â Tony asked.

âMore detective work. We want you to come over for a think session.â

âOkay. Incidentally, donât call Biff. Heâs here. Weâll be right over.â

Fifteen minutes later Biffâs wagon wheeled into the Hardy driveway. The boys leaped out, took the front steps two at a time, and rang the bell. Joe let them in. Soon all four were deep in a discussion.

The Hardys told Tony of their discovery that the Flickering Torch was a restaurant.

âWhatâs the strategy now?â Tony asked.

âWell, weâve got two projects on our hands,â Joe pointed out. âRecover the radioactive engine and investigate the Flickering Torch.â He looked through the window. It was still raining, but not as heavy as before.

âMake mine the restaurant,â Tony said with a wink.

âDouble the order,â joked Biff. âTony and I are real rhythm hounds. Weâll bring the whole band back with us if itâll solve the mystery.â

Frank laughed. âI wish it were as simple as that. Anyway, it would help if you two checked out the place.â

âWhat are we really after, Frank?â Biff inquired.

âI wish I knew, Biff. Just case the joint. See what you come up with.â

âMaybe you can find out why Martin Weiss got fed up with the place,â Joe added. âHe must have had a reason.â

Biff and Tony drove off with a promise to drop in at the Flickering Torch that evening.

The Hardys called Chet to give them a hand with the engine. They picked him up and set out for Marlin Crag Cliffs in the family car. It was drizzling slightly, but the wind had abated, except for an occasional gust.

When they arrived, Joe tied a rope to the bumper and tossed the other end to the foot of the cliff. Testing the rope to be sure it would hold his weight, he gingerly lowered himself over the edge. Dangling high over the rocks, he began his descent.

Suddenly there was a gust of wind and Joe veered crazily out into space. Then he careened back, hitting the stony wall with a thud that knocked the breath out of him. Frantically he clung to the rope, gasping for air. When he looked down, he could see a long drop onto the rocky beach.

âIâm a goner if I let go,â Joe thought desperately. But his hands began to slip!

All at once his foot hit the cliff and came to rest on a narrow ledge. The toe hold enabled him to take some of the weight off his hands. Pausing until his strength returned, he climbed down the rope and jumped on to the beach.

Joe ran to the spot on the shoreline where they had left the engine. He kicked off his sneakers. Wading into the water, he looked around.

The engine was gone!

Joe returned to the foot of the cliff, climbed the rope to the top, and told Frank and Chet.

âSomebody must have taken it!â Chet exploded.

âThereâs a ledge along the shoreline,â Joe stated. âThe tide might have shifted it. Maybe the engine tumbled into deeper water.â

âAnother mystery to solve,â Frank said, disappointed. He looked up into the sky. âItâs getting dark already. Weâd better head home.â

That night the Hardys received a telephone call from the repair shop in Beemerville that their convertible was ready. They left the next morning by motorcycle to pick it up.

On Frankâs Honda they zoomed past billboards and motels on the highway, and carefully moved with the traffic in small towns. Finally Frank sputtered to a halt at the garage.

They found their car looking as good as new. Frank loaded up the Honda, then slipped behind the wheel and drove into the street. He took the road linking up with the highway near the Marlin Crag Cliffs. It led up a steep hill toward the bluffs. After Frank crested the mountain, he started to descend.

Halfway down, something in the steering mechanism snapped. The steering wheel spun uselessly in his grasp as the convertible gathered speed down the incline!

CHAPTER VIII

The Emergency Exit

DESPERATELY Frank pushed the brake pedal to the floor. The convertible bucked and tires squealed, throwing the boys forward against their seat belts.

The car skidded sideways to the brink of a cliff. Hitting a big boulder, it tilted up on its left wheels.

âWeâre going over!â Joe shouted.

They braced themselves for the plunge. The car teetered toward empty space, rebounded on its four wheels, bounced a couple of times and settled in a cloud of dust.

Bruised and shaken, the Hardys climbed out.

âI thought for sure we were taking a long dive to the beach,â Joe said weakly.

Frankâs face was pale. âIâll never know why we didnât go over the cliff. This calls for some tall explaining at the repair shop.â

The boys rode the Honda back to Beemerville and told the mechanic what had happened.

âKeep your shirt on!â the man replied to Joeâs heated denunciation. âI donât know what conked out your steering mechanism.â

The repairman had the car towed to the garage. While he was working on it, Frank and Joe stood by to watch. They knew quite a bit about mechanics and wanted to make sure that no one sabotaged the works.

âA loose connection,â the mechanic said after he had found the trouble. âJust bad luck.â

When he was finished, Frank gave the steering wheel and the brakes a good workout before trusting the convertible to the hill above the cliffs a second time. The boys shuddered when they passed the spot where they had had such a close brush with sudden death.

âThink our friend Mudd was behind the accident?â Joe asked.

âItâs possible. Heâs our prime suspect,â Frank replied.

After lunch Biff and Tony dropped in.

âYour staff is reporting back from the Flickering Torch,â Biff announced with a grin.

âWhat kind of place is it?â Frank asked.

âReal jumping joint. Music is supplied by a hot combo called the Emergency Exit. We had a long talk with the drummer.â

âHeâs a second cousin of mine,â Tony added. âHis nameâs Bernie Marzi. What a surprise to see him there!â

âDid he say anything we can use in our case?â Joe wanted to know.

âWell, he said the place is managed by a guy named Leon Bozar. No one seems to know who the owner is.â Tony balanced a coffee mug in the palm of his hand. âWe hear Bozarâs never around, though.â

Nothing Biff and Tony had learned tied the Flickering Torch in with the plane crashes. But all four boys agreed to continue their investigation of the restaurant.

âWe might get somewhere through the band,â Frank said.

âThatâs easy enough,â Tony stated. âLet me call Bernie.â He phoned his cousin, explained that the Hardys were friends of his, and turned the instrument over to Frank.

âHi, Frank,â came Bernieâs voice. âIâve heard a lot about you and your brother and the cases youâve solved. Anything I can do for you, just give the word.â

âThanks, Bernie,â Frank said. âHow about letting us have a rundown on the cast of the Emergency Exit?â

âSure. Thereâs Mark Bowen on the lead guitar, Linc Caldwell on the bass guitar, George Hansen on the rhythm guitar, and Pete Guilfoyle on the organ. Seymour Schill also plunks a guitar for us, and Joe Clark, a good friend of mine, is the emcee.â

âTony and Biff say your comboâs pretty good,â Frank put in.

âWeâve almost always got a booking somewhere,â Bernie admitted. âAnd weâve been playing at the Torch steady for quite a while. We do have a soft spot in our lineup, though.â

âOh? Whoâs that?â

âSeymour Schill. Heâs not too good.â

âWhy keep him?â

Bernie chuckled. âFinances, Frank. His father runs a music store and lets us have a lot of stuff for free. So we figure itâs good business to let Seymour stick around.â

They talked a while longer, and finally Frank said, âThanks for the info, Bernie. Weâll be seeing you. Joe and I will drop in at the Flickering Torch tonight.â

âStop by the stage,â the drummer invited before hanging up. âIâll give you the big hello.â

Joe telephoned Iola, who was eager to go out that night, and Frank made a date with Callie. They arranged to meet at the farm and drive to Beemerville from there.

Whey they arrived at the Mortonsâ place in the evening, the girls were ready.

âWhereâs Chet?â Joe asked Iola.

âHe went to see an aviation engineer about getting some information on building his plane.â

Joe grinned. âHeâs got a knack of finding the right people to help him.â

Iola smiled. âHe sure does. And heâs arranged to take flying lessons.â

The four climbed into the convertible and reached Beemerville without incident.

The Flickering Torch was a two-story roadside building with small wings flanking a medium-sized main building. Frank drove into the parking lot, where he stopped at the end of a row of cars facing a stone wall. The sound of music came drifting out into the night air.

âItâs a popular dance place,â Callie commented, âjudging by the number of cars.â

âThe beat explains it,â Iola said. âI feel like dancing already.â

They entered a hallway and moved on to a large, dimly lighted main room, which was crowded with people. The emcee escorted them to one of many tables arranged in a semicircle around the edge of the dance floor.

At the rear was the stage on which the Emergency Exit was playing a popular tune. The floor was jam-packed with couples gyrating to the beat. Waiters passed bearing trays of food and drinks for those at the tables.

Psychedelic lights played constantly over the room, revealing faces in the crowd for an instant and then leaving them in darkness. Fantastic patterns cut across the walls and ceiling. Brilliant colors merged and separated in perpetual motion along the spectrum from red to violet. Flames appeared to be licking over everybody.

âI bet those lights are the reason why this place is called the Flickering Torch,â Frank said. âEverywhere you look it flickers.â

âKind of spooky,â Iola commented.

âLike Danteâs Inferno,â said Callie, who had recently done a paper on Italian literature. She looked around. Her eyes were getting used to the dim interior and the moving lights. âDo you see anybody you know?â she asked.

The Hardys carefully examined the faces of the patrons and shook their heads.

âI didnât think we would,â Frank said.

Everyone ordered cokes. After downing the drinks, they paired off to dance.

Frank edged Callie toward the stage, where they paused just below the drummer. Frank recognized Bernie Marzi from Tonyâs description. After Bernie had ended a drum solo, Frank spoke to him in an undertone.

Meanwhile, Joe kept his eye on one of the guitarists, who seemed ill at ease, playing listlessly, and scanning the crowd all the time. At the intermission he hastened backstage.

âIola, wait at our table,â Joe said. âIâm going to follow that bird.â

Affecting a casual air, Joe started for the door through which the guitarist had disappeared. He barely reached it when he bumped into the fellow coming back with another man.

Joe covered his embarrassment by pulling an envelope from his pocket and saying, âExcuse me, but I came backstage hoping to get your autograph.â

âSure,â said the guitarist, who was about Joeâs age. He was obviously pleased. Quickly he took out a pen and wrote Seymour Schill across the back of the envelope.

Joe threw a quick glance at Schillâs companion. He was square-jawed, with a scar across the left side of his face. Dale Nettleton! The pilot who had almost hit their plane!

CHAPTER IX

Callie Plays a Trick

NETTLETON stared straight at Joe with hard, cold eyes.

âDoes he recognize me?â Joe wondered. âIf he does, heâs covering up pretty well.â

Seymour Schill handed Joe the autograph. He and the pilot then hurried through the door to the dining room. Joe shadowed them, keeping far enough behind to escape notice.

Schill disappeared outside. Nettleton went on the stage, bent over, and began fooling around with a tall cabinet amplifier. He seemed concerned about something at the back of it.

Suddenly he straightened up, jumped off the stage, and hastened out a side door.

As Joe moved forward to investigate, a group of young people swarmed across the dance floor in his path. He edged his way through them as fast as he could, but by the time he reached the door, his chances to intercept Nettleton had vanished. The flier climbed into a car and drove quickly out of the parking lot.

Joe returned to the table, where Frank, Callie, and Iola were waiting.

âWhy the disappointed look?â Callie asked.

Joe sat down and quickly told of his encounter with Seymour Schill and Dale Nettleton.

âI guess Nettletonâs one of the Marlin Airport group that hangs around the Flickering Torch,â Frank commented.

âBut Joe saw him doing something to the amplifier,â Iola said.

âWould an ordinary patron do that?â Callie queried.

Joe shrugged and said, âLetâs check on that amp, if we can, Frank.â

At the next intermission Frank went up to the stage and returned with Bernie Marzi. He introduced the drummer to Joe and the girls.

Bernie sat down with them. âEnjoy the music?â he asked.

âWe sure do,â Callie replied. âItâs great.â

âEspecially the drums,â Iola added.

Bernie grinned at the compliment. âThereâs more coming up in about ten minutes. Put your dancing shoes on. The next number is a real wild one.â

âBy the way,â Frank said casually, âis something wrong with your amplifier? If there is, I might be able to fix it for you. Amps are my hobby.â

âNothingâs wrong as far as I know,â Bernie replied. âBut if you want to take a look, be my guest. Let me know if you find anything. Iâm going to pop outside for a breath of fresh air before we begin the next number.â

He nodded to the girls and left.

Frank leaned over and whispered to his brother. âIâll examine the amp, but I donât want Schill to see me. If he comes back unexpectedly, intercept him, okay?â

Frank walked across the dance floor and vaulted up onto the stage. He gave the amplifier an expert inspection, especially the part Nettleton had been fooling around with.

âNothing wrong,â he muttered to himself. âWhat can Nettleton have been up to?â

At the table, Callie was about to make a remark about Frankâs puzzled look, when Joe grabbed her by the elbow. He pointed toward the door. Seymour Schill was just entering.

âQuick!â Joe urged the girl. âDo something to stop him before he sees Frank on the stage!â

Schill was almost at their table. Suddenly Callie stood up, let out a piercing scream, and collapsed against the guitarist, who caught her by the arms. But she managed to sink to the floor.

Callie lay on her back, quite still, with her eyes closed. Schill dropped to his knees and began to fan her with a menu.

All the while, Iola wrung her hands. âCallieâs unconscious!â she cried in simulated anguish.

Callie half-opened her eyes and squinted at Iola, who signaled her to get up. Frank was through with the amplifier and off the stage.

Callie rose shakily to her feet and brushed her dress.

Schill asked anxiously, âAre you all right?â

âQuite all right, thank you,â Callie replied.

âWhat happened?â the guitarist wanted to know.

âA mouse ran over my foot!â

âNo wonder you yelled,â Iola said.

âWe owe you a debt of thanks, erâ?â Frank said, extending his hand.

âSeymour Schillâs my name.â

âThank you, Seymour.â

The musician looked pleased at all the attention he was getting. âForget it,â he replied. âIâm always glad to help a lady in distress. Especially a pretty one.â

âExcept for you,â Callie put in, âIâd have a big bump on my head.â

The group began to discuss popular music.

âThe Emergency Exit has a terrific beat,â Iola commented. âAnd youâre so good!â

Seymour liked flattery. âIâm pretty far out,â he boasted. âItâll take the other guys a while to catch up.â

Callie pretended to faint

âAny chance of us attending a practice session?â Frank asked in an offhand way. âWeâve got an amateur group and are interested in this sort of thing.â

âSure, why not? We hold rehearsals in a barn on Wednesday nights. Place owned by Pete Guilfoyle. You can come if you like. I wonât be there next time, but the others will.â

âGreat!â Joe replied. To himself he said, âI wonder how this guy gets away with it. Heâs not too good anyhow and then he doesnât even show up for practice.â

âIâll write down the address of the place for you,â Seymour offered. He drew a printed card from his pocket and began to scribble on the back. Then a thought struck him. He turned the card over.

Frank and Joe, peering across his shoulder, read the legend: O. K. Muddâs Airplane Junkyard, Main Street, Beemerville.

Seymour put the card hastily back in his pocket. He began to look for something else to write on.

âHere, use this,â Joe said, proffering a napkin. Seymour flattened it on a table, scrawled the address, smiled at the girls, and strolled over to the stage where the Emergency Exit was assembling. He began tuning his guitar.

âOur friend Seymour knows O. K. Mudd,â Frank muttered.

âIt could be strictly coincidental,â Joe replied. âMuddâs got a big place and is probably known by most people in town. On the other hand there could be a connection between Mudd and the Flickering Torch, with Schill as a link.â

âAnd if the Flickering Torch is in some way involved in the accidents, Schill definitely bears observing,â Frank added.

The combo started playing a number. Couples drifted from the tables to the dance floor. The Bayport foursome joined them.

At the next intermission Bernie Marzi returned to their table. They engaged in some light chitchat about music, then Frank asked if the drummer knew a Beemerville man named Mudd.

âCanât help you,â Bernie replied. âNever heard of him. Should I?â

âNot unless you go in for used airplane parts,â Joe replied.

Bernie laughed. âTheyâre not my line.â

âIs anyone in your group interested in that sort of thing?â Frank asked.

âNot that I know of.â

Finally the band quit for the night. The lights of the Flickering Torch were dimmed and the patrons filed out into the night air.

Callie, Iola, Frank, and Joe settled themselves in their convertible. After a few miles of driving, Frank flipped on the radio. He tuned it until the voice of a newscaster came through. The big story of the day made the boys sit bolt upright.

The announcer said, âA gang of thieves broke into a warehouse at Kennedy Airport earlier tonight in another bold freight heist. In a well-organized robbery, the gang overpowered the night watchman and transferred a whole consignment of air freight to trucks parked outside the warehouse.

âThe trucks have vanished. The police are investigating, but Chief Reynolds admits that up to the time we went on the air, no clues to the gang or the stolen goods have been discovered.â

The commentator turned to other news stories, his voice droning on.

Frank snapped the radio off. âThatâs a new development in Dadâs case. He must be plenty upset about the gangâs getaway.â

âI wonder if he was close to nabbing them,â Joe said. âMaybe the informer weâre supposed to meet will give us a lead to this mob.â

âAll this is Greek to us,â Callie said in a mock pout. âWhatâs going on, anyway?â

Frank said, âWe canât let you in on the details, but Joe and I may have a hand in catching that very same bunch of crooks.â

âDo be careful,â Iola pleaded.

âDonât worry,â Joe said. âWe always are.â

The young people dropped into silence, busy with their own thoughts as they rode along. Gradually a series of lights came into view on the right-hand side of the highway.

âThatâs Marlin Crag Airport,â Frank informed the girls, âwhere Scott and Weiss were headed when they crashed.â

Overhead, they could hear the motor of a small plane coming in for a landing. Suddenly the runway lights blinked off and on several times.

âOh, look,â Callie said.

âThatâs funny,â Joe commented. âIâve never seen that kind of signal to an incoming plane.â

âThereâs something very strange going on,â Frank said. âJoe, weâd better investigate this!â

CHAPTER X

Shots in the Dark

FRANK pulled the car over to the side of the road and switched off the headlights.

âWe can observe the airstrip from here,â he said. âI think something fishyâs going on.â

The control tower loomed in the distance, the muted lights from its windows brooding over the semidarkened field. Runway markers stretched out into the distance, and the strange blinking continued.

The airplane came closer and the young people craned to see it. Port and starboard lights were visible now, and the belly beam winked as the craft passed over them.

âDo you suppose the runway signal was meant for this plane?â asked Callie.

âCould be,â Joe said. âLetâs watch it.â

Even though the pilot had plenty of runway, he failed to settle the plane down until near the end of the strip.

âBoy, I hope he doesnât overshoot!â Frank declared. As he spoke, the plane dropped several feet, then hit the ground smoothly with only yards to spare.

âNow what is he trying to prove with a landing like that?â Joe wondered as the plane turned about and headed back toward the airport buildings. The pilot taxied to an isolated shed next to a hangar, cut the engine, and stepped out. As he did, the lights stopped blinking along the airstrip.

âIt certainly looks as if that signal was for him,â Iola said.

Her words brought a chill of excitement to Joe. Could this incident have any connection with the metropolitan airport thefts? Was the plane carrying some kind of contraband? Why had it stopped at the isolated shed?

Joe mentioned his suspicions to Frank.

âMaybe itâs only a wild guess,â Frank said, âbut you could be right.â

âThen letâs find out.â

âWhat?â Iola said. âAnd leave us here?â

âThatâs a nice way to take two girls on a date!â Callie said in mock seriousness, but added quickly, âWe understand. Go ahead. Weâll wait for you.â

Frank suggested that the girls drop them off and drive along the road until they found a good secluded spot.

âPull in there and shut off the lights,â Frank said. âJoe and I have pencil flashlights. When we return weâll blink them once, then follow with three short ones. Be ready to pick us up. Okay?â

Callie giggled. âThis is great, playing detective.â She slid across to the driverâs seat as Frank and Joe stepped out. They crossed the road and stepped down into a small gully which led to a low swampy area bordering the airport.

âJoe, look out, weâre getting into some soft ground,â Frank warned.

By paralleling the highway for a quarter of a mile, the Hardys avoided the swamp and pressed through high grass until they came to the edge of the runway. Both crouched down and looked about.

âIf no planes come in for a few minutes, we can dash across the strip without being noticed,â Frank said.

âAll set?â asked Joe.

âRoger, keep your head low, and if anyone puts a light on us, hit the deck!â

The boys had taken no more than three strides across the runway when the sound of a twin-engine aircraft suddenly filled the air. They scrambled back for cover and lay flat in the grass, watching a passenger plane touch down smoothly. It reversed its engines, wheeled about, and taxied to the terminal.

âOkay, now!â Frank said.

He and Joe dashed across the runway and flopped prone in damp grass not more than a hundred yards from the shed. They listened tensely. Snatches of indistinct conversation drifted toward them.

âLetâs get closer,â Joe said.

Quietly they crept toward the building; then paused and raised their heads to get a better view.

Two men seemed to be getting the plane ready for takeoff. One stood near the wing with a fuel line, his back turned to the boys. The other walked to the rear of the plane.

âSee what heâs doing?â Frank asked.

âI canât make it out,â Joe replied.

âHeâs working on the tailpost.â

âHey, he looks like Dale Nettleton!â

âSh-sh,â Frank warned. After a moment of silence he continued, âYouâre right, it is Nettleton. I wonder what heâs up to now.â

âWait, here comes someone else,â said Joe.

A short husky fellow in a pilotâs uniform appeared from the shed and looked in the boysâ direction. They ducked quickly.

Through stems of grass they saw the one man finish the refueling. Nettleton approached the pilot and they talked for a moment. Then the flier gave the thumbs-up signal and climbed into the plane. The starter whined, the propeller whirled, and the craft swung about to return to the runway.

Its noselight stabbed through the darkness as it bumped its way over the rough ground to the blacktop strip. There it waited for a minute, obviously for clearance from the control tower, and took off into the night sky.

Nettleton and his pal hastened into the shed, and the Hardys stood up. âWell, what do you think?â Joe asked.

âLooked pretty suspicious to me,â said Frank. âThe pilot comes in and parks by a far-off shed. Then right away he takes off again.â

âI wonder whatâs in that place,â Joe said. They scanned the low building ahead of them. It had no windows, at least on the one side.

âMaybe those two guys in there are talking about illegal business,â Joe said. âLetâs try to eavesdrop on them.â

Frank, glancing far across the runway and to the road on the other side, replied, âThatâs a long way to travel without cover. If they should spy usââ

âI think we ought to take the risk anyhow,â said Joe.

âAll right. But if you have any sneezing to do, do it now!â

Treading quietly, the Hardys approached the shed. They had gone no more than thirty feet when the door burst open and Nettleton stepped out. He switched on a powerful flashlight and caught the boys directly in its white beam.

âI thought I heard something out here!â he cried out. âA couple of snoopers!â

Frank and Joe stood speechless for a second, then turned and fled across the runway.

Two shots rang out behind them, which only served to increase the speed of their flying legs. The sudden sprint gave them a headstart on their pursuers, but the men were not to be shaken off that easily.

Shouts of âHalt! Stop! This is the law!â sounded behind them. Joe glanced over his shoulder to see two bobbing lights pursuing them.

âHead for the swamps!â Frank cried out.

âWhy?â came Joeâs breathless question.

âBecause theyâre a lot older than we are, and will get tired sooner.â

Joe followed Frank straight toward the swampy area. The tall stems of cattails loomed before their faces as they plunged through the wet ground.

âWeâve got them! Weâve got them!â Nettleton panted. âTheyâll never get through the muck!â

For a moment Frank doubted whether his tactic had been correct. Mud sucked and slurped at his shoes as he bulldozed his way through the marsh. Once Joe fell flat on his face, and Frank turned back to lend him a hand.

After scrambling another fifty feet, Frank whispered, âLetâs stop for a second.â

The boys crouched low in the muck like a couple of muskrats. They listened. There was no sound of thrashing now. Their pursuers were standing still, too.

âDo you see any sign of them?â asked Nettleton.

âNot a thing.â

Frank and Joe recognized the voice immediately. Bill Zinn, the assistant airport manager.

A flashlight swept back and forth over the tips of the cattails.

âYou think they got away?â

âI doubt it. Theyâre playing possum.â

âThen weâll flush them out.â

âI told you we shouldnât have shot over their heads. I wanted to zap âem!â

âNone of that,â Nettleton said. âThey might be just a couple of skylarking kids. Weâll find out soon enough.â

The sound of sloshing feet began again. Joe rose to move on, but Frank restrained him. âLook, this is a big swamp,â he whispered. âThey might not find us at all. We can just wait them out.â

âThatâs taking an awful chance,â Joe whispered. The steps drew nearer.

âWhat do you see on your side?â came Nettletonâs loud voice.

âNothing,â Zinn replied. âI canât make out any tracks, either. Letâs go back.â

âNothing doing. Weâll stick it out until we reach the road.â

âIs Nick patrolling?â

âRight,â Nettleton replied. âIâve got him on the walkie-talkie.â

âOkay, Iâm with you.â

The two forged ahead, each step bringing them closer and closer to the Hardys. Frank and Joe had flattened themselves in the muck, their chins pressed into the slime.

The menâs heavy breathing became clearly audible.

âGood night!â Joe thought. âTheyâll be able to hear my heart beat!â It pounded with the excitement of danger.

The men took another step forward. Suddenly a heavy boot came down squarely on Joeâs back. The boy let out a scream and jumped to his feet. Frank did the same.

Their double action stunned their pursuers momentarily. With an elbow thrust Joe knocked the wind out of the pilot, who had stepped on him. Frankâs left jab caught Zinn flush on the chin. He fell over backward and lay still.

Without a word, Frank and Joe snatched up the menâs flashlights.

By the time the two regained consciousness, the Hardys were well out of sight. All the boys could hear were curses behind them.

âWe nearly got it that time,â Frank said, pulling himself out of the edge of the swamp onto firmer ground.

âBut weâll have to look out for Nick, whoever he is,â Joe warned.

They tossed the big flashlights on the ground. Making their way in total darkness, the young detectives climbed the short embankment and reached the side of the road. Around a curve came two headlights. Frank and Joe ducked for cover again.

A car drove by slowly and a spotlight flashed across the marsh. But the cattails gave perfect cover to the boys. The car turned about and drove back toward the airport.

Minutes later Frank and Joe stood beside the road again, cold, wet and muddy, peering into the darkness.

âLucky the girls are waiting for us,â Frank said and took out his pencil flashlight. He gave a long beam, then three short ones. Several minutes went by, but there was no sign of the convertible.

An owl hooted in the distance, and the growl of an engine sounded as another plane took off.

âThatâs strange,â Joe observed. âWhy do you think the girls donât react?â

âI donât know,â Frank replied. âLet me give them a couple more signals.â He flashed the light again. Still no response.

âGood night!â Joe said worriedly. âDo you suppose somethingâs happened to Callie and Iola?â

CHAPTER XI

No More Rocks

HAD the mysterious Nick come upon Iola and Callie in their hiding place? If so, the girls might be in danger!

Frank and Joe hastened along the edge of the road, giving the flashlight signal.

Suddenly, from a turnoff in the woods, a pair of headlights snapped on. For several seconds they glared into the darkness, then they went off, only to reappear in three quick blinks.

âOur signal!â Frank exclaimed, running toward the place of concealment. Joe followed him in full stride.

There was the convertible, backed into a clump of big bushes, between a stand of pine trees. Callie and Iola stepped out to meet the boys.

âAre we glad to see you!â Callie said, grabbing Joeâs right arm with both her hands.

âSame here,â Joe replied.

Iola said, âWe thought youâd never come back! What happened?â

âDidnât you see our signal?â asked Frank. âYou really had us worried.â

âOf course we saw it,â Callie answered. âBut there was another car patrolling the road. We couldnât reveal our position!â

âGood thinking,â Frank said. âWe saw that car, too. Some guy named Nick was out to find us.â

âWhoâs he?â

âHeâs part of the mob,â Joe said as the boys climbed into the convertible. Briefly they told what had happened and pledged the girls to secrecy.

He slid behind the wheel and drove onto the highway, but instead of turning to the airport, he took the opposite route back toward Beemerville.

âWhere are you going?â Iola inquired.

âThis Nick might still be watching for us around the airport entrance,â Joe replied. He explained that he would take an alternate route which would bring them into Bayport on a parallel road. After about three miles, Joe took a left turn and made a long detour to a secondary highway. He kept the car at speed limit all the way back.

The girls were let off at their homes with quick good-nights, then Frank and Joe continued on to Elm Street. The first floor of their home was well lighted.

Joe put the car away and the boys entered through the back door. They were faced immediately by their mother and Aunt Gertrude, who had waited up for them.

âWherever in the world have you been?â Mrs. Hardy inquired with a worried look.

âA body canât get any sleep any more!â Aunt Gertrude complained. âDo you know what time it is?â

âOf course we do,â Joe said, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. âWe were mixed up in a new development in our case. We just couldnât help being late.â

âLooks as if you were mixed up in a mud bath,â Mrs. Hardy said, the comers of her mouth relaxing.

âYouâre not kidding!â Frank kicked off his dirty shoes and set them beside the kitchen door. Joe followed suit.

âAunt Gertrude, weâre lucky to be back at all,â Joe said. âWe got chased, shot at, andââ

Aunt Gertrude wrung her hands, and an agonizing look crossed her face. âYouâre involved with gangsters again!â she wailed and turned to Mrs. Hardy. âLaura, itâs too dangerous for these boys to play detective!â

âIt wasnât any play, I can tell you that!â Frank observed as he stripped off his mud-spattered sport shirt.

âHere, give me those dirty things,â Mrs. Hardy said. âI donât want you to trail mud into your room.â

âThanks, Mother.â Joe grinned.

Gertrude Hardy clucked disapprovingly. âWell,â she said, âat least we can all go to bed now. Frank, Joe, mind youâre up in time for breakfast and church!â

The next day was Sunday. Early afternoon Sam Radley dropped in and discussed the latest turn of events. After the Hardys had told him everything that had transpired the day before, Frank concluded, âThat assistant at the airport, Bill Zinn, is a prime suspect.â

âSo are Mudd and Nettleton,â Radley added. âThey should be investigated.â

âThatâs where you could help us,â Joe put in. âCould you start checking on Zinn? You know what I meanâhis background and all that?â

âBe glad to.â

âGreat,â Frank said. âMeanwhile, weâll go back to Muddâs place and do some further sleuthing there.â

After Radley had left, Joe said, âWhat do you have in mind about the airplane junkyard, Frank?â

âWe need to follow up that tailpost clue. Remember Chetâs fuselage? The tailpost was missing.â

âNow I get it,â said Joe, snapping his fingers. âLast night Nettleton was working on the tailpost of that plane. Maybe something was hidden there!â

Frank nodded and Joe went on, âWhatâs your strategy?â

âI really donât have any yet,â Frank replied. âWe could ask ChetâWow! That gives me an idea. Come on!â Frank went to the telephone and dialed the Morton farm.

Chet answered. âHello, Frank. Youâre lucky to find me in. I was just practicing loops.â

âOh, good,â Frank said. âAre you ready for an Immelmann yet?â

âHa, you canât stump me,â Chet said. âIsnât that the outside loop invented by that German ace?â

âLetâs get back down to earth,â Frank said. âThereâs something Iâd like you to do for us.â

âListen,â Chet said, âmy pilotâs training canât be interrupted byââ

âCome on,â Frank urged. âAll we want you to do is ask Mudd for a tailpost.â

Silence for a moment, as Chet mused. âCome to think of it, I could use one, too. And maybe some other parts. Okay, itâs a deal. When do we go back to Beemerville?â

âTomorrow. And listen, Chet. We want you to wear a bug.â

âCome again?â

âA bugâa concealed microphone,â Frank explained. âStick close to Mudd; this way we might pick up a clue. Since he knows youâre building a plane, that gives you a good excuse to hang around a while. Weâll be listening in all the time, so you donât have to worry.â

Chet joked, âWhere are you going to put the bug? In my ear?â

âNever mind, weâll take care of that,â Frank replied. âWeâll pick you up in the morning.â

When Frank hung up, Joe smiled. âPretty good thinking, Frank. What kind of a bug is it going to be?â

âA medal to hang around his neck,â Frank said. âOh, and I want to call Tony, too. We might learn something more from a meeting with his cousin Bernie.â

âYou mean about the Flickering Torch?â

âRight.â

Fortunately Tony was at home, too. âSure, I can get Bernie down here,â he said. âIâll arrange it as soon as possible.â

The Hardys spent the rest of the afternoon working on a miniature radio pickup. They concealed it in an ornamental medal which they attached to a chain.

âChetâll look real cute in this,â Joe said. âThat is, if heâll wear it.â

âHe will,â his brother replied.

Next morning at the breakfast table Joe came up behind Aunt Gertrude and put the medal around her neck. âMy goodness, whatâs this?â she asked.

âOh, just a little something to show you our appreciation,â Frank said with a wink at Mrs. Hardy.

âWhy, whatâs it for?â

âAll you have to do is sit and talk to Mother for a few minutes,â Frank said. âWeâll be right back.â

âIâll bet theyâre up to something again,â Aunt Gertrude said as the boys exited through the back door.

Frank ran to the car and got a receiver. âListen to this,â he said to Joe.

Aunt Gertrudeâs words along with Mrs. Hardyâs came through clearly.

âWell, whatâs on the agenda today, Laura?â asked Aunt Gertrude.

âThe laundry, the upstairs bathroom, all the upstairs windows, and the coat closet,â Mrs. Hardy replied cheerfully.

Aunt Gertrude sighed. âYou know, as fond as I am of the boys, sometimes I wish they were girls and would give us a hand with the housework!â

Frank grinned as he recorded the conversation. Then the boys returned to the dining room.

âFrances and Josephine Hardy checking in,â Joe said. âWow, you canât imagine how glad we are to be boys!â

âDetective work is much more fun than cleaning out the coat closet,â Frank added. He set the recorder on the table and played back the conversation.

âOh, you scallywags!â Aunt Gertrude exclaimed. âYou shouldnât eavesdrop like that!â

âWell, we had to test the bug!â Frank said, and took the chain off Aunt Gertrudeâs neck. âSee you later.â

They hurried out of the house, got into their car, and were soon at the Morton farm. Chet was waiting for them.

Joe handed him the medal.

âWhereâs the bug?â Chet asked.

âYouâre holding it,â Joe replied. âDrape it around your neck.â

Chet grinned and did as he was told. âHow do I look?â

âJust beautiful,â Joe replied and gave him a sharp rap on the arm.

Frank drove to Beemerville and parked several blocks from the Mudd Airplane Junkyard. As prearranged, Chet walked up to the main gate alone. As soon as he disappeared, Frank and Joe quickly approached the metal fence that surrounded the junkyard.

The boys set their receiver and adjusted the tape, then turned to a crack in the sheet metal.

âChet doesnât seem too happy about his mission.â Joe chuckled as the receiver transmitted a nervous gulp from their hefty pal.

âOh, oh, here comes Mudd,â Frank said.

The man strode out of his office and confronted Chet. âWhat do you want now?â he demanded in an irritated voice.

âIâm looking for a tailpost, Mr. Mudd,â Chet replied.

âA tailpost!â Mudd said with a look of astonishment. âWhat for? You donât even have a fuââ

The man stopped in confusion and his face turned red. Chet pounced on the blunder like a cat after a ping-pong ball. âOh, I got my fuselage back, Mr. Mudd,â he said in an offhand manner. âSome clown swiped it and dropped it at a garbage dump. I found it later. So Iâm back in business for some airplane parts. A tailpost, please.â

Muddâs eyes narrowed threateningly. âLook, whereâre your pals?â

Chet said coolly, âI couldnât really guarantee where they are.â

âOh, yeah?â

âCome on, now, Mr. Mudd. I want to look around at some parts. You can see Iâm alone, canât you? Now how about a tailpost?â

Joe whispered, âChetâs doing a great job!â

Mudd began talking again. âI donât have any to fit your model fuselage.â

âThatâs too bad,â Chet said. âWell, Iâll be needing wings later. Mind if I check around to see whatâs here?â

Mudd gave a sardonic laugh. âYouâll need wings all right, you fat brat. And a harp, too!â

He moved toward Chet. Grabbing the boyâs arm, he twisted it around his back in a hammer lock. âIâve stopped fooling with you,â Mudd snarled. âWhere are those buddies of yours, and what are you snooping around for?â

Joe tensed and made a move to spring up. Frank held him back. âWait! Chet knows how to take care of himself.â

Their friendâs short gasp of pain was followed by a rebel yell. Chet put his experience as a high school wrestler to good use. Swinging his body around, he flung the heavier Mudd over his back. The man hit the ground with a thud, then rose shakily to his feet.

Chet confronted him in a wrestlerâs defensive stance, feet wide apart, hands extended forward. At the same time he noticed that the chain had slipped over his head and fallen onto the ground.

âWeâll lose contact,â Joe hissed.

âMaybe not,â Frank said. âLook!â

A young man entered the junkyard. It was Seymour Schill! He bent over and retrieved the bug. Swinging it by the chain, he looked from Chet to Mudd.

âCut the rough stuff, will you,â he said. âWhoâs this kid youâre muscling?â

âIâm no kid!â Chet said indignantly. âMy nameâs Chet Morton, and if this gorilla wants some more action, Iâm ready for it!â

âDonât get physical,â Seymour said. âIâve got nothing against you. I just want a few words with O. K.â

He drew the man aside and spoke in a voice too low for Chet to hear. However, the bug dangling in his hand picked up every word.

âThe boss has made up his mind,â Seymour said. âItâll be Wednesday and Saturday.â

âGood,â Mudd responded. âThat suits me just fine.â

âSame time, same place,â Seymour went on. Pausing for a moment, the guitarist added significantly, âSame number of rocks.â

âNo!â Muddâs voice was harsh. âTell him no more rocks, understand!â

âI understand. Whatâs the pitch?â

âHard cash from now on!â

CHAPTER XII

Jam Session

THEIR conversation finished, Seymour and Mudd turned to Chet again. Seymour tossed the medal at him.

Chet caught it on the fly and pulled it quickly over his head, vastly relieved that Seymour had not examined the medal closer.

âChetâs heading back for the car,â Joe observed through the crack in the fence.

âGood. Weâve made some headway,â Frank said. âLetâs join him.â

The Hardys assembled their receiving apparatus, slipped quickly around the fence, and made tracks for their convertible.

Chet arrived shortly afterward. âDid you see? I almost got conked!â he began excitedly.

âWe saw,â Joe said. âYou were great, Chet!â

âWe also heard everything,â Frank added. âOur little bug worked like a charm. And Seymour couldnât have done us a bigger favor!â

âWhen he picked it up I thought I was sunk!â Chet declared, rolling his eyes. âWhat did they say?â

Joe repeated the conversation.

âInteresting, but what does it mean?â

âWe donât know,â Frank said.

âThat talk about rocks,â Chet went on. âSuppose they meant the Marlin Crag Cliffs?â

âNo. Precious stones, perhaps. Remember, Mudd asked for hard cashâanother kind of payment.â

âAnd what about Wednesday and Saturday?â

âWell, somethingâs going on then, but we donât have any idea what or where.â

âThe Flickering Torch is my guess,â Chet said with a professional air.

âPossible,â Joe agreed. âWeâll have to watch the place.â

The trio returned to Bayport, still puzzled about the overheard clues. Next afternoon Tony Prito and Bernie Marzi showed up at the Hardy house.

After a hearty welcome by Frank and Joe, Bernie asked, âWhat can I do for you? Tony mentioned a case youâre involved in, but didnât give me any details.â

âWe canât tell you too much either,â Frank said. âBut you could help us by telling us everything you know about the Torch employees. Something suspicious may be going on there. Weâll have to check out the place. How about starting out with the musicians?â

âSure,â Bernie said and gave a short summary of everyoneâs background. âI know very little about the waiters and the kitchen personnel,â he concluded. âAs far as the band goes, I trust everybody with the possible exception of Seymour Schill. I canât tell you why, itâs just a hunch.â

Frank nodded slowly. âYour intuition and ours are surprisingly alike.â

âWhatâs the next step?â the drummer asked.

âWeâd like to case the Flickering Torch,â Joe stated.

âListen, Iâve got a great idea!â Bernie exclaimed. âWhy donât one of you join the combo Saturday night? Who handles the lead guitar?â

âI do,â Joe said. âWhat about your regular guitarist? Wonât he be jealous?â

âHe wants the day off, Joe. We were going to hire another pro. But Iâm sure you can fit the bill, so why should we look for anyone else?â

âIâll take you up on that, Bernie. When do I have to be there?â

âFirst youâll have to attend our practice session tomorrow. Let the gang see how you do.â

âSuits me fine,â Joe said. âIâve always wanted to play with pros.â

Tony grinned at Bernie. âThat means Joeâll have a jump on the rest of us in the Bayport combo.â

âNever fear, weâre not that good,â Bernie said modestly.

When Tony announced he would have to leave in a little while, Joe asked Bernie if he was planning to return to Beemerville that evening.

âNo,â Bernie replied. âIâm supposed to spend the night at Tonyâs and go back tomorrow.â

âListen,â Joe suggested, âwhy donât you stay here and then we can drive down together?â

âHave you got room for me?â Bernie asked.

âSure.â

âHey, thatâs great,â Bernie said. âEspecially since I donât have a car.â

âItâs a deal. Let me tell Mother.â Joe hastened upstairs and returned with Mrs. Hardy, who offered Bernie their hospitality. Then Tony departed.

A few minutes later the phone rang. It was Mr. Hardy.

âWhere are you, Dad?â Frank inquired.

âMorrisville, New Jersey,â the detective said. âAt the airport. Iâve tracked the hijacking outfit this far. Now I need some help.â

âWeâll come double-quick, Dad. But thereâs a new angle at this end. Joeâll tell you about it.â

He handed the phone to his brother, who hurriedly described his plan to join the Emergency Exit, so he could keep an eye on the Flickering Torch and its patrons. âWhat should I do?â Joe concluded. âCancel out the music?â

âNot at all,â Mr. Hardy replied. âGo ahead with your surveillance. All I need here is Frank.â

The dark-haired boy took over again. âSure thing, Dad,â he said. âGive me the orders.â

âI canât over the phone,â Fenton Hardy told him. âCome to Morrisville late tomorrow afternoon and weâll talk it over. Iâve got a job at the field as a porter, so itâll be easy for us to meet without arousing suspicion.â

âAnything else?â Frank queried.

âWell, Sam Radleyâs still checking on Muddâs record. So far thereâs nothing about Zinn. Thatâs it for now. Take care, both of you.â

The following day Frank decided to let Joe and Bernie have the car. After an early dinner, they dropped him off at Bayport Airport, where he got a commercial flight to Morrisville, then the two went on to Beemerville for their practice session.

They reached the area in a little more than an hour.

âSure is pretty country,â Joe remarked as Bernie directed him off the highway. They drove along the coast road. The Marlin Crag Cliffs now gave way to sandy beaches which swept inland in a half circle. In the middle of the broad curve lay a small fishing village called Pohasset. It was a little past Beemerville and was frequented by artists who haunted the wharves and scenic dunes. Stretches of green marshes were dotted with small houses and outbuildings.

âSee the house up on the knoll?â Bernie asked.

âThe one with the barn near the waterfront?â

âYes,â the drummer remarked as Joe slowed down. âPull in the drive. Thatâs Pete Guilfoyleâs place where we hold our jam sessions.â

Joe parked the car under an elm tree and got out to look around. The barn lay about two hundred feet from the house, nearly at the waterâs edge. Its front doors stood open, revealing an unusual interior.

It certainly was not for horses. Instead, an organ stood on the right side, and chairs were scattered about, along with two amplifiers.

âNice place to practice, eh?â Bernie said. âWe can vibrate it apart and nobody complains.â

Joeâs eyes were following the shore as he walked toward the barn. He noticed a boat rocking in the water some distance away. Concealing himself behind a tree, the boy looked intently at a man standing up in the boat. The fellow had binocu lars and the late-afternoon sun glinted off the polished lenses.

âBernie, take a look at this,â Joe said.

âThe guy in the boat?â

âYes. I think heâs spying on us.â

âOh, heâs probably just a bird watcher,â Bernie said. âWhy would he be interested in us?â

The man in the boat sat down, started an outboard motor, purred a little farther away from the shore, then stopped to scan the barn once more.

âWe seem to be the birds heâs watching,â Joe mused. As he spoke, two more boys drove up in their cars. Bernie introduced them.

âJoe, meet Line Caldwell and George Hansen,â he said. âFellows, this is Joe Hardy, whoâll sub for Mark Bowen this weekend.â

âOkay with us,â said Pete, who had just walked down from the house. âWeâre with you, Joe, as long as you can play the guitar.â

Joe grinned. âTry me. But say, thereâs something I want to get straight before we start.â As the boys entered the barn, he walked over to the first amplifier to check it out. It looked normal. He did the same to the second.

âNot a thing out of kilter,â he muttered. âI wonder why Dale Nettleton was fooling around the amp at the Flickering Torch.â

âDale Nettleton? You know him?â Pete asked.

âCasually,â Joe replied. âWhat about you?â

âOh, he hangs around the Flickering Torch. Always interested in the band.â

Bernie, who had been holding Joeâs guitar, pushed the instrument into his hands. âOkay, Joe, letâs hear some sweet sounds!â

The Hardy boy got in line with the other guitarists. Bernie sat just behind them. Under Peteâs direction, the beat started low on the drums. The organ picked up the theme, weaving in and out in an intricate pattern. Then came Joeâs lead guitar in a short, burbling pizzicato. The rhythm guitar supported the tune, succeeded by the bass.

Then it was Joeâs turn again. At first he was a little hesitant, but soon the music was vibrating through his body. He began to cut loose, improvising wild harmonies, an octave higher than the bass guitar.

The sound reverberated from the rafters. The amplifier swayed as the combo came up to a crescendo, hit the final notes, and ended the first piece. Bernie Marzi looked over from his drums.

âJoe!â he called. âYouâre great!â

Pete Guilfoyle added, âWant a permanent job with us?â

âYouâre a lot better than Seymour Schill,â Line Caldwell said.

Joe grinned. âNice of you to ask me, fellows, but Iâm not really in your league yet. Well, how about another piece?â

As the music soared again, faces began to appear in the doorway. Local people were congregating to hear the Emergency Exit rehearse as they always did, tapping their feet and clapping their hands to the tempo.

After the walls of the barn had trembled for more than two hours with the pulsating vibrations, the rehearsal ended. The young musicians joked as they packed their instruments nd Pete Guilfoyle approached Joe.

âNice going. Weâre glad to have you with us.â He glanced at his watch. âItâs getting pretty late. Are you planning on going back to Bayport tonight?â

âI suppose so.â

âThatâs a long way. How would you like to sleep in the barn loft? Iâd invite you inside, but there isnât enough room.â

âThatâs a good idea,â Joe said. He stepped aside and said to Bernie, âThat fellow in the boat might show up again in the morning. Maybe I can find out whatâs cooking.â

âGood,â Bernie said. âSee you Saturday.â

Joe thanked Pete for the invitation.

âDonât mention it,â the boy replied. âYouâll find blankets in the loft. Make yourself comfortable. Iâll turn off the lights and see you in the house for breakfast, okay?â

âFine.â

Joe climbed the rungs of the ladder and pulled himself up to see a pile of hay and several blankets. He wriggled into the dry grass.

While drowsiness overcame him, Joe pondered the stranger in the boat. Soon he was fast asleep. In his dream he watched the man start his motor. It exploded with a giant boom, causing Joe to sit bolt upright.

Outside, thunder was cannonading along the shore, and through a small window he saw great streaks of lightning. These were followed by a torrent of rain.

The door creaked open. Then, caught by a gust of wind, it slammed shut violently. Joe got to his knees, crawled to the edge of the loft, and looked down.

Lightning flashed again and for a moment he could not see anything. Then, in the shadows, he made out the figure of a man I

The fellow listened, then moved stealthily toward the ladder leading to the loft!

CHAPTER XIII

Lefty the Squealer

THE intruder glanced up and Joe pulled back out of sight. Had he been seen?

The boy listened, his heart pounding with excitement. All he could hear was a drip, drip, drip. The roof leaked, and droplets of rain splashed on the ladder. Perhaps thatâs what had caught the manâs attention! Joe fervently hoped so.

No other sound now. Joe craned forward cautiously. The shadow was moving toward the door. It opened quietly and the stranger disappeared into the night.

âIâd better trail him,â Joe decided. He hastened down the ladder. It was wet from the rain. Joeâs feet slipped. His sagging weight was too much for fingers that clutched the slick rung above him. Down he went!

Joe fell heavily to the barn floor, striking his head against the post supporting the loft. He lay stunned, for how long he did not know. When he opened his eyes again, there was an eerie silence in the barn. The rain had ended and the trickle from the roof no longer splashed on the ladder.

Joe rose to his feet and rubbed a bump on the back of his head. Then he stepped to the door, opened it quietly, and looked outside. The landscape was bathed in silvery light, cast by a full moon which shone pale between fluffy clouds.

The boy followed the path leading to the road, moving at a crouch and searching for possible clues which the intruder might have left. But the rain had obliterated all tracks. By the time Joe reached the edge of the road, he knew the man had made a clean getaway.

Suddenly he noticed a small shiny object on the ground. He reached down in the gravel and picked up a plastic guitar pick. Was the night visitor a musician?

Joe pocketed the pick and walked back toward the barn, still alert to possible danger. If the prowler were one of the fellows in the band, why had he come back? Or could it have been the stranger in the boat, who had been spying on the Guilfoyle property?

Joe was about to enter the barn when he heard the sound of an approaching motor. A vehicle was driving up the road slowly.

Joe ducked, dropping on his knees behind a bushy azalea plant. He watched. Out of the darkness appeared a large van. The words MOBILE X-RAY on its side were visible in the moonlight. The driver stopped in front of the barn. The cab doors swung open and two men jumped out. They peered around, then went into the barn.

Joe listened, pressing his ear against the wall. There was a sound of scraping metal, then footsteps as the men came out again.

A voice said, âOne more contact and weâre finished.â

âThings are getting too hot around here,â the other man replied. âItâs just as well.â

Pondering what it all meant, Joe watched the men as they returned to the van. They climbed in, and the doors slammed.

Joe reached for his car keys. They were not in any of his pockets! âI must have dropped them in the barn,â the boy thought desperately. âNow I canât follow these birds!â Suddenly he had an idea.

He sprinted from his hiding place and dashed toward the road, just as the van started off in first gear. As the vehicle picked up speed, Joe ran behind it, looking for a handhold. Nothing was accessible except the bumper.

Joe grasped it with both hands, then swung his feet up under the chassis, resting his heels on the muffler. If he could only hold on until the van stopped!

But Joe had not bargained with the exhaust pipe. It emerged near his face, sending out a hot stream of carbon monoxide. Joe turned his head away from it, sucking in gulps of air and trying to hold his breath as long as possible.

Joe grasped the bumper with both hands

Finally, however, a numbness began to creep into his hands and he wondered if he should drop off. The noxious fumes made the decision for him. Joe fell unconscious to the road like a sack of potatoes!

If Frank Hardy had known what was going to happen to his brother, he would not have gone to his assignment in New Jersey so eagerly.

Once Frank had arrived at the Morrisville airport, he picked up his suitcase from the baggage claims center and headed toward the exit, where a porter sidled up to him and grasped the handle of his bag.

âMay I help you with this, young fellow?â the porter asked. âItâs kind of heavy.â

âNo thanks. Iâll carry it myself,â Frank replied with a sidewise glance at the man. Then a big smile came to his face. âOkay, you can take it, Dad.â

âNot so loud,â Mr. Hardy cautioned. âAnd get that grin off your face!â

âWhereâll we meet?â Frank asked as they advanced toward a line of taxicabs in front of the terminal.

âI made reservations for you at the George Washington Motel. Itâs only a few blocks from here on the road leading into town. Iâll see you there at six,â Mr. Hardy said.

It was a happy reunion between father and son that evening.

âIâm glad you came,â Mr. Hardy said. âRemember I told you how informers operate?â

Frank nodded. âSure. You pay them off and they squeal on their own grandmother.â

âRight. Informers are like double agents. But they make out very well, unless theyâre caught.â

âAnd then what?â

His father made a motion across his throat. âItâs too bad for them. Thatâs why we must be very careful.â

âSo you found an informer?â Frank inquired.

âJust by luck.â The detective told Frank that he had trailed a truckload of stolen merchandise from the New York airport, but had lost track of it in the vicinity of Morrisville.

âI figured they must be flying the stolen freight out of here,â Mr. Hardy concluded.

âBut how did you latch on to the informer?â Frank persisted.

Mr. Hardy said that he had checked in with the local police. They had had an anonymous phone call about something phony going on at the airport. The tipster left a number which proved to be a public telephone booth and said he would give them the details for a certain amount of money.

âDid they pick him up?â Frank asked.

âNo. They didnât have enough cash in their budget,â Mr. Hardy replied. âWhen they told me, I decided to take the chance. The freight insurers gave me carte blanche.â

âHave you seen the man?â

âNo. He calls himself Lefty and agreed to meet my contact on the southeast corner of Broad and Market streets in Newark, exactly at eleven forty-five tonight. I want you to deliver this to him. Itâs the money he wants.â Mr. Hardy pulled out a fat envelope from his jacket pocket.

âHowâll I know this Lefty character?â Frank inquired.

âYou wonât. But heâll know you.â

âHow?â

âYouâll mop your brow with this every now and then.â Mr. Hardy handed his son a blue handkerchief. âFrank, this is a dangerous assignment,â he went on. âYou pay Lefty the money, and heâll give you a message. Get it straight. You might not even have time to repeat it.â

âDonât worry, Dad. Iâll pay strict attention,â Frank said.

Father and son had supper in the motel restaurant, then Frank took a bus to Newark. He arrived on the corner of Broad and Market shortly before rendezvous time. The movie theaters had emptied minutes before, and traffic was moderately heavy.

Frank took his place at the designated spot, and smiled to himself. âI feel kind of silly doing this,â he thought as he reached for the handkerchief. He mopped his brow several times looking around in the crowd for some kind of recognition. After a while he noticed a man on the opposite corner staring at him. He appeared to be in his late twenties, thin, with bushy dark hair.

Frank mopped his brow again. The fellow casually sidled across the street, then walked up close to Frank.

âLefty?â Frank asked.

The man nodded. âFollow me.â

Keeping several paces behind, Frank followed the man east on Market Street, where he stopped before an all-night restaurant. The smell of cooking wafted on the warm air through the open facade.

Lefty jerked his thumb indicating âinside,â and led the way to the back, past long counters crowded with people who had stopped for a quick hamburger or hot dog with sauerkraut.

There were three vacant tables near the rear exit. Lefty pulled a chair for himself and motioned Frank to sit down.

âWeâll get this business over with right quick,â the informer began. As he spoke, three men walked past them to one of the remaining empty tables. Frank barely noticed them, concentrating instead on his companion.

âOkay,â Frank said. He produced the envelope and handed it to Lefty. The latter opened it, pulled out a roll of bills, counted them and put them into his pocket. Then he bent close to Frank.

âGet this,â he whispered. âDie . . .â

What came next happened so quickly that Frank was completely taken by surprise. One of the men at the other table sprang out of his chair and dealt Lefty a karate chop at the back of his neck. Then the assailant and another man grabbed each of the unconscious manâs arms and began to drag him out the back of the restaurant.

âHey, wait!â Frank said as he started toward the prostrate figure of Lefty. But the third man, a barrel-chested fellow, barred the way!

CHAPTER XIV

Sky Chase

FRANK backed off into a defensive judo stance. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a fourth man sneaking toward him from behind.

The young sleuth spun on his heel and lunged forward, putting all his weight into a perfect football block that threw the man backwards. A table splintered as the thug crashed onto it and slid to the floor.

Frank dashed past and ran out the front door. He saw a walk alongside the building and hastened to the dark alley behind the restaurant, hoping to catch up with Lefty and his captors. But he was too late. Nobody was in sight.

Frank trotted back to Market Street and looked up and down in vain for the informer or the four assailants. His attention was drawn to a ragged bum with a bushy beard who trudged along the sidewalk with the aid of a bamboo cane. He stopped when he saw Frank. Then he painfully inched his way forward, and sidled up to the young detective.

âPal, can you let me have a quarter for a cup of coffee and a doughnut?â he whined.

Frank fished in his pocket, brought out a coin, and handed it over. âOld-timer, maybe you can do something for me,â he suggested.

A crafty look crept over the hoboâs face. âIs it worth another quarter?â

âWell, Iâll give you the two bits anyway,â Frank said, delivering the second coin. âNow, did you see three men come out of the restaurant a few minutes ago?â

âNot me,â said the man, clutching the money in his fist. âBut I donât see much around here. Itâs safer not to.â

As he spoke, a car careened to a stop at the curb. The husky driver got out and jumped on Frank. The two hit the pavement and rolled over in a violent free-for-all. The assailant caught Frankâs head in the crook of his powerful right arm and applied crunching pressure.

Frank gasped for air. Bells sounded in his head and black spots flickered before his eyes. His senses reeled.

Suddenly he saw the bum go into action. Raising his cane, he brought it down on the manâs head with a resounding crack. The fellow keeled over with a glassy stare.

Frank staggered to his feet. âTh-thanks,â he gasped. âYouâve got some wallop to kayo that gorilla.â

âYou didnât know it was me,â said a familiar voice dryly. The old vagrant stood up straight. His stoop disappeared. He pulled off his bushy beard.

âDad!â Frank exclaimed. âHow do you happen to be here?â

âI thought Iâd better tag along on this mission,â Fenton Hardy said. âI tailed you while you were tailing Lefty. Theyâve got him all right. Pushed him into a car and drove off.â

A moan came from the man who had jumped Frank. Fenton Hardy grasped him by the collar and hauled him to his feet, while Frank ran to get a policeman. Half an hour later they were at headquarters.

The sergeant at the desk recognized Frankâs assailant immediately. âA strong-arm for hire. Heâs got a record as long as Broad Street.â

After advising the man of his rights, the sergeant said, âOkay, want to talk?â

âI got nothing to say,â the man growled. âI want to see a lawyer.â

âThatâs your privilege. But weâre holding you for assault on Frank Hardy.â

Father and son returned to Morrisville in a rented car to spend the night at the George Washington Motel. The detective explained that he had been afraid Lefty would double-cross him.

âI was worried about that, too,â Frank said. âBut poor old Lefty was okay. He was talking to me when they clobbered him.â

Frank told his father about the word âdieâ just before the attack.

âLefty could have meant somebody was about to be rubbed out,â Mr. Hardy said. âAnd it might be me!â

Frank shuddered. âDad, weâll have to be extra careful on this case! The freight thieves have a neat racket. Theyâll do anything to keep it from blowing up in their faces.â

Next day Frank found no difficulty in getting a job in a car wash at the Morrisville Airport. His task was drying the cars as they reached the end of the cleaning line. From this station he could easily watch the planes landing and taking off.

About noon Frankâs surveillance brought results. He spotted Dale Nettleton coming out of the Midatlantic Distribution Corporation office. The pilot carried a suitcase, which he carefully deposited in a small plane. After that, he went back to the office and stayed inside for some time.

Frank made a snap decision. Taking advantage of his lunch-hour break, he hastened to the terminal for a quick conference with his father, who was still posing as a porter.

âNettletonâs taking off somewhere, and he seems awfully concerned about his suitcase,â Frank said. âIâd like to see whatâs in it. We might have the goods on him, Dad.â

âWhatâs your plan, Frank?â

The boy looked out through the broad plate-glass doors of the terminal. âNettleton hasnât come out of the Midatlantic office yet. I may have time to hire a plane and follow him!â

âGood idea. But watch out. Heâs probably crafty.â

âOkay. Will you straighten things out with my boss over at the car wash?â

âSure. And good luck!â

Fenton Hardy went to help a passenger with some bags, while Frank trotted off to hire a small plane. He had just completed the transaction when Nettleton emerged from the office. He quickly got into his airplane and taxied away.

Frank had to wait for runway clearance, which allowed time for Nettleton to become airborne without suspecting he was being tailed. Then Frank followed him into the sky.

Checking the vector Nettleton was traveling, the boy saw they were heading for Marlin Crag Airport. âSame route the pilots took before they crashed into the cliffs,â he noted ominously.

Frank kept his eyes fixed on the plane ahead, determined not to lose his quarry. But in doing so he drew closer and closer to the lead craft.

Nettleton suddenly became suspicious and took evasive action, curving to one side to let his pursuer go by. Frank did the same.

Nettleton turned upward, gaining altitude in a burst of power. So did Frank. At last Nettleton went into a steep dive and pulled up sharply. A collision seemed imminent. In a desperate move, Frank shoved the stick forward and made a tight diving turn.

His plane screamed past Nettletonâs without a foot to spare. The green pastures below him spun as Frank fought to bring the plane under control. Finally he managed to level out.

He resumed tailing Nettleton, who by now was little more than a moving speck between fleecy white clouds.

As he was closing the gap again, Frank tuned into the Unicom frequency to pick up anything his quarry might broadcast. He heard Nettletonâs voice in a frantic appeal for help. âListen, buddy, get this Hardy brat offââ

Frank chuckled. âHe must be rattled. Ought to know I might be listening in!â

The Unicom frequency went dead. Frank knew Nettleton had realized his mistake.

A few minutes later Marlin Crag Airport came into sight. Circling into the approach from the sea, Nettleton lifted his plane above the cliffs and came in over the airstrip. The craft bounced hard several times before effecting a landing.

Frank made a three-point touchdown without a tremor, and taxied to a stop near Nettletonâs plane. Seeing the pilot take the suitcase and rush into the terminal, Frank jumped out and ran after him. Nettleton went into the Marlin Crag office of Midatlantic. Frank followed.

The pilot swung around. âYou bother me, wise guy,â he snarled. âAnd thatâs a quick way to get hurt.â

âWhy so edgy, Nettleton?â Frank asked. âYou got something to hide?â

âThatâs none of your business!â the pilot fumed. âDonât push me!â

âLevel with me and Iâll lay off,â Frank promised. âIâve been watching you, and my guess is youâre up to something. I just might blow the whistle on you.â

âWhatâs the charge?â

âMaybe receiving stolen property. Like hijacked air freight.â

The pilotâs face darkened. He gave Frank a venomous glance. âWhere did you get that crazy idea?â

âCould be your suitcase,â Frank replied.

âMy bagâs got nothing to do with you,â Nettleton snapped.

âHow about opening it then? Or is it filled with gold bricks from Fort Knox?â

âOkay, smart aleck, take a look,â Nettleton said furiously.

Opening the valise, he turned it over, allowing the contents to spill out on the floor. Frank saw the usual things that would be in an overnight bagâshirt, socks, shaving equipment and so on.

âFound anything incriminating?â Nettleton sneered.

Frank lifted the suitcase. He ran his hand around the interior, searching for a hidden compartment. He rapped the sides, tugged on the straps, and examined the nameplate. Finally he set the bag back on the floor.

âI hope youâre satisfied!â Nettleton stormed.

CHAPTER XV

Dangerous Contraband

FRANK was chagrined at finding nothing important in the suitcase. A look of satisfaction came over Nettletonâs face as he replaced the clothing and toiletries. The flier was one up on him now!

Frank thought fast. Hoping to throw Nettleton off balance, he said, âIâm almost satisfied, but not quite. Iâd like to inspect your engine!â

Nettleton looked startled. He was stammering a bit over his answer when the office door opened and Bill Zinn walked in.

âOh, itâs you, Hardy,â Zinn said. âWhat brings you here?â

Nettleton said, âThis guy thinks thereâs something wrong with my engine. Heâd better forget it!â

âDonât fly off the handle, Dale,â Zinn said quietly. âThereâs no reason why Hardy shouldnât look at your engine.â

He motioned Frank to the door, and the three walked across the concrete apron to the edge of the runway where Nettletonâs plane was parked.

âZinn seems awfully sure of himself,â Frank thought as the manager handed him tools to make the inspection.

The young detective checked the tailpost and found it in order. Then he scanned the engine and paused when he came to the vacuum pump. He went over it carefully.

âWhatâs bothering you?â snarled Nettleton, who watched Frankâs every move like a hawk.

âIs there something about that vacuum pump you donât like?â Zinn asked sarcastically.

âItâs okay,â Frank replied. âBut I know one pump housing that was as empty as Bayport beach in February.â

Frankâs reference to Jack Scottâs engine with its missing vacuum pump had the desired effect. Both men stiffened and became stony-faced. Frank knew he had scored. Zinn and Nettleton were connected with the airport fatalities in some way!

âWell thanks, fellows,â Frank concluded, handing the tools back to Zinn.

âDonât mention it,â the manager said icily. âIs there anything else youâd like to inspect around here?â

âThatâll be all,â Frank replied.

Nettleton and Zinn exchanged glances as Frank walked off. He knew they were worried. He also realized that the airport should be kept under constant surveillance. Something fishy was going on. If enough eyes watched every movement at Marlin Crag, it might come to light.

Frank stepped into a phone booth and dialed Bayport. Joe answered.

âHey, Frank, where are you?â

âMarlin Crag Airport.â

âHowâd you get there?â

âFlew up from Morrisville in a rented plane. But listen, Joe, Iâll tell you all about that later.â

âHave I got a hairy story for you!â Joe said. âBut itâll have to wait. Whatâs up?â

âI donât have any concrete evidence,â Frank stated, âbut Nettleton and Zinn seem to be involved in those crashes.â He told what had happened and suggested that Joe help him stake out the airport.

âIâve got an even better idea,â Joe replied. âThose fellows from the band are swell guys. Iâm sure theyâd come too if Iâd ask them.â

âAll right. Get in touch with them. What about the guys in Bayport?â

âTheyâre all helping Mr. Prito on a construction job and Chetâs too busy matching wings with the Red Baron.â

About two hours later Joe Hardy pulled into the airport with Bernie Marzi, Linc Caldwell, George Hansen, and Pete Guilfoyle.

Frank, who had kept an eye peeled for their convertible, hastened up and shook hands with everyone.

âI want you to know that I gave up a date with a real cute chick to come here,â Pete announced.

Frank grinned. âThatâs greatly appreciated.â He took the boys aside behind a row of parked cars, where he told his suspicions regarding Nettleton and the aircraft.

âI really didnât expect them to let me see the engine,â Frank said. âAfter all, why should they? But Zinn seemed almost eager for me to look at it. I think if we spy on them and the plane, we might find out whatâs cooking.â

Frank and Joe assigned lookout posts. Dusk had fallen and partially concealed the young men as they took a circuitous route through the airport grass toward the edge of the runway.

âKeep your heads low,â Joe advised as they went to their places.

When it was completely dark, the Hardys inched up close to the edge of the runway. Fortunately the grass had not been cut for a while and provided good cover.

Frank and Joe heard excited voices from the same shed where they had eavesdropped the other night. Then two men walked out with flashlights and approached the plane.

âWhy didnât you tell me earlier that they were missing?â said one of them, whom the boys recognized as Nettleton.

âI didnât have a chance to check all afternoon,â replied the other man, who was Zinn. They hurried past the craft for several hundred yards along the runway, then stopped. Their flashlights bobbed about like fireflies in July.

âTheyâre looking for something,â Joe whispered.

Frank recalled the hard landing of the plane. Had a piece of the undercarriage broken off? Was that what the men were looking for?

Now the searchers got down on their hands and knees.

âIt must be something small,â Frank surmised.

âOh, oh, look whatâs coming,â Joe said.

In the distance the landing lights of a plane blinked on, beaming down onto the runway. The men scrambled out of the way, running only a few feet past the place where the Hardys were concealed.

âForget it,â Nettleton said. âWeâre not going to find them in the dark. We can look again in the morning.â

âAll right,â Zinn agreed. âAnd next time, if you canât make a better landing, get somebody else to do the job!â

The plane touched down and taxied to the terminal. The men had disappeared and Frank rose, giving a small quiet whistle to attract the others. They crowded around him.

âSomething was lost on that runway,â Frank said. âCome on. Letâs go and look for it ourselves.â

Frank and Joe carried pocket flashlights. All six hastened to the spot recently vacated by Nettleton and Zinn. They hunkered down and examined the concrete surface.

After a while Pete said, âNothing here that I could see.â

âWhat are we looking for, anyway?â asked Line.

âThereâs something!â Bernie exclaimed suddenly and picked up a gleaming object. âA piece of glass!â

âHereâs another one,â Joe said. He cupped both glinting pieces in the palm of his hand and shone the light on them.

âI donât think theyâre glass,â Frank observed.

âWell, they couldnât be diamonds!â Bernie said emphatically.

âWhy not?â asked Joe.

George Hansen chuckled. âIn that case Iâll take my share and buy a new guitar.â

Joining in the levity, the boys had not noticed two men running toward them.

âLook out!â Pete warned suddenly.

âRun!â Frank cried out.

George, Bernie, Line, and Pete took off through the high grass. Frank and Joe brought up the rear. As the men raced up, the Hardys stopped short, spun around, and sent their surprised pursuers crashing to the ground with a judo assault.

Then the boys put on a burst of speed and caught up with the others at the car. They all piled in and Frank took the wheel.

âWe shook âem off all right,â Linc said. âWhat happened?â

âWe discouraged them,â Joe remarked. âI think those stones we found must really be diamonds or they wouldnât have come at us like that!â

âWeâll find out for sure and let you know,â Frank promised.

After thanking the young musicians, he dropped them off at their homes and the Hardys sped back to Bayport. They arrived to find their father waiting for them.

Everyone sat down at the kitchen table, and Joe described his adventures at the Guilfoyle barn. He concluded with the episode on the mobile X-ray van. âI must have rolled off while it was taking a curve,â Joe said. âI landed in a ditch and woke up with a horrible headache.â

âDid you ever find the car keys?â Frank asked.

âYes. They were in the barn.â

Mr. Hardy said, âI doubt that it was really an X-ray van. Probably some sort of coverup for an illicit scheme.â

âWhat do you think the racket is?â Frank asked. âDo you have any theory about the van?â

âNot yet.â

Frank described what had happened at the airport. The boy took the two stones from his pocket and handed them to his father. The detective looked at them absently, still mulling over Frankâs question about the mobile X-ray van.

âIâve discovered something about rays,â Mr. Hardy revealed. âI contacted the Atomic Energy Commission after you told me about Scottâs radioactive engine. They told me thereâs some radioactive contraband in this area!â

âWhat?â said Joe. âContrabandâwhat kind, Dad?â

âUranium isotopes!â

âThe stuff that goes into the atomic bomb!â Frank gasped. âIs someone making an atomic device?â

âNot necessarily. Uranium isotopes have a lot of uses. But the smugglers are using them illegally, according to the AEC.â

âWhere are these isotopes coming from?â Joe inquired.

âEngland is the suspected point of origin. Scotland Yard is working on the case in London. And I wish we could crack it at this end.â

âIs there a tie-in with the Marlin Crag plane crashes? Did Scottâs vacuum pump housing become radioactive because of uranium isotopes?â

âQuite possibly,â his father replied.

âMaybe Mudd figures in the racket, too,â Joe said.

âSam Radleyâs checked him out,â Mr. Hardy stated. âHe has broken the law a few times, but they were only minor infractions. If heâs mixed up with contraband isotopes, heâs going big time. Sam has no information to indicate that.â

The detective turned his attention to the stones in his hand, got a jewelerâs loupe from his desk drawer, and examined them minutely.

âTheyâre manufactured diamonds,â he said finally. âYou can see they were made by the industrial method of subjecting carbon to high pressure and high temperature in a lab. Take a look.â

âBut how do they come into the case?â Joe asked.

âMaybe thatâs what Lefty was going to say!â Frank exclaimed. âI thought âdie ...â meant somebody was going to be rubbed out. But it could have been diamonds.â

âHey, Frank!â Joe said excitedly. âRemember the conversation between Seymour Schill and Mudd when Chet was at the junkyard?â

âWow! Youâre right. Mudd said âNo more rocks. Hard cash from now on.â Maybe these are the rocks!â

The phone rang. Frank answered, then turned around. âItâs for you, Dad.â

An unfamiliar voice on the other end of the line caused the detective to frown. A man asked, âYou Hardy the fuzz?â

âIâm a private investigator, if thatâs what you mean,â the detective replied evenly.

âWell, you better take your investigatinâ some place else.â

âWho is this speaking? Please identify yourself.â

âNever mind who I am,â the caller said. âAll you got to know is that weâve caught Lefty.â

âWhere is he?â

âThatâs our secret.â

âIs he all right?â

âYeah, but he wonât be if you donât lay off!â

âWhat do you want?

âYou been givinâ us a lot of trouble, Hardy. Me and my pals donât like it. Weâd be obliged if youâd stop leaninâ on us.

âAnd if I refuse?â

âThere goes your stool pigeon. Itâs a fast trip to the bottom of the bay for Lefty next time you give us any trouble. Think it over.â

The phone went dead. Mr. Hardy relayed the conversation to his sons. âIâll have to play it cool,â he said thoughtfully. âLeftyâs life is at stake.â

âJoe and I can carry on,â Frank suggested.

âOkay, but youâll have to be very careful,â Mr. Hardy said, looking proudly at his sons.

The next day Frank and Joe were busy with various chores at home. Early Saturday morning the phone rang and Joe answered. After a brief conversation his face fell and he hung up.

âWhatâs wrong?â Frank asked.

âThat was Pete Guilfoyle,â Joe replied. âHis combo has been fired by the Flickering Torch!â

CHAPTER XVI

False Alarm

âTHATâS a switch!â Frank exclaimed. âThe Emergency Exit has had raving reviews in the papers. How come they got the boot so suddenly?â

âPete doesnât know. They played last night, and when they were through Bozar told them not to come back. Joe Clark, the emcee, got sacked, too.â

âIâll bet the gang thinks the fellows know too much,â Frank said. âThey were probably recognized at the airport Thursday night.â

âAnd Bozarâs in with the gang,â Joe added. He looked glum. âMy first job with a red-hot professional combo and it blows up in my face.â

âMaybe not, Joe. I have an idea.â

Frank put through a phone call to Bernie Marzi, who confirmed that the Emergency Exit had been fired.

âTough luck, Bernie,â Frank sympathized. âBut maybe itâs good luck for us. I suppose the Torch will be looking for a replacement?â

âSure.â

âWell, how does this sound to you? Weâve got a pretty good combo here in Bayport. Suppose we apply for the job?â

âBrilliant idea. If youâre all as good as Joe, youâll be a big hit. Contact Arthur J. Mulholland in Beemerville. Heâs the agent.â

The Hardys summoned Phil Cohen to do the talking. He came over in ten minutes and telephoned the agent.

Mulholland seemed pleased. Yes, the Flickering Torch needed a band immediately, he said. What a coincidence. He was checking through his files at that very moment. âAnd I donât have a folk rock group on tap!â he concluded.

âSearch no further, Mr. Mulholland,â Phil said confidently. âI have a great band thatâs available.â

âWhatâs it called?â

Thinking quickly, Phil came up with a name. âThe South Forty,â he answered.

âNever heard of them,â the agent replied.

âTheyâre big around Bayport,â Phil assured him. âThree guitars, drums, and organ.â

âWhatâs your name?â

âPhil Cohen.â

Mulholland asked some technical questions about music. Phil expertly fielded every one of them.

âOkay, you seem to know your stuff,â the agent said at last. âIâll give you a shot at it. Youâll start tonight. Leon Bozar, the manager, will pay you.â

âWeâll be there with our gear,â Phil promised.

âOkay, but donât bring any amplifiers. The manager of the Flickering Torch says they use only their own. They have an organ, too.â

Phil thanked the agent and hung up. Joe let out a whoop of triumph.

âGreat going, Phil. From now on youâre our agent.â

The Hardys contacted Biff and Tony. Biff offered to drive them all in his fatherâs station wagon.

âGood,â Frank told him. âWeâll meet at our house about seven-thirty. Weâre due on stage at nine oâclock sharp. And by the way, Biff, Joe and I will wear disguises so donât panic when you see us!â

While waiting for evening, Frank and Joe decided to use the afternoon to make an aerial search for the mysterious van that Joe had seen at Pete Guilfoyleâs place. They drove to the airport for their plane and Frank piloted the craft north along the coast. He flew in from the sea and drifted lazily over the Marlin Crag Cliffs. Then he circled low over Beemerville, where the Flickering Torch stood out clearly on the highway.

âSee anything exciting?â Frank asked as he turned past Beemerville.

âLots of cars, trucks, and trailers, but no big van,â Joe replied.

âNegative here, too. Iâll head back for Marlin Crag. The woods are bigger there. Good place to hide a vehicle that size.â

The cliffs loomed up on their horizon again. They saw the surf below pounding against the rocks and hurling spray high in the air. Frank flew out to sea and then back.

Suddenly Joe nearly jumped out of his seat. âI see it, Frank!â he exclaimed. âThat van down there between the trees at the end of the lane! Itâs the same shape and color as the one I hitched a ride on.â

Frank dived down and circled low over the vehicle. On the side of the van, gleaming in the sunlight, were the words: MOBILE X-RAY.

âNo doubt about it now,â Frank agreed. âThatâs the van weâre after!â

He headed toward the airport and asked the control tower at Marlin Crag for clearance. When he received it, he came in for a quick landing. After parking their craft, the boys raced to a car-rental office. Within minutes they were speeding toward the woods.

Joe was at the wheel. He turned off the highway onto a dirt road, the wheels picking up a cloud of dust. Reaching the lane, the car jolted into an open space and careened to a stop.

The place where the van had been was empty!

âItâs gone,â Joe said.

âHave we got the right location?â Frank asked.

âIâm positive.â

âThen it might be somewhere near here,â Frank said. âWeâll cruise till we find it.â

Joe swung the car around and they roared back along the dirt road, bouncing along and scouting the woods as they went.

Suddenly Joe cried, âThere it is!â He stepped on the brakes and pointed up a side path where a big vehicle was parked facing them. The driver had raised the hood and was tinkering with the engine.

Joe drove straight to the spot and parked, facing the van, bumper to bumper. âThis guy isnât going to make any sneak getaway,â he muttered. âUnless he can fly that van over us!â

As the boys jumped out, the man lifted his head. He was thick-set and had a rugged face.

âHold everything!â Frank ordered.

âWhatâs this all about?â the driver asked in surprise.

âWeâd like to know what youâve got in your van,â Joe told him.

âWhatâs it to you?â

âJust say weâre curious,â Frank said.

âThe police might be interested, too,â Joe added.

The man turned pale.

âDo we get to inspect the van, or donât we?â Frank pressed.

The man shrugged. âI guess I canât stop you. Go ahead.â

Frank and Joe ran around to the rear of the vehicle. Each grabbed a handle and swung the doors open, then stared at a cargo of tables, chairs and other household furniture.

Embarrassed, Frank looked at the name on the sideâMIDWEST MOVING COMPANY.

Joe gulped and turned red. âFrank, I made a mistake.â

âYou can say that again,â Frank replied, then turned to the driver who had followed them.

âSorry, sir,â he apologized. âWe thought you might be a crook.â

The man looked relieved. âBelieve me, I was afraid you were a couple of shakedown hoods. Now that Iâve fixed the engine, Iâll be on my way.â

The Hardy boys went back to their car. âAm I mortified!â Joe confessed.

âYou and me both,â Frank said with a rueful grin.

They cruised around for a while longer without spotting the van they were after. Frank, who was driving now, finally turned back to the airport. âItâs time to head for home,â he noted.

The psychological letdown was hard to overcome and the boys felt tense that evening as they put on their disguises. Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude looked on as Frank and Joe fixed cheek pads and eyebrows and donned wigs. Frank put on a false mustache.

âI do hope youâll stay out of danger,â Mrs. Hardy said nervously.

âNothing good can come of these disguises,â Aunt Gertrude added. âGracious, you frighten me!â

âDonât worry,â Frank assured the women. âThereâll be five of us at the Flickering Torch. We can take care of ourselves.â

Biff drove up in his fatherâs station wagon with Tony in the front and Phil in the back seat. The Hardys stowed their guitars in the back and slipped in next to Phil. The South Forty rolled north toward Beemerville.

They were surprised when they were met by Seymour Schill at the door of the Flickering Torch. Schill showed no recognition of Frank and Joe.

âIâm the emcee for tonight,â he proclaimed. âIâll announce your program. But first,â he added with a self-important air, âyouâll have to do a warm-up number so I can see if youâre good enough for us.â

The Bayport youths played one of their favorite pieces. Seymour seemed impressed. âYouâll do,â he said when they had finished. âLetâs start the program. The patrons are arriving.â

The band played for about an hour, doing renditions of songs that had the listeners tapping their toes and snapping their fingers to the varied rhythms. A dance melody led up to the first intermission.

Seymour came over and had a big smile on his face. âSay, gang, youâre great!â he said. âCome along. A lot of patrons are dying to meet you.â

âIâm not sure we should,â Frank said. He glanced about for any sign of Nettleton or Zinn.

âYouâve got to be kind to your public,â Seymour insisted. âThatâs part of being in show biz.â

Unable to come up with a plausible refusal, Frank led the way down to the dance floor where a crowd was milling around. Each member of the band was promptly buttonholed by a music fan.

An effusive blond teen-ager engaged Frank in conversation. âI think your combo is too sweet for words,â she cooed.

âErâthank you,â said Frank, who had his eye on the stage. Dale Nettleton had just come in and was tinkering with the ampliner!

Frank tried to edge away but the girl linked her arm in his. âDo tell me what youâre playing next,â she begged.

Desperately Frank went through the program. âNow if youâll excuse me, Iâll have to get ready,â he said.

âThatâs the only reason Iâd accept,â she said archly. âKeep the rhythm coming my way!â

Frank looked back at the stage. Nettleton had vanished. Quickly the boy walked up and checked the amplifier. He found nothing wrong with it. When the band tuned up, the amp carried the sound without distortion.

âWhat is Nettleton up to?â Frank asked himself. But there was no time to mull over the question. The music began again. The South Forty zoomed through some melodic country rock before shifting into a louder beat.

They hit a deafening crescendo at the end of the last piece. The floor shook. The windows rattled.

And then the amplifier fell over with a terrific thump! What looked like the magnet fell off the back and rolled across the stage!

CHAPTER XVII

The Payoff

THE audience applauded at the end of the program, clapping their hands and stamping their feet. The five Bayport youths bowed.

âFellows, I have an idea weâre a hit,â Phil said out of the corner of his mouth.

âThey dig us,â Tony agreed.

But Joe hardly noticed the applause. âI canât wait to see what fell off the amp,â he murmured.

As the audience drifted away, he leaped forward and pounced on the object. The rest of the combo gathered around him.

âItâs a lead cap,â Joe commented, âand not really part of the amp!â

âWhatâs it for?â Biff inquired.

âLook here,â Joe said. He picked the amplifier from the floor where it had fallen and placed the cap over the magnet at the back.

âA perfect fit,â he said. âThe magnet holds it in place.â

Tony whistled softly. âNo wonder the amp was top-heavy!â

Frank nodded. âThatâs what fooled me when I inspected the amp. I thought the cap was the magnet.â

âI still donât know what that hunk of lead is for,â Biff persisted.

Frank shrugged. âA lab test should give us the answer,â he said. âWeâll take it home to Bayport and find out.â

âYouâre not taking anything to Bayport!â a voice interrupted. The boys turned to see Seymour Schill advancing with a scowl. âAll right, hand it over!â

âHand over what?â Joe asked in feigned ignorance.

âThat chunk of lead. Give it here!â The guitarist reached out suddenly in an effort to snatch it from Joe.

But Joe was too quick for Seymour. He lobbed the piece underhand to Frank. When Seymour rushed at him, Frank made a sidearm toss to Biff Hooper. Seymour leaped forward again, only to have Biff flip the piece of lead back to Joe. This infuriated Seymour, who screamed his defiance.

Sensing something was amiss, some of the patrons of the Flickering Torch rushed toward the stage to gawk.

In the midst of the turmoil, Frankâs false mustache fell off. Frantically he tried to press it back, but no luck. What was worse, somebody identified him!

âHardy!â

Frank glanced in the direction of the shout and saw O. K. Mudd pushing through the crowd.

âThatâs Frank Hardy!â Mudd shouted. âI recognize him without his phony mustache! Grab him, Seymour!â

âGrab him yourself,â Seymour retorted. âI canât handle all of âem!â

âYou introduced a bunch of spies!â Muddâs voice was hoarse with anger. âYou numbskull, you let the Hardys trick you!â

âWhat do you want from me?â Seymour protested, his eyes bulging in frustration. âMulholland hired them. Not me. I just took it from there.â

âNever mind.â Mudd stopped short of the group and regained control of himself. âAt least we know who they are. The partyâs over!â He turned to Frank. âI want that piece from the amplifier!â

âWhy should we give it to you?â Frank asked.

âBecause itâs not your property, thatâs why.â

Phil asked, âWhose property is it?â

âIt belongs to the Flickering Torch.â

âThen itâs not yours either,â Biff pointed out, âunless you own the place!â

Mudd flushed a deep red. He looked around as if searching for help. Suddenly he broke into a smile. A husky policeman approached. His hair was whitish blond and he had a slight limp.

Joe lobbed the lead cap to Frank

âWhatâs the beef about?â he inquired.

âOfficer,â Mudd complained, âthe Hardy boys and their cronies are stealing club property.â

âLike what?â

âA piece of the amplifier.â

âLet me see it!â the policeman ordered.

Joe came forward and handed him the chunk of lead. âItâs not a piece of the amplifier,â he said. âWe suspect that something illegal is going on here and suggest that this be checked out in the police laboratory.â

The officer stared at him angrily. âCut the baloney, kid,â he growled. âWhat are you trying to do, play FBI? Iâve got a good mind to arrest you. Get out of here while youâre still in one piece!â

He turned and gave the lead cap to Mudd, who accepted it with a triumphant smirk.

âYou Hardys stay out of my way from now on,â he threatened, âor youâll wind up under a slab in my junkyard!â

As the policeman left, Mudd and Seymour went off the stage together, talking in low tones.

âWell, how do you like that?â Biff exclaimed in disbelief.

âThat cop didnât even listen to us!â Tony complained.

âThat piece of lead must have been worth an awful lot to O. K. Mudd,â Joe mused. âToo bad we couldnât have a better look at it.â

Frank placed his guitar in its case. âWell, letâs take the policemanâs advice and get out of here. I think he would run us in if he had the chance.â

The five youths were walking toward Biffâs station wagon when Frank suddenly handed his guitar to Joe.

âWe havenât been paid!â he exclaimed. âIâm going back inside to see Bozar. Iâll meet you at the car in a few minutes.â

At the front door Frank noticed Mudd and Seymour entering the managerâs office behind the dance hall. âIâd better find out what those two are up to,â he thought. He sneaked through a clump of small trees and reached the rear of the restaurant. He ducked down and scrambled along the wall until he reached a lighted window in the far corner. Sounds of voices came from within.

Very slowly Frank raised his head and peered over the sill. A broad desk stood at one end, facing a sofa at the other end. Two easy chairs Banked the sofa.

Mudd was sitting in a swivel chair behind the desk. Seymour Schill stood on the opposite side, facing him. The junkyard proprietor opened a middle drawer and took out an envelope, which he handed to Seymour with the words, âHereâs your dough.â

The guitarist removed a bundle of bills from the envelope and counted them.

âWhatâs wrong?â Mudd snapped. âDonât you trust me any more?â

Seymour snickered as he put the money in his breast pocket. âTrust you? After that little episode with the band? Youâve got an idea I let you down with the Hardys. So I wanted to be sure you didnât short-change me.â

âThe Hardys?â Mudd snarled. âForget them. They wonât be bothering us any more. From now on itâs business as usual for you and me.â

âOkay, Mudd,â Seymour replied. âBut donât get ratty with me again. I donât like it.â

The pair walked out of the office, Mudd turning off the lights at the door.

As Frank stood up to leave, a dry leaf crackled behind him. He whirled around in time to catch a glimpse of the policeman creeping up. The manâs nightstick flashed out and a gigantic Roman candle exploded in Frankâs head. Then he crumpled to the ground in blackness.

When Frank came to he was bound hand and foot with rope. He sat up and looked around.

Frank was in a small laboratory painted white. Fluorescent lighting threw a glare over the interior. Along one side, rows of shelves held bottles of various sizes. The opposite wall was lined with scientific instruments and small metal containers, many of lead. A table covered with test tubes and electronic equipment stood at the far end.

A low moan caused him to turn his head. Another prisoner lay near him. The man moved con vulsively, revealing his features.

Lefty the informer!

He looked haggard. His eyes were tightly closed. His lips twitched.

âLefty!â Frank gasped. âWhatâs going on?â

âHe canât hear you, Iâm afraid,â said a smooth voice.

Frank twisted around and saw a man in a white coat. He was carefully filling a hypodermic needle with a whitish fluid. With a sinister smile he said, âLefty couldnât care less about whatâs going on.â

âWell, I care!â Frank snapped. âWhere are we?â

âCome, come, Hardy, you know enough science to recognize an experimental laboratory. Splendidly equipped, donât you think?â

âWhat kind of experiments are you carrying out?â Frank demanded.

âThey concern the radioactivity of subatomic particles.â

âUranium isotopes,â Frank guessed.

âPrecisely.â

âWho are you?â

âDr. John Weber. Iâm quite distinguished in the field of physics, if I do say so myself.â

âWhy are you telling me all this?â Frank asked suspiciously.

âBecause the information will die with you,â Dr. Weber said with a leer.

He advanced toward Frank, holding the hypodermic syringe in his left hand. The fingers of his right hand toyed with the plunger. The long needle gleamed wickedly!

CHAPTER XVIII

Diamond Dust

Back, in the station wagon, Joe fidgeted nervously. âI wonder whatâs keeping Frank,â he said.

Phil shrugged. âMaybe Bozarâs trying to weasel out of the deal.â

Joe flicked on the radio and they listened to music for a while. Fifteen minutes went by. Still no sign of Frank. Joe glanced at his watch.

âThatâs long enough!â he decided. âSomething must have happened. Iâm going back.â

âWeâll come with you,â Biff offered.

All four left the car and strode into the Flickering Torch. They found the place vacant except for employees who were cleaning up after the eveningâs entertainment.

One man pushed a broom over the dance floor, while another stuffed scrap paper and soda bottles into a bag. Waiters were carrying plates and glasses into the kitchen.

Joe asked about Frank. None of the employees had seen the boy return!

Suddenly Biff grabbed Joeâs arm. âLook! Thereâs Seymour!â He pointed to the guitarist, who was just about to leave the building.

âHey, Seymour!â Joe called out. âWait! Have you seen Frank?â

Schill stopped and faced the boys. âLast time I saw your brother, he was up at the stage with the rest of you. Meanwhile I thought you all had gone home!â

âWe came back to collect our fee,â Phil said pointedly.

âDidnât Bozar pay you?â

âNo.â

âHeâs left already. But maybe the checkâs on his desk. Iâll look.â

Seymour disappeared into the managerâs office and returned shortly.

âHere it is,â he told Joe and handed him a check made out to the South Forty. Then, with a tired wave of his hand, he left.

âLetâs search inside,â Joe said as he pocketed the check, âthen weâll scout the grounds.â

Phil and he took the main floor. They looked behind the stage and in the kitchen, finally examining the rest rooms and the check room.

Biff and Tony found their way to the cellar, which was filled with cases of soda and cartons of restaurant supplies.

âFrank, where are you?â Tony called. No reply.

The four met again after a fruitless search.

âLetâs try outside,â Joe said. He ran to the car and returned with two flashlights, then the boys circled the Flickering Torch. Their investigation of a garage behind the building revealed nothing, neither did the bushes, hedges, or the gully across the road from the restaurant.

Now the last of the lights were winking out. Joe played his flashlight against the window of Bozarâs office. Directly beneath the sill, the beam picked up a small flower bed. Zinnias and marigolds lay crushed into the soil.

âLook here,â Joe said. âFootprints! Two sets of them!â

âFrank was probably trying to look inside,â Phil said, âwhen somebody jumped him.â

âAnd he was knocked down and carried off to a car waiting at the road!â Tony conjectured. âNow whatâll we do?â

âCall the police,â Joe said without hesitation. âBut first I want to get in touch with Dad.â

The boys returned to the car and drove along the road until they found a telephone booth. Joe put in a call to Bayport. He got his father and quickly told him that Frank was missing.

âA dangerous turn of events,â Mr. Hardy said. âCall the authorities. Iâll meet you at the State Police Barracks in about an hour.â

As planned, they rendezvoused at the barracks, where Lieutenant James Cook, a tall wiry man, was told about Frankâs disappearance.

âWeâll have to question everybody connected with the Flickering Torch,â he said. âCan you give me any leads other than the footprints beneath the window?â

Joe spoke up. âThere have been several mysterious things going on around here.â He told of the elusive van and added, âIf Frank was kidnapped, that might be a good place to hide him.â

âWeâll check it out,â Cook said, and ordered his men to set up a dragnet for the van.

âAnything else?â he asked.

âYes. I think Muddâs airplane junkyard should be searched, too,â Joe said. âHe threatened that if we didnât lay off, weâd wind up under a slab in his junkyard! Frank might be held prisoner there!â

The lieutenant was intrigued and asked for full details of the Hardysâ case. Joe and his father quickly related all the developments in the mystery from the time they had taken on the airport investigation up to the point where the policeman had snatched the lead cap which had fallen from the amplifier.

The lieutenant nodded thoughtfully. âOne thing is clear from your description of the policeman,â he said. âIt doesnât fit any of our people in this area, be it state or local police. He probably was a phony.â

âI think youâre right,â Tony added. âThat fake cop must be a crony of O. K. Mudd.â

âIâll get a search warrant for Muddâs place,â Cook said. Then he instructed one of his assistants to broadcast a seven-state alarm for Frank Hardy, describing the young sleuth in detail.

The boys looked exhausted after their work at the Flickering Torch and the excitement that had followed.

âWhy donât you all go back to Bayport?â Fenton Hardy suggested. âYou wonât be able to help at this point. Joe can stay here with me, and if we need the rest of you, weâll give you a call. Okay?â

Phil was about to protest, but then saw the logic in the detectiveâs reasoning. After a quick good-by, the boys drove home in Biffâs station wagon.

Joe and his father presently fell asleep in their chairs until Lieutenant Cook woke them up.

âIt took some doing at this early hour, but Iâve got a warrant to search Muddâs premises. Want to come along?â

âSure do,â Mr. Hardy replied, rubbing his eyes.

The lieutenant, two of his men, and the Hardys drove directly to Muddâs home. Joe and the detective waited as the junk dealer was routed from bed. He came to the door, bleary-eyed and angry. âWhatâs this all about?â he grumbled.

Lieutenant Cook showed the warrant. âThis is for the search of your property, Mr. Mudd. Frank Hardy is missing and we have reason to believe that youâre holding him.â

Mudd gave a nasty laugh. âYouâre crazy. Go right ahead and look all you want. Iâve got nothing to hide.â

The troopers searched the house first. Then they took Mudd to his junkyard.

âThis is ridiculous!â the man protested. âI donât know anything about that Hardy kid!â

He glared angrily as the two policemen searched his office. But again there was no sign of Frank.

As they were about to leave the building, Joe spied a pipe-like object standing in one corner of the office. It was an airplane tailpost. The boy pointed to it and said, âLieutenant Cook, I suggest we examine this!â

âKeep your hands off it!â Mudd stormed.

Cook, however, picked it up. He turned the tailpost on end and a narrow container fell out. Joe grabbed it and hit it lightly against his palm. A tiny glassy splinter dropped out.

âHey, give that to me!â Mudd cried. He made a lunge for Joe. Before Mr. Hardy or the police could restrain him, he hit the boy two heavy blows, knocking Joe down. Instinctively the young detective made a tight fist and held on to the splinter.

âYouâre under arrest!â Lieutenant Cook thundered as his men seized Mudd. They quickly subdued him and handcuffed him. Then they led Mudd to the patrol car.

Though groggy, Joe rose to his feet and said, âLieutenant, I have a hunch that this splinter from the tailpost might give us a clue.â

âIâll have it tested in the lab,â Cook said.

After a thorough search of the junkyard proved futile, they all drove back to the barracks, where Mudd was booked on a charge of assault and led into the holdover cell.

Cook said, âI think weâre on to something important. Mudd is really worried about what Joe found in that tailpost.â

In the laboratory Cook himself put the splinter under a high-powered microscope. He focused the lens, took a long look, and raised his head.

âWell?â Mr. Hardy inquired. âWhat did you find?â

âLooks like a diamond splinter to me,â the lieutenant replied, shaking his head in bafflement.

âI thought so,â Joe said. âThe gangâs been transporting diamonds in the tailposts of airplanes.â He told Cook about the stones they had found on the landing strip at Marlin Crag.

âAnd Iâll bet this is the tailpost from Chetâs fuselage,â Joe went on. âMudd must have realized after the sale that it still had the empty container in it.â

âBut why did they steal the whole fuselage?â Cook asked, puzzled. âWhy not just the tailpost?â

âThey had no time to take it off,â Joe reasoned. âSo they loaded up the fuselage and were gone in a few minutes.â

âA good deduction,â Mr. Hardy agreed. âBut we still donât know who sent the diamonds and who received them, or why the shipment went to Marlin Crag.â

Lieutenant Cook looked thoughtful. âMr. Hardy, why donât we all get some sleep here before daybreak. Then I suggest you have a talk with the airport personnel, while I see if our dragnet has located the mobile X-ray.â

Mr. Hardy and Joe settled down in comfortable chairs and fell into an uneasy sleep. They awakened about eight oâclock, had breakfast at a nearby diner, and then set off to question Steve Holmes, the airport manager.

He insisted he knew nothing about the diamonds.

âPerhaps Bill Zinn can help us,â Mr. Hardy said.

âHeâs away on vacation,â Holmes replied.

âDid he leave an address?â Joe asked.

Holmes shook his head.

âWhat about Dale Nettleton?â

âSorry, I canât help you there either. Last time I saw Nettleton, he was flying to Morrisville.â

âThat sounds pretty fishy,â Joe murmured. âWe have two suspects who disappear at the same time!â

Just then Holmesâs telephone rang. He picked it up, listened a moment, and then handed the phone to Mr. Hardy. âFor you,â he said.

The Bayport sleuth spoke briefly and hung up. âThe police have made a discovery,â he said. âWeâll have to go.â Rapidly he led the way out of the terminal.

âWhatâs up?â Joe queried.

âThey found the van.â

âWhere?â

âIn the woods. Lieutenant Cook told me how to get there.â

Father and son hastened to the scene. Two police cars were guarding the area.

Parked in a glen and partly concealed by overhanging tree branches stood the large van. The words MOBILE X-RAY stood out boldly on both sides.

The Hardys hastened up to it and around to the rear. Both doors stood open.

The van was empty!

CHAPTER XIX

Needle Man

LIEUTENANT Cook walked up to the Hardys.

âIs this the way you found the van?â Joe asked him.

âYes. Except that it was locked. Whatever has been in the van was removed before we got here.â

Joe pointed to a set of tracks on the floor of the vehicle. âA large box must have been slid out and hidden somewhere, Lieutenant. Frankâs probably in it!â

Cook nodded. âIâm having my men scour the woods. But chances are the container has been taken to a building, and not necessarily in this area.â

âWell, while youâre conducting your search,â Mr. Hardy said tersely, âIâll go back to the airport and see what I can find out there. Joe, I suggest you return to the Flickering Torch. Itâs closed today, but stake it out anyhow. The gang might meet there and perhaps youâll be able to pick up a clue. Weâll call you, Lieutenant, if there is any news.â

âGood plan,â the officer agreed.

âI donât want to waste any time,â Mr. Hardy went on. âCould one of your men drop Joe off at the Torch?â

âSure.â

Lieutenant Cook ordered an officer to drive Joe there at once. Minutes later Mr. Hardy set off for the airport in his car. He was just about to leave the parking lot when he heard Chet Mortonâs jalopy backfire into an open space.

The detective intercepted him. âChet! What in the world are you doing here?â

âWhereâs Frank? Did you find him?â Chet asked with a worried look.

âNot yet. How did you know he was missing?â

âBiff called me. And I feel terrible, Mr. Hardy. Iâve let my buddies down. Frank and Joe were working hard on this case, and what was I doing? Making out like Snoopy and the Red Baron!â

âDonât blame yourself, Chet,â Mr. Hardy said. âYou couldnât have preventedââ

âBut maybe I could have!â Chet said grimly. âGee, Mr. Hardy, what can I do to help find Frank?â

The detective thought for a moment. âAs a matter of fact, there is something you can do. But youâll have to apply all the sleuthing you ever learned from Frank and Joe.â

âIâll do it. What is it?â

âJoe went back to the Flickering Torch to stake out the place. It might be a good idea if youâd tail him.â

âMe? Tail Joe? What for?â

âHe may be in danger. If anything happens to him, you can report to me.â

âAll right,â Chet said.

Mr. Hardy cautioned him to park the car far from the Flickering Torch so that his noisy jalopy would not be a giveaway.

âDonât worry,â Chet said, sliding behind the wheel. âIâll hide this in the woods half a mile from the place.â

Chet rumbled out of the parking lot. True to his word, he concealed his car in a thicket far from the restaurant, then walked parallel to the road, making sure that nobody saw him.

Several hundred yards from the Flickering Torch Chet parted some bushes and peered at the place, just in time to see Joe slipping around the side of the building. Chet followed, carefully keeping a screen of trees between him and his friend.

Joe reached the window of the managerâs office, raised his head slowly, and peered in. Two persons were inside! One was a tall, dark man sitting in a swivel chair. The other was Seymour. The window was slightly ajar and Joe could hear Seymour speaking angrily.

âBozar, I want to know whatâs going on!â

Joe thought, âSo thatâs Bozar, the manager of the Flickering Torch!â He strained to hear more of the conversation.

âSure, Seymour,â Bozar said. âWhatâs your complaint?â

âIâve been running errands for Muddââ Seymour began.

âWhy not?â Bozar interrupted. âMudd owns the Flickering Torch. And anyway, he paid you every time, didnât he?â

âThe moneyâs fine,â Seymour retorted. âBut O. K. never tells me what his errands are about. Iâve never asked any questions, either. But now Frank Hardyâs missing. And there seems to be something awfully strange going on around here.â

There was silence for a few seconds. Then Bozar said, âSo now youâre asking questions?â

âYou bet your life I am,â Seymour said. âAnd I want some answers.â

There was the sound of a scraping chair. Joe saw Bozar stand up. âSeymour, I think youâre right. Itâs time you were let in on the whole deal. But Muddâll have to do it, heâs the boss.â

âWhere is he?â Seymour demanded.

âGo to the Midatlantic warehouse at 10 Walker Road, near Helen Avenue in Beemerville. Youâll find him there. Iâll phone ahead so heâll be waiting for you. You have your car here?â

âYeah. Out in front of the garage.â

Joeâs mind was in a turmoil. Was Mudd out on bail? And how could he follow Seymour? He quickly made a decision. Sneaking up to the garage, he saw a red Ford in front of it. There was no other car in sight, so it had to be Seymourâs.

Joe quickly opened the door, got in and flattened himself on the floor in the rear and waited tensely.

A minute or so later Seymour slid behind the wheel. He started the engine and headed toward Beemerville.

Watching from hiding, Chet raced back to his jalopy. He started it with the usual bang, then set out in pursuit of the red Ford. After two miles he caught up, but stayed far enough behind to avoid suspicion.

Fifteen minutes later Seymour parked in a deserted neighborhood and got out. Joe peered through the window and saw warehouses on both sides of the street.

Seymour went up to one of them and knocked loudly. The door opened and the youth slipped in. Joe heard a click as the door closed again.

Quickly Joe followed and cautiously tried the knob. It was locked! Stepping back, he looked up at the windows high above. His best chance to get at them was from the roof of a taller building so close that it nearly touched the warehouse.

âThereâs about ten feet between them,â Joe mused. âMaybe Iâll be able to see something.â He ran to the fire escape of the second structure and climbed to the roof. Hastening across to the parapet, he found himself facing a window six feet below where he was standing. It was blacked out with thick paint!

Disappointed, Joe was about to descend when he spotted a ladder lying on the pebbly roof near a chimney. He carried it to the parapet, lifted it over the edge, and allowed the legs to slide down until they rested on the sill of the warehouse window. The ladder now ran between the two building at an angle.

Beneath Joe was a twenty-five-foot drop to the pavement. He tested the stability of the ladder before gingerly placing his feet on one rung. Letting go of the parapet, he climbed down.

The window was slightly open at the top, but Joe could not see through the crack. Quickly he pulled out his pocketknife and scraped away enough paint for a view inside. Then he put one eye on the glass.

On the warehouse floor sat an enormous boxlike container! Joe could see enough of the interior to make out scientific instruments ranged along one wall. A portable laboratory! At the far end of the warehouse was a delivery van.

Joeâs heart beat with excitement as his eye picked out a group to the side of the box. Seymour Schill was flanked by two men in white coats. He looked frightened, but defiant.

âI want to know whatâs going on here! And no more of your soft talk! Where is O. K. Mudd?â he demanded.

âHeâs been arrested. Youâll have to be satisfied with us,â one of the men replied.

âWho are you?â

âDr. John Weber. This is my assistant, Dr. Curtice Cain.â

Dr. Cain gave a cool nod and disappeared into the lab.

âI never heard of you,â Seymour growled.

âWell, weâve heard of you, Mr. Schill. Youâve been our courier, only you didnât know it.â

Dr. Weber grinned. âYou arranged to get us isotopes in exchange for diamonds.â

Seymour looked startled. âSo thatâs what Mudd was up to. Nice little racket!â

âVery nice, indeed,â Dr. Weber replied. âAnd we want it to keep going.â

âToo bad you canât,â Seymour snorted. âIâm reporting you to the police. This is the end of the line for you!â

âNot for us!â Dr. Weber snarled. âFor you!â

He threw himself on Seymour and the pair tumbled to the warehouse floor.

âCurtice, help!â Weber yelled.

Cain came running from the lab bearing a hypodermic needle. He plunged it into Seymourâs arm. The guitarist went unconscious.

Working rapidly, Weber and Cain drew a tarpaulin from a compartment of the lab. They spread it on the floor, shifted Seymour onto it, and wrapped him up like a mummy.

Then the two went into the lab, each emerging a moment later with another body swathed in the same way.

âWeâll make it to the airport just in time,â Weber said as the two men went to get stretchers, one for each of the tarp-shrouded figures.

âTheyâll be waiting for us,â Cain remarked, and opened the back door of the delivery van. He helped Weber to slide the stretchers inside.

The door slammed shut. Cain turned the handle to lock it into place, then he got into the front seat beside Weber, who started the engine.

The hair rose on the nape of Joeâs neck. âFrank might be on one of those stretchers!â he thought. âSomehow Iâll have to stop that truck!â

Frantically he grabbed the first rung of the ladder and began to ascend. A sound on the other end made him look up. He stared into the menacing face of Bozar!

âSee anything that takes your fancy?â the man asked with a smirk and gave the ladder a violent kick. It rose and stood poised for an instant on the window sill, then it fell back, striking heavily against the parapet.

The force of the blow caused Joe to lose his balance. He slipped and plunged toward the pavement twenty-five feet below!

CHAPTER XX

Airport Ambush

JoE uttered a cry and flung out his arms in desperation. The fingers of his right hand closed over the side of the ladder and he clutched it, causing it to turn. Then, with an iron effort, he grasped the ladder with the other hand, and, feet dangling, righted it again.

As he swung his body upward, Bozar shouted, âItâs all over, kid. Youâre going down!â He raised his foot to give the ladder another kick.

But suddenly the man flipped back from the parapet onto the roof. Chet Morton had him in a bear hug!

Joe regained his footing on the ladder in time to see Bozar break away, and a wild slugging match ensued. Bozar went down from a blow to the jaw. He scrambled to his feet, caught Chet with a kick in the stomach, and fled down the fire escape.

Joe climbed to the roof and helped his friend up. Blood trickled from Chetâs nose. He brushed it aside with the back of his hand and grinned. âYour dad told me to shadow you, just in case.â

âGreat thinking!â Joe said. âCome on. Letâs get down. Weâve got to stop a truck!â

The two rushed to the fire escape, where they spotted Bozar far below running toward the truck. He jumped in beside the driver, then the vehicle roared off.

âHeâs going to the airport!â Joe panted. âWeâll follow!â

Reaching the alley, the boys rushed to Chetâs jalopy. Chet started the motor, but it stalled seconds later with a depressing groan.

âThatâs all we need!â Chet moaned and turned the key again. No action!

âYouâre out of gas!â Joe exclaimed. âLook!â

Chet threw a desperate glance at the fuel gauge. Joe was right.

Just then two motorcycles whined up the street. Their youthful riders wore leather jackets, helmets, and goggles. Joe jumped out of the car, ran in front of them, and waved his hands. They screeched to a stop a few feet away.

âFellows, weâre out of gas and weâve got to get to the airport to stop some crooks from getting away. Can you give us a ride?â

âWhy not?â one of the boys said. âHop on!â

Chet and Joe got on the back seats and the four sped toward Marlin Crag. On the way, the Bay-porters gave their rescuers a quick explanation of what the chase was all about.

A short time later Fenton Hardy watched the delivery van drive into the airfield and head for a small plane far out on the runway.

The van stopped and the driver and his two companions leaped out. Hurriedly they opened the doors, and transferred three mummy-like bodies on stretchers to the aircraft. The pilot and another man emerged from the plane and gave them a hand.

Sensing trouble, Mr. Hardy jumped into his car and raced toward the runway. The engine of the plane started with a roar. The backwash of the propeller threw up a cloud of dust. The craft began to move while the detective was still twenty yards away.

Suddenly two motorcycles whizzed past him in a furious staccato of noise and came abreast of the taxiing airplane, one on each side. Two figures jumped off the back seats and grabbed the tail. The plane was so heavily loaded that the pilot had had trouble gathering speed, and the action slowed the craft down.

Quickly Mr. Hardy drove up to the front and cut across the planeâs path, compelling it to stop.

Nettleton glared furiously out the window as the two Hardys gathered next to the cockpit door. Zinn, who sat beside him, shook his fist. Behind them appeared the faces of Bozar, Weber, and Cain. All were fuming.

The commotion had alerted the airport police. They rushed up in two patrol cars and surrounded the plane. âCome out with your hands up!â an officer shouted through a bullhorn. Minutes later the five criminals were handcuffed and led to a squad car.

Two officers entered the plane and brought out the three stretchers. Joe and his father quickly ripped the tarps away from the bodies and revealed Frank, Lefty, and Seymour. They were breathing heavily.

âWeâll need an ambulance,â one of the policemen said. âJack, go callââ

âWait,â Fenton Hardy interrupted. âThis may look worse than it is.â

He bent over Frank, who blinked his eyes and sat up. âWow!â he muttered. âI thought Iâd wake up in the briny deep!â

Seymour and Lefty also regained consciousness after two of the policemen had administered first aid.

Mr. Hardly quickly clued in the officer in charge, and told him that the State Police were working on the case.

âGood. Weâll take the prisoners right down there,â the officer said.

âWeâll follow in my car,â Mr. Hardy suggested.

Joe and Chet thanked their motorcycle friends, who had thoroughly enjoyed the chase. âIt was a pleasure,â they assured the boys and rode off with big grins on their faces.

Lieutenant Cook had sandwiches and coffee waiting for everyone at his office, and the Hardys, Chet, Seymour, and Lefty hungrily devoured the food while piecing together the latest events.

A trooper fingerprinted the prisoners, advised them of their rights, and brought them in.

âThey wanted to get rid of us,â Frank said, pointing to the quintet, âbecause we knew too much about the airport thefts they had going, especially the uranium isotopes.â

Lefty shuddered. âThat night in Newark I meant to tell you Zinn was the top guy in the gang, working through the Midatlantic Distribution Corporation. As assistant airport manager, he could keep tabs on what shipments were coming in.â

âAnd he had his pilots fly without vacuum pumps whenever they transported isotopes. Thatâs why Scott and Martin crashed when the weather was bad,â Frank deduced. âAnd he removed the telltale isotopes before the wrecks were investigated.â

âWhen Zinn learned we were searching for information about the crashes,â Joe added, âhe knew he had to get us out of the way.â

âSure,â Chet put in. âHe spied on us in Holmesâs office, heard that we were going to Muddâs, and called Mudd to eliminate us.â

âLuckily he failed,â Frank said. âEven though he tried it three times.â

âWhat do you mean three times!â Zinn protested. âOnly twiceâthe business of the crane and the airplane wing, and the junkyard truck that smashed your car.â

âDidnât Mudd sabotage the steering mechanism of our car?â

Zinn shook his head. âThat must have been strictly coincidental.â

âOne thing I donât understand,â Frank said, looking at Nettleton. âWhy did you buzz us when we flew to Marlin Crag the first time? You didnât know us then!â

âOh, didnât I?â Nettleton sneered. âYou think we were stupid? We found out your father was on the case and kept tabs on all of you. When I saw your plane number, I knew what you were up to!â

âBut you missed, and you missed again that night at the cliffs when we were looking for the engine,â Joe put in. âAlso you failed in sabotaging our boat.â

âIf that big-mouth trucker hadnât let you in on where he dropped the engine, weâd have been all right,â Nettleton growled. âYou just canât trust people.â

âTell me something,â Mr. Hardy said. âHow do Mudd and the Flickering Torch fit into your setup?â

âFigure it out yourself,â Nettleton snapped and sullenly looked at his fingernails.

âMaybe Mudd will tell us,â Lieutenant Cook suggested, then ordered one of his men to bring in the junk dealer.

âYou idiot!â Zinn hissed when he entered. âIf you hadnât botched up the job two weeks ago, we wouldnât be in this mess!â

âOh, shut up!â Mudd muttered. âYou had the chance to shoot those nosy brats and what did you do? Nothing!â

Curtice Cain, meanwhile, was arguing with Weber. âI told you we should never have gotten involved with these people! Everything went well as long as they didnât know who we were!â

âWait a minute,â Mr. Hardy said. âWho didnât know who you were?â

âTheseâthese stupid, ignorant, amateur smugglers!â Cain fumed, pointing at Zinn and his buddies.

Now a strange story unfolded. Weber and Cain had developed a new, inexpensive process of making industrial diamonds from coal through the use of uranium isotopes. By way of the criminal underground grapevine they had learned of the freight thieves and had begun buying the illicit isotopes from them without ever meeting any of the gang in person. In their mobile lab Weber and Cain changed the structure of the coal by means of the isotopes. Then they turned the product over to an unethical manufacturer in the New York area who completed the process.

The isotopes were deposited in specially fitted lead containers in the amplifiers at the Flickering Torch and Pete Guilfoyleâs barn. Weber and Cain would then pick them up at odd hours and leave the payment.

âJoe, when we went to the Flickering Torch the first time, we saw Nettleton fooling around with the amp!â Frank said. âHe either made a delivery or picked up the payment!â

âNo kidding!â Nettleton said sarcastically. âAnd if youâre real smart, youâll tell me which one it was!â

âProbably both,â said Joe. âAnd how do you like this: Last Wednesday night you went to Guilfoyleâs barn in the rain, took a container with diamonds from the amp, deposited isotopes, and left. Then Weber and Cain picked up the loot when the weather had cleared.â

Nettleton glared at Weber. âThatâs when you got us in trouble. Mudd told you no more rocks! I took the stuff to Morrisville and my contact refused to accept them!â

âSo you brought them back and lost a couple in a bum landing,â Joe completed the thought.

Nettleton shrugged.

âHow come you and Zinn let me check out your plane that day?â Frank asked. âYou did transport diamonds in the tailpost!â

Nettleton grinned. âBy the time you were through with my suitcase, Zinn had already removed the container.â

âAnother thing I donât understand,â Frank went on, âis why you hid the diamonds in the tailpost, but the isotopes in the vacuum pump housing?â

âWe couldnât take the isotopes out of the lead container, and it didnât fit in the tailpost. We therefore had to find another good hiding spot, and the vacuum pump seemed the best.â

âWhoâs Nick?â Joe inquired, changing the subject.

Mudd pointed his thumb at Bozar. âItâs his nickname.â

âYou gotta tell âem everything?â Bozar grumbled. âYou a big believer in confessions or what?â

âYour voice seems familiar,â Mr. Hardy put in. âYou called me when you caught Lefty and told me to lay off, didnât you?â

Bozar did not answer.

Frank turned to Lefty. âIt was Zinnâs heavies who waylaid you in Newark. How did you ever wind up with Weber?â

âI was taken to the Midatlantic warehouse in Beemerville. They kept me there tied up until the van came in,â Lefty replied. âThen this guyâ âhe pointed to Weberââgave me a shot in the arm and I donât remember anything from that moment on.â

âWhich brings us to the last link in the case,â Lieutenant Cook said, looking from Zinn to Weber. âHow did you two ever get together?â

âIt was a mistake,â Weber said resignedly. âWe knew that the Hardys were working on the freight case, and should have stayed as far away from the gang as possible. But yesterday a plane circled over the van and we felt sure they were on to us, too. The first thing we had to do was hide the lab, so I got in touch with Zinn and asked him for shelter. He told us to put the portable lab in the warehouse. Then we drove the empty van back into the woods to mislead the Hardys.â

âWhich was another mistake,â Zinn grumbled.

âWhere did you plan to go today?â Cook continued his questioning.

âWhen we found out this morning that Mudd had been arrested, we figured the jig was up. We called Zinn, who said they were leaving for Canada and offered to take us along. We decided to give up the lab, despite the large investment and save our lives. Lefty, Frank Hardy, and Schill knew too much and had to be eliminated. Rather than poisoning them in the warehouse and leaving them as evidence, we decided to take them on the plane and drop them into the ocean.â

âNice thought,â Frank muttered. âYouâre awfully kind.â

âI have another question,â Joe spoke up. âSomeone seemed to be spying on me and the boys last Wednesday night at Pete Guilfoyleâs barn. Who was it?â

âCurtice kept the place under surveillance since we had a pickup at night. We usually did that, just a routine precaution.â

Joe nodded. âI also found a guitar pick outside the barn.â

âNo wonder, with all those musicians around,â Nettleton said.

âComing back to the beginning of the whole thing,â Frank said to Zinn, âdid your pilots know they were transporting contraband?â

âNo. Martin Weiss and Jack Scott became suspicious but crashed before they found out anything definite.â

âHow come the FAA didnât find the isotopes?â

âWe got there ahead of them,â Zinn replied.

The telephone rang and Lieutenant Cook answered. When he had finished, he said, âThat was the Morrisville police. They have closed down the Midatlantic operation and arrested all suspects, including a pilot. Late last night Scotland Yard made their move in London and got the exporters of the isotopes, who in turn revealed their contacts in New York. The New York police are rounding up everyone on that end. Which just about solves our case.â

âAs far as the isotopes are concerned,â Frank agreed. âBut what about the other freight heists?â

âThe cargo was either flown to Morrisville, New Jersey, or trucked to various locations in New York State. The Morrisville and New York police have all the information on that. And, whatâs more, they know the names of everyone concerned with the distribution. Itâll take a few days to round up all the people connected, but thanks to Mr. Hardy we know exactly whom to look for.â

Mr. Hardy grinned. âIt was a hard case to crack, but as Frank once said, âthe harder the better!ââ

The young sleuths relaxed momentarily in the glow of success. But another knotty mystery, to be known as The Melted Coins, was to challenge the Hardys in the near future.