Quotes from Franklin W. Dixon

Callie rode with Frank in the convertible, while Joe piled in with Iola and Chet. They drove to a spot just north of Barmet Bay, called Gremlin Beach, which had become popular for surf-riding because of its high swells. "What a day for surf-birds!" Joe cried as the foursome jumped out onto the clean white stretch of sand. An onshore breeze was blowing, and the waves from some distant storm were piling into high-crested breakers. Two boats came into view, kicking up plumes of spray.

You boys picked a fine day to pay us a visit," he said with a laugh. "In a little while that fog will be so thick you can walk on it." The Hardys peered through the tinted panes of glass enclosing the control room. Already the ramp area immediately below was vanishing in a milky fog.

Light rain was falling, and a heavy prefrontal fog was beginning to move in as the Hardys arrived at the field. They walked to the tower and climbed the winding steps to the top. As they entered the control room, Lou Diamond, the tower chief, waved a greeting. A short, stocky, good-natured man, with crew-cut red hair, he nevertheless had an air of authority.

mountain peak soared against the sky. "That's El Yunque—The Anvil," Jack pointed out. "It's a tropical rain forest with ferns as high as houses." They landed and admired the large white modernistic terminal building as they walked toward it. The structure seemed to be poised on stilts. Mr. Hardy was waiting to greet the travelers as soon as they cleared customs. "Good flight?" he asked.

The group managed to squeeze into a single taxi. Soon they were whisked through a beautiful residential area of pink and white villas, then out onto a wide boulevard lined by palms, in clear view of the sea. "Pretty nice place," Chet remarked. "Let's have some fun while we're here and not get mixed up with a bunch of crooks." The others smiled. When they reached the hotel, the boys went at once to Mr. Hardy's room for a conference.

Good-by and good riddance!

Hardys ran Chet a close race on second and third helpings of Claude's superb cured ham and pecan pie.

The boys drove to the Morton farm. Frank and Joe went inside with their chum and Mrs. Morton served milk and apple pie.

Anyway, we were both busy ducking

Oh, no!" she exploded. "Only on weekdays, Saturdays, and Sundays!

Callie and Iola are giving the party together," Frank explained. "That reminds me, Joe. We're supposed to pick up the ice cream!" A short time later, as Frank and Joe stepped from the house, they noted the gray, leaden sky overhead. "Looks as if that fogbank has moved in from the bay," Joe commented. "It'll be thick downtown.

Anyway, we were both busy ducking!" Diamond

looked thoughtful.

No way, Chet," Frank said as he parked the van. "I need Joe in my act." Chet laughed as he jumped out of the van. "Think about it, Joe," he said. "I've got to run. I have a juggling class." "Sorry, but we have to cut class again," Joe said, zipping up his jacket against the cold. "We're going to take private lessons from our mystery juggler—Ralph Rosen." Chet laughed

11 Clowns Undercover

Then, seeing a distressed look on Chet's face, he added, "I mean after lunch.

Chet Morton, who was a school chum of the Hardy boys, lived on a farm about a mile out of Bayport. The pride of Chet's life was a bright yellow jalopy which he had named Queen. He worked on it daily to "soup up" the engine. Frank and Joe retraced their trip for a few miles, then turned onto a country road which led to the main highway on which the Morton farm was situated.

In the moonlit graveyard leaves rustled in the wind. Tombstones cast eerie shadows. Off in the distance a dog howled.

mystery to solve.

The jet roared on. After a while Frank gestured out the window. "We're having beautiful flying weather, Joe. Just look at Cape Cutlass down there." Below them, the cape spread out in bright sunlight. Not a cloud blocked their view. They could see every turn and twist of the coast, every cove and inlet, for miles in either direction. The landscape zipped past beneath the wing tips as the plane streaked north. Joe

Mr. Hardy had already booked two seats on a one-thirty airline flight. The boys drove to the airport, left their convertible in the parking lot, and were soon boarding a sleek jet. An hour later it landed at the Philadelphia airfield. Frank and Joe caught a taxi to the modernistic plant of the Noltan Medical Company. Mr. Noltan, a burly man in a tweed suit, greeted them with a firm handshake.

The boys continued their journey in the deepening darkness. Ahead, the road wound through isolated, hilly country. Here and there they encountered patches of light radiation fog, a phenomenon common to this type of terrain.

YOU'RE getting to be pretty good on that motorcycle, Frank," Joe said as the boys rode into the Hardy garage. "I'm not even scared to ride alongside you any more!" "You're not scared!" Frank pretended to take Joe seriously. "What about me—riding with a daredevil like you?

The brothers set off for the Bayport airfield minutes later and arrived at 2:57. Presently a loud-speaker blared: "Flight 401 from New York is now arriving at Gate 12." Frank and Joe joined a stream of people hurrying out to the apron to watch the plane discharge its passengers. Suddenly