Footprints Under the Window (9 page)

“Blueprints!” Joe whispered as Frank quickly wrapped the spool in the scrap of raincoat.

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

“But if Raymond Martin is a spy,” Joe wondered, “why didn't he stop to pick up the torn piece?”

“He may not have realized it contained the film. Come on! We're going to get this to Mr. Dykeman pronto!”

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

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

“Stay right where you are,” he directed tersely.

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

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

“Great going, boys! Too bad Martin slipped by, but he'll be watched when he lands. This evidence could shed light on the Footprints plot. Be careful! We'll be in touch.”

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

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

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

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

“Mr. Dykeman's expecting these boys,” he said.

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

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

“What you two came upon at the airport last night is a major breakthrough for us,” the agent said. “But it's also given us cause for serious concern.”

“Then that film was taken by a spy?” Frank asked.

“No question about it. This is proof of an internal security leak at Micro-Eye.”

Joe told of the boys' futile efforts to phone Raymond Martin's home.

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

“So he probably isn't knowingly involved in the film business?” Frank queried.

“We believe that's the case,” replied Dykeman. “He is going to Cayenne supposedly on business. Of course, Martin
could
be a courier for the espionage ring in Bayport, told to wear the raincoat but not why.”

“Which would mean,” Joe put in, “that the film was meant to be picked up in Cayenne.”

“Yes.” Dykeman went on, “We've wired our people there to watch for Martin, and also, for anyone who tries to get his coat. We're hoping the spies won't learn of our recovering the film until after Martin's arrival.”

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

“I imagine you're curious about the nature of the Micro-Eye project.”

Joe and his brother exchanged glances. “I guess we'd have to admit that!” Frank grinned.

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

Frank and Joe waited tensely.

“In simple terms,” Dykeman continued, “Micro-Eye is building a powerful satellite camera.”

The boys leaned forward, their interest doubly aroused. “How powerful?” Joe inquired.

“One so strong in range and definition it will be capable of telescoping terrain from the highest altitudes. Even”—he chuckled—“a baby's footprints on a gravel path.”

“Wow!” Joe repressed a whistle. “A camera like that would have terrific military value! No wonder spies are after it.”

Mr. Dykeman explained that after secret project drawings were found missing, the satellite camera's completion had been delayed by “decoy” work undertaken at the plant.

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

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

“Huella,” Joe repeated, then snapped his fingers. “You're right.
Huella
is Spanish for ‘footprint'!”

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

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

“Perhaps,” Dykeman agreed. “We've discovered that there is great dissatisfaction among the people, even though Posada did away with the infamous prison colony on the island as a concession to them.”

“Have you any idea who took the pictures?” Frank asked Mr. Dykeman.

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

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

“How about the guards?” Joe inquired.

“Thoroughly screened, and all trustworthy,” the agent declared. He added that the men's posts were frequently shifted as a double check.

“You think we could have a look around?” Frank asked, glancing over at the main plant.

“I was just about to suggest that.” Mr. Dykeman fastened visitors' badges to the boys' lapels.

“These will allow you the run of the place,” he said, smiling. “Stop back at my office if you come up with any hunches!”

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

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

“Seems impossible,” Frank agreed.

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

“Sorry, boys. Didn't see your badges at first.”

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

Joe shook his head. “I can't see a kink in this whole setup,” he remarked as they entered the design and drafting section. “This place is as tight as a drum!”

“Sure looks that way,” said Frank. “Mr. Dykeman has—Joe, look! Up there!”

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

Grim-faced, one of the guards snapped, “I just found this in your work jacket, Pryce! You'll have some explaining to do.”

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

“It's a camera!”

 

 

 

“BUT I know nothing about this camera!” the technician protested. He tried to wrench free from the guards.

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

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

“Somebody put it into my pocket!” the technician insisted. “This is all a horrible mistake!”

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

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

Frank whispered, “Do you think Pryce is the security leak?”

“Good chance,” the agent replied. “But we'll check out the camera for prints and see if we can find anything to indicate it held the film you boys found. Right now, we'll interrogate Pryce. Keep everything you've seen here today strictly confidential.”

“Will do!” Frank agreed. “By the way, sir, have you any word from Dad?”

Mr. Dykeman shook his head. “But I'm sure he'll be contacting us.”

“One more question,” Frank said. “Do you know Mr. Orrin North?”

“North—the shipping magnate? Not personally. I understand he's prominent in town. Why?”

The Hardys told the agent of North's reward offer for finding Gomez. Mr. Dykeman seemed interested but puzzled. He looked at the boys keenly. “You suspect he has an ulterior motive?”

“Yes, we do,” Frank replied promptly. “We'll play along with his request and see what happens.”

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

“Guess they have the concession here,” said Joe.

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

“Those security guards would find a needle in a haystack!” Joe commented as he turned into the street.

“If one is
in
the haystack,” Frank quipped.

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

“Some camera!” Joe remarked. “I'll bet the Footprints gang will try anything to get it.”

“Speaking of prints, I vote we return to Barren Sands right after lunch.”

“Me too! That beachcomber may come back for another pickup. Let's buzz Chet.”

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

“This hits the spot, Aunty!” Joe said.

Miss Hardy unfolded her napkin. “Glad to hear that,” she remarked. “I suppose you two are up to your ears in more mysteries.”

Frank laughed. “Over our heads, I'd say.”

“Ran into a mystery myself today,” Aunt Gertrude announced a bit smugly.

“A mystery!” Frank echoed. “Where?”

“Downtown, while I was shopping. I met Mr. Ricardo.”

“Mr. Ricardo! You're sure?”

“Of course. I never forget a face.” She paused. “But that's not all. Guess whose car he was getting into?”

Joe groaned. “I give up. Whose?”

“Mr. Orrin North's,” she replied. “And do you know—Mr. Ricardo said he had never seen me before!”

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

“The cheek of him!” she huffed. “And here I had thought he was so well-mannered!”

“Then it
was
Ricardo we chased the other day!” Frank exclaimed.

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

After lunch the boys traded ideas. “Two bits says this Ricardo is in the country illegally,” Frank ventured. “And another two says he's from the Huella Islands!”

“And North helped him disappear by smuggling him off the ship!” Joe exclaimed. “But why? Oh, there's the phone.”

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

“No.” At a signal from his brother, Joe added, “We have a hunch Gomez is from the Huella Islands—a refugee, maybe.”

“Refugee!” North snorted. “I'm convinced he's a dangerous criminal. You boys had better nab him, and quick!”

Joe hung up, saying to Frank, “I was tempted to throw Ricardo's name at him.”

“Good thing you didn't,” Frank cautioned. “We'd better not show our full hand. Now let's call Chet and get out to Barren Sands!”