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over the world, Interpol might have something on our friend Scott.”
    â€œAn excellent thought,” Mr. Hardy agreed.
    As they started to send the information out, Mrs. Hardy asked, “Fenton, where did Gertrude go?”
    â€œShe was here a minute ago. There she is, outside!”
    â€œWhat is she looking at in the gutter?” Frank wondered.
    Gertrude Hardy was bent down, tugging at something in the wet snow with her bare hands. The boys ran out to question her.
    â€œAunty, what’s going on?” Joe asked.
    â€œHumph!” she replied, straightening up. “You think you’re the only ones who know how to look for clues?”
    Joe winked at his brother and said, “Of course not. What have you got there?”
    She held up what appeared to be a letter. It was soaked and crumbled from lying in the wet snow.
    â€œThis could have fallen from that scoundrel’s pocket,” Aunt Gertrude declared. “You spun him around like a pinwheel, Joe.”
    â€œAll right, let’s bring it inside to dry,” Frank said. “And thanks for helping us.”
    Once indoors, Joe spread the soggy paper on the drainboard in the kitchen. The words, written in ink, were smudged and barely legible.
    Aunt Gertrude went upstairs and returned minutes later with her hair dryer. She plugged it in and soon had warm air blowing on the mysterious letter.
    â€œMaybe it’s somebody’s shopping list,” Joe quipped.
    â€œI wouldn’t be too sure,” Aunt Gertrude retorted tartly. “Fenton, come here and look at this! That’s no shopping list at all!”
    Mr. Hardy, who had been busy dispatching the information to Interpol and to the French company, came into the kitchen to examine his sister’s find.
    â€œThere, it’s showing up more clearly now,” hesaid. “Joe, we need a magnifying glass, the powerful one you keep in your desk.”
    Joe raced up the stairs, two at a time, and returned with the lens. He bent over to study the writing and his face grew beet red.
    â€œIt’s—it
is
a clue, Aunt Gertrude!” he exclaimed.
    â€œThen read it to us.”
    Joe sucked in his breath. “I can’t make out all the words, only a few. They say, ‘Get mask…us…and…will knock off Fenton Hardy.’”

CHAPTER X
A Muddy Race
    â€œY OU know what this means?” Frank asked. “Dad’s enemies and ours have gotten together somehow.”
    â€œYou’re right,” Mr. Hardy said. “They’re working together and are twice as strong now.”
    The boys felt sheepish when they complimented Aunt Gertrude on her good piece of detective work.
    â€œWe Hardys have to stick together,” she replied with a coy smile. “I hope it helps you solve your case.”
    â€œAunt Gertrude, you’re something!” Joe said. “We’re sorry we took it so lightly.”
    The next morning they called the foundry. “Is the job ready?” Joe asked.
    â€œYes. It turned out fine,” Mr. Krusinsky replied. “Come and get it any time.”
    Another four inches of snow had fallen during the night, but since then the temperature hadrisen above freezing, and the roads were covered with a sloshy, slippery mess. With Frank at the wheel, they drove toward the foundry.
    â€œI hope our scheme works,” Joe said as they sped out into the open country. “We’ll give up the duplicate mask for William and continue to study the original, if at all possible.”
    â€œRight,” his brother said. “This investigation is a long way from being finished. Do you suppose we can catch the kidnappers?”
    â€œIt’s going to be risky. But we’re duty-bound to report it to the police.”
    â€œIf we could only spring a trap and nail the whole gang!” Frank said.
    They drove through farmland. Corn had been planted on both sides of the highway the summer before and the