Lucky Time Cafe - 1975
Hong Kong Cafe, Chinatown - 1975
Chinese Voice - 1982
Arco Hotel - 1979
Ovaltine Cafe
Lux Theatre - 1974
Heinz Soup - 1973
Girls in Snack Bar - 1975
White Rose Cafe - 1974
Man Dining - 1974
American Hotel - 1975
Chapter One
"After the help we gave dad on that forgery case I guess he'll begin to think we could be detectives when we grow up."
It was a bright Saturday morning in June, and although the city sweltered in the heat, cool breezes blew in from the bay.
"I don't see him," said Frank Hardy, the older of the pair, as he watched the passengers descending from one of the Pullman coaches. Frank Hardy grinned ruefully and shook his head. "I'd give anything to be working with him on a case like that."
"And Martin's car was brand new," called back Chet Morton. "Hope it comes soon -- I don't want to get rusty."
"This is great!" shouted Frank. "Where would they be now if they'd been afraid to go up in an airplane!"
"For thirty cents," said Chet, solemnly, "I'll just get enough food to work up a good appetite for supper."
"Looks mad about something," said Joe. "What is it! What is it!" asked Joe, nudging him anxiously.
Then the skies seemed to open.
Fenton Hardy, a famous detective, the father of the Hardy Boys, had sent his sons to Larchmont to procure some handwriting specimens from a client of his, a Miss Pennyweather. "There is still another mystery, as I see from this note," he said. "The fellows say it's a wow. They're divers."
"Here's hoping you find your money, Frank!"
"What do you mean one piece!"
"There, I guess I'm better now," he gurgled finally. "Just look at this room."
Fenton Hardy looked at his watch. This sounded promising.
Then Chet's voice came through again. He said his name was John Mead, and asked them theirs.
Fenton Hardy was one of the most brilliant private detectives in the United States.
"Carpenter," Frank mused. "That name sounds familiar."
"He's the best detective in this part of the country."
"Jumping cows!" Frank exclaimed. Frothy whitecaps slapped over the side of the boat as it rocked dangerously in the turbulent sea.
A new voice interrupted him. "Joe, is that you?" asked a crisp feminine voice.
"Yellow Feather?" Joe repeated. Frank was serious and an honor student, while Joe was rather impulsive but always dependable.
"Must've tasted pretty good the first day." Joe laughed.
The old fellow, who was wearing a cap which shaded most of his wrinkled face, appeared to be deaf.
They stared at the paper, completely baffled by the cryptic message. Only the far north was frigid, Joe recalled from his geography lessons. "It's more fun exploring caves than swabbing decks," he mumbled.
He introduced himself and the others. "Another mystery! I will advise progress. "
"I don't know," Mr Weaver said. "They've already tried to solve the case. Inquiries among the workers had shed no light on the identity of the saboteurs."
The gaunt magician wore a top hat, flowing black cape, and carried a silver-handled cane.
It was highly unusual for Mr. Hardy to contact his family while working undercover and both boys were on the alert. Frank and Joe made careful note of their father's warning, because Fenton Hardy was an expert in detective work and security.
"However, there's no harm done as long as the broken glass is cleaned up and the window repaired."
He lifted a sheaf of papers from his desk drawer. "We'll try," Frank said, "if we can find him. He took it from Saffel and gave it to the Greek."
Frank pulled the car over to the side. He heard a crack, then nothingness.
The boys crossed rickety wooden bridges over slowly meandering streams where windmills stood on the banks, their sails revolving lazily in the breeze. Then the boys heard a scuffling noise.
"We'll be glad to do whatever we can, sir."
“Good idea!”
The Hardys rushed out to the lawn and Frank knelt over the strange thing. And a bank employee named Thurbow remembered that Mike showed some interest in the alarm system while he was here.
"It’s just that we ran some lab tests on gold for one of our clients. That's my secret!"
"Hey, it's a skull!" Frank cried. "We've got to meet our dad at the Treat Hotel in Oak Knolls."
"See you later."
"Yes. Please do."
"But it doesn't tell us where he is," Joe mused. "Are you baking pie today, Aunt Gertrude?"
"Duck!" called Iola.
The voice on the other end was so low that he could hardly hear it. Frank and Joe tingled with excitement. "Then tell us where our father is!" Joe demanded.
Miss Hardy got out of the car. The gruesome-looking object was made from black bristles of the sort used in paintbrushes. Frank turned to Chet and Joe.
"I have no idea."
"What's that, Dad?" Frank asked eagerly, his face brightening.
"His dog disappeared last night, and nothing anybody can do is goin' to make him feel any better. Why, once you're on the ground, you can't see them at all! And what do you know?"
The next morning, however, the brothers were heartened by an early telephone call from Chet Morton, who said that he had completely recovered from his head injury.
A moment later Abdul reappeared. "I just left your home on Elm Street," Bowden replied.
"What did he say?" the Hardys asked eagerly.
"The falcon meant no harm. He told me that his health was failing rapidly, and he wanted to tell me about the Yellow Feather."
"Let him go, Joe," she advised. "I think such a trip would be good experience for you boys, and besides, it might even work in with the case I asked you to help on."
"Whew!" said Frank in relief.
"Across the face of the message," the general proceeded, "were the letters CSA." He himself continued to probe the cushions.
"Let me have a look," Frank suggested. There was no response.
"It's an odd key," Mr. Hardy remarked, examining the ornamented piece of metal closely. "Keep bidding!"
"Aunt Gertrude!" yelped Frank. He handed the telephone to the elderly scientist, who looked astonished. "Look at the sign!"
With Chet puffing along behind them the boys made a quick round of Bayport, not omitting the poorer stores skirting the edge of Barmet Bay on the east side of town.
There came a shout almost at his elbow, followed by a piercing scream. The old lady shrieked again.
Before the boys had time to collect their wits, the strangers, muttering threats, gunned their motor and headed swiftly for the opposite shore of the bay. In there the boys could see the Rialto cashier standing with his back to the wall, his arms raised above his head.
"That fellow Vilnoff is a real nuisance."
As the boys approached Cabin 19, which was their stateroom, Joe suddenly halted and grasped Frank by the arm. "Isn't that man over there the one who damaged our boat a while ago?"
"How did it happen?" asked Joe curiously.
"When you boys are as old as I am, you'll have sense enough to know that you shouldn't let every Tom, Dick and Harry into the house."
They all sensed that the blond man was an intruder.
Frank switched off the flashlight. "Do you hear me? We'll have to rescue her!" he said
There was no time to stop. The face of the cliff seemed a long distance away. The sailboat was lying directly in the path of the Envoy. "And by now he is miles away, probably getting ready to work the same trick at the next station."
At that moment there was a startling interruption. The automobile came hurtling toward them!
*
This peculiar experiment involves two sentences from each of the 58 original Hardy Boys books; the first sentence from the first book (The Tower Treasure, 1927), the second sentence from the second (The House on the Cliff, 1927), and so on until the fifty-eighth sentence from #58, The Sting of the Scorpion (1979). Followed by the fifty-eighth-last sentence from Chapter One of #58, then the fifty-seventh-last sentence from Chapter One of #57 (The Firebird Rocket, 1978), and so on until the last sentence of the first chapter of The Tower Treasure.
from Letters to a Young Poet
Today hell groans and cries aloud:
"My power has been destroyed.
I accepted a mortal man as one of the dead;
yet I cannot keep Him prisoner,
and with Him I shall lose all those whom I ruled.
I held in my power the dead from all ages;
but see, He has raised them all."
Glory to your Cross, O Lord,
and to Your Resurrection.
icon by ivanka demchuk
