Free Hostages of Hate by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

bronze statue—the Civil War general Sheridan on his horse, leaning back and swinging his cap as if to rally his troops.
    "Which way?" asked Joe.
    "Around the general," Pia answered with a grin. She seemed very sure of herself as she led them past houses—more like mansions—around the circle. Frank saw lots of brass plaques.
    "This is the south end of Embassy Row," Pia explained as they passed the buildings. "Romania, Ireland, Guatemala, Cyprus — "
    "All next door to one another," Joe whispered. Frank gave him a look, telling him to knock off the commentary.
    "The house we're heading for isn't quite so large," Pia explained. "But it is connected to one of the embassies." Her eyes became guarded once again. "The person we're going to see has powerful friends."
    I'll bet, thought Frank, wondering which country was willing to help the Dutchman in America.
    He had no time for other thoughts. Pia had darted down another street and stopped in front of a house that didn't look like a mansion — at least, not a very rich mansion.
    She ran right up to the front door and pressed the bell. Even though the windows were dark, the door was opened immediately—as if she were expected.
    Standing framed in the oversize doorway was a short, pudgy man in a sweater too large for him. His forehead was high, fringed with thinning blond hair. He had fat round cheeks, like Santa Claus, but they weren't a healthy pink. They were pale, sallow, almost yellowish. He had the look of a man who spent too much time indoors.
    Quickly, he beckoned them in, then shut the door. His lips were curled in a smile, but jowls sagged at the sides of his face, pulling the smile down. His nose was short, and his glasses slid to the tip of it. His chin was weak, too small for the cheeks and jowls.
    But his eyes were sharp, a sparkling blue. They darted from Pia to the Hardys as he laughed. "Ah, Pia, my poor, poor dear. You look as though you've been playing in the mud." He glanced again at Frank and Joe. "And who have you been playing with?"
    "Franz, Josef," she said, "meet — Karl."
    Those sharp eyes took in Frank and Joe again. "Franz? Josef?" He started speaking to them rapidly in a guttural language. German? Dutch? Frank couldn't tell.
    Pia touched his sleeve, looking hurt. "I don't understand what you're saying. And didn't we agree? All members of the cause will speak English."
    "Ah," said Karl. "But I did not know I was speaking to members of the cause." His eyes narrowed behind his heavy lenses. "Which is strange. I thought I knew everyone in the cause."
    Frank kept his face carefully blank, hiding his excitement. They must be very close to the Dutchman now. This guy would have to be a special lieutenant. Maybe the guy they were looking for was right in this house!
    "Lonnie had just recruited them," Pia explained.
    "Lonnie is under arrest." Karl sounded as if he were having just an ordinary conversation, but both Frank and Joe noticed that his right hand had not left the pocket of his sweater. They knew he had a gun in there.
    "I know," said Pia. "They came and warned me. Otherwise, I'd have been arrested, too!" She raised her arms, showing off her bedraggled state. "Why do you think we look like this? We've been on the run!"
    Karl's hand almost came out of his pocket. "You were followed here?" His accent became much stronger all of a sudden.
    Pia shook her head. "We gave them the slip.
    But we had to wade across Rock Creek. And on the other side, a government agent was waiting! Franz took him out." She smiled and gave Frank an admiring gaze. In fact, Frank realized with embarrassment, it was more than admiring.
    "He knocked the guy out and left him tied up in his car. Then we came here." Pia turned all business again, looking at Karl. "I think we've finally found just the people we need for the reinforcement action."
    Karl smiled. "I believe you may be right," he said to Pia. His right hand finally came out of his pocket — empty. He rubbed it against