Free The Clue in the Embers by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

nevertheless they would try.
    The instant the ride was over, Frank and Joe excused themselves and darted in and out of the crowd, but did not find the man.
    â€œI’m sure that he has left the park,” said Frank. “But this means he’s still in Bayport. So our case isn’t so hopeless after all.”
    When the boys reached fireplace Number Twelve, they found the picnic baskets placed on a redwood table. The attendant had laid the fire of kindling and charcoal. It was ready to light.
    Chet knelt at the fireplace and set the fire. The flames, fanned by the stiff breeze, licked rapidly through the kindling. In a short time a fine blaze was roaring.
    â€œWhen it dies down, we’ll put on the steaks,” Chet announced.
    Suddenly there came a terrific explosion from the fireplace! Chet fell backward several feet from the flames as glowing embers rained down on the entire group.

CHAPTER XII
    The Black Sheep
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    â€œHELP!” IoIa cried frantically. “My hair’s on fire!” Desperately she beat her palms against her head, screaming in terror.
    Frank ripped off his jacket and flung it about her head, snuffing out the flame that endangered the frightened girl. Leading her away from the roaring fireplace, he said reassuringly, “You’re okay now.”
    Iola, though still shaky, managed a laugh. “It’s one way of getting a new hairstyle.”
    Chet declared he was all right—aside from having the breath knocked out of him by his fall. The scare over, they all tried to figure out what had caused the blast. Had some explosive substance been sprayed on the kindling? Or had someone planted a crude bomb in the fireplace?
    â€œIn any case,” thought Frank, “the salesman at Callie’s was a spy!”
    The girl ran to his side. “I told you! I’m the cause of this!” She quickly repeated her story of the salesman to the others.
    â€œDid you mention fireplace Number Twelve to the man?” Frank asked.
    â€œYes, I did. Oh dear!”
    Frank put a hand on her shoulder. “Callie, no real harm has been done, so forget it,” he said soothingly.
    A crowd quickly gathered and began to ask questions. The gray-haired attendant, who had been making another fire, hurried over.
    â€œI didn’t put anything but wood and paper in the fireplace,” he said nervously.
    â€œWas anyone near this spot while we were gone?” Joe asked him quietly.
    The attendant said a man with a mustache had offered to help him lay the fire in Number Twelve. “I told him I’d do it myself,” the man continued. “He did hang around, though.”
    The Hardys did not voice aloud the suspicion that the salesman had told Torres or Valez the picnic plans. They merely assured the attendant that he was not to blame. The girls found another fireplace, and Chet and Tony carried the baskets over to it.
    â€œJoe,” said Frank, “we’d better search the embers in Number Twelve. We might find a clue.”
    â€œRight.”
    After sprinkling a can of water over the still-burning wood, they raked through the damp remains for evidence.
    â€œGuess this is it,” Frank said. He pulled out a small metal container. “A homemade bomb.”
    â€œThis character, whoever he is, isn’t fooling around,” Joe said grimly.
    â€œThat’s for sure,” said Frank and reached into the ashes. He took out a window-shade bracket. “Take a look at this.”
    â€œMust have been part of the device that triggered the bomb!” Joe said. “Say, didn’t Chet tell us that our friendly superintendent bought some brackets at the hardware store?”
    â€œRight,” Frank replied. “Valez is definitely mixed up in this!”
    The boys decided that they would say nothing to their friends about the find, but the next morning would investigate Eduardo Valez again. Try as they might, the group found