Free Footprints Under the Window by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

espionage at Bayport’s top-secret project!
    â€œBut if Raymond Martin is a spy,” Joe wondered, “why didn’t he stop to pick up the torn piece?”
    â€œHe 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.
    â€œStay 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.
    â€œGreat 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.
    â€œMr. 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.
    â€œWhat 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.”
    â€œThen that film was taken by a spy?” Frank asked.
    â€œNo 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.”
    â€œSo he probably isn’t knowingly involved in the film business?” Frank queried.
    â€œWe 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.”
    â€œWhich would mean,” Joe put in, “that the film was meant to be picked up in Cayenne.”
    â€œYes.” 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.
    â€œI imagine you’re curious about the nature of the Micro-Eye project.”
    Joe and his brother exchanged glances. “I guess we’d