exclaimed.
Gradually a sprawling city began to appear out of the mist.
âIt is!â Mr. Hardy shouted. âCongratulations, Jack! Youâve hit it right on the nose!â
âLucky again,â the pilot said jokingly. He rolled the plane into a left turn. âThe airport should be a couple of miles north of the city.â
In less than a minute they spotted a bright, white rotating beam from a beacon atop a building. Immediately adjacent to it, the outlines of runways began to take shape.
âThereâs the field!â Jack declared.
âI was never happier to see anything in my whole life.â Chet sighed with relief.
âSince our radios are out, I canât communicate with the control tower,â Jack explained. âIâll circle the field and wait for a green light.â
The pilot had just completed two circuits of the airport when a disk of green light glared from the tower. The pilot responded by banking the wings of the aircraft to the left and right several times. He then checked the wind tee to determine which runway was being used for landings. Shortly thereafter the Hardy plane touched down at Mazatlan.
In the terminal building the group underwent a routine check by customs officials, then Mr. Hardy called for a taxi.
âThere wasnât time to make hotel reservations in advance,â he announced. âBut we shouldnât have too much trouble this time of year.â
Soon the group was in a cab heading for the city proper. Despite the gray skies, the vivid green of the lush tropical scenery raised their spirits. As they sped along the Avenue del Mar, they could see the choppy waters of the Pacific and the mouth of the Gulf of California. People strolled slowly along the streets, men wearing colorful sarapes and women with rebozos draped over their heads and shoulders.
Arriving at a hotel, Mr. Hardy dashed inside. He reappeared after a long wait. âThe hotels are busier than I thought,â he told Jack Wayne and the boys. âWeâll have to take a suite. The clerk phoned several other places for me, but they donât have anything else either.â
When they were ushered into the rooms, Chet plunked himself into a comfortable chair. âNow this is what I call real luxury,â he said âWhen do we eat?â
âJust as soon as we freshen up,â Frank answered.
âGood! Iâm not used to going without food this long,â Chet complained. âWe missed lunch, and my watch tells me itâs almost time for supper.â
Joe glanced at his chumâs corpulent waistline. âYouâre stocked with enough reserve to last for weeks!â
Frank turned to his father. âWhatâs first on your agenda, Dad?â
âA talk with Senor Marcheta,â Mr. Hardy replied. âIn the morning Iâll rent a car and drive to Vivira to see him.â
âMeanwhile,â Frank said, âJoe, Chet, and I will try to locate the fisherman who reported sighting the sub. Perhaps the police will tell us where we can find him.â
âI have my work cut out for me too,â announced Jack Wayne. âIâll head for the airport first thing tomorrow to see about getting the radios repaired.â
When they left the hotel to find a restaurant, the weather had improved and a magnificent sunset was visible. Palm trees swayed in a gentle breeze and the chatter of myna birds and parrots could be heard.
As the group strolled along, Chet gazed at the first seafood restaurant they came to with such a hungry expression that the others permitted him to lead them into it. After a hearty meal they walked back to the hotel. Chet, burdened down by the two large lobsters he had devoured, trailed behind the others at a snailâs pace.
As they entered the lobby, the desk clerk handed Mr. Hardy a message. The detective ripped open the sealed envelope, read the letter inside with a startled expression, and quickly