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newspapers get everything mixed up? Frank got away by himself! I’ll write to that editor!”
    The boys were amused as well as pleased at their aunt’s loyalty. Even though she objected to their working on mystery cases, she was always secretly proud of their exploits and wanted no one else to be given any credit for their achievements.
    The story went on to say that Frank was safe and that the authorities were looking for the kid nappers.
    â€œJust the same,” Mrs. Hardy spoke up, ‘I’d feel better if those awful men didn’t know where Frank and Joe are.”
    â€œYou have a good point,” her husband agreed. “Boys, why not go on that camping trip you were talking about?”
    His sons grinned. “We planned to go to North Woods this weekend and hunt for Chet’s stolen stuff.”
    â€œExcellent idea,” his father said. “Combine work with pleasure.”
    â€œNorth Woods,” Aunt Gertrude snorted, “is full of wild dogs! You boys must be out of your minds.”
    â€œThe stories about the dogs are only rumors,” Frank reminded her.
    Mr. Hardy suggested it was possible someone had started the rumor to keep intruders away from the area. He warned his sons to be on guard.
    The boys’ mother announced a new worry. Her sons might be followed into the wilderness by the kidnappers.
    â€œWhy not try leaving here without letting anyone see you?” she suggested. “Stay at Chet’s house tonight and start from there in the early morn ing.”
    Frank and Joe liked their mother’s plan. They telephoned Chet, and also Biff Hooper and Tony Prito. The latter two promised to meet them at the Morton farm right after breakfast.
    â€œChet sure sounded low,” Frank commented. “I guess his dad and uncle were pretty sore when they heard what happened.”
    â€œIola told me he’s got to work on the farm all summer long to pay for the stuff if it’s not found,” Joe said.
    Frank chuckled. “That’ll take off the pounds.”
    Frank and Joe packed their equipment in the trunk of Mr. Hardy’s car. After dark they got in and lay on the floor of the rear seat, then their father drove to the Mortons’. The boys did not show their heads until they were at the farm.
    â€œIf anybody is looking for us, they won’t know whether we’ve left the house or not,” Joe remarked.
    They unloaded the gear and the detective turned the car around. Wishing his sons good luck, he said he was going to Washington for further checking on the stolen-currency case.
    After a hearty breakfast the next morning, Chet, Frank, and Joe went out on the porch to wait for Biff and Tony. They had been sitting there only a few minutes when they saw a man, carrying a bulging bag, coming up the driveway. He was fairly tall, had light-colored hair, and shrewd-looking eyes.
    â€œI’m selling insect repellent,” the stranger began. “The most wonderful stuff in the world. Use it on the farm or anywhere. Kills flies, moths, mosquitoes.”
    Chet became interested. “We could use some of that for our camping trip.”
    The man smiled. “Camping trip, eh? Then you’ll want a lot of my repellent. Plenty of flies in the woods. Where you going?”
    â€œTo North ...”
    Joe’s elbow jabbed into his friend’s ribs. Chet was telling the stranger too much!
    â€œNorth—uh—uh—North Carolina. That is, someday,” Chet stammered.
    â€œHow much do you want?” the salesman asked.
    â€œNone, I guess,” Chet replied glumly, embarrassed about the blunder he had made.
    â€œAs you please,” the man said.
    He picked up his bag and walked down the drive. As he shuffled off toward the next farmhouse, Joe grasped Frank’s arm.
    â€œI don’t like this,” he said. “If that man were a real salesman, he would have given us a high pressure sales