The Arctic Patrol Mystery by Franklin W. Dixon

for it!” Joe muttered. He looked up to see snowflakes land on the disabled plane.
    â€œLooks as if it might be a bad storm,” Frank said, and the boys climbed back inside the cabin.
    Before long, the snow fell so thickly that they could not see three feet ahead. The wind rose, and by nightfall the Hardys were caught in a howling glacial blizzard. At the same time, the temperature dropped sharply.
    â€œWe didn’t come dressed for anything like this,” Frank said, shivering. He glanced about for some extra clothing. Joe found a repair locker. In it were some tools and a greasy overall.
    â€œYou put that on,” Frank said.
    â€œWhat about you?”
    â€œDon’t worry. We’ll have to start a fire to keep us warm.”
    â€œAnd burn the plane up?”
    â€œWe’ll have to take that chance.”
    Although the remaining fuel in the tank might have provided the much-needed heat, Frank and Joe decided against using the highly volatile gasoline. Instead, they opened the door a crack for ventilation, then tore off bits of interior woodwork with which they built a small fire on the floor of the aircraft.
    The resultant warmth proved to be adequate. “At least we won’t freeze to death now,” Joe said with a wry grin.
    â€œWe’ll take turns tending this fire all night,” Frank suggested, glancing out the window. Nothing could be seen but the thick covering of snow and the crack in the door revealed only the blackness of the storm’s fury.
    The boys agreed to sit up in shifts, feeding the fire with whatever material they could find to burn.
    Near dawn, the howling winds abated, and Joe tore one of the passenger’s seats apart for fuel. Suddenly he let out a cry of delight.
    â€œFrank, I found it!”

CHAPTER VIII
    Something Fishy
    ROUSED from a fitful sleep, Frank sat up groggily and rubbed his eyes. “What did you say, Joe? You found something?”
    â€œSure, look at this!” Joe held up a square-shaped metal piece about the size of a nickel. “The frequency crystal for the radio. It was thrown behind one of the seats!”
    The news electrified Frank into direct action. Stepping over the glowing embers of their fire, he hastened to the front of the plane. After he had replaced the part, the radio was in perfect condition. Within seconds, Frank made contact with the radio tower at Reykjavik.
    After he had told his story, the dispatcher said that an Icelandic coast guard helicopter would come to their aid.
    Frank sent another message to be relayed to Chet and Biff at the Saga Hotel, saying everything was okay.
    Despite the cold, the boys jumped from the plane into the deep snow. They trudged about, packing down a place for the helicopter to land. An hour later it came zooming low over the glacier.
    The Hardys waved furiously to attract the pilot’s attention. In minutes he had the craft on the glacier and stepped out to meet them.
    â€œAre you hurt?” he asked.
    â€œNo, we’re all right,” Frank said.
    â€œPretty nasty accident. You were lucky to come out alive. Did you rent your plane in Reykjavik?”
    Briefly Frank related what had happened, and how their kidnapper had gotten away.
    â€œThat was not one of our rescue copters,” the airman stated.
    â€œWe figured that,” Joe replied.
    The pilot got into the copter, with the Hardys following.
    â€œCan we ask you a favor?” Frank said when the craft was airborne.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œCould you take us directly to Akureyri?”
    The man frowned. “Why Akureyri?”
    Joe explained that they were American detectives on the trail of a Rex Hallbjornsson who had answered their ad with a letter postmarked Akureyri.
    The pilot grinned. “I suppose our government can do a favor for American detectives.” With that, he wheeled the craft northward.
    Soon the glacier gave way to rolling meadows, with patches of green showing through the