THE PHANTOM FREIGHTER

WHEN eccentric Thaddeus McClintock invites Frank and Joe Hardy to accompany him on a sea voyage, the teen-age investigators become entangled in a web of mystery. Who is trying to block the three from securing reservations on freighter ships that carry passengers? Does Mr. McClintock have unknown enemies? Or is there a sinister conspiracy afoot to keep Frank and Joe from going on the trip? Is Captain Harknessâ€™s report about sighting a phantom freighter just a figment of his imagination?

The determined efforts of Frank and Joe to find the answers lead to a hazardous game of wits with a ring of slippery smugglers and to a dramatic confrontation on the high seas. At the same time, the boys help their famous detective father solve his current case involving forgers who are selling counterfeit historical documents.

Here is an exciting, action-filled mystery that will keep the reader on edge with suspense.

âItâs the phantom freighter!â Captain Harkness cried

PRINTED ON RECYCLED PAPER

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Copyright Â© 1974, 1970, 1947 by Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved.

Published by Grosset & Dunlap, Inc., a member of The Putnam & Grosset
Group, New York. Published simultaneously in Canada. S.A.
THE HARDY BOYSÂ® is a registered trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Grosset & Dunlap, Inc.

eISBN : 978-1-101-07640-8

2003 Printing

http://us.penguingroup.com

CHAPTER I

A Strange Substitute

âWHAT an odd letter!â exclaimed Frank Hardy, running a hand through his dark hair. âI wonder what the man wants.â

His blond brother Joe, who was seventeen and a year younger, studied the sheet of paper. âThaddeus McClintock,â he said, reading the signature. âNever heard of him.â

âSince heâs living at the Bayport Hotel, heâs probably a stranger in town. Who do you suppose told him about us?â

The boys were draped over upholstered chairs in the Hardysâ living room. Their mother Laura, smiling at their relaxed teen-age postures, said, âAny one of many people.â

The letter, which had arrived in the morning mail, was addressed to Frank and Joe Hardy and read:

I have heard that you are young men with your feet on the ground and wonder if you would call and have a talk with me. I have an interesting job for you if you care to take it.

Frank looked at his brother. âWhat do you say? Thereâs no harm in talking to Mr. McClintock.â

âPlease be careful,â said Mrs. Hardy. The slender, pretty woman went on, âThe man may be a schemer of some kind. If he should ask any questions about your father, be on your guard.â

âThat,â said Frank, âis Rule Number One in this household and weâre not likely to forget it.â

âDonât worry,â Joe added in an assuring tone. âIf this McClintock should try to pry, we donât know where Dad is, when heâs expected, or what case heâs working on.â He grinned. âCome to think of it, we donât know. Do you, Mother?â

Mrs. Hardy shook her head and chuckled. âNo, I donât. But thatâs not unusual.â

Fenton Hardy was a renowned private detective. Trained in the New York Police Department, he had left the big city to work entirely on his own, and with phenomenal success.

His sons had inherited their fatherâs natural ability and had been carefully taught the most modern scientific detective methods. Recently they had solved an unusually puzzling mystery known as The Secret Panel.

Frank and Joe drove to the Bayport Hotel, and asked to see Mr. McClintock. âSorry,â the clerk said. âHeâs not here right now. Went out about half an hour ago, but left a message for you. Youâre to come back this afternoon.â

âWho is this Mr. McClintock?â Frank asked, âWhere does he come from? Is he young or old?â

The hotel clerk, who had been a friend of the Hardys for years, looked surprised. âYou donât know him? Well, heâs been living here for the past three monthsâis a little beyond middle ageâdoesnât say much.â

âWhatâs his line?â Joe asked.

âHe doesnât work, but pays his bills promptly. Doesnât seem to have any friends here in Bayport. Maybe thatâs because he acts so secretive.â

âThanks,â Frank said. âGuess thatâll hold us until this afternoon.â

He and Joe returned home, more interested than ever in meeting Mr. McClintock. As they entered, they heard a woman talking excitedly.

âAunt Gertrude!â said Joe. âAnd sheâs on the warpath!â

Aunt Gertrude was Mr. Hardyâs unmarried sister, who had come to live with the family some time before. She was tall, peppery, and had an unpredictable temper. But beneath all the bluster she was a kindly soul who loved her nephews dearly.

âLaura, this box seems to be full of raw wool!â Aunt Gertrude was saying. âAnd mine contained valuable family papers. Iâm going to call the express company and give them a piece of my mind!â

âWhatâs wrong, Aunty?â Frank asked as he and Joe strolled in. âHave you been swindled?â

âNot swindled. No. Justââ She gasped in exasperation. âIâm expecting a carton with some things I had left with a friend a few years ago. But they delivered the wrong one!â She pointed to the box lying on the floor. âI opened it without checking the label.â

Joe looked at the box. âItâs for a James Johnson,â he stated. âOne forty-two Springdale Avenue.â

âThatâs right,â Aunt Gertrude said. âObviously the shipping people delivered my carton to Mr. Johnson and his to me. Iâm going to call the express company and give them a piece of my mind.â

âTake it easy, Aunty,â Frank said. âMistakes do happen.â

Miss Hardy went to the telephone and dialed. As the conversation went on, Aunt Gertrude became more annoyed. âNow you listen to me!â she said, but the clerk at the other end insisted on doing all the talking. Finally Aunt Gertrude hung up. âThey wonât do a thing until tomorrow!â she complained. âMeanwhile, my carton may be opened by these Springdale Avenue people. And that,â she added grimly, âmust not happen!â

âHow can you stop it?â asked Joe, a twinkle in his eyes.

âVery easily. You and Frank will have to go there and make the exchange. Right now!â

Frank looked at his watch. It was nearly time for lunch, and he and Joe wanted to call on Mr. McClintock directly afterward.

âNo excuses,â Miss Hardy said firmly. âIt wonât take you any time to drive out there. Iâll whip up a strawberry shortcake while youâre gone.â

âIn that case,â Frank said, laughing, âweâll leave right away.â He picked up the carton and went out the door. Joe followed.

A few minutes later they reached the east side of Bayport. Frank turned into Springdale Avenue. By the time they passed a small stone house numbered fifty-two, they had entered a section where the sidewalks came to an end and buildings were far apart. The car bumped along an uneven dirt road.

âWeâre practically out in the country,â said Joe. âIâll bet weâre beyond the city limits. Maybe there isnât any one hundred and forty-two at all!â

A short distance ahead and set quite far back from the road, they could see a large frame house, surrounded by a picket fence. A small barn stood behind it.

âThis might be the place,â Joe said as they neared it. Then he yelled excitedly, âJoe! Look! The barnâs on fire!â

A curl of white smoke rolled out from an upper window. It was followed by a heavy black puff and a flicker of red flame.

Frank drove through the open gate and stopped in front of the house. Joe leaped out, ran up the steps, and hammered on the front door. There was no response. Joe tried the doorknob.

âLocked! No one at home!â he shouted. âGo get the fire engines, Frank!â

Frank swung the car around and roared back toward the road. Joe jumped off the porch and raced to the barn. By this time smoke was pouring from all the upper windows and flames were eating through the shingled roof.

Joeâs first thought was for any animals that might be trapped inside. He tried to get in, but the doors were locked securely by a chain and padlock.

The boy ran around the building until he found a small side door, but this too was locked. Catching sight of a window, he rushed to it. A glance through the dusty glass revealed two stalls. They were empty.

Sheets of angry flame and billows of smoke now leaped up from the floor of the barn. And not far away stood a large cardboard carton!

âThat must be Aunt Gertrudeâs!â Joe thought. âIâll have to get it out!â

The window was so small Joe knew he could not crawl through it. He ran back to the side door and thrust his shoulder against the wood. The door creaked but did not give.

âThe barnâs on fire!â Joe yelled

Looking around, he spotted a woodpile at the back of the house, with an axe beside the chopping block. He rushed across the yard, snatched up the axe, and dashed back to the barn.

CHAPTER II

The Three-Cornered Scar

JOE swung the axe. Thud! He swung again, but the wood was tough and the lock was stout.

Flames had broken through the roof in a dozen places now, and the upper part of the barn was a roaring inferno. Black smoke swirled toward Joe.

Suddenly he heard the sharp blast of a horn and the squeal of brakes. Frank was back. He leaped out of the convertible and ran toward his brother.

âPhoned the firemen from that house down the road,â he called out. âBut they wonât get here in time to do any good. What are you up to?â

âHelp me ... break down ... this door!â Joe gasped as he swung the axe again. âThe lost carton is in there!â

Frank caught sight of a four-by-four propped against the side of the barn a few yards away. âHereâs a battering ram! Better than the axe!â

Holding the wood firmly, they drove it against the door. At the very first impact the boards splintered. They drew back and rammed again. This time the lock snapped and the door fell in with a crash. Dense clouds of smoke poured through the opening.

As Joe looked into the burning building he knew he must act quickly to retrieve the valuable carton. âStand by,â he said to Frank. âIâm going in.â

âWatch yourself,â warned Frank. âStay close to the floor!â

Joe nodded. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, he held it in his lungs and crept across the barn toward the carton.

In a few seconds his groping fingers found it. He grabbed the twine and dragged the carton toward the door. But he felt as if his lungs would burst!

When Joe emerged, his eyebrows were singed, his skin parched. He drew in deep breaths of the fresh air and grinned weakly at his brother.

By this time help was arriving. Cars were driving into the yard. A siren wailed as a fire truck raced down Springdale Avenue. The barn, however, was doomed. The firemen turned their efforts to saving the house, which was threatened by flying sparks.

When the owner of the place and his wife drove into the yard half an hour later, their home was safe but nothing was left of the barn but a blackened foundation and a heap of smoking ashes. Learning that the Hardy boys had given the alarm, they came over to thank them.

âIt was lucky you happened to be driving along and saw the smoke,â the man said.

âWe didnât just happen to come along,â Frank told him. âAs a matter of fact we were coming to make an exchange of cartons. We brought yours. The express company delivered ours here by mistake, and we rescued it from the barn, Mr. Johnson.â

âJohnson? My nameâs not Johnson. Itâs Phillips. No one named Johnson lives here.â

The Hardys stared incredulously. Joe rushed to the carton addressed to Johnson and brought it over. He noticed now that there was no mention of the sender.

Mrs. Phillips looked at it and shook her head. âI donât expect anything, and this obviously is not for us.â She turned to Joe and pointed to the box he had taken from the barn. âDo you mean to say that you went into the burning barn after that? Thereâs nothing in it but old newspapers. I was waiting for the junkman to pick them up!â

Frank and Joe were flabbergasted. To think Joe had taken such a risk for a lot of old newspapers!

Just then an express-company truck drove into the yard. The driver got out and came over to them. He knew the Hardys.

âYour aunt called up the office a while ago about a carton,â he said to Frank. âSo I thought Iâd better drive out and check up on it. I delivered one to your house and one to this place. Fellow by the name of Johnson signed for it. Maybeââ

âWhat!â Mr. Phillips interrupted. âMy wife and I have been away several days and the house was locked up!â

âMaybe so,â returned the driver. âBut I delivered a box here this morning just the same. There was a man standing on the porch when I got here. He signed for it.â The driver took out his book and flipped through the pages. âHereâs the name.â

The boys studied the scrawled signature of James Johnson.

âSomethingâs strange about this,â Frank said. âDo you mind if I copy the signature?â Using a piece of plain paper and a carbon from the back of the driverâs book he made a tracing.

âWhat did the man look like?â Joe asked.

âHe was about forty, beady-eyed, with a low forehead. Had a scar high up on his right cheek. A three-cornered scar, like a triangle.â

Mr. Phillips looked grim. âIâd like to meet this guy and find out what he was doing here. Iâll bet he set my barn on fire!â

Joe spoke up. âIf Johnson got the wrong carton, maybe heâll go to the express office to pick up the right one. Suppose we ask the police to question him if he does?â

âGood idea,â Phillips agreed.

âWell, I donât want any more trouble,â said the driver. âThereâs enough already.â Turning to the Hardys, he added, âIâll take this carton along.â

As Frank and Joe drove back to Bayport, they discussed the mysterious affair of the two boxes. What had happened to Aunt Gertrudeâs? Had the man with the scar taken it away? Or had it been destroyed in the fire? In any case, Frank thought, the man probably had not given his real name, and would not show up at the express office to claim his property.

âI wonder how Aunt Gertrude will take the news,â Joe said glumly.

âI hate to tell her,â said Frank. âShe made it plain that she didnât want anyone to see the contents of the carton.â

As they passed through the downtown section of Bayport, Joe suggested that since it was past lunchtime they have a quick bite to eat and then call on Mr. McClintock. Frank telephoned home, asking that the strawberry shortcake be saved until later, but refrained from mentioning the carton.

âIâm glad you called,â Mrs. Hardy said. âI have a chore for you.â She asked if the boys would stop at a haberdashery and buy socks and handkerchiefs for their father.

âOkay, Mother,â Frank promised.

When they entered the Bayport Hotel half an hour later, Joe said, âI hope Mr. McClintock is back.â

The clerk nodded as they approached the desk. âJust in time,â he said. âYour man returned a while ago. Heâs waiting for you. Room 201.â

McClintock was slightly stoop-shouldered. He had sharp, fidgety eyes and a nervous habit of snapping his fingers when he talked. He greeted the boys affably and asked them to sit down.

âIâve heard interesting things about you Hardys,â he said. âNow Iâll come right to the point. My doctor has advised me that I need a complete change in my way of living. Says I brood too much.â

With that the man bounded from his chair and started pacing back and forth. His face was grim. Then he stopped and continued bitterly, âThe doctor would brood, too, if his lifework had been completelyâWell, thatâs beside the point. Anyway, hereâs my proposition:

âI want to go on a trip. A long trip. And Iâd like you to go with me. You must plan it and make all the arrangements.â

After a moment of astonished silence, Joe gasped, âYouâwantâus to go?â

âExactly. Youâre what the doctor ordered, Young people. To cheer me up. After I see how clever you are at planning the trip, I may even give you a mystery to solve.â

Frank and Joe glanced at each other. Was this man a nut? Did McClintock really have a mystery to solve? Or was he just trying to interest the boys in going with him?

âWhere do you want to travel?â Frank asked.

âHow should I know?â rasped McClintock. âThatâs up to you.â

âBut you say you want to go on a long trip ...â

âExactly. And I donât care where. I just want to get away. And I want company. And not be troubled with making arrangements.â

âBut what kind of vacation do you like best, sir?â Joe inquired. âA motor trip, a hike, a sea voyage? Do you think your health could stand a long tour?â

âDo I look that sick?â McClintock demanded. He glanced narrowly at the two boys. âYou seem mighty doubtful about it. Donât make up your minds right away. Go home and talk it over. Maybe you think Iâm crazy and you donât want to have anything to do with me.

âWell, Iâm not crazy and Iâm not really sick,â he went on. âJust need a change. After you mull it over, maybe youâll decide to accept my proposition. Iâll pay all the expenses, and when the trip is over, youâll be paid. Money, if you like. Or something else.â

âFor example?â Frank said.

Mr. McClintock shook his head. âIâm not saying. But Iâm a man of my word and I guarantee you wonât be disappointed.â

The boys did not know what to make of the extraordinary offer. They were convinced that the man was perfectly sane, although undoubtedly eccentric.

âWeâll be glad to think it over,â said Frank. âIt isnât the sort of thing we can decide right off. Not quite our line, you know.â

âI told you youâd be paid,â McClintock replied shrewdly. âYou name a figure. If itâs too high, Iâll say so. If itâs too low, I wonât open my mouth.â

âItâs not the money,â Joe objected. âAs a matter of fact, weâd probably be more interested inââ

âHah! The other reward!â McClintock interrupted. âI promise you! Itâs more valuable than money!â

CHAPTER III

Suspicion

âIT wonât be easy to make plans unless we know how you want to travel,â said Joe. âHow about a motor trip?â

McClintock scowled and shook his head. âI said that Iâd leave the arrangements to you. But I should have told you I donât like cars, A motor trip is out.â

âA train trip, then?â Frank suggested.

McClintock wrinkled his nose. âI canât sleep on trains.â

âHow about a plane? Maybe a visit to Europe?â Joe ventured.

âThey go too fast. Get over there too soon. I want a long trip.â

âOcean liner?â Frank said.

âNo sir! Too many people. Iâd have to dress up. Too fancy. Thatâs not the sort of thing I mean at all.â

The boys sighed. Mr. McClintock certainly was hard to please!

âFact of the matter is,â he went on, âI know what kind of trip I donât like. But I donât know what I do like. Thatâs your job. Figure something out.â

Frank and Joe got up to leave. âWeâll think about it,â said Frank. âAs soon as weâve decided, weâll let you know.â

As they left the hotel, Frank said, âFor a guy who just wants a vacation and doesnât care where he goes, he seems mighty particular. Iâm stumped.â

âWe forgot a bicycle tour,â Joe quipped. He added quickly, âLook! Here comes Chet!â

Down the street trudged their friend, round-faced, stocky Chet Morton. He lived on a farm outside of Bayport. Usually Chet was the picture of irresponsible bliss, but today his brows were knit in a frown, and when he greeted the Hardys his voice sounded gloomy.

âHi,â he mumbled.

âGoing fishing?â Joe asked, indicating a case Chet was carrying under his arm.

âNo,â he replied. âBut maybe youâd like to. Iâll sell this rod cheap. Genuine bamboo. I bought it for my father.â

âDidnât he like it?â

Chet shook his head. âIt was on sale, too. Forty-five dollars.â

Frank whistled. âHow did you ever save that much money?â

âTo tell the truth, I didnât. I borrowed it from the money Dad gave me to buy some seed. I was sure he wouldnât mind, because the rod was a real bargain. Now Iâve got to earn forty-five dollars to pay him back.â

âUse the rod to catch fish, then sell the fish,â suggested Joe.

Chet looked at him sourly. âForty-five dollarsâ worth of fish? Youâve got to be kidding. I may be able to make some money selling flies, though.â

âFlies? Whoâd want flies?â asked Frank.

âI donât mean houseflies. Artificial ones, for fishing. I sent away for a book that tells how to tie them. Want to come to my house and help me?â

The Hardys recognized this as one more of Chetâs schemes, usually impractical, for making money. He was always embarking on some kind of venture. Every time Frank and Joe agreed to help him they found themselves doing most of the work.

âToo busy to tie flies,â Frank replied promptly. âA man just made us a proposition and we have to do some thinking about it.â He told Chet about then interview with Mr. McGlintock.

Chet listened with interest. âBoy, he even hinted at a mystery! What do you suppose it is?â

âHavenât the faintest idea,â Joe said.

âRight now he seems less worried about solving the mystery than going on a vacation,â Frank added.

âWhy not suggest a fishing trip?â Chet said. âIâll bet heâd go for that. No trains, no planes, no cars, no ocean liners. Just a nice lazy fishing trip.â

âSounds like a pretty fair idea,â Joe remarked. âHe might like it.â

âGood!â Chet exclaimed. âYou can sell him this fishing rod. After all, heâll need equipment.â

But the Hardys were not to be lured into Chetâs little sales scheme that easily.

âWeâll think about it,â Frank promised. âIf McClintock wants to go on a fishing trip and if he really needs equipment and if he wants to pay forty-five dollars for a rod and if your rod is worth that muchâweâll ask him to talk to you.â

âHumphâa lot of ifs,â Chet grumbled. âIâll probably have the rod sold to someone else by then.â He sauntered off. âSee you later.â

Frank and Joe were about to get into their car and drive home when Frank remembered his motherâs shopping request. There was a haberdashery near the hotel, and the boys went inside.

A customer was standing at the counter when they entered. He was a hulk of a man about forty, with beady eyes and a low forehead. But the most significant detail, the boys noticed, was a scar high on his right cheek.

The man, after glancing at them, turned back to the counter and examined some belts the clerk had brought out. Frank and Joe retreated to the back of the store for a whispered conference.

âFrank, do you think heâs that Johnson fellow?â

âSure answers the description. Iâll phone the expressman to come over and identify this guy. If he leaves, follow him!â

Frank went to a phone booth at the corner. Joe pretended to be examining a rack of sport jackets. The customer was in no hurry. He purchased a belt, then looked at neckties. He was about to buy one when Frank returned.

âExpressman hasnât returned from his route,â he told his brother quietly. Then he walked up to the counter to get a better look at the manâs face. Noticing some neckties the suspect had discarded, Frank asked pleasantly, âHave you finished with these?â

âYeah.â

The boy looked directly into the strangerâs face. The scar was triangular in shape!

The man noticed that Frank was staring. Frank quickly averted his eyes, but the man glared angrily at him, picked up his change, and thrusting the purchase into his pocket, strode out.

âThatâll teach you to mind your manners,â the clerk said with a chuckle. âSay, whereâre you going? I thought you wanted to buy something!â

Frank and Joe were already at the door. âWeâll be back,â Frank called.

By this time the man was nearly half a block away, walking rapidly. Frank and Joe jumped into their car and followed. He turned right at the end of the block.

âHeâs going toward the harbor,â said Joe.

âSo are we!â Frank swung into the street leading to the waterfront. The boys caught sight of the scarred man again. He glanced back over his shoulder.

âHope he doesnât recognize us,â Frank said, âor heâll know heâs being tailed.â

The fellow quickened his pace. Then quickly he stepped into an alley that opened between two buildings and broke into a run.

Frank swung the car into the alley, but found it blocked by a truck unloading supplies. The man dodged around the front of it.

âIâll get out and meet you at the other end,â said Joe. He jumped out of the convertible and ran after the suspect.

Frank swiftly backed out into the street again and drove around the block. When he reached the far end of the alley, Joe was waiting, but the suspect was not in sight.

âGave me the slip,â Joe muttered in exasperation. âIâll bet heâs Johnson all right. Otherwise why did he run?â

âWe might catch sight of him around the docks,â Frank suggested. âHe was heading that way.â

âItâs worth trying,â agreed Joe and hopped into the car.

They rode down the hill to Bayportâs waterfront district. Frank parked the car and they began their search on foot. But there was no sign of the man with the scar.

âGuess weâll have to give up,â Frank said finally. âWeâll come back later.â

As the boys walked through a large pier shed they stopped to watch the busy scene. Tons of supplies were being loaded onto a waiting freighter.

Frank snapped his fingers in excitement. âHey, Joe, I have an idea!â

âWhat is it?â

âAbout Mr. McClintockâs trip. Why not a voyage by freighter?â

âHe said he didnât want to take a sea voyage,â Joe reminded him.

âHe didnât want to go on a passenger liner because of the crowds and heâd have to dress up,â said Frank. âA freighterâs different, though.â

âYou might have something.â Joe glanced at the big ship. âAnd I wouldnât mind a trip like that myself.â

On the way home they discussed their new idea excitedly. It seemed like the perfect solution to Mr. McClintockâs problem.

Frank parked in front of the haberdashery again and Joe went in to purchase the socks and handkerchiefs for his father. He asked the clerk if he knew the scar-faced customer. The salesman answered âNo,â but from what little the man had said, he had gathered that he was a seaman.

When the boys reached home Mrs. Hardy greeted them at the door with the welcome news that their father had just returned. Aunt Gertrude wanted to know what happened to her missing carton. When told about the fire, she became very upset.

âThe express company ought to be sued!â she declared. âThe idea of handing over my box to a total stranger. It probably was destroyed in the fire!â

âIâm sure the express company will do what it can, Aunty,â Frank said.

Miss Hardy replied that money could not repay her for her family papers and personal letters contained in the lost carton. Mr. Hardy came out of his study and wanted to know why his sister was so excited. The boys told him about the expressmanâs mistake and their adventure in the blazing barn.

âThereâs something fishy about the whole affair,â Fenton Hardy said thoughtfully. âGertrude, why donât you talk to an official of the express company and ask him to check further.â

âI certainly will,â she replied.

That evening at dinner the detective related stories of his travels in connection with his work during the past few weeks. Most of his time had been spent with specialists dealing in rare documents and valuable autographs whose businesses were seriously threatened by skillful forgeries that had appeared on the market. The fakes were so clever that even experts had been fooled by them.

âThe forgers also compose letters on aged paper,â Mr. Hardy said. âThatâs how I got my first clue.â

âTell us about it, Dad,â Joe said.

The forgers, his father explained, were not well versed in old phraseology, and that was how their swindles had been discovered. But they were skilled counterfeiters and evidently had the help of a clever chemist in âagingâ the paper. Mr. Hardy had visited half a dozen large cities in his efforts to run down the gang, but so far had met with little success.

While the family was eating Aunt Gertrudeâs delectable strawberry shortcake, Frank brought up the subject of Mr. McClintockâs trip.

After hearing how eccentric the man was, Aunt Gertrude predicted trouble for her nephews. âNo telling what a person like that might do,â she said firmly. âLeave you stranded in some foreign country, or never pay you a cent for all your trouble.â

Mrs. Hardy also voiced concern. âFenton, I think you should look into this,â she suggested.

It was decided that Mr. Hardy would accompany his sons to the hotel and speak to Mr. McClintock. With his expert insight, he might be able to settle the matter quickly.

The next morning, after talking with Mr. McClintock for nearly an hour, Mr. Hardy gave consent to the trip.

âI must go now,â he said. âIâll leave you three to make plans and trust youâll work out something enjoyable.â

After he had left, Mr. McClintock turned to the boys. âOkay. If you can only figure out how and where to travel ...â

âWe have a suggestion, sir,â Joe said. âHow about a voyage by ocean freighter?â

The man scowled. âOcean freighter? You mean an old tramp steamer? Ridiculous. Dirty. Smelly. Poor food.â

âIt wouldnât be that bad,â Frank spoke up quickly. âA modern freighter is a mighty clean ship. Some of them make a business of carrying a few passengers. Weâd pick one of those and see that the food and accommodations were A-okay.â

âYouâd find it a lot of fun,â put in Joe. âThey go to unusual places.â

âWell, look into it. If you discover the right kind of ship, let me know.â

As the boys left the hotel Frank advised that they try to locate a freighter that carried passengers.

âWeâd better get it settled before Mr. McClintock has time to change his mind,â he said, laughing.

âRight!â agreed Joe. âHeâs such a strange guy you canât tell what heâll do or say next. I like him, though. By the way, Frank, did you notice he steered clear of mentioning anything about the mystery?â

âYes, I did. Guess it was only a lure, after all.â

The boys rode to the docks, looking for the freighter that they had seen the day before. It had already sailed, but another ship was in its berth. Frank spoke to a longshoreman coming from the loading shed.

âDo you know where we can find a freighter that carries passengers?â

The man gestured with a grimy thumb. âTry the Hawk. Sheâs loading now.â

Frank and Joe climbed up a ladder running from the dockside to the shipâs rail high above. A sandy-haired seaman in a sweater and dungarees emerged from the galley and glanced at them curiously.

âWeâre looking for the captain,â Frank explained.

âHeâs up forward. What do you want him for?â

âWeâd like to ship as passengers.â

âNothing doing. We donât carry passengers.â

âBut we were toldââ

âYou heard me. No passengers.â

âI think weâll see the captain, anyway,â Frank said and the boys turned away. They walked down the narrow space between the rail and the open hatches toward the officersâ quarters.

âHey! Stay away from the captain!â the seaman bellowed.

âI wonder whatâs eating him,â Joe said,

âProbably just a grouch. Got up on the wrong side of the bunk this morning.â

They passed by the gap of an open hatch. Then their way was barred by stacks of freight. Retracing their steps, Frank and Joe decided to go around the deckhouse. A huge net filled with boxes of cargo swung over from the dock toward the hatch.

âHave to watch your way around here,â said Joe as a heavy steel boom swung in front of him. But Frank at that moment had turned to look for the unfriendly seaman.

âDuck!â Joe yelled.

CHAPTER IV

No Passengers

FRANK did not dodge in time. The heavy boom struck him, carried the startled boy upward, and swept him overboard!

Joe leaped to the railing. He saw Frank hurtle down past the steel side of the freighter, not three feet from the pier. His body, twisting and turning limply, hit the water with a resounding smack.

Instantly Joe scrambled onto the rail, balanced a moment, then dived.

It was nearly a thirty-foot drop, but he struck the water cleanly just a few yards from the place where Frank had disappeared. Under water, Joe opened his eyes. Catching sight of a dark object, he swam toward it, then shot to the surface, one arm around his unconscious brother.

Joe towed him toward a ladder hanging from the pier, wondering how badly Frank was hurt. He was greatly relieved when his brother made a convulsive movement and began to struggle and thrash about.

âItâs okay. Take it easy,â Joe muttered.

Two longshoremen, having seen Frankâs mishap, had rushed to the edge of the dock. They reached down and hoisted the two boys out of the murky water. The men carried Frank to a small office inside the loading shed. Joe followed, breathless and frightened.

âGet a doctor!â the taller of the two longshoremen called out.

But the other acted instantly and started giving Frank first aid. Presently the boy opened his eyes and looked around dully.

âThank goodness you came to,â said Joe.

âHe wouldnât have if it hadnât been for you,â said the tall longshoreman. âI saw the whole thing. Heâd have drowned if you hadnât pulled him out.â

Frank weakly smiled his thanks. âWeâd better ... go... home,â he murmured.

He was carried to the convertible and Joe took the wheel. The men offered to go along, but Joe declined their assistance, saying he was sure that his brother would be all right.

At the Hardy house there was great consternation when the boysâ mother and Aunt Gertrude saw Joe helping Frank up the stairs. They scurried about, talking, advising, and getting Frank to bed as fast as possible.

âIâm okay now,â he insisted. âJust got a whale of a headache. Thatâs all.â

When the two women finally left the room, he said to Joe, who had showered and changed his clothes, âListen. I think I was struck on purpose by that boom.â

âReally?â

âYes. I saw that guy who tried to get us off the Hawk motioning to someone on the dock. Iâll bet he was signaling for him to swing the boom so it would hit us. But he wonât get away with it!â

âYou bet he wonât!â Joe said grimly. He started downstairs.

âDonât go alone!âFrank called after him.

Before Joe had time to think about it, the front doorbell rang and he answered. Biff Hooper, a schoolmate and good friend of the Hardys, walked in. He was a blond six-footer and had muscles like steel.

âHi!â Joe called. âYouâre just the guy Iâm looking for. I need a bodyguard. Want to give a big tough guy a good sock?â

âSince when have you stopped doing that yourself?â Biff grinned as the two boys went out the door. On the way to the dock Joe explained what had happened.

Although he had superior strength, Biff Hooper never picked fights, and by the time they had reached the Hawk he had almost convinced Joe that the whole affair might have been an unavoidable accident. âThereâs no point in starting trouble,â Biff advised.

âJust the same, Iâm going aboard,â declared Joe, âand finish what I started to do, namely see the captain.â

The two mounted the ladder. This time no loading was going on. The sailor the Hardys had encountered before was not in sight. Two of the crew lounged on deck, and one man rose as the boys approached.

âWhat do you want?â he asked.

âTo see your captain,â Joe replied.

âWhat about?â

âIâll talk to him.â

âYou will, eh? Not if you donât find him. And I say you wonât.â

âDonât bully me!â Joe said fiercely and Biff cocked his right fist in anticipation. A fight might have started if the captain himself had not appeared. Skipper Sharp lived up to his name. He was a tall, narrow-jawed, thin-featured man with piercing eyes.

âWhatâs the matter?â he boomed, striding forward.

âIâm trying to book passage on a freighter for three people,â Joe explained.

âYouâre on the wrong ship. Canât accommodate you,â the captain replied shortly.

âYou donât carry passengers?â

âWe used to. But not any more. It didnât work out. Thereâs no point in discussing it.â

âWeâre willing to pay wellââ Joeâs attempt to continue the conversation was cut off.

âNo passengers at any price. Get lost!â

Disappointed, Joe started down the shipâs ladder. Biff followed.

As they left the dock, Biff expressed his indignation at their rude reception. âI donât see why the captain had to act like a jerk,â he said. âYouâd think we were a couple of criminals.â Then he brightened. âSay, Joe, I know where you can book passage!â

âWhere?â

âAt Klackâs Agency. Itâs not far from here. Next block.â

He led the way to a dingy-looking establishment with several blackboards in the window. On them were chalked such legends as Cook Wanted, Fireman (First Class) for S.A., Cruise and Stokers Wanted.

âA lot of freighter crews are signed up here,â Biff explained. âIâve heard they book passengers as a sideline.â

Mr. Klack was out. But a stringy-haired blond girl inquired languidly what the boys wanted.

âCan you fix me up with freighter passage for three?â Joe asked.

The girl shook her head. âThere are no ships in portânone takinâ passengers, that is. Give me the names, and if somethinâ turns up, Iâll let you know.â

Joe wrote down their names and addresses and thanked the girl. Joe drove Biff home, then returned to the Hardy house.

Aunt Gertrude had gone to the express office to press her complaint, and Frank had fallen asleep. Joe was telling his mother about the second visit to the Hawk when the telephone rang. It was Aunt Gertrude.

âJoe!â she called loudly. âCome down here right away. Quick!â

âBut where are you, Aunty?â

âWhy, at the express office, of course! Thereâs a chance to solve the mystery. Hurry!â

âIâll be right down,â Joe promised. He hung up and turned to his mother, âAuntyâs on to something big. See you later.â

Seconds later, he was on his way. When he drove up in front of the express company, Aunt Gertrude ran out, pointing to a truck about to pull away from the curb. It was loaded with trunks, bags, and boxes.

âFollow him, Joe!â Miss Hardy commanded, jumping into the car beside her nephew and slamming the door shut.

âWhy? Whatâs the rush?â

âYou want to find out whatâs going on, donât you?â

âSure.â

âThen get going.â

Joe accelerated as his aunt snapped the safety-belt buckle. âYou mean the expressman is going to lead us to your missing carton?â he asked.

Miss Hardy snorted, then assumed an attitude of patient tolerance. âNo. Thereâs no word about my carton. Now keep following him.â

âLook, Iâm sort of confused,â Joe said, being careful not to tailgate the truck. âWhatâs this all about?â

After giving Joe a few pointers on road safety, Aunt Gertrude said, âThis morning a box that looks like mine and also like that other one with the raw wool arrived at the express office.â

âOh,â said Joe. âAnd itâs being delivered somewhere. You think that maybe James Johnson will be there to receive it?â

âYour brainâs working now,â Aunt Gertrude said. âThe cartonâs marked for a Mrs. Harrison. The truckâs going there after making a few other deliveries. So I thought it wouldnât hurt to investigate.â

âGood idea,â Joe agreed. âBy the way, Johnson never called for his carton, did he?â

âI forgot to ask.â

The expressman was the same One who had made the initial mistake. Joe was eager to reach the Harrison place, but the driver seemed to be in no hurry.

He delivered big parcels and little parcels, large boxes and small boxes to various parts of town. Finally, with only the carton left, he headed for the outskirts of Bayport. Joe followed doggedly.

At length the truck came to a stop in front of a handsome, modern home on a street with scattered houses. The driver unloaded the carton and carried it to the front steps.

âNow go see, Joe. Hurry!â his aunt urged.

Joe was out of the car and at the heels of the man as he rang the bell.

A gray-haired woman opened the door and looked sharply at them.

âMrs. Harrison?â asked the driver, setting the carton in the hall.

âYes.â

âSign here, please,â he said, handing her a pencil and pointing out a blank space on his pad.

Joe half expected the signature to be in the same handwriting as that of Johnson, and the signer to be masquerading as a woman. But he was wrong. The womanâs writing seemed definitely feminine, as was her voice.

âIs Mr. Harrison home?â Joe inquired.

âMr. Harrison? Whyâerâno,â she replied haltingly.

âThis is his carton, isnât it?â Joe went on, still clinging to a hope that his errand was not in vain.

âWhat is this?â Mrs. Harrison snapped. âA teen-age quiz program?â She slammed the door.

The expressman grinned. âFoolâs errand for you, eh?â he said to Joe as they returned to the street.

âIâm afraid so,â Joe replied ruefully and got back into the convertible.

When she heard the story Aunt Gertrude was convinced that the transaction was not entirely aboveboard. âLadies donât slam doors in peopleâs faces,â she said, annoyed. âThose who do are afraid of something.â

Aunt Gertrude was so chagrined that she avoided mentioning the incident that evening. But the next morning she brought up the subject again and expressed her view about Mrs. Harnsonâs conduct. âI never saw such bad manners,â she exploded.

âWhich Mrs. Harrison is this?â asked Mrs. Hardy.

âOh, she lives on Mount Pleasant Drive,â replied Aunt Gertrude. âMrs. Robert Harrison. A very rude woman.â

âWhy, Gertrude!â Mrs. Hardy exclaimed, shocked. âI know Martha Harrison. Sheâs a lovely person. You mustnât say such things about her.â

âYou may think sheâs a lovely person, Laura, but judging from her actions yesterdayââ

âYesterday?â Mrs. Hardy repeated. âBut Martha Harrison is out of town!â

CHAPTER V

More Disappointment

âARE you sure?â Joe asked his mother excitedly.

âYes. Mrs. Harrison is attending a convention of womenâs clubs in Highburg. Thereâs no one home now because her husband is in Mexico.â

Joe dashed to the telephone and called the Harrison number. There was no answer.

âIâm going there!â he declared. âFrank, feel well enough to come?â

âSure do.â

Mrs. Hardyâs revelation had convinced Joe that there might well be something strange about the delivery of the box after all.

They drove over to Mount Pleasant Drive. Frank rang the bell. No answer. A boy who was riding a bicycle along the street said he was a neighbor, and volunteered the information that the Harrisons had closed their house a week before and would not be back until the end of the month.

Frank and Joe returned home.

âI knew it!â declared Aunt Gertrude. âI knew there was something suspicious about that woman the moment I heard she slammed the door in your face, Joe.â

âBut why would she be living in the Harrison house?â Mrs. Hardy asked, puzzled.

âI have a theory about that,â Fenton Hardy said. âSometimes burglars watch the social columns of the newspapers for names of people who are to be away. They learn when a house will be unoccupied, then rob it.â

âDo you think there were thieves in the Harrison home?â Mrs. Hardy cried.

The detective shrugged. âPerhaps. But not ordinary thieves. I suspect that some gang was using the Harrisonsâ home as a convenient address.â

âFor the delivery of cartons?â asked Frank.

âExactly. And they probably contain stolen goods. The gang may be moving valuable stuff from state to state, and by using other peopleâs names and addresses, they practically eliminate the risk of being traced.â

âWhat a racket!â Joe exclaimed.

âItâs not new. But it works,â Mr. Hardy said. âI suggest that you boys notify the express company. No doubt theyâll turn the matter over to the police.â

Now thoroughly engrossed in the case, Aunt Gertrude spoke up. âThe carton that came here had raw wool in it, Fenton. Thatâs not worth stealing, is it?â

The famous detective smiled at his sister. âNo, of course not. But something valuable might have been hidden in the wool.â

âLike what?â

âWeâll have to wait and see,â Mr. Hardy replied, looking directly at his sons.

In the meantime Mrs. Hardy had put in a long-distance call to Mrs. Harrison, who was shocked at the news. She had given no one permission to use her house and would return immediately to see if anything had been stolen.

The boys drove downtown once again and called at the express office. The manager, Mr. Nixon, was concerned and upset to hear that his firmâs services were probably being used to move stolen goods.

âNo one has claimed that carton addressed to Johnson,â he said. âIâm going to open it, and if youâre right, Iâll certainly tell Police Chief Collig about it. Come along.â

He led the way to a rear room. There was no carton in sight. All three searched the place, but in vain.

âFunny,â said Mr. Nixon, scratching his head. âIt couldnât have walked away!â

âIâm afraid it has been stolen,â said Frank. âThat man Johnson was taking no chances.â

âYouâll report it to the police?â Joe suggested.

The manager shook his head. âIâd rather not do that just now. There would be damaging publicity. How about you two taking the case? Iâve heard a good deal about your success as detectives.â

Frank and Joe hesitated. They did not know how they could accept in view of their trip with Mr. McClintock. Frank explained this to the manager.

âFair enough,â Nixon replied. âBut why not work on it until you leave on your trip? If it hasnât been cleared up by the time you go, Iâll turn it over to the police.â

âAll right,â said Frank. âWeâll do what we can.Â»

When the Hardys came out of the express office building, they were surprised to see Mr. McClintock.

âYour aunt told me you were here,â he explained. âIâve been thinking about that freighter proposition you suggested. Doesnât sound too bad. But I donât know a thing about freighters. Do you suppose I could see one?â

âThereâs one in port now,â said Frank. âItâs called the Hawk. We canât book passage on it, but at least youâll see what a big freighter is like.â

Mr. McClintock climbed into the car. When they reached the waterfront, the Hawk was much lower in the water, though not loaded to capacity yet. A large sign said, Positively No Visitors. It was easy, however, to study the details of the ship from the dockside.

Mr. McClintock was pleasantly surprised. âMight be all right to travel on a ship like that,â he agreed. âIâll let you know.â

âWhy not come up to our house to dinner tonight?â Joe said. âWeâll have more information by then. I left our names at an agency.â

âNever eat much at night,â said Mr. McClintock. âDonât go out to dinner at peopleâs houses because they always expect me to sit around for a couple of hours afterward and it keeps me up long past my bedtime. Now if you want to make that lunchââ

âLunch it is.â Frank laughed. âLet me call the house and tell Mother youâre coming,â

Mr. McClintock apparently enjoyed himself immensely at the meal. To the amazement of the boys, he and Aunt Gertrude took an immediate liking to each other. They chatted gaily about times past and present, even voicing approval of at least part of the new generation.

âOf course, my two nephews are unusual,â Aunt Gertrude remarked.

âQuite so,â Mr. McClintock agreed.

The two shook hands warmly when their guest departed, and early that evening Mr. McClintock telephoned, to say that he had made up his mind. He wanted to leave on a freighter trip right away. In fact, he had already picked his ship.

âThe one we saw at the dock looks all right to me. Book passage on it at once and weâll sail as soon as itâs ready.â

Vainly Frank tried to explain that the Hawkâs captain had already refused them passage.

âTry them again. Offer double fare. Thatâll bring him around. I want to go on that boat!â

To please him, Frank telephoned Klackâs Agency. Klack himself answered the call.

âNo passengers,â he said. âYou couldnât go on the Hawk now anyway. She sailed a few minutes ago.â

That, apparently, settled it. But the Hardy boys had not reckoned with a very persistent streak in Mr. McClintock.

âI want to take a trip on that boat and Iâm going to,â he announced when Frank reported to him over the telephone.

âBut how?â Frank asked. âSheâs gone!â

âWe can find a fast motorboat and catch her,â came the reply. âDonât you know where to get one?â

âWe own a motorboat,â Frank said. âIt can go a good deal faster than a freighter and we might overtake the Hawk all right, butââ

âThen what are we waiting for? Throw some clothes in a suitcase. Iâll call for you in a taxi in ten minutes.â

âBut weâll have to find somebody to bring our boat back,â Frank protested.

âThatâs your business,â replied their client and hung up.

Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude helped the boys pack, while Joe telephoned to several of their friends. Finally he reached Tony Prito, who was willing to go along and bring back their boat, the Sleuth, if the Hardys could get on the Hawk.

Mr. McClintock was at the Hardy house on time, and ten minutes later the Sleuth was nosing its way out of the boathouse and roaring off into the twilight.

âWhen this Captain Sharp sees weâre determined to go with him, heâll change his mind,â predicted Mr. McClintock.

Even though the Hawk had a good start, the Hardys knew that their boat would be able to overtake the freighter. The regular steamer channel was clearly marked by buoys, and as the Sleuth ate up the miles Frank and Joe were confident it would be only a matter of minutes before they would see the lights of the big ship ahead.

But they sped on and on, peering into the gloom.

âThought you said this boat of yours was a speedy one,â gibed McClintock. âCanât you catch up to a slow steamer?â

âThere isnât a faster motorboat on Barmet Bay,â spoke up Tony, quick to defend his friendsâ craft.

The moon rose, flooding the water with light. They could see to the mouth of the bay. The Hawk was not in sight.

âSheâs faster than I thought,â said Frank. He put his boat to the limit of her power and they came out into the open sea. Nothing but water. No moving lights indicated the presence of any ship.

Frank swung the wheel. The Sleuth turned.

âGiving up?â demanded McClintock.

âNot entirely,â Frank replied. âWeâll go back to Bayport and find out the Hawkâs first port of call. If itâs not far away, we can go there by car and board the ship.â

McClintock grumbled a little, but he realized that there was no point in continuing the chase by sea. The Sleuth roared back to port. There the boys learned by phoning Klack at his home that the Hawk was to stop at Southport.

They took Mr. McClintock to his hotel, then drove home. Before they went to bed, Frank telephoned the harbor master in Southport. The reply to his question left him astonished and bewildered.

âThat freighter hasnât docked here,â the harbor master said. âWe arenât even expecting her!â

CHAPTER VI

The Morton Special

WHEN Frank and Joe reported to Mr. McClintock the next morning that the Hawk had vanished mysteriously, he went into a tirade. But by this time the boys had become used to his outbursts and scarcely heard him.

Instead, their thoughts turned to the strange happenings in connection with the ship. The threatening seaman, the swinging boom that had knocked Frank into the water, the unpleasant captain, and now a new route for the Hawk, evidently determined upon in a hurry.

ââso do something. And do it quick!â Mr. McClintock was saying. âI thought you were boys who got things done in a hurry!â

Frank gulped. âSorry. Well, weâll find another freighter.â

âIâll go and ask at Klackâs,â Joe offered. He hastened to the agencyâs office and told the man behind the counter about being on a waiting list for freighter passage for three. âWhat are the chances of getting passage?â Joe asked.

âPractically none at all.â

âWhat do you mean?â

âNot many ships take passengers, and most of âem are booked up.â

âWhen can I see Mr. Klack?â

âIâm Mr. Klack.â

âOh,â said Joe. âThanks for the information last night.â

âGlad to help you.â

âWell, you have our phone number,â Joe went on. âPlease let us know when you get reservations. The sooner the better.â

He returned to the hotel and reported the situation to Mr. McClintock and Frank. As usual, McClintock fussed like a baby without a pacifier until Joe motioned his brother aside.

âFrank, I donât like that man Klack. I have a feeling he wouldnât give us reservations if he had any.â

âBut why?â

Joe shrugged. âIâm going to make an investigation of my own. Stay here a few minutes to soothe our client. Iâll meet you at home.â

Joe headed directly for the docks. A freighter which had come in at seven oâclock, he learned, usually carried six passengers. Hurrying to the captain, he asked if the Hardy party might take the outgoing trip.

âSorry, sonââsmiled the pleasant manââbut all space was reserved less than an hour ago.â As Joe groaned, the captain continued, âThe Klack Agency sold it. Theyâre right on the ball.â

Fire in his eyes, Joe hurried back to Klackâs. Only the girl clerk was there. The boy demanded to know why passage had not been given to him.

âI get my orders from Mr. Klack, not you,â she replied sourly, and began to pound a typewriter.

Angry and mystified, Joe returned home. When Frank heard the disturbing news, he said, âSomething queer about it all. Iâm beginning to think that somebody doesnât want us to sail on a freighter.â

âWhatâll we do now?â Joe asked. âMr. McClintock will be calling up hereââ

âAnd wonât find us.â Frank grinned. âWeâre going out to Chetâs. He phoned that he needs our help badly. Heâs pretty sore at us.â

âWe have neglected him,â Joe agreed. âWonder how much of his forty-five dollars heâs earned?â

âHe hasnât started his fly-tying business yet.â

The Hardys found Chet sitting on the back porch of the Morton farmhouse, surrounded by a vast assortment of tools and equipment for tying flies. He looked important and busy.

âQuite a layout, Chet,â Frank said as he sat down on the steps.

âLooks as if youâre working real hard,â Joe commented with a dash of sarcasm as he sat down, But instantly he jumped up with a yelp and detached a small hook from the seat of his pants.

âNot a bad catch,â Chet remarked. âGot a big mouth Hardy bass on the first cast!â

âOkay, you win that time,â Joe said sheepishly.

Frank chuckled. âLet us in on the project, Chet.â

âMaking a trout fly looks simple,â Chet said, âbut itâs really pretty complicated.â He had a large book propped up against the leg of a chair which he consulted every few seconds.

Then Chet picked up a size sixteen hook. âIâm trying a Quill Gordon just now. Letâs seeâblack hackle and yellow mallard wings.â

âIs this your first fly?â asked Joe.

âIâve made two so far. Hereâs oneâ Chet reached into a tin box and picked up a weird-looking thing.

The Hardys examined the creation dubiously. It was like no fly they had ever seen before. One wing was bigger than the other, and the hook was completely engulfed in a tangle of furs and feathers.

âLooks scary,â Frank remarked. âWhat is it?â

âActually,â Chet confessed, âI started out to tie a Royal Coachman, but didnât have any peacock feathers, so I decided to turn it into a Grizzly King, but it came out different from what I expected. So I call it a Morton Special.â

Frank chuckled, âItâs original, at any rate.â

âMaybe you could do better.â Chet thrust pliers and scissors toward his friend. âThereâs the instruction book. Go ahead!â

The Hardys recognized the maneuver. Whenever Chet began a project, some innocent bystander usually completed it for him. However, they were interested in the fly-tying, so they studied the instructions and settled down to the job.

After Frank and Joe had assembled a large assortment of flies and had lunched at the farm, Joe was eager to go back and work on the freighter reservations.

They said good-by to their chum and drove to Bayport. At the outskirts of town they noticed a familiar figure getting out of a police car.

âPatrolman Con Riley,â Joe said with a grin.

Frank brought the car to a stop. âYouâre a long way from headquarters,â he called out to the officer. âWhatâs up?â

âIâm on a case, Frank.â

âWhatâs the trouble? Has somebody been helping himself to an empty house again?â

âExactly. A burglary.â

âMind if we come with you?â

Joe jumped up with a yelp

âNot at all. Maybe you masterminds can solve the case for me!â

The boys joined the policeman as he walked up to a white-and-green frame house.

The name UPDYKE was on the mailbox. Riley rang the doorbell.

Mrs. Updyke, middle-aged and pleasant, invited them into the living room.

âThis case isnât as serious as I thought when I telephoned headquarters,â she told them. âYou see, Iâve been away from home for the past three weeksââ

âAnd something was stolen!â Riley put in,

âNo. Thatâs just it. Nothing was stolen.â

âNow wait a minute,â Riley said, astonished. âIâm here to investigate a burglary.â

Frank ventured a question. âWhat actually happened? Did some stranger occupy the house while you were away?â

âYes. I found that one of the beds had been slept in, and some of the kitchen dishes had been used.â

âIndicating,â suggested Frank, âthat the person was here for several hours at least.â To himself he added, âWaiting for the express company to deliver a carton, probably.â Aloud he asked, âMay I use your phone, Mrs. Updyke?â

âGo right ahead.â

Frank called the express office. He was not surprised to hear that a carton had been delivered to the Updyke house, but was amazed to learn that it had arrived there two weeks ago.

âNo telling how long this funny business has been going on,â he thought.

As he was reporting his findings to the others, Mrs. Updyke suddenly gasped and pointed. âThe documentsâtheyâre gone!â

On the wall the boys saw two rectangular places where the wallpaper was not faded like the rest around it. The missing articles must have hung there.

âDo you think they were stolen?â Frank asked. Instantly he thought of the case his father was working on.

âThey were hanging there when I left home,â Mrs. Updyke replied.

Riley got out his report book and began writing. The woman said that the rare documents were insured, but that she hated to lose them. One was a letter written by Abraham Lincoln, the other a military order issued during the American Revolution.

As soon as the Hardys had heard of the papers, they left the house. Riley stayed on to look for clues.

The boys drove home, eager to report this new development to their father. Fenton Hardy listened attentively.

When they finished, he said, âFrom what you have told me, I think that the theft of the documents was committed by the person who received the carton. Iâd like to talk to Mrs. Updyke.â

Officer Riley was gone when the boys returned with their father. The policeman had found nothing of importance.

Fenton Hardy wasted no time. He asked Mrs. Updyke a few questions, inspected the living room, then a kitchen closet where she kept paper and string. On the floor lay a short piece of heavy cord, tied in a knot at one end. Mr. Hardy picked it up.

âI figured the thief wouldnât walk out of here with the framed documents unwrapped,â the detective said. âThey would be too conspicuous. This is the unused part of the cord he tied them with.â He turned to his sons. âWhat does it tell you?â he asked.

âIt isnât the sort of knot people usually tie,â Joe observed.

âItâs a stevedoreâs knot!â Frank said.

Joe thought they ought to look for the seaman with the scar. âHe certainly acted suspiciously. Iâll bet if we could lay our hands on him, weâd be able to clear the whole thing up!â

âAnd maybe find Aunt Gertrudeâs papers,â Frank added. âSay, how about using that copy of Johnsonâs signature we got from the expressman and see if anyone down at the waterfront recognizes it?â

âGood idea. But drop me off at the house first,â Mr. Hardy said.

After parking the car near the docks, they made a tour of employment offices and waterfront hotels, keeping their eyes open for the suspect. They showed the signature at each place. But no one recognized either the name or the handwriting.

âIf heâs a longshoreman he may be working around the freighter that came in about an hour ago,â one clerk suggested. âItâs the Annie J down at Pier Ten.â

Frank and Joe hurried to the pier and looked closely at the stevedores working there. The scar-faced man was not among them.

âI wonder if this freighter carries passengers,â Joe remarked. âMaybe we can arrange something for Mr. McClintock.â

Frank turned to one of the men and asked if the Annie J had passenger accommodations.

âDunno,â grunted the fellow. âAsk one of the crew. Hey, you up there!â he called out.

High above them, a man came out on the deck.

âThese boys want to talk to you!â the stevedore shouted.

The moment the Hardys saw the crewmanâs face, they recognized the scarred man. Johnson!

He knew them instantly, too, wheeled around and disappeared.

âCome on, Frank! The ladder!â Joe scrambled up and over the side of the shipâs rail, with Frank at his heels, just in time to see Johnson leap over a stack of hatch covers and race toward the foâcâsle.

Rushing in pursuit, Frank tripped over a coil of rope and sprawled on the slippery deck. He cried out, and Joe looked around just in time to dodge out of the way of a huge steel hook that came swinging at the end of a boom cable.

Frank scrambled to his feet. âCut across the other side of the ship,â he shouted. âIâll look for him in the foâcâsle.â

Joe, meanwhile, had seen their quarry disappear through a doorway. He yanked it open and stepped inside, finding himself in a narrow passage opening into a galley. Halfway along the passage a flight of steel steps led down to the sleeping quarters.

Joe listened. He thought he heard hurried footsteps below. As he started to descend, someone lunged at him from above and knocked him off balance. He fell forward, crashing heavily to the steel floor at the foot of the stairs.

Joe saw a million bright stars. Then they went out.

CHAPTER VII

A Weird Tale

THE shock of cold water splashing on Joeâs face brought him back to consciousness. He heard a voice saying, âThatâs enough. Heâs coming around now.â

Joe opened his eyes. Two men crouched beside him. One, a sailor in dungarees and jersey, knelt by a bucket of water. The other, lean, sharp-eyed and gray-haired, was evidently the captain of the ship.

âFeeling better?â the captain asked. âI was getting worried about you, young fellow.â

Joe sat up and rubbed his head.

âMy brother came on board with me. Have you seen him?â he asked.

âHe went chasing some fellow down the ladder a little while ago. Whatâs it all about?â

The men helped him to his feet. âIâm sorry, Captainââ

âDryden is the name.â

âSorry we made such a commotion, Captain Dryden, but weâve been trying to catch that man. When we saw him on deckââ

âWhy were you after him?â asked the officer, puzzled. He dismissed the subject of the seaman and helped Joe us the companionway to the deck. At that moment Frank appeared.

âLost him again,â he grumbled. âThat guy is as slippery asâWhy, Joe, whatâs the matter?â he asked, noticing how white and unsteady his brother was.

âSomebody shoved me down a stairway.â

âCome into my cabin,â suggested Captain Dryden. âAnd explain to me whatâs going on.â

He was cordial and solicitous as he ushered them into his own quarters and the three seated themselves.

âFirst of all, what are your names?â he asked.

âIâm Frank Hardy, sir, and this is my brother Joe.â

The manâs friendly smile immediately disappeared. He looked stern and suspicious.

âHardy!â he cried. âWhat right do you have barging onto my ship like this?â

The Hardys were dumbfounded at his change in attitude.

âNow get out of here!â he ordered.

âMay I ask you a question first, sir?â Frank spoke up.

âDepends on the question.â

âUntil you heard our names you were very cordial. Now thereâs a difference. Why?â

The officer had not expected anything so flat and direct. He cleared his throat and grunted. Finally he said:

âYour name does make a difference. Iâve already been warned against you.â

âWhat?â

âA detective came on board as soon as we docked. Sent by a friend of mine. Told me you boys probably would show up here trying to book passage, but not to let you aboard because youâd only make trouble.â

âHow did you know he was a detective?â Frank asked, suspicious.

âHe showed me his badge. Said he dressed like a seaman because of his work on ships.â Captain Dryden studied the boys for a moment. When he continued, some of the coldness was gone from his voice. âNow that Iâve met you, I wonder if all he told me is true.â

âWhat did he ten you?â

âBefore I answer, Iâd like to know if youâve ever heard of me before.â

âNo, sir,â answered the boys in unison.

The captain started to speak, stopped, then said, âI think youâre telling the truth. Well, last year I got into a little mix-up in a foreign port. It wasnât my fault and I thought the whole thing had blown over. This detective told me you had been hired to dig up new evidence and that, if I was wise, Iâd keep you off my ship.â

âEvery wordâs a lie!â Frank declared angrily. âWhat did this so-called detective look like?â

Captain Drydenâs description fitted the man with the scar.

âHeâs the fellow weâre trying to find,â the boy exclaimed. âThe one I was chasing! Iâm sure heâs not a detective!â

âMore likely a crook,â added Joe. âAnd Iâll bet heâs the one who knocked me down the stairs!â

Frank asked, âDo you still feel that you wouldnât want us on board?â

The captain laughed. âNot at all. Iâd be glad to have you as passengers, but I doubt that this voyage would interest you. Itâs just a short run down the coast and back.â

âWill you consider us for a longer trip later?â

âIf you like. But I wonât be taking one for the next three months.â

The boysâ faces showed their disappointment. They thanked the skipper and rose to leave. As Captain Dryden escorted them to the shipâs ladder, he promised to keep a lookout for the bogus detective and said he would let the Hardys know at once if he showed up again.

When they returned home Mrs. Hardy reported that Mr. McClintock had telephoned several times. âI think heâs getting impatient,â she remarked.

Frank called him immediately. Mr. McClintock was more than impatient. He was angry and querulous.

âHow long have I got to wait before you find a ship?â he demanded. âI want action, not promises. If you canât locate one by tomorrow, Iâll call the whole thing off!â

Aunt Gertrude, who had been hovering near the telephone, gave Frank a nudge.

âAsk him to dinner,â she whispered. âThatâll cool him off.â

Frank took the cue. The invitation did have a surprisingly soothing effect. After grumbling that he would not come unless they got him back to the hotel by nine oâclock, Mr. McClintock accepted.

All smiles, Aunt Gertrude hurried to the kitchen. She was an excellent cook and this time did herself proud. When their guest showed up at six oâclock, he sniffed appreciatively at the tantalizing culinary aroma.

âNothing like a well-cooked meal,â he said.

âI quite agree with you, sir,â said a voice from the doorway, and Chet Morton walked in.

He introduced himself, saying that he had heard Mr. McClintock was there and wanted to meet him. Frank and Joe were fearful that Chet might bring up the subject of the bamboo fishing rod and annoy their guest. So Frank said quickly, âHow about joining us for dinner, Chet? Aunt Gertrude has something special. Iâll show you.â

He escorted his buddy to the kitchen and warned him that Mr. McClintock was jittery and should not be disturbed by being asked to purchase anything. Chet nodded. A few minutes later the family, except Mr. Hardy, who was away, sat down to dinner with their guests.

The irrepressible Chet chattered first about food, then fly fishing. He was so amusing that he won Mr. McClintockâs admiration in short order.

âI like a boy who relishes his meals,â declared McClintock, âand also is interested in fishing.â

Chet gave his pals a sidewise glance, and steered the conversation around to the subject of fly tying.

âYou tie your own?â Mr. McClintock inquired, a gleam of enthusiasm in his eyes.

âYes, indeed,â replied Chet. âIâve just gone into the business of making the most beautiful lures imaginableâall by handâthe expert way!â

Frank nearly choked on a forkful of salad.

âWhy, this is great,â declared Mr. McClintock. âIâve tied hundreds of flies in my time. Used to be one of my favorite hobbies. You must let me visit your shop.â

âSh-shop?â Chet said weakly, and Frank quickly got him off the hook by changing the subject.

âHave you done any trout fishing lately, Mr, McClintock?â

âNo,â the man replied, putting down his fork and smiling at Aunt Gertrude. âLost interest in it. Deep-sea fishing is the thing. More thrills. Better sport. Isnât that right, Miss Hardy?â

âOh, yes, yes. Of course. Bigger fish, too.â

Suddenly their guest looked up, his face wreathed in delight. He snapped his fingers with excitement. âWhy, thatâs it! Why didnât I think of this before? Iâll take a deep-sea fishing trip!â He leaned toward Chet. âDo you think you could find a fishing boat and a captain who would take us?â

Frank and Joe were upset. Was he going to give up the freighter idea? Were they going to lose out on the trip? His next remark relieved their minds somewhat.

âFrank and Joe here have been trying to arrange a freighter voyage, but they canât get accommodations. So it may be weeks before we go. In the meantime, weâll do some fishing. Iâll pay all expenses. Arrange such a trip for me, Chet.â

âIâll try, sir,â Chet promised.

During the rest of the dinner he and Mr. McClintock discussed deep-sea fishing. Chet talked so knowledgeably about marlin, swordfish, and tuna that Frank and Joe knew he must have read up on the subject very recently.

But after the three boys had taken Mr. McClintock to his hotel and were driving home, Chet suddenly gave a deep sigh. âHoly crow, fellows! That was a tough evening on me. What am I going to do?â

âThatâs easy,â Joe said. âHire the boat and make a giant fly to catch whales!â

Chet groaned. âListen, you two. Youâve got to help me!â

âWell, if you insist,â Joe said, grinning.

The next morning found the Hardys at a wharf talking to a grizzled veteran of the coast named Captain Andy Harkness. He owned several fishing boats.

âA trip? Sure,â he said when they told of Mr. McClintockâs request. âIâll take you and your man anywhere you like, so long as you donât ask me to cruise off the Barmet Shoals.â

âWhatâs wrong with the shoals, Captain?â Frank inquired. âYouâre not afraid of them, are you?â

âNot me. But I got a terrible fright there last evening and I donât want to go near the place again.â

The boys were curious. Captain Harkness was not the sort of man who scared easily. They asked him what had happened.

âDonât know if I ought to tell you,â the fisherman grumbled. âMost likely you wonât believe a word of it, but itâs true just the same.â

âTry us,â Frank said.

âSome time after sundown,â the captain began, âwith a high sea running, I got off my course a bit. Suddenly I spotted a freighter to my starboard side. I could see we were on collision course, so I threw the helm over hard, but I couldnât hold my boat against the rough water. I knew I was going to hit the freighter but there wasnât a thing I could do.â

âSo she rammed you?â asked Joe.

Captain Harkness wagged his head. âShe did and she didnât. Iâd say I ran right through her! Thatâs the part you wonât believe, but itâs as true as my name is Andy Harkness. By rights I shouldnât be alive now to tell the tale.â

âYou ran through the freighter?â Frank gasped.

âThatâs the way it seemed. One minute sheâs looming up ahead of me big as a mountain, all her lights on, the next minute sheâs not there at all and my boat is swinging northward off the shoals.â

âAnd where was the freighter?â Joe queried.

âI tell you, she wasnât in sight!â

âWhat do you mean?â Frank said. âWhere could she have gone?â

The captain gave a convulsive shrug, as if the recollection frightened him. âShe was a phantom freighter!â he vowed.

Frank and Joe asked him several other questions, but he stuck to his story.

âDid you see any name on the ship?â asked Frank.

âYep! Caught a glimpse of her name up on her bow. The Falcon, she was called. Never heard of her before. But sheâs a phantom freighter, thatâs what she is, boys, a phantom freighter!â

CHAPTER VIII

Missing Letters

âGOOD thing Captain Harkness noticed the name of the phantom freighter,â said Fenton Hardy after his sons had related the strange story. âIt gives us a clue to work on, at any rate.â

He went to a bookshelf. Taking down a thick volume, he thumbed through the pages.

âRegistry of Shipping,â he said, scanning a column. âIf there is such a ship as the Falcon it should be listed hereâand itâs not.â

âIsnât there a chance this phantom ship is registered under another name?â asked Frank.

âPossibly. But I wonder if the whole thing wasnât a hallucination of Captain Harkness.â

As the boys left their fatherâs study they encountered Aunt Gertrude in the hall. She began to fuss again because the carton containing her valuable papers had not been recovered.

âWith three detectives in the family, a little thing like this shouldnât be much of a problem!â she said.

âWeâve been working on it, Aunty,â Joe said, though he had to admit their leads had come to little.

âThe carton was probably in that barn all the time,â Miss Hardy went on. âDid you look through the debris after the fire?â

âThere didnât seem to be much point in grubbing through the ruins,â Frank said. âAny papers would have been burned to ashes.â

âMilitary medals wouldnât,â replied his aunt. âThere were a couple of old citations among the papers. Iâd like to know what happened to that carton one way or another.â

Since Frank and Joe had some spare time while waiting for Captain Harkness to arrange the fishing trip, they drove out to the Phillips house. Permission to search the ruins of the barn was granted, and for the next hour they poked through the debris. Their hands were black with soot and their shirts covered with ashes. Weary of the messy task, they were about to give up the hunt as hopeless when Joe picked up a small object near the front foundation.

âLooks like a penny with a hole in it,â he said and cleaned off the metal. He held it to the light. The inscription was now legible. Good Luck!

âIâve seen medals like this in the stores down at the docks,â remarked Frank. âMany sailors wear them.â

The boys returned to the house and asked Mrs. Phillips if she knew anything about the medal. She said it did not belong to them. Joe then telephoned Aunt Gertrude, who declared that the medal had not been among her possessions.

Frank put the medal in his pocket and the boys left. On the way to town Frank said, âIt must belong to our friend with the scar.â

âWho else?â Joe agreed.

They had nearly reached Bayport when a familiar jalopy which sounded more like a helicopter than a car overtook them and pulled alongside. Chet Morton was at the wheel. Biff Hooper sat beside him.

âHi!â Chet said. âWe want you to go out in the Sleuth. Got something to show you!â

The Hardys followed, wondering what was up. When they reached the boathouse they learned that Chet wanted to go fishing.

âNot just for the sake of fishing, mind you,â he explained hastily. âItâs a scientific experiment for our trip. Iâve invented a new fish lure. If it works Iâll make a fortune. Look!â

From a cardboard box he produced a weird-looking gadget made of tin and strips of aluminum, barbed with hooks.

âI canât imagine any fish going for that!â said Frank. âWhat is it?â

âA mechanical herring. Commercial fishermen wonât have to use real herring for bait any more. One of my mechanical ones will last a lifetime. Iâll sell so many Iâll make forty-five dollars like that.â He snapped his fingers. âCome on. Iâll show you how it works.â

They climbed aboard the Sleuth. In a few minutes the trim little craft was about a quarter of a mile out in the bay. Chet attached his mechanical herring to a length of heavy line. Then he doused it with a foul-smelling fluid which he poured from a bottle.

Joe sniffed. âWow! Whatâs that?â

âHerring oil,â Chet explained. âA mechanical herring should smell like a herring, shouldnât it?â

âI thought fish couldnât smell,â Biff said.

âThey do when theyâve been left out in the sun too long,â Joe quipped.

Chet carefully lowered his creation into the water and payed out the line. Frank throttled down the engine to trolling speed, and they cruised out into the bay.

âThe whole secret of this lure,â Chet explained, âisâWow! Iâve got a bite!â

The others stared incredulously at their chum, who began hauling in the line. He finally landed a small sea bass with a shout of triumph.

âI knew it would work,â Chet declared proudly. âJust wait until I put that thing on the market. Iâll sell thousands. Iâllââ

âLook!â Joe said suddenly.

His attention had been attracted by a fast motorboat running offshore. It was speeding crazily from side to side as if out of control. Two men in the craft were fighting violently.

Frank snatched up a pair of binoculars. Through the glasses he saw that the men were apparently battling for possession of a large carton. One of them stumbled back with it in his arms. As the other leaped toward him he raised the box high in the air and hurled it overboard.

His opponent sprang at him, knocking him down with a savage blow to the jaw. Then he lurched to the wheel of the boat and swung the craft away from the rocky shore.

The men and their fight were of no great concern to the Hardys, but the carton was. Could it possibly have some connection with their case? they wondered.

Frank headed for the spot where the cardboard container was bobbing up and down in the water, and Biff and Joe hauled it aboard. The sodden carton, with no marks of identification, was torn open. Frank reached in and pulled out the contents. Nothing but tightly packed wool!

âWhy were those two fellows fighting over a box of raw wool?â Biff asked, puzzled.

âThatâs their business,â Chet said impatiently. âLetâs go out farther and try my herring again.â

The Hardys, however, were eager to take the carton home and examine it more carefully for possible clues. They were intrigued by the resemblance to the James Johnson box which had come to their house by mistake. Both young sleuths felt sure there was a link between the two!

In their garage Frank went over every inch of the outside of the box. âNot a mark anywhere,â he reported.

Joe, meanwhile, had pulled apart every bit of the compressed wool. There was no trace of anything secreted in the fluffy mass.

âOnly one more place to look,â said Frank and carefully examined the interior sides of the carton. âNothing here, either,â he added. âWhatever was packed in the wool must have fallen out, either before the guy threw the box into the water or after.â

The boys cleaned up the mess and went into the house, where they found that the mystery had taken a new and unexpected turn. Aunt Gertrude, looking grim, met them in the kitchen.

âMy papers!â she exclaimed in excitement. âSome of them have turned up. Your father just had a letter about them and wants you to take care of it. Look at this!â

Frank and Joe eagerly read the letter, which was postmarked Hopkinsville, several miles away, and had been mailed the previous day:

Dear Mr. Hardy:

I am a dealer in autographs and historical documents. Recently there came into my hands a number of letters in which you may be interested. They were written in 1812 by Admiral Hardy, one of your ancestors. If you would like to consider purchasing these letters, please get in touch with me.

Your sincerely,
Daniel J. Eaton

The boys gazed at their aunt in astonishment.

âWhere did he come across the letters?â Frank asked.

âThatâs what Iâm wondering!â declared Aunt Gertrude. âBecause those very letters were in my lost carton. The man has the impudence to try to sell us our own property!â

CHAPTER IX

Code Numbers

FRANK and Joe lost no time in getting to Hopkinsville and finding Daniel J. Eaton. He was a short, baldish man. His little store was wedged inconspicuously between an establishment featuring antique glass and one selling furniture.

Hopkinsville seemed to have many such places âstores dealing in stamps, coins, and rare books. An ideal spot to dispose of old documents!

âHere are the letters. Theyâre authentic, all right,â Mr. Eaton told the boys as they examined the Admiral Hardy letters.

âPlease tell us where you got these,â Frank requested.

âThey were sold to me by a Miss Elizabeth Hardy a few days ago,â the man replied. âShe said the letters had been in her possession for many years.â

âWould they be valuable to a museum or to a collector?â Joe asked.

Mr. Eaton shook his head. âNot really. To another member of the Hardy family, however, someone such as your fatherââ

âThen why didnât Miss Elizabeth Hardy offer to sell them to us, instead of you?â

Mr. Eaton had a ready reply. âShe explained about the family quarrel,â he said. âOh, donât worry, I wonât mention it to anyone. Miss Hardy assured me, though, that you would be eager to buy the letters. Said she was in financial difficulties. Otherwise she wouldnât have parted with the letters at all.â

âDoes this woman live in Hopkinsville?â asked Frank.

âNo. Said she came from out of town. Was only passing through. Gave her address as Post Office Box 499, Trenton, New Jersey. I had never seen her before,â replied the dealer. He cocked his head and looked sharply at his inquisitors. âBut why all these questions? Doesnât your father want the letters?â

âHe wants them, all right, but he doesnât want to buy them. They were stolen from my aunt several days ago.â

The boys told Mr. Eaton the whole story of the missing carton, said there had been no family quarrel and that the woman was a fraud.

âYou mean Iâm in possession of stolen prop. erty?â Mr. Eaton exclaimed.

âIâm afraid you are,â Frank replied.

Convinced that the Hardys were telling the truth, Mr. Eaton wrapped the letters quickly and handed them across the counter. âIâm no fence for any thieves,â he said. âTake the letters. Iâll suffer the loss.â

âWeâre sorry, Mr. Eaton,â Joe said, accepting the package.

âThe amount was not large,â the dealer went on. âIf I got gypped, itâs my own fault.â

The boys thanked him. Mr. Eaton said that while he had bought only the letters from the phony Miss Hardy, she had offered him a number of old books that also might have been in the carton.

âPerhaps she sold them elsewhere in town,â he suggested. âThere are some secondhand book-stores and antique shops on the next block. If you look around, you may recover the entire lot.â

Before the Hardys left the store they went toward the back to examine some old framed documents hanging on the wall. Mr. Eaton said he had bought them in the course of the previous week.

âQuite valuable,â he said. âIâm certain theyâre authentic.â

âThey look authentic,â Frank remarked. âWe can give you a tip, though, Mr. Eaton. Many faked documents are being put on the market. Theyâre so cleverly done itâs hard to tell theyâre frauds. If youâre offered any more documents, Iâd advise you to study the wording carefully. Thatâs where the forgers who make them slip up.â

âThanks,â Mr. Eaton said gratefully. He promised to send the Hardys the name and address of anybody offering him documents for sale.

Frank and Joe visited half a dozen other dealers. From a list Aunt Gertrude had supplied, they were able to identify several rare old books, autographed first editions, and a number of historical documents. All had been sold to the dealers within recent days by a gray-haired woman who claimed to belong to the Hardy family.

In every case her description tallied with that of the fake âMrs. Harrison,â though she had used various names.

âSheâs the one all right,â Joe declared. âNow this mystery is beginning to shape up. She and the man with the scar are in cahoots!â

At one shop the young detectives were sure they had uncovered a promising clue. Although the woman had sold Aunt Gertrudeâs family heirlooms to several dealers under the Trenton address, only one had insisted upon knowing where she was staying in Hopkinsville. To this man she had given her name as Mrs. Randall. Addressâthe Palace HoteL

The Hardys hastened over to the Palace, a small hotel about a block from the railroad station. There they found the lead was false. No one by that name had stayed there, nor could the clerk recall anyone answering the womanâs description.

Joe, thinking perhaps he could recognize her handwriting, looked through the register but found nothing suspicious. âWell,â he said, disappointed, as they emerged from the hotel, âthatâs that.â

âMaybe sheâs still in town,â Frank suggested.

Vainly the boys walked up one street and down another. Nowhere did they see the woman nor the man with the triangular scar.

As they were returning to their car, a familiar voice cried out, âWell, look whoâs here!â

The Hardys turned. Beaming at them, his mouth full of peanuts, stood Chet Morton. With him were two girlsâhis sister Iola and Callie Shaw.

The Hardys grinned because the girls were their special friends. Frank often dated Callie, while Iola was Joeâs favorite.

âHi!â Callie laughed. âSurprise!â

âIâll say,â declared Frank. âWhat are you doing in Hopkinsville?â

âWe followed you,â teased dark-haired, dimpled Iola. âChet called your house. When he heard you were here he decided to come, too.â

âIâm glad he did,â said Frank, smiling at blond Callie.

âJust a little business trip, really,â Chet remarked grandly. âIâve been calling on some of the storekeepers here. Got orders for a dozen mechanical herrings and some Morton Special flies. Now all I have to do is make the herrings, tie the flies, and deliver them.

He produced an order book and thumbed the pages with an air of importance, while Frank and Joe howled with laughter.

âItâs not funny!â said Chet. âIt means money. Now if you fellows would only help meââ

âHelp you?â cried Joe. âHow about that deep-sea fishing trip?â

âGuess youâre right.â Chet became silent.

âOh,â said Callie. âI have something to tell you. It may be important.â

âMighty important, Iâd say,â observed Chet. âSounds to me as if you fellows are playing with dynamite. Tell them about it, Callie.â

âI will if youâll give me a chance,â Callie said impatiently. âWhile Chet was parking the car, I went over to the railroad station, which was across the street. I had to call a friend of mine. The line was busy. While I was waiting, I heard a man talking in the next booth. I didnât pay any attention until he cried out, âThose boys are wise guys. Theyâve got to keep out of our business, or their old man wonât see âem for a long time.ââ

Callie took a deep breath.

âGo on,â Frank said.

âThen the man said, âYes, I mean the Hardys.â With that he dashed out of the booth and got on a train.â

âDid you know him?â Joe asked excitedly.

âNo.â

âWhat did he look like? Did he have a triangular scar on his face?â

Callie shook her head. âNot that I noticed.â

âDid he mention the name of the person he was talking to?â Frank asked.

âHe did at the beginning, but at that time I wasnât paying much attention. Iâve been trying to remember it. I keep thinking of the word âduckâ but it wasnât that.â

âSpeaking of ducks,â interrupted Chet, âI could go for some food right now. Itâs been a long time since Iâve eaten. Letâs try that restaurant over there across the street.â

While they were waiting for sandwiches and Cokes, Frank and Joe questioned Callie closely about the overheard conversation, but she could recall little more than what she had already told them.

âItâs silly of me to forget,â she said ruefully. âI know he mentioned the name of the person at the other end of the line.â

Chet put on his most sagacious expression. âThe best way to remember something,â he said, âis to forget about it. I mean, change the subject. Talk about something else. The freighter trip, for instance. You fellows had better book a fourth passage, by the way. Mr. McClintock says he wants me to go along. In fact, he insists on it.â

âWeâll have to find a freighter first,â Joe said, âand a big one at that!â

At that moment the waitress brought the food. Chet picked up his sandwich. As he opened his mouth, Callie suddenly cried out, âI know! Duck! Quack! Klack! Thatâs the name the man mentioned on the telephone!â

âGood girl, Callie!â Joe praised her, while Chet bit into his sandwich with a smug smile.

âSo Klackâs mixed up in this whole affair!â Frank said grimly. âI thought so!â

âYou know him?â Callie asked.

âWeâve had the pleasure,â Joe muttered, then told about their contact with Klack.

Frank decided to talk to the travel agent as soon as possible. When they had finished their snack, they took Chet and the girls back to the railroad station, where Chet had left his jalopy, and said good-by.

An hour later the Hardys stepped into Klackâs office.

âThe boss is out of town,â said the girl clerk.

âWhen do you expect him back?â Frank asked.

She shrugged. âA week, maybe.â

âHas he booked passage for us yet?â Joe inquired.

The girl shook her head.

âPardon me, boys,â said a familiar voice. A man stepped up to the desk. âHave you got my tickets, young lady? I telephoned yesterday. Nameâs Jennings.â The man smiled at the Hardys. âYou fellows taking a trip, too?â

Mr. Jennings taught ancient and modern history at Bayport High. As the girl riffled through a list of reservations he chatted pleasantly with Frank and Joe. He had long planned a freighter voyage down the coast for his summer vacation with his two sons, he said, and now he was ready to leave.

âHere you are, Mr. Jennings,â said the girl.

The boys gaped in surprise as he paid for the tickets and put them in his billfold.

âI suppose you made your reservations a long time ago, Mr. Jennings?â Frank asked politely.

âOh, no,â returned the teacher. âIt wasnât until yesterday that I knew I could get away at all. Very quick service.â

He strolled out of the office, leaving the Hardys staring after him in astonishment. Annoyed by the agencyâs unfair treatment, Frank demanded that the girl explain why they were unable to get on a ship while others could.

âYouâll have to ask Mr. Klack about that,â she replied.

The boys left. They were now completely convinced that there was a definite reason for their failure to get freighter passage and that Klack had something to do with it.

âI suggest we try an out-of-town agency,â Frank said.

âRight. Southport, for instance?â

âWhy not.â

The next afternoon they drove to Southport. The people working in the travel bureau there were a great deal more courteous than at Klackâs and the owner more cooperative. While Frank discussed their problem, Joe picked up a copy of the local newspaper lying on the counter and glanced at the shipping notes.

âWe havenât anything just now,â said the agent pleasantly, âbut Iâll get in touch with the Neptune Line. It may take half an hour or so.â

âGood,â said Frank. âWeâll come back.â

âHey, have a look at this,â Joe said, pointing to an item on the front page. It read:

UNINVITED VISITORS

When Mrs. W. C. Armstrong of Rushdale Road returned home yesterday from a vacation trip to Maine, she discovered that someone had broken into her house during her absence and had apparently lived there for several days.

As far as is known, nothing of value was taken, but the police are investigating.

A driver for the Southport Express Agency reports having delivered several cartons addressed to Mrs. Armstrong and says they were accepted by a woman claiming to be a relative. The boxes were not found in the house and Mrs. Armstrong claims she had not ordered anything delivered.

âSounds familiar, doesnât it?â said Joe.

âThe same old routine. Weâd better call on Mrs. Armstrong,â Frank agreed.

The woman, like Mrs. Updyke in Bayport, could tell the boys very little other than what the newspaper had reported. Beds had been slept in and kitchenware used, but nothing was missing.

âThe police have searched the house thoroughly,â she said, âbut my visitors didnât leave any clues. Unless you could call this a clue,â she added, taking a ragged slip of paper from the mantel. âI found it in a corner when I was dusting this morning.â

Frank and Joe examined the paper. Scribbled on it were some letters and numbers:

A23â151âC2âD576-A19395âM14

âCan you make anything of that?â she asked.

Frank shook his head. âIt could be a motor number, a safe combination, a lot of things. Do you mind if I copy these numbers?â

âNot at all!â

Frank took a notebook from his pocket. âYouâd better give this slip to the police,â he advised.

âYes. Iâll do that.â

After the boys had left the house, Joe said, âI believe itâs some kind of code.â

âLetâs memorize the numbers,â suggested Frank. âJust in case we should lose them.â

Both Hardys went over them several times until they were sure they would not forget them, then returned to the shipping agency.

âI got in touch with the Neptune Line,â the owner told them, âand got reservations for you. One of their freighters, the Crown of Neptune, will be leaving in two weeks.â

âCan we pick up the tickets now?â Joe asked.

âNot right away. Iâll have to wait for confirmation. Theyâll be ready in a day or so. I suggest that you get passports and vaccination certificates because the ship will be putting in at a couple of Central American ports.â

âFine,â said Frank. âWeâll take care of that.â

They drove back to Bayport, relieved that they would have good news for Mr. McClintock at last.

âTwo weeks, eh?â he said. âWell, thatâs not so bad. Meantime, weâll go fishing. Do you know if Chet had any luck yet?â

Frank suppressed a grin. âAs far as Iâve heard heâs talked to a Captain Harkness. The skipper told him heâd call him as soon as he has a free day.â

âGood.â

An hour later Frank, Joe, and Chet were at the docks to search again for the man with the scar. Unknown to the boys, a longshoreman followed them at a discreet distance. As they walked toward a truck being unloaded by a stevedore, the man tailing them signaled to the worker.

Instinctively Joe turned around and saw the fellowâs strange motions. Then he glanced ahead to see the stevedore throw a carton back onto the truck and duck beneath the chassis.

Joe leaped into action. Racing ahead of the others, he dashed to the truck and looked underneath. The man was crawling out on the other side. Joe ran around just in time to see him dodge through a doorway to a storage shed.

The man with the scar!

âFrank, Chet! I found him!â Joe beckoned furiously. âHe ran in there!â

Joe dashed toward the doorway, but was blocked by two workmen carrying crates on their shoulders. The men moved off slowly, revealing the darkened entrance once again. Joe sprinted forward, just as Frank, running up behind him, shrieked out a warning.

âJoe! Stop!â

Out of the shadowy doorway sped a hand truck. It was loaded but nobody was at the controls!

CHAPTER X

Frank in Trouble

âLOOK out, Joe!â Frank yelled in horror.

Joe dived to safety on the cobbled pavement a split second before the cart whipped by and smashed into the parked truck. Boxes and parcels flew through the air.

Unhurt, Joe scrambled up. He suspected that the fugitive had shoved the hand truck toward him in an attempt to gain time for a getaway in the network of alleys along the waterfront.

He caught sight of the man at a gateway to the dockyard. Then the fugitive vanished from view.

Joe raced in pursuit. As he reached the open gate he got a brief glimpse of the fugitive hurrying up the street, but a moment later he was gone again.

âProbably ducked into one of the stores,â Joe concluded. He dashed up the street, not sure which door the man might have entered. Joe looked into two shops, then spoke to a fellow lounging outside a pawnshop.

âI saw a guy run into Fit-Your-Figure-Charlieâs a minute ago,â the man told him.

Joe rushed to the clothing store. It was apparently deserted. No clerk. No customers. Three clothes dummies were in the front window.

Then Joe heard a groan. He traced it to its source in an anteroom used for tailoring, and found the shopkeeper unconscious on the floor. In the corner was a sink. Joe grabbed a towel, wet it and put it on the manâs forehead. The cold water revived the man and he sat up.

âGuy came in hereâslugged meââ he murmured.

âDid he have a scar on his cheek?â Joe asked quickly.

The man nodded. âKnocked me outâdonât know where he went.â

Both looked up at the sound of footsteps in the doorway. Chet poked his head in. âHey, whatâs going on?â he asked.

A hurried explanation followed. Then Joe said, âHelp Charlie to the couch in his office, Chet. Iâm going to call the police.â

He looked around for a telephone but saw none, and stepped outside. Suddenly he paused. From the corner of his eye he had caught a glimpse of the display window. Four dummies stood there, one of them in a raincoat, with a hat pulled low over its head!

Joe remembered that there had been only three dummies in the window before! He stepped back inside, quietly slipped the automatic catch on the lock to the window, and went back to Chet. He drew him aside and told him of his discovery. âI locked him in. Heâs our prisoner,â he whispered.

Chet did not like the idea of being left alone with the fellow. âWhereâs Frank?â he asked worriedly.

âI donât know. Wasnât he with you?â

âNo.â

âHe must have followed another lead. Iâll go find a phone.â

Before Chet could object, Joe was out the door. He ran to a drugstore at the corner, called police headquarters, and asked for Con Riley. When he had him on the line, Joe said:

âThis is Joe Hardy. Listen, how fast can you make it to Mack Street? Fit-Your-Figure Charlieâs place. I want you to arrest a guy in the window.â

âIn the window?â

âLive dummy. He slugged Charlie. I think heâs the scarred man weâre after.â

âBe right over, Joe.â

The young detective started back to the store. Suddenly he heard a crash. A figure hurtled through the show window and landed on the sidewalk. It was followed by a man in a raincoat.

At the same instant Chet raced from the store and tackled the fugitive. They went down in a heap. The scarred man struggled to escape, but Chet hung on grimly, yelling to Joe.

Joe raced up and helped subdue the suspect. A moment later a police car arrived and Con Riley jumped out. He snapped handcuffs on the manâs wrists.

âWhatâs this all about?â the prisoner snarled. âI havenât done anything.â

âThatâs what they all say,â replied Riley. âYouâre coming down to headquarters.â Riley then informed the prisoner of his rights.

âYeah, I understand. When I want a lawyer, Iâll tell ya,â the man muttered.

Chet and Joe, after making sure that Charlie was all right, climbed into the squad car with Riley and the scowling prisoner. They drove to headquarters. There the man gave his name as John Smith. He denied that he had ever gone under the name of Johnson, that he had ever been to the Phillips house, or that he had received any cartons.

He was booked on a charge of assault and battery. The express-company driver was sent for and identified him as the man who had signed for Aunt Gertrudeâs missing carton. The suspect said the expressman was crazy, and then maintained a stony silence.

A figure hurtled through the window

âAny identification on him?â Joe asked Riley after the man had been searched.

âNot a thing,â the policeman replied. âJust some figures scribbled on the back of an old envelope. Canât make head or tail of them.â Riley produced the evidence. Joe whooped. Scrawled on the paper were letters and numbers:

A23â151âC2âD576âA19395âM14

âThe same as those found at Mrs. Armstrongâs home!â Joe thought excitedly.

Written beneath the figures was Falcon.

âThe name of the phantom freighter!â Joe gasped.

âWhat?â Riley asked.

Joe quickly told him Captain Harknessâs story and the officer promised to investigate.

When Joe and Chet arrived at the Hardy home, they expected to find Frank there. But he had not yet come back.

âThatâs strange,â reflected Joe. âI wonder where he went.â

For the next few hours the family and Chet anxiously waited for news of Frank. With growing concern, Joe and Chet returned to the waterfront and searched the docks thoroughly, making scores of inquiries. But to no avail!

When they arrived home they found Mrs. Hardy, pale and tight-lipped, near the telephone. Her husband was away, and Aunt Gertrude paced up and down nervously. âThat man they have locked up in jailâIâll bet he knows what happened,â she declared. âIf I had my wayââ

âBut the police have questioned him a dozen times, Aunty,â said Joe. âHe wonât talk.â

âWhat time is it?â asked Mrs. Hardy.

âTwo oâclock in the morning, Mother,â Joe replied. âYouâd better go to bed and get some rest.â

âI wouldnât be able to sleep. If Frank doesnât show up by seven,â said Mrs. Hardy, âIâll have to telephone your father.â

âNo use bothering Fenton until weâre sure itâs serious,â said Aunt Gertrude. âFrank will turn up,â she added to calm Mrs. Hardy, but to herself she said, âIâm afraid something terrible has happened.â

The telephone jangled harshly. Mrs. Hardy sprang to her feet, but Joe reached the instrument ahead of her.

âIs this the home of Fenton Hardy?â demanded a rough voice.

âYes.â

âWho is this?â

âJoe Hardy.â

âAll right, kid. In case youâre worrying about your brother, hereâs a tip. Youâll find him on the porch of a summer bungalow about two miles up the Willow River. Better go and get him because heâs in no shape to walk home.â

âWhoâs speaking? What bungalow? Is he all right?â

The caller hung up.

âWhat is it, Joe?â Mrs. Hardy asked tensely, and he repeated the conversation.

The message had been ominous, but Joe tried to be cheerful. âOh, Iâm sure Frankâs all right. Come on, Chet. Weâll take the Sleuth and go out there.â

âIâm going with you,â Aunt Gertrude said brusquely. âCome on, Laura, you too!â

Joe looked up. âBetter not. What if itâs a trap?â

âA trap? But why?â

âMaybe someone wants to get us all out of the house, for some reason,â suggested Joe.

Mrs. Hardy was distressed. âThen maybe Frank wonât be there at all,â she said.

âOh, Iâm sure he is, Mother. But weâd better not take chances. Stay here and call Chief Collig. Tell him where weâve gone.â

Aunt Gertrude nodded. âJoe is right. Sit down, Laura. Weâll guard the house. And if I hear as much as a footstep around here, Iâll ...â

Her voice trailed off.

Mrs. Hardy said, âBetter phone Biff Hooper and see if he can go with you, so youâll have some help in case you need it.â

After calling Biff and asking him to meet them at the boathouse, Joe and Chet hurried off. As they sped through the deserted streets in the Hardysâ car, they spoke little. The same question was in their minds, What had happened to Frank?

If they could have played back a movie of the chase the day before, they might have seen the relief on Frankâs face after Joeâs narrow escape. Frankâs first impulse had been to join his brother and Chet in further pursuit of the fugitive.

But then something caught his attention. On the side of a large box near the truck were the numbers A23â151âC2!

Quickly Frank examined several other boxes. Two of them bore similar numbers. Looking for an address, he found a tag nailed to each carton, marked WaspâDock Three, Bayport.

Sure that he had stumbled upon an important clue, Frank hunted for the Wasp. It was a large motor launch, painted yellow and black, with a small cabin. There were no signs of anyone aboard, so Frank leaped onto the deck near an open hatch. Boxes of cargo were stacked below, to within a few feet of the deck.

Frank lowered himself through the hatch to examine the boxes. They were similar in size and appearance to the cartons on the truck. Numbers were painted on the sides. Some of them were identical with the code found in the Armstrong house.

Suddenly Frank heard voices of men who had come aboard. One said, âWeâve got to get that stuff to Crowfeet or heâll have a stroke!â

âIâm not going to risk it,â argued another. âToo dangerous. We can come back tomorrow.â

A minute later a third voice shouted, âHey, men, weâve got to get out of here quick!â

âWhatâs the matter?â

âHankâs been arrested. Bayportâs getting too hot for this racket!â

There was a sound of running footsteps on deck. This was followed by a heavy thud and sudden blackness.

The hatch cover had been closed!

Frank heard a bell ring. Engines began to throb, and with a roar the Wasp pulled away from the dock.

Frank struggled to keep calm. Should he make his presence known by banging on the hatch cover? No, he decided. He would stay hidden and wait for a chance to escape.

âWish I had a flashlight,â he thought. âIâd like to find out whatâs in these boxes.â Thinking he might identify it by feel, he took out his pocket-knife and tried to open one, but the blade snapped off. âTough luck!â Frank muttered.

The air in the hold was getting stuffy. Frank climbed on top of the boxes and thrust his hands hard against the hatch cover. It did not budge a fraction.

After an hour had passed, the terror of the unknown began to seize Frank. Perhaps he should shout for help. But even if he tried to attract attention, his shouts would hardly be heard above the roar of the engines. If the launch was bound on a long trip, he might suffocate!

A short time later the speed of the launch diminished. Finally the engines were cut off altogether. The boat swayed from side to side, and shuddered as it bumped against the timbers of a dock.

Frank heard voices. Footsteps thudded overhead. With a rattle and a crash, the hatch cover was hauled away. Frank tried to slip down among the boxes, but was too late. A seaman shouted, âHey! Weâve got a stowaway!â

âTake him forward!â rasped another.

Half blinded by the light, Frank was dragged and pushed along the deck toward the cabin.

CHAPTER XI

Stolen Tickets

UNTIL the first light of dawn edged the horizon, Joe, Chet, and Biff roared back and forth on the river near the two-mile mark. They were discouraged when they found no bungalow. The early-morning mist was heavy, and it was difficult to see the homes back of the shoreline of the Willow River.

When the fog lifted, they were more than three miles from the mouth of the river. It was then that they saw a dark figure sprawled on the porch of a deserted cabin.

âFrank!â cried Joe.

He pulled beside a makeshift, half-rotted pier and the boys jumped out. Quickly they ran up the few steps to the porch.

Frank was bound hand and foot, and tightly blindfolded, but unharmed. As Joe and Biff cut loose the ropes and whipped off the blindfold, they hurled dozens of questions at him. Frank slowly rubbed his aching arms and legs and got up. âIâm starving,â he said. âDo you have any chow with you?â

Joe and Biff stared at each other, but Chet beamed happily. He fished an apple and a package of nuts from his pockets.

âYou guys are always kidding me because I never go anywhere without supplies. See how it comes in handy!â He gave the food to Frank.

âThanks, Chet.â

Frank alternately bit a large chunk of apple and tossed a few nuts into his mouth. When he had finished and thrown the core away, Biff said, âCome on. Letâs get out of here. Frank can tell us what happened on the way home.â

As the motorboat sped back down the river, Frank related his strange adventure. When he reached the point where he had been hauled out of the Waspâs hold and taken to the cabin, Joe interrupted him excitedly.

âWhy, youâve practically solved the case. Youâll be able to identify those menââ

Frank shook his head. âI didnât really see any of them. I was blinded by the sudden light after being in the dark hold. Then a blindfold was clapped over my eyes. Some guy gave an order; another said âShut up!â and after that no one spoke. I couldnât identify them.â

âWhat happened then?â Biff urged.

âThey moved me from the Wasp to another boat. It cruised around for a while, then I was transferred into a rowboat. One man took me up the river. He was supposed to get rid of me and leave no clues, but I guess he was afraid.â

âSo he dropped you at the cottage?â Joe put in.

âRight. When he left me, he said, âLet this be a lesson to you. Mind your own business. Any more snooping and you wonât get off so easy!â â

Chet gulped. âIf I were you, I think Iâd follow his advice!â

âAre you kidding!â Joe protested. âThis gives us all the more reason to nab that gang!â

âBy the way,â Frank said, âhow did you manage to find me?â

âYour unknown savior called the house.â

âWell, that was nice of him. Wish heâd done it a lot sooner,â Frank said.

By this time the Hardy boathouse loomed ahead, and soon the Sleuth was docked. âLetâs go home and get some sleep,â Joe suggested. âThen weâd better talk again to that man whoâs in jail. Iâm sure heâs the âHankâ youâve heard mentioned, Frank. Iâll bet he knows all about the Wasp and Crowfeet.â

âGood idea,â Frank said.

They drove Biff and Chet home. When they finally arrived at the Hardy house, their mother and Aunt Gertrude wept with joy. Aunt Gertrude bustled about the kitchen, preparing breakfast, while Mrs. Hardy notified Chief Collig of the boysâ safe return.

Then Frank and Joe went to bed and slept soundly until noon. When they came down, their mother said Mr. McClintock had telephoned.

âI guess he wants to know if we got reservations,â Frank said. âIâll check with the Southport agency and see if the tickets are ready.â

But when Frank spoke to the agent he received quite a shock.

âTickets?â the man said. âYou got them already.â

âNo we didnât,â Frank told him,

âThat fellow you sent over picked them up early this morning and paid for them.â

âWe didnât send anyone,â said Frank. âDid he give you his name?â

âNo.â

âDescribe him, please.â

âIn his thirties, Iâd say. Dark hair. Since he paid for your fare I had no reason to think he was not on the level!â

Frank groaned. âHe stole our tickets!â

The agent was greatly disturbed. âThis has never happened to me in all my years in business. Itâs outrageous. Well, donât worry. When the fellow shows up on the sailing date, we can get an explanation.â

âWill you issue us new tickets?â Frank inquired.

âThat might not even be necessary. Iâll be on the ship personally to look into this.â

Frank thanked the agent and put down the telephone. âSomebody is going through all kinds of trouble to prevent us from making this trip,â he said to Joe. âEven paid for the fare!â

âYou know,â Joe reflected, âmaybe our friend McClintock is the reason for all this. Somebody might be trying to keep him from going!â

âYouâre right. Letâs go talk with him.â

Mr. McClintock greeted them with a grin. âSleep mighty late, donât you? When I was a boy I used to get up bright and earlyâsix oâclock sharp. Well, what luck? Donât tell me you havenât got the tickets yet!â

Instead of answering, Frank asked, âHave you any enemies, sir?â

The man peered at him suspiciously. âEnemies? What do you mean?â

âCan you think of anyone who wouldnât want you to go on this trip?â

âYouâre talking nonsense. Who could stop me? Whatâs behind all this?â

Frank could not make up his mind whether or not Mr. McClintock was evading his question. When he told him about the mysterious stranger who had picked up the freighter tickets at Southport, McClintock was furious.

âThey canât do this to me!â he snapped. âIâll take legal action. Iâll make them hand over those tickets. Strikes me that you boys have bungled this whole business from the beginning!â

He gazed at them intently. âOr perhaps you donât really want to go on a voyage? Well, Iâll handle this myself. Iâll get tickets!â

Grabbing the room telephone, he put through a call to Klackâs Agency. âHello!â he barked. âMr. Klack? ... Oh. This is Thaddeus McClintock at the Bayport Hotel. I want passage for four on the first freighter leaving this port. Whatâs that? Now you listen to meââ

The person at the other end of the wire had to do a good deal of listening. McClintock made the line sizzle. He voiced dire threats as to what would happen to the agency if they did not procure tickets promptly. But apparently his wrathful predictions failed to produce results, because finally he slammed the receiver down and sat back, muttering.

âFine way to run a business!â he growled. âSaid sheâd put me on the list. I have a good mind to cancel the whole plan.â

âDonât worry, Mr. McClintock,â Frank said calmly. âWeâll get on a freighter. The Southport agent will be there personally to straighten things out.â

âThank goodness for that. Say, whatâs with our fishing trip, meanwhile?â

âChetâs working on it.â

âHeâs no more successful than you in making arrangements,â Mr. McClintock grumbled. âTell him to get going, will you?â

âWe will,â Frank promised and the boys left. Their next stop was police headquarters. They spoke to Chief Collig, who was an old friend. He listened attentively, then reached for a telephone and asked for information about the Wasp. When he turned back to the boys, he frowned.

âThe launch doesnât seem to be registered. Weâll make some more inquiries. And now, about this man weâre holding. You think his name is Hank, and heâs part of the gang that wanted to get rid of you, Frank?â

âIâm sure of it. Can I talk to him?â

âGo ahead. If he tells you anything worthwhile, let me know.â

A guard showed the boys to the cells. The man with the scar was lying on his bunk, reading a newspaper.

âHi, Hank,â Frank said.

The prisoner looked up, startled. Then his expression became wary. âYou made a mistake. My nameâs not Hank.â

âThatâs what the boys on the Wasp call you,â Frank replied coolly.

âThe Wasp?â The prisoner looked alarmed. âI donât know what youâre talking about.â

âA23â151âC2!â said Frank.

The suspect swung himself off the bunk and strode toward the door of the cell. âNow look,â he said thickly. âAbout those numbers. You canâtââ

âWhat?â Frank asked sharply as the man hesitated.

Hank just stared at the boys. Finally he answered, âI donât know anything about those numbers. Talk to my lawyer.â

âDoes he represent Crowfeet too?â

The man did not answer. The boys made several attempts to get him to talk, but he stubbornly refused to say another word. Finally they left. But they were sure of two things. He was Hank, and he knew something about the mysterious numbers.

When Frank and Joe reached home they found that their father had returned. He had already been told of Frankâs adventure on the Wasp, and now listened with interest as his sons reported about their call at headquarters.

âThe prisoner recognized the numbers all right,â Frank said. âAt first we thought he was going to talk, but then he changed his mind.â

âLet me see those numbers,â his father said.

Joe went to get the copy of the numbers on the crumpled scrap found in Mrs. Armstrongâs home, and showed it to Mr. Hardy.

âSo Hank wouldnât talk?â the detective said resolutely. âWell, never mind. I believe I can solve that part of the mystery without his help!â

CHAPTER XII

Harrowing Experience

ASTONISHED, Frank and Joe, leaned forward to hear their fatherâs explanation of the mysterious numbers.

âIt fits in with something I happen to know,â Mr. Hardy said. âBesides the case concerning the fake documents, I am working on an assignment for a large company manufacturing electric motors.â

âIndustrial espionage?â Joe asked.

âNot quite. The president engaged me to check on a lot of new motors which bear his trade name but werenât sold by his company. Theyâve turned up in various cities along the coast, but his branch offices and distributors in those places know nothing about them.â

âWouldnât it be an easy matterâ Frank said, âto check the serial numbers of the motors that leave the factory against the ones being received at the branches, to be sure of this?â asked Frank.

âThatâs been done,â Mr. Hardy replied. âAll the invoices match up. If five hundred motors are produced in the factory, those same five hundred reach the branch offices. So Iâm inclined to think the extra ones are being assembled elsewhere from stolen parts.â

Joe was puzzled. âWhat have our numbers got to do with it, Dad?â

âThey sound like the motor numbers and may have a great deal to do with it. At any rate, Iâm going to assign Sam Radley to the Bayport waterfront right away.â

Radley had been Mr. Hardyâs operative for quite some time and both boys had great respect for his abilities.

âMaybe we could give him a hand?â Frank offered.

âNot at this time,â his father replied, and with that dropped the subject.

âI did have a little luck on another matter,â he said. âJoe, will you ask Aunt Gertrude to come into the library. I think sheâll be interested in this.â

Mr. Hardy unbuckled the straps of a big suitcase he carried on his longer trips. When his sister entered the room, he was removing the wrapping of a flat parcel.

âRecognize this, Gertrude?â he asked, holding up a small picture.

It was an oil painting in an old-fashioned frame, showing the portrait of a stern-looking elderly gentleman with muttonchop whiskers.

âGreat-Grandfather Hardy!â gasped Aunt Gertrude. âThat picture was in my lost carton! Where did you find it, Fenton?â

Mr. Hardy told how he had come across the picture in Washington while visiting antique shops in search of forged documents. He had recognized the portrait at once; because Great-Grandfather Hardy had stared down at him from over the piano in their home when he was a boy.

âHe didnât look very happy in that antique shop.â Mr. Hardy smiled. âThe proprietor couldnât tell me much about the woman who had sold it to him, along with various odds and ends, about a week ago. She gave her address but it turned out to be a phony one.â

Aunt Gertrude said nervously she hoped the rest of the contents of the box would come back to her without much trouble. âThere were certain thingsââ she said dreamily.

Just then the doorbell rang. âIâll get it!â Aunt Gertrude cried and hastened toward the hallway.

Frank glanced at his brother. âHave you noticed how jumpy Aunty has been ever since she lost that box?â

âEvery time the phone or the bell rings she practically runs to answer it,â Joe agreed. âThereâs got to be more to it than just those missing letters and papers.â

It was obvious that Aunt Gertrude was jittery because she was expecting a messageâeither a phone call or a letter. Was it in connection with the mystery? the boys wondered.

Aunt Gertrude returned to say that it had been a salesman at the door, andâ

The sound of the telephone interrupted her. âIâll take it!â she said quickly. A moment later she called out in a disappointed voice, âItâs only Chet!â

When Frank said âHello,â Chet responded in an aggrieved tone, âItâs only Chet. A fine thing to say about me!â

Frank laughed. âDonât be so touchy. Whatâs up?â

âTomorrowâs the day we go tuna fishing with Captain Harkness.â

âGreat. Weâll be there!â

When the Hardys arrived at the wharf the following morning, Mr. McClintock was hopping about like a happy child. Swinging over one of his shoulders were straps holding a binocular case.

âWith all my deep-sea fishing, I never went out for tuna,â he remarked excitedly. âWonderful day for it!â

âAll aboard!â bellowed Captain Harkness.

A few minutes later the fishing boat pulled away from the wharf and chugged smoothly down the bay. Chet, as leader of the expedition, bustled about importantly. He assigned places to everyone and explained the technique of tuna fishing, about which he had just read.

It was a calm, warm day and the sea was smooth, with only a slight swell. A few miles beyond the mouth of the bay, the captain announced they had reached tuna water. He distributed the rods and herring he had brought along as bait and scattered fresh chum over the side to attract the fish.

Mr. McClintock took up his position in a fishing chair, and Chet showed him the proper way to hold the heavy rod. He threw the bait overboard and watched it sink until the end of the leader disappeared from sight. Next, he coiled about fifteen feet of the thirty-nine-thread line on the stern and held it.

âTuna grow pretty big, donât they?â asked Mr. McClintock, becoming a little nervous. âIt wonât pull me overboard, will it?â

âCould be.â Captain Harkness grinned. âBut donât worry, weâll rescue you!â

Frank signaled to Chet. âHey, how come you didnât bring your own rod? I thought you wanted to sell it.â

âI do. But I thought Iâd better wait and see how he likes fishing.â

âOh. Well, it sounds like a good idea.â

The fishermen had no luck until early afternoon. Suddenly Mr. McClintock let out a yelp as there was a tug at the line. Then it started to uncoil fast.

âStrike him!â shouted the captain.

The line straightened out. McClintock yanked the rod sharply upward. The reel screamed, and he was pulled halfway out of his chair.

âHelp me, somebody!â he yelled. âI canât hold on!â

He would have let the rod get away from him, but Chet seized it and held on with all his might. Yard after yard of line unwound as the tuna headed out to sea. Captain Harkness shut off the engines and let the fish tow the boat. Though its heavy weight slowed the big tuna down, Chet had to fight with all his strength to keep from losing the prize.

âHeâs a monster!â the boy puffed.

The battle went on for a long time. There was nothing the others could do but watch the struggle. Chet was growing tired. Beads of perspiration hung on his forehead.

Suddenly the boat began to swing around. They caught a glimpse of the big dorsal fin and the huge black tail of the tuna above the waters. It was a giant!

âI ... I canât hold on any longer!â Chet gasped finally. âTake over, somebody!â

Joe and Frank sprang to help him. Joe reached Chetâs side first. Slowly the big rod was transferred to him. Gripping it hard, he realized why Chet was so exhausted. It was like trying to hold a runaway horse going at breakneck speed. Nearer and nearer shore the fish raced, showing no signs of getting tired.

âHead him out to sea or weâll go on the rocks!â Harkness roared.

Joe pumped on the line with all his might. It did not work!

âNo use!â shouted Captain Harkness. âIâll have to start the engine and pull her away, or weâll pile up on the reef. Chet, get ready to cut that line!â

âPleaseânot yet!â Joe gritted his teeth. Though the strain was terrific, he was gaining the upper hand. Slowly the boat turned. Inch by inch, Joe won the contest. Then, with a rush, the tuna was away again, but this time running for open water.

He took them far out to sea, but after another hour gave up the struggle and at last surfaced. Joe reeled in foot after foot of the line. There was a last wild flurry from the fish as the boat closed in. The launch spun around in a circle.

âWow!â said Frank as he reached down and grabbed the leader, hanging on while Captain Harkness stood ready to strike with the gaff. The tuna rolled on its side, about forty feet from the boat. Together Joe, Frank, and the captain finally conquered the monstrous fish and swung a rope around its tail.

âWeighs six hundred pounds if he weighs an ounce,â Andy Harkness said. âAfter we tow him back to Bayport, weâll have him put on display.â

Mr. McClintock rubbed his hands in excitement. He regarded the tuna as his own personal property and seemed to be under the impression that he had caught it himself.

âMost interesting afternoon Iâve ever had!â he declared.

Captain Harkness swung the wheel over. âWeâd better start for home. Wonât make as good speed towing six hundred pounds of fish behind us, and I want to get to Bayport before dark.â

The fight with the giant tuna had taken more than two hours! The boat had gone only a short distance when suddenly the engine coughed, sputtered, picked up again, gave a convulsive gasp, and went dead. The fishermen stared at each other in consternation.

âSounds as if weâre out of gas,â Frank commented.

âCanât be,â the captain said. âI topped her off before the trip.â

He tinkered with the engine, spun the flywheel. Then he thrust a rod into the tank. It came out dry. He was dumbfounded.

âNo gas!â he muttered. âI donât understand it. There was enough gas in that tank to last us all day!â

âYou think somebody may have tampered with it, Captain?â Frank asked.

âCould be. I was away from the boat for about half an hour. But I dont know why anybody would be mean enough to do that,â he returned slowly. âMost of the men around the fishing wharves know itâs a serious thing to run out of fuel when youâre in open water!â

Mr. McClintock nervously asked what they could do about the situation.

âRadio for help,â the skipper replied. He switched on his transmitter. It was dead!

A close examination by the Hardys revealed that it had been sabotaged.

âNow what?â asked Mr. McClintock.

âWeâre not far out,â the captain replied. âWeâll signal the first ship in sight. Meanwhile, they were drifting slowly toward Barmet Shoals.

âI donât like it!â Andy Harkness said darkly.

They sat and waited, thankful that the sea was calm. Dusk began to settle over the ocean. No one spoke. Chet curled up and went to sleep.

Presently Frankâs sharp eyes detected a faint moving glimmer.

âI think I see lights!â he said hopefully.

They stared into the gloom. A distant flicker of red and green. Then across the water they could hear a dull, throbbing sound.

âA freighter. Off our starboard,â said Captain Harkness.

The lights bore steadily toward them. The shipâs engines became louder and louder. Harkness signaled.

Suddenly the lights vanished. The engines became silent.

âStrange!â muttered Frank.

Captain Harkness gave a hoarse cry. âWeâre too near Barmet Shoals. I knew it! Thereâs no ship out there at all. Itâs the phantom freighter!â

CHAPTER XIII

âMrs Harrisonâ Again

THE Hardy boys were not superstitious. They had seen the lights and heard the engines. Somewhere out there in the darkness there must be a ship. But why had the lights vanished? Why had she silenced her engines?

Frank flashed an SOS with the captainâs light. Resultânegative. They shouted, making as much noise as they could. But there was no answer.

The night had been cloudy. Now the moon appeared from behind a ragged cloud bank, casting a pale radiance across the water. In its weird light they saw a huge black hulk silhouetted against the sky not a hundred yards from them!

âAhoy there!â everyone shouted.

There was no answer from the ship.

âMaybe itâs not the same one we heard,â Frank suggested. âThis might be a deserted ship.â

The moon disappeared again and the big dark shape was lost to view. The Hardys planned to board the mysterious ship as soon as dawn came.

That night the marooned fishermen took turns keeping watch and sleeping. Frank and Joe were wide awake, however, when the first gray light illuminated the sky. They looked over the starboard side.

The freighter had vanished!

Frank grabbed Mr. McClintockâs binoculars and raced forward, then aft, gazing through the glasses in all directions. There was no ship of any kind in sight.

âFunny!â he said. âHow could she have left without our hearing her? There wasnât a sound all night of engines starting.â

Joe, who had followed his brother, was puzzled. âMaybe she got caught in the crosscurrents and drifted off?â

Captain Harkness, who had been dozing, came to with a start and cried out, âCrosscurrent nothing. That was the phantom freighter! Now do you believe me?â

The boys did not answer. During the morning a Coast Guard patrol aircraft spotted the fishing launch. Half an hour later a rescue boat pulled up alongside. Its crew were excited over the size of the big tuna and offered to take the launch in tow.

Captain Harkness indignantly refused, but admitted he could use some gasoline. He told the officer about the ghost ship, whose name might be Falcon, but his story was received with smiles of incredulity.

âMr. Hardy asked us to search for you,â the officer said, âbut we didnât bargain on hunting ghost freighters. Iâll signal our patrol plane, though, to make a sweep of the area. If thereâs any derelict or a ship named Falcon within three hundred miles, the plane will spot it and report back by radio.â With that the rescue boat left.

Soon the fishermen arrived at the Bayport docks. Mr. and Mrs. Hardy met them, accompanied by Chet Mortonâs parents. All were vastly relieved to see the adventurers safe. Chet was so ravenous with hunger that he almost forgot to claim credit for helping to capture the tuna. Mr. McClintock vowed he never would go fishing again.

âTakes too much energy,â he groaned. âIâm going back to the hotel and sleep for a week!â

âThere goes your sale! I donât think heâll buy your rod now!â Frank whispered to Chet.

The stout boy nodded glumly. âJust my luck!â

When the Hardys arrived home they were alternately praised and scolded by Aunt Gertrude. âI was pretty sure youâd turn up,â she said, âbut I was worried. Almost canceled my trip because of it.â She looked at the clock.

âLeaving us, Aunty?â Frank asked in amazement. âWhere are you going?â

âTo Bridgewater. Iâll only be there for the day.â

âWhoâs in Bridgewater?â Joe asked.

âYou are inquisitive, arenât you!â Aunt Gertrude said. âIf you must know, itâs a business trip.â

Joeâs eyebrows raised in surprise, but he inquired no further.

That afternoon the boys heard the city of Bridgewater mentioned again, but under different circumstances. The manager of the Bayport Express Company telephoned shortly after lunch.

âIâve just heard something that might interest you Hardys.â he said. âRemember the carton addressed to your aunt that was delivered to the Phillips house?â

âSure do,â replied Frank.

âWell, the same kind of thing occurred in Bridgewater a few days ago. A box was delivered to a certain address. Later it was discovered that the owner was out of town and that the woman who had signed for it had cleared out. Sounds like the same racket.â

âYouâre right!â

âThe express company is investigating, of course. Iâll let you know if anything further turns up.â

âThank you very much,â Frank said.

The news about the incident, close on the heels of Aunt Gertrudeâs trip there, struck the boys as being more than a coincidence.

âI think weâd better drive down to Bridgewater and do a little checking ourselves,â decided Joe.

âGood idea,â his brother agreed.

When the boys arrived in the small, pleasant city they called immediately at the express office. The manager told them the details about three strangely claimed shipments.

âI donât think youâll learn much from the people at those addresses,â he said. âThe police have already checked every angle,â

Frank smiled. âWeâll try, anyhow.â

When they left the office Frank came to a sudden stop. âNow look whoâs over there!â he said.

In front of a hotel directly across the street two women were in earnest conversation.

âAunt Gertrude!â exclaimed Joe.

âRecognize the woman with her?â

Joe looked again. Then he gasped. âWhy, thatâs the phony Mrs. Harrison!â

Why had their aunt come to Bridgewater to meet this impostor? Confused and puzzled, the boys saw the women enter the doorway of the hotel restaurant.

âWeâll have to do a little fancy shadowing if we want to find out what this is all about,â said Joe. âMaybe we should call the police. Remember the Bayport police are looking for this woman!â

âLetâs wait until she leaves Aunt Gertrude,â advised Frank. âIf we call the police now, it would put Aunty in an awkward spot, particularly since we donât know what those two are up to.â

âI guess youâre right. I have a hunch that woman is blackmailing Aunt Gertrude. Maybe she has some of her private letters from the carton and is demanding money for them.â

âIf Aunty falls for it, sheâs got a mighty good reason,â declared Frank. âI guess thatâs what sheâs been so jittery about lately. This impostor must have written or phoned her.â

The boys hurried into the hotel and made their way toward the restaurant. From the lobby they could see Aunt Gertrude and âMrs. Harrisonâ seated at a table near the street door. Frank and Joe slipped in and sat down near a potted palm which shielded them from view. Seeing a waitress bring salads to the others, they ordered sandwiches and soda.

Presently they saw their aunt open her handbag. She surreptitiously took out a purse and handed it across the table. The woman put it into her handbag and brought out a packet of letters which she gave to Miss Hardy.

âJust as I said. Blackmail!â Joe whispered excitedly.

Frank shook his head. âI canât understand it.â

Aunt Gertrude got up and walked out of the restaurant to the street. The other woman finished her coffee and prepared to leave.

âGet the house detective,â Joe told his brother. âIâll stall her in the meantime.â

While Frank hurried into the lobby, Joe got up and walked across to the womanâs table, determined to take a bold approach.

âWell, if it isnât Mrs. Harrison!â he exclaimed, smiling.

The woman looked up at him coldly. âYouâve made a mistake. My name isnât Harrison.â

âDonât you remember me? I called at your house in Bayport. With the expressman.â

The womanâs eyes were wary. Hastily she got up. âI was never in Bayport in my life,â she snapped.

âBetter sit down, Mrs. Harrison, or Iâll call the police,â Joe said.

The threat worked. She turned pale and sat down again. âReally, I donât know what youâre talking about,â she said.

âI want some information from you. Where do your friends keep the stuff they steal?â

The woman did not answer. Instead, she uttered a low moan, then slumped forward with her head on the table.

âWhy, sheâs fainted!â gasped a waitress, running forward.

Joe got up to help. Then he realized this was just a ruse to get him out of the way. Instantly he ran to the lobby, where he found Frank explaining the situation to a thin eagle-eyed man.

âOur friend has pretended to faint,â Joe said quickly. âMaybe weâd better let her think sheâs getting away with it.â

âNot around this hotel she wonât get away with it!â declared the detective.

âI think we can handle it ourselves without the publicity,â Joe suggested smoothly. âIf youâll see that sheâs helped out to a taxi, weâll take over.â

The detective nodded. He went into the restaurant. In the meantime Frank and Joe walked out to the front entrance and jumped into their car. A few minutes later the false Mrs. Harrison was escorted to the street.

âIâm feeling much better now,â they heard her say. âIf youâll get me a taxi ... so stupid of me ... just a weak spell ... Iâll be all right.â

âOkay, lady,â the house detective said as he hailed a taxi. He helped her in. âHope you feel better when you get home.â

âThank you.â

The taxi pulled away. Frank and Joe followed in their car.

CHAPTER XIV

Spy in the Shadows

THE taxi with the woman suspect gained speed. Frank and Joe followed close behind.

âI wonder where Aunt Gertrude went,â Joe said.

âWeâll catch up with her later,â Frank replied. âRight now Iâm very curious as to where weâre going.â

Five minutes later the taxi stopped in front of a rooming house about six blocks from the hotel. The woman got out. She paid the driver and hurried up the steps.

After she had gone inside, Joe stood guard while Frank rushed to a telephone to call police headquarters. When he said a suspect in the express-carton racket had been cornered, he was told that a detective would be sent to the rooming house at once.

âWe had a call a few minutes ago that that woman was at a downtown hotel,â the officer reported. âShe moves fast.â

âAunt Gertrude must have notified him,â Frank said to himself.

Within three minutes a squad car pulled up at the curb and a man from headquarters jumped out. Quickly the boys introduced themselves and said they would like to go into the house with him.

âOkay. Come on!â agreed the detective.

The only occupant of the rooming house at the moment, besides the owner, was âMrs. Harrison.â They found her packing a trunk in a room that was in a state of disorder. She looked up in alarm.

âWho are you? What do you want from me?â

âPolice,â said the Bridgewater detective, showing his badge. âTaking a trip, eh? Letâs have a look at some of this baggage.â

âNot without a warrant, you donât!â the woman snapped.

âHere!â The man pulled a âJane Doeâ search warrant out of his pocket, then proceeded to check through the belongings in the trunk.

The woman watched him tensely. There was nothing but clothing, shoes, and hair curlers.

Frank and Joe, meanwhile, searched the room. In a corner closet they found a cardboard box. Frank pulled it out. It was addressed to Miss Gertrude Hardy!

âHereâs the evidence!â Joe exclaimed. He examined the contents, There were old books and pictures, antique jewelry and heirlooms, but no personal letters.

âWhy didnât you sell our aunt the whole lot?â Frank asked the woman.

She glared at him. âThis box does not belong to me. Someone else must have left it there. I never even saw it!â

âSorry, lady, but youâll have to come to headquarters,â the detective said. He informed her of her constitutional rights, to which she replied with a snort.

Frank and Joe followed the squad car to police headquarters. The woman was booked on theft and blackmail charges. She refused to say anything, however, and was held for arraignment.

âAunt Gertrude will make a perfect witness,â Joe said.

The Bridgewater police chief thanked the Hardys for their help and gave them permission to take home the top from the carton with Aunt Gertrudeâs name on it. It was hanging loose and the boys promised to return it if needed as evidence.

âSheâll have to claim her property later,â he said. âItâs a lucky break for us, getting this woman behind bars,â he added. âAfter sheâs had time to think the matter over, sheâll probably start talking. Then weâll nab the rest of the gang.â

Frank and Joe left police headquarters and drove around for a while in search of their aunt.

The carton was addressed to Miss Gertrude Hardy!

When they could not find her, they went to the railroad station. The train for Bayport had just pulled out.

They hurried home, reaching the house about ten minutes before Miss Hardy arrived in a taxi. When she walked in, both boys were innocently absorbed in the afternoon newspaper. The top from the carton was lying on a living-room table.

âBack already!â exclaimed Joe. âWe thought youâd stay a couple of days!â

âI transacted my business sooner than I expected.â As Miss Hardy took off her hat her eyes fell on the box top. She blinked, took off her glasses, put them back on again. Then she gasped. âWhere did this come from?â

âWe found it in Bridgewater,â replied Joe.

âYou what?â She turned crimson.

âExpressman here gave us a tip,â Frank explained. âWe rushed over and nabbed a woman in a rooming house.â

Aunt Gertrude gave both of them an inquiring look. They knew she was wondering whether they had seen her in Bridgewater. She said nothing, however, and went to her room.

âIt isnât often we see Aunty blush.â Joe laughed. âSheâs dying to ask us questions, but sheâs afraid to. What do you suppose is in those letters? She must have wanted them badly.â

âIâll bet theyâre old love letters.â Frank grinned. âDad said Aunt Gertrude was engaged at one time.â

The boys found it difficult to think of their aunt as a romantic person, but Mr. Hardy had often told them that his sister was very popular and had had many admirers. Conversation on the topic was interrupted by a telephone call from Mr. McClintock.

âI donât like to wait two weeks for that ship,â he announced. âTried to get other reservations this morning. Tell me, what does a man have to do in order to get some? Bring a letter from the president of the Maritime Commission? Itâs perfectly ridiculous!â

Frank and Joe were secretly amused. Now Mr. McClintock was finding out for himself how difficult it was!

âBy the way,â the man continued, âI went down to the docks and heard someone say thereâll be a freighter coming in tomorrow morning. Get down there early and meet the boat!â

âSure, Mr. McClintock. Weâll try!â Frank promised.

Following his instructions, they went to the waterfront before breakfast, arriving just as a big freighter pulled slowly up Barmet Bay. As it approached the dock the Hardys were amazed to see that it was the Hawk.

âWonder why she came back so soon,â Joe remarked. âShe couldnât have sailed very far.â

âBet sheâs in for repairs,â Frank replied. âSay, maybe Captain Sharp will be in a better frame of mind this time and give us passage.â

But when the Hawk was moored and Captain Sharp came ashore he looked as dour as ever. Nevertheless, the boys decided to speak to him. They walked up, smiling.

âWelcome back, Captain,â said Frank. âCarrying any passengers this time?â

Sharp squinted at them. âIâll say you two are persistent,â he grunted. âYou got my answer last time.â

âWe hoped you might have changed your mind.â

âWell, I havenât. Now stop bothering me!â

Captain Sharp brushed past them, but Joe hung on like a barnacle. âAll right, we wonât mention it again,â the boy said. âBut Iâd like to ask you something else. Have you ever seen or heard of a ghost ship, a phantom freighter, out beyond Barmet Shoals?â

Captain Sharp turned and glared. âAre you trying to make a fool out of me? Phantom freighter, indeed. Do I look like a man who believes in fairy tales?â

âThereâs been talk around hereââ Joe began, but the captain interrupted him fiercely.

âThatâll be enough of your impudence. Get out of my way!â He pushed Joe aside and strode down the pier.

The boys decided to eat breakfast at a diner along the waterfront, thinking that perhaps they could pick up some information about a passenger freighter. They had no luck, so they started for home. On the way they found themselves across the street from Klackâs Agency. A shabby man sat on a bench in front of the place, idly watching passers-by.

At the same moment Captain Sharp, looking thoroughly preoccupied, hurried into the agency. The Hardys followed and stood listening in the doorway.

Turning to the clerk, Sharp said, âI want to hire another cook. Mine jumped ship.â

The girl nibbled at the end of her pencil. âWe havenât had many cooks in here looking for jobs lately. If you can wait until Mr. Klack comes backââ

âWhat?â growled the man. âI want to hire a hand and I want him right now!â

The shabby man rose from the bench outside and sidled into the office past the Hardys, to whom Sharp paid not the slightest notice.

âIâm your man, skipper,â he said. âHow much does the job pay?â

Captain Sharp looked him over from head to foot. He asked a few brusque questions about his experience, a bargain was struck, and the two left.

The girl looked at the boys. âYou here again?â she snapped.

Frank, having heard that Klack was away, merely asked if she had booked passage yet for his party. She replied in a bored manner that there were no reservations for them and that they would have to wait until Mr. Klack got back.

âLet us know when he returns,â said Frank. But from the look on the clerkâs face he knew that she would do nothing of the sort.

Reaching home, the boys had a conference with their father and told about the return of the Hawk.

âCaptain Sharp undoubtedly is in on something crooked,â said Fenton Hardy. âWe donât have any proof, but his freighter should be watched. As for Klack, I can tell you why heâs out of town. The FBI has become interested in his activities.â

âYou think heâs hiding?â Frank asked.

âYes.â

âOn the Hawk?â

âNo. The ship could be searched too easily.â

Joe was standing near a front window. He glanced out and saw something that made him step back quickly. âWeâre being watched,â he said.

Mr. Hardy and Frank hurried to the window, not close enough to be seen, but enough to look out. Across the street, in the shadows of a tree, a shabby man stood gazing at the Hardy house.

âWhy, thatâs the man Captain Sharp hired as a cook in Klackâs office!â exclaimed Frank.

CHAPTER XV

The Abandoned Farm

âCAPTAIN Sharp definitely has something to hide,â Mr. Hardy said grimly. âHeâs afraid we suspect him.â

âAnd that weâd see something if we ever got far enough out of Bayport Harbor!â Joe added.

âWhich is precisely what we have to do, and fast. We canât wait a couple of weeks for the Crown of Neptune to sail,â Frank said. âI have an idea. Suppose Biff Hooper tries to get us tickets at another out-of-town agency.â

âGood thought,â Mr. Hardy agreed. âBut youâd better not call him from here. Our phone might be tapped.â

âThen how do we contact Biff?â Joe asked.

âYour mother will take care of that,â Mr. Hardy said with a grin and called in his wife. She readily agreed to the plan that he outlined. On her way shopping she would call Biff from a pay telephone.

âIf the spy follows you, weâll tail him,â Mr. Hardy told her.

But the man remained where he was, seemingly not interested in Mrs. Hardyâs leaving.

âI must get out of here myself,â the detective said. âI almost hope heâll follow me. I may learn something.â

He went upstairs. After a while the boys heard shuffling footsteps in the hall. An old man, white-whiskered and bent with age, appeared.

âI wonât be long, boys,â he croaked, a twinkle in his eye. âJust checking out the Hawk. If the guy tails me, donât worry!â

Frank and Joe laughed. Their fatherâs disguise was perfect. The detective went out the back door and made his way toward the corner.

Eagerly the boys watched from the window. Either the suspicions of the man across the street had not been aroused, or else he was posted there to shadow only Frank and Joe. He did not stir.

âI suppose we might as well stay home and wait for Biffâs report,â Frank said. âDadâs watching the Hawk and thereâs nothing much we can do anyhow.â

Their mother returned, saying she had telephoned the message. The boys stayed up late, but there was no call from Biff, and their father had not returned.

Next morning he told them the Hawk had sailed ahead of schedule.

âThere was nothing suspicious about it,â Mr. Hardy reported. âI had Sam Radley posted at the docks for the past two days, looking things over. He watched the ship being loaded. Most of the cargo was destined for cities down the coast.â

âWhat did she carry?â Frank inquired.

âLarge cans of paint and some machinery.â

âIs Sharpâs spy still on duty?â asked Joe, walking toward the front window. âHeâs gone,â the boy reported, âbut it seems someone else has taken his place!â

A taller, leaner man was strolling back and forth across the street, as if waiting for someone.

The telephone rang. It was Biff Hooper.

âThe tripâs off,â he said to Joe, who had answered.

âOkay,â Joe replied. âSee you later!â

Biff had spoken in code in case the wire was being tapped. âThe tripâs off,â meant that he was still trying to get reservations.

âI wish we could get rid of that spy,â said Joe. âI donât feel like sitting home all day!â

âIâve got a plan,â Frank said. âIf it works, weâll also have a pretty good idea why he was posted here.â

The ruse was simple. Joe walked out of the house and headed down the street. The man on the other side eyed him carefully, apparently undecided whether to follow or not. When Joe was halfway down the block, Frank ran out of the house.

âJoe!â he shouted.

His brother turned and looked back.

âCome here a minute!â

Joe ran rapidly toward the house, and Frank called out loudly, âThe tripâs off.â

âThe freighter trip?â

âYes. Mr. McClintock says to forget it. Heâs leaving town.â

Joe came up the steps and into the house. From behind the window curtains the boys watched the man across the street. Obviously he had heard enough, for he walked briskly away and disappeared from sight around the corner.

âPretty good trick!â Joe chuckled. âNo doubt heâs off to report what heâs heard.â

âLetâs get out of here while heâs gone,â said Frank. âIâd like to follow up something new. You remember when I was on the Wasp I heard a man speak of old Crowfeet? Maybe we can find out who he is.â

âHow?â

âWhen we were with Andy Harkness the other day he mentioned an Abel Jedson, an old retired officer. Says this guy knows every ship along this coast and everybody on them. Suppose we ask him about Crowfeet.â

âWhy not? Come on.â

They found Abel Jedson living in a little cottage near the bay, where he could watch the comings and goings of the ships. He was a spry, shrewd man with a stubby gray beard and twinkling blue eyes.

Jedson sat on his porch, listening to the radio. On the window sill nearby was a noisy parrot that squawked, âNo boarders wanted!â as the boys came up the walk.

They introduced themselves, and after talking about ships in general, Frank asked, âHave you ever heard any stories about a phantom freighter?â

âHundreds of them.â The old man chuckled. âIâve been hearing yarns âbout ghost ships ever since I was knee-high. All nonsense.â

Joe asked if he knew Captain Sharp of the Hawk. The old sailor cocked his head to one side and said he had seen the freighter, but knew nothing about her or her captain.

âEver hear of a man called Crowfeet?â asked Frank.

âName seems familiar, somehow,â mused Jedson. âIâll try and remember.â He twiddled the short-wave dial of the radio and brought forth a barrage of squeals that provoked the parrot to a rasping protest. âTurn it off! Turn it off!â he squawked.

Jedson gave the dial another twist. Suddenly the boys jumped in astonishment. Over short-wave they heard a gruff voice say âA23â151âC2.â Then silence.

The numbers printed on the boxes Frank had seen in the hold of the Wasp!

âCrowfeet,â Captain Jedson muttered, unaware of the excitement the announcement had aroused. âSeems to me it had something to do with a fellow named Harryâthatâs itâHarry Piper! Thatâs what folks used to call him. Crowfeet!â

âIs he still alive?â Joe asked.

âDonât know. Never heard of him dying, anyway. Captain Harry Piper of the freighter Falcon.â

âThe Falcon!â exclaimed Frank.

âThatâs right. Tell you where you might find out about him. When he was ashore he used to live with his brother John, about ten miles out of town. John had a farm a little ways in from Shore Road.â

The Hardys were elated. At last they had unearthed a valuable clue! After thanking Jedson, they got into the car and set off for Shore Road.

The Piper farm was difficult to locate. A man cutting grass in a small country cemetery finally put the boys on the right track. He pointed out an abandoned property next to the cemetery.

âJohn Piper died last year,â he informed them. âNo one has lived there since.â

Frank and Joe got out of the car and crossed the unkempt fields. The whole place was in a state of neglect. Weeds grew high in the yard. Parts of farm machinery lay rusting by a tumble-down fence. The farmhouse windows were boarded. But the place might hold a clue I

âLetâs check out the barn first,â Joe suggested.

To their surprise the hayloft was stacked high. On the floor was another immense pile of hay, but upon closer investigation the boys found that it was merely a cover for quantities of cowhides.

âThese hides are worth plenty!â Frank exclaimed. âI wonder why theyâre stored here.â

They decided to ask the cemetery caretaker if he knew anything about it, and crossed the fields again to talk to him. The man was amazed to hear about the hides.

âCanât figure it out,â he said. âI havenât seen anyone near the farm since John Piper died.â

âDid he have a large herd of cattle?â

âHeck, no. Never kept more than one cow.â

âLetâs go back there,â Joe said. âSomething funny about this.â

Surprisingly a truck had arrived in their absence and was parked in the barnyard.

âWeâd better take it easy,â advised Frank. âI donât like this.â

They approached cautiously, circling to the rear of the barn. Quietly they crept up to the back door and opened it. The place seemed as deserted as before. Then they noticed that the great pile of hay on the floor had been scattered from one end of the place to the other. Stepping inside, they gasped in amazement.

The stacks of hides had disappeared!

CHAPTER XVI

Success and Failure

âWEâD better take a look at that truck,â Frank suggested.

But before the Hardys reached the door, there was a sudden murmur of voices and sounds of footsteps above them. They glanced up just as a huge mass of hay came tumbling down directly at them!

Frank, unable to get out of the way, was knocked to the floor by its weight and completely covered. He held his breath to avoid sucking in the dust. When he tried to rise, he was unable to throw off the heavy load.

With a startled cry Joe had leaped back, but too late. Though he was not engulfed by the hay, a hard object struck him on the head. He fell to the floor, unconscious!

Frank, struggling to get out, was almost smothered. As he fought his way clear of the hay he heard a man say:

âThatâll take care of those kids till we can get the rest of this stuff moved.â

âLetâs hurry,â urged a companion.

Moments later the truck lumbered down the lane. Frank was still clawing at the hay and gasping for air. Stumbling free at last, he saw to his horror that Joe lay motionless. There was a large box beside his head.

It was several minutes before Joe revived. âWhat hit me?â he gasped.

Frank pointed to the box. When he lifted it, he realized that Joe might have been fatally injured if the box had struck him squarely. He opened it and found an electric motor inside.

âWow! Maybe weâve really hit on something this time,â he said. âDadâll want to see this!â

Fenton Hardy was indeed interested when his sons brought the motor home. He took the number and said he would check with his client. The detective was convinced that the boys had located one of the hiding places for the stolen goods.

âWool, hides, motors, and documents,â Mr. Hardy mused as the three discussed the various elements of the mystery. âI believe weâre on the track of a big gang who are handling all these things.â

âDo you think Crowfeet is the ringleader?â asked Joe.

âPossibly. There certainly seems to be a direct link between him and the abandoned Piper farm. In all likelihood heâs a smuggler. He may have lain offshore to send in hides in small boats like the Wasp, and received stolen motor parts and who knows what else in return.â

âOn the Falcon?â

âYes, and I have an idea that Crowfeet was warned and has changed the color and name of his freighter.â

âWith some of that paint Captain Sharp had on the Hawk!â Frank exclaimed excitedly.

âThen thatâs why Captain Sharp didnât want us on board and hired a man to watch our house?â asked Joe.

Mr. Hardy shrugged. âIt certainly all seems to fit together,â he said. âBut there are still many questions to be answered. One is, why is a smuggler mixed up with the faking of documents found in various states of our country? Well, your good work has made more work for me.â The detective smiled. âI must be going!â

After he left the house, Frank and Joe continued to talk over the aspects of the case, which still puzzled them. What was the strange abandoned ship they had seen? Where had it gone? What of Captain Harknessâs story about the phantom freighter named the Falcon?

The conference was interrupted by the arrival of Biff Hooper. The tall, pleasant boy brought good news. Beaming, he held up four tickets.

âReservations!â He grinned. âYou sail from Southport day after tomorrow.â .

The Hardys could hardly believe their ears. After all the difficulties they had experienced it seemed impossible that Biff had succeeded in securing accommodations so quickly.

âYou didnât go to that Southport agency again, did you?â asked Frank.

âNo. Of course not. After somebody filched your tickets there before, I didnât think theyâd trust me. I went to one in Eastport. It so happened that they had some cancellations.â

Eagerly Frank and Joe examined the precious tickets which were for one of the freighters of the Neptune Lineâthe Father Neptune.

âThe ship docks at Southport tomorrow and itâs sailing for the Caribbean Islands and South America,â Biff explained.

âBoy, it sounds great!â Joe said. âMr. McClintock sure will be glad to hear this. Iâll give him a ring.â He went to the telephone, but Frank stopped him.

âLetâs go tell him personally,â he suggested. âThen Biff can collect the money his father laid out for the tickets.â

The three hurried out of the house, piled into the convertible, and drove to the Bayport Hotel.

âI knew it! I knew it was possible,â said Mr. McClintock, rubbing his hands in glee when he heard the news. âThank you, Biff. Thank you.â

Mr. McClintock kept cash in the hotel safe. He paid Biff, then began talking about all he would have to do to get ready for the trip. The boys left him, broad smiles on their faces. They recalled the time he had suddenly decided to go on the Hawk and had given them ten minutes in which to get prepared.

The Hardysâ next stop was at the Morton farm. They expected Chet to whoop with joy at hearing the news about the voyage on the Father Neptune. But he did nothing of the sort.

âSay, whatâs the matter with you?â Joe exploded. âDonât you understand? Hereâs your ticket for South America, all expenses paid!â

âSorry, fellows,â Chet groaned. âI canât go with you. Iâll be here in Bayport, working my head off, tying flies and trying to sell them, while youâre out on the ocean having a wonderful time.â

âWhat happened?â Frank asked.

Chet explained that he was not allowed to go on the trip unless he first paid back every cent of the money he had borrowed to buy the forty-five-dollar rod.

âI thought you were going to try to sell it,â said Joe.

Chet hung his head. âBefore I had a chance, I ran over the rod with the car in the garage and ruined it.â

Frank and Joe looked at each other. âI donât believe it!â Frank said.

âItâs true,â Chet concluded drearily. âYouâll have to go without me. Take Biff in my place.â

Biff, however, showed no enthusiasm. Neither did the Hardys. The zest had gone out of the trip. It would not be the same without Chet.

Suddenly Frank brightened. âIâve got it!â he declared. âI know what weâll do!â

CHAPTER XVII

Danger at the Carnival

âSTEP upâstep up, ladies and gentlemen! The greatest bargain at the carnival! For a few cents, ninety-nine to be exact, less than a dollar, you can buy the lures that catch the biggest fish! Step up âstep up! Fine handmade flies!â

Chet Morton, red-faced and beaming, paused for breath. Then he blew a loud blast on a bugle. When the startled people attending the Southport carnival jumped and looked his way, he held aloft a handful of bright-colored flies and went into his speech again.

âYou risk no money. You merely make an investment in a fish dinner. Every fly guaranteed to pay for itself in fresh trout!â

Few of those who stopped to look had any intention of buying flies. But they drifted closer, attracted by the boyâs sales talk. Many of them laughingly parted with a dollar bill. Several men said, âKeep the change, son!â

Chet was having the time of his life! He had started his venture with the help of the Hardys, his sister Iola, and Callie Shaw. They had stayed up most of the night tying flies, and in the morning had obtained permission for Chet to sell them. By noontime the girls had decorated a handsome stand at the carnival.

After Chet was well launched, they left him and went to see the Father Neptune. Her skipper, Captain Gramwell, was a slender, white-haired man who welcomed the boys and girls courteously when they came on board the freighter.

It was a big, modern vessel with passenger cabins that were large and airy. The ship itself was spotlessly clean and the crew moved about briskly and efficiently.

âIâm a little upset,â Captain Gramwell confided to the Hardys. âNot more than an hour after we reached port I lost one of my best men. He took sick while he was in town and had to be taken to the hospital. Fortunately the man who brought the message had good references and experience, so I hired him to replace Sanderson.â

When the Hardys and their friends had left the ship, Frank said, âSomething doesnât ring true about that story.â

âBut Captain Gramwell appears perfectly honest,â Callie remarked.

âOf course. But doesnât it seem strange that some sort of misfortune struck his ship the moment we got passage? Captain Gramwellâs men have been with him a long time. Now a stranger suddenly joins the crew. Couldnât he be one of the gang working against us?â

âYou mean he put the seaman in the hospital on purpose?â Joe gasped.

âThereâs one way of checking up,â Frank decided. âWe can go to the hospital and inquire about Sanderson.â

They left the girls at the carnival and went to Southportâs only hospital. The receptionist shook her head. âThereâs no one here by that name,â she said. âThere must be a mistake.â

The boys were now convinced that their suspicions were well founded. They decided to go back to the ship and meet the new seaman. On the way out, Frank saw a figure dash from the shrubbery on the hospital grounds and run across the lawn. Frank gave no indication that he had seen anything suspicious. When they reached the gates at the entrance to the driveway, he grabbed Joe by the arm.

âQuick! In here!â

Swiftly they darted into the shelter of the big stone pillars.

âWhatâs up?â asked Joe.

âI saw someone run across the lawn after we came down the steps. Weâre being shadowed.â

A moment later they heard rapid footsteps on the concrete walk. Frank and Joe edged farther out of sight behind the pillar. A man walked past. He looked puzzled, glanced from left to right, up the street, back over his shoulder. Then he quickened his pace, hurried on, and disappeared around the next corner.

âLooks familiar,â Joe commented. âWhere have we seen him before?â

âHeâs the first spy who was watching our house.â

âThat settles it. Letâs go back and warn Captain Gramwell.â

They wondered how the skipper would receive the news. Possibly he might even ask them to cancel their passage! The captainâs attitude, however, was just what the boys had hoped it would be.

âIâll have no monkey business on my ship!â he declared angrily. âIâd like nothing better than to get my hands on those crooks. As soon as that new man shows up, Iâll find out whatâs what!â

They did not have long to wait. Within a quarter of an hour a tall, lean sailor came up the gangplank with a duffel bag over his shoulder.

âThere he is!â snapped the captain. He turned to the mate. âGo ashore and get me a policeman. If Sanderson has met with foul play, it will be very bad for this character.â

âWeâre being shadowed!â Frank said

When the new hand climbed over the side, the Hardys blinked in amazement.

âWhy, heâs the second spy!â Joe exclaimed.

Seeing the boys he wheeled around quickly and would have taken to his heels, but Captain Gramwell leaped forward and blocked his escape.

âNow then!â snapped Gramwell. âWhat happened to Sanderson? Where is he, and what did you do to him?â

âI told you, Captain. Heâs in the hospital.â

âThatâs a lie. Now speak up, and fast!â

The man turned sullen. âYouâve got nothing on me. Iâm not talking.â

The suspect would not admit anything and was taken to headquarters. There he was searched, but only a wad of compressed wool was found in his pockets.

The Hardys persuaded the sergeant to keep questioning the man, who had arrogantly refused the assistance of a lawyer. Finally he shrugged and said:

âSanderson isnât sick. Youâll find him in an old house outside of town. Tied up. I took him there because I wanted to ship on board the Father Neptune. Heâs not hurt.â

The sailor, who gave his name as Joe Flint, could not post bail, so he was jailed. Captain Gramwell and the Hardys went with the police in a squad car to the house Flint had indicated. There, in a tumble-down, empty dwelling, they found Sanderson. He was tied hand and foot, exhausted by his hopeless struggle, but otherwise unharmed.

Captain Gramwell had him taken back to the ship and ordered that he be given the best of care. Sanderson tried to express his gratitude to the Hardys for the part they had played in his rescue.

âYouâll have plenty of chances to thank them in the next few weeks,â the captain told him. âTheyâre sailing with us.â

âAnd that reminds me.â Frank laughed. âWe left a friend at the carnival, trying to raise money so he can go along. Weâd better drive back there and see how he made out, Joe.â

The carnival was in full swing when they returned to the grounds. They found Chet in front of his stand, brandishing a fistful of flies.

âHowâs business?â Frank asked.

âSold nearly everything. Another five dollars and Iâm in. Take over for me, will you? I want to get something to eat!â

As Chet headed for a lunch stand, Frank took his place at the booth and Joe cut loose with a lusty bellow of âStep upâstep up, ladies and gentlemen.â In another half hour Frank handed out the last Grizzly King. Chetâs goal had been reached!

They hurried to tell him the good news and arrived at the lunch stand, to find that Chet had eaten only two hamburgers. He had just given another order for two more. Frank and Joe, who were very hungry themselves, joined him.

As Joe chomped on his burger, he swiveled his stool and watched the archery range across the way. People were shooting arrows at a large target which rotated slowly.

A man in dungarees and a seamanâs sweater bought a quiver of arrows. He fitted one and pulled the bowstring. Suddenly he whirled around and let it fly.

Joe froze when he saw the whizzing arrow. The man had aimed straight at Frank!

CHAPTER XVIII

âYouâll Never Come Back!â

THERE was no time for Joe to push his brother out of the way.

âDown, Frank!â he yelled.

Frank ducked. The arrow zipped over him, embedding itself in the wall behind the lunch stand.

Joe jumped up, dashed toward the assailant, and grabbed him by the shoulder. âWhat do you mean shooting at my brother?â he demanded.

The man looked embarrassed. âIâI couldnât help it. Someone jostled me and I lost my balance. Sorry about that!â With that he escaped Joeâs grip and quickly disappeared in the crowd.

Frank and Joe followed the suspect as he hurried through the busy carnival grounds. They had to do some fancy footwork to catch up with him. Near the entrance they saw him arguing with another man. As the Hardys moved closer, keeping well out of sight, they heard him say angrily:

âA bargainâs a bargain. I want my moneylâ

âYou didnât do the job!â

âEven if I didnât get that kid for you, I tried. Now pay me or Iâll shoot something at you!â

As the young detectives reached the pair they recognized the other man instantly. He was the spy who had trailed them at the hospital.

âGet the police!â Frank whispered to Joe.

Joe nodded and left. Meanwhile, Frank listened to the men, who continued their argument and nearly got into a fight. The wrangle ended with the quick arrival of two policemen, who collared the suspects and put them under arrest on charges of attempted assault preferred by the Hardys.

âLooks as if weâre rounding up the gang one by one,â said the Southport chief of police to the boys at headquarters. âYouâve done a fine piece of work.â

Just then a sergeant walked into the chiefâs office with a message that the Bridgewater police had been trying to locate the Hardys.

âWhatâs up?â Frank asked.

âThey merely said a prisoner had decided to talk if you would come.â

âIt must be that woman who blackmailed Aunt Gertrude,â said Frank. âLetâs go.â

The boys got into their car and stopped at the carnival to pick up Chet, who had just closed his stand.

âWeâre driving to Bridgewater,â Frank announced. âWant to come?â

âMaybe Iâd better,â Chet said. âThat way I wonât spend my money!â

When the Hardys arrived at headquarters in Bridgewater, the chief told them that it was indeed the prisoner âMrs. Harrisonâ who had asked for them. She was brought out in charge of a policewoman. To the disappointment of everyone, however, she did not speak about the case.

âThe reason I wanted to talk to these boys is just to ask them a question,â she said. Then she turned to the Hardys. âAre you going on a freighter trip?â

âWhy?â asked Joe. âAnd how did you know about it?â

âNever mind how I know,â she replied. âAre you going?â

âMaybe.â âDonât!â the woman said earnestly. âI mean it. Iâm warning you. Donât go!â

âWhy not?â asked Chet, looking uneasy.

âBecause youâll never come back alive!â said the woman.

She got up and nodded curtly to her guard, indicating that the interview was at an end.

All the way home the boys pondered the reason for her warning. Chet was visibly nervous.

âI wonder if I should take time off from my work,â he said, âand go on that trip. Now that the fly-tying business is on its feet, maybe Iâd be foolish to quit.â

âYour license was only good for one day,â Frank teased. âAdmit it, youâre plain scared!â

âMe scared? Of course not. You donât think I took that woman seriously! But say, maybe it wouldnât be a bad idea to have Biff go along, too, if we could get an extra ticket.â

âYouâll have to ask Mr. McClintock.â

The Hardys, though they did not show it, were deeply concerned about the womanâs warning.

âLetâs phone the jail and find out if sheâs had any visitors, mail, or other messages,â Frank suggested.

Their inquiry brought no results. The woman had seen no one and received no mail.

âI suppose her warning was given for spite,â Frank concluded.

The young detectives continued their preparation for the trip and were ready to sail the next day. In the meantime Mr. Hardy had gone over a code with the boys until they had memorized it.

âIf you come across any information about the smugglers, send your messages in this code to Sam Radley at this address in Boston. Iâll be in and out, so you might not always get me,â he told them.

At the Southport pier there was laughter and excitement mixed with a certain amount of tenseness. Mr. and Mrs. Hardy, Aunt Gertrude, the Mortons, and the Hoopers had gathered to watch the departure of the Father Neptune.

Mr. McClintock, who had invited Biff, was already aboard and kept running around, getting in the crewâs way until finally the first mate suggested firmly that he go to his stateroom.

Presently a whistle blew. The boys hurried up the gangplank. Minutes later tugs pushed the freighter away from the dock. Out in the deep water the tugs cast off, and the shipâs engines began to throb steadily. Soon she swung off through the gap at the mouth of Southport Bay and headed out to sea.

After unpacking some of their luggage the Hardys went on deck and found Chet and Biff already there. Chet was wondering when and where dinner would be served.

âThis sea air gives me an appetite,â he remarked.

Just then they saw Mr. McClintock hurrying down the deck. He had a slip of paper in his hand and looked intensely worried.

âIâve just had a shock. A terrible shock!â he gasped. âLook what I found in my cabin. Pinned to my pillow!â

He held out the note with shaking hands. Frank took it and read the typed message:

This is your last warning. Go ashore before itâs too late!

Frank tried to calm the man by suggesting that the note was a practical joke, but he was worried just the same. Later on, in the privacy of their stateroom, he discussed the warning with Joe.

âEither one of the gang slipped on board for a few moments before we sailed, or has shipped with us,â he said.

âBut Captain Gramwell says every member of the crew has been with him for a long time. Do you suppose we have a stowaway?â

Frank shrugged. âLetâs speak to the captain.â With the captain they made a search of the ship, but found no one in hiding.

The Father Neptune headed southward on her course down the coast, and everything went smoothly. The passengers retired early. Their bunks were so comfortable, and the salty air so fresh and tangy that they slept well and forgot all fears they had about trouble on the ship.

The next morning the Hardys roamed about the freighter, keeping their eyes open for a stowaway, and at the same time learning something of the duties of the crew. They visited the sailorsâ quarters in the foâcâsle, then went down into the engine room.

It was as compact and efficient as a navy vessel. On the way up they met Sparks. The radioman had a message for the Hardys. âCanât make head or tail of it.â He laughed. âIt must be in code.â

While Chet and Biff were talking with Mr. McClintock on deck, Frank and Joe took the message to their cabin. It was from their father. They deciphered the code without difficulty. The message read:

Important to locate the phantom freighter. Smuggling gang eludes authorities by clever disguises. Suspect Klack is aboard. Use every precaution. Dad.

The Hardys decided to tell Captain Gramwell about it right away. As they reached the bridge Frank suddenly stopped short. âHey, Joe, this ship is listing badly to starboard!â.

Just then an excited seaman darted past them, yelling:

âCaptain! The cargoâs shifting! Weâre going over!â

CHAPTER XIX

Crowfeet

CAPTAIN Gramwell was barking orders over the loudspeaker:

âAll hands report to the hold to move shifting cargo! Delay may mean disaster!â

Frank and Joe dashed below deck. Chet and Biff followed them. In the hold, men were heaving crates of cargo to the portside, their bodies glistening with sweat. They worked frantically. The heavy thud of boxes was the only sound, except for an occasional sharp command.

The boys were directed to a post where the men had formed a double line and were swiftly passing cargo from one to another. Together the Hardys caught the bulky cases as they came, and then tossed them on, their arms working like machines in high gear.

On, on, on came the cases in rapid-fire succession. Minutes passed, and each box felt heavier than the one before. The boysâ backs ached, their hands stung. Their breathing turned into short painful gasps for air, and streams of perspiration rolled down their faces. But to let up for even a fraction of a second would throw off the whole operation.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity but was only a few minutes, there was a perceptible movement underfoot. Slowly, reluctantly, the ship rolled to an even keel.

âWeâve righted her!â shouted the officer in charge.

The boys went up on deck. As they were discussing what had happened, Captain Gramwell came over to thank them for helping out. Then he shook his head, muttering grimly:

âI canât understand it. How could that cargo have been loaded so badlyâwhoever was in charge is going to hear about it!â

Frank and Joe looked at each other. The same thought had been running through their minds. Then Frank spoke up. âI thought we should tell you this, sir. We think that it was done deliberately, because we shipped with you.â

Joe told him about the womanâs warning. âYouâll never come back alive!â

The captain was incredulous. âWhy, itâs fantastic that anyone would go to such lengths!â

Next, the boys informed him of the note left for Mr. McClintock, and finally showed him the decoded radio message from Mr. Hardy.

âWell!â sputtered the captain. âOne thing I can do is to have Sparks contact every ship in this area. If there is an unknown freighter around, weâll do a little investigating!â

That afternoon he called the boys to his cabin, and told them he had received a report on all vessels known to be within a three-hundred-mile radius, and had then established radio contact with each.

âOnly one ship reports seeing something strange,â he said. âThereâs an unidentified freighter that seems to be drifting. No signs of life, no response to signals.â

The Hardys were sure that it was the smug glersâ ship. Captain Gramwell promptly set his course toward the position indicated.

âShould sight her before dark,â he said.

His estimation was correct. The sun had just touched the horizon when the report came from the crowâs nest.

âFreighter on the starboard bow!â

They soon glimpsed the dark silhouette of a ship. Captain Gramwell gazed at the vessel through his binoculars.

âJust as reportedâno sign of life. It may be a derelict.â

The Father Neptune drew steadily closer. âItâs called the Black Gull,â the captain said. âI think I saw a man run across the deck just now and dive behind the foâcâsle cabin.â

Captain Gramwell ordered flag signals run up, in case the Black Gullâs radio was out of commission. But there was no answer. Instead, there came a puff of smoke from the Black Gullâs stack and the freighter began to move!

âSheâs on the run!â Captain Gramwell exclaimed as he rang for full speed ahead. âThatâs no derelict!â

âWill she get away from us?â Frank asked apprehensively.

The captain laughed. âThat hulk! No boat of that type can outrun mine.â

But to his surprise and fury, the Black Gull not only remained out of reach but gradually widened the gap. The captain snatched up the intercom telephone.

âWhatâs the matter down there?â he demanded. âI called for full speed and weâre not overtaking that ship!â

âI canât understand it, sir,â returned the chief engineer. âWe register top speed.â

It was growing dark now. Captain Gramwell, puzzled by the inability of his vessel to catch up to the clumsy-looking Black Gull, ordered a searchlight trained on the fleeing vessel.

Frank, meanwhile, slipped down to the radio room and coded out a message to Sam Radley in Boston.

Believe phantom freighter Black Gull has been sighted but cannot overtake.

He gave its approximate position and handed the message to the radio operator, then hurried back on deck.

By this time the Black Gull had escaped the probing searchlight and vanished into the night. Captain Gramwell stalked the bridge in a rage. His pride was hurt.

âThereâs not a freighter in these waters faster than my ship!â he insisted. âI canât understand it.â

Frank went back to the radio room. As he walked in, there was a faint burst of signals from the set. Sparks shrugged. âJust numbers,â he commented. Frank, who was familiar with the international code, cried out in surprise.

The signals spelled out the familiar numbers A23â151âC2!

âThatâs the smugglersâ code!â Frank told himself. âNot the motor numbers at all!â

A few minutes later the signal was repeated. âThe smugglers must feel certain,â Frank thought, âthat their code wonât be recognized.â Again came the numbers.

âCan you get a fix on that radio?â Frank asked.

âIâll try,â Sparks replied. By contacting another ship and using triangulation he was able to pinpoint a fix on the chart. Soon Captain Gramwell had set a new course, and the Father Neptune steamed swiftly through the night.

The Hardys went up on the bridge and stood beside the captain. Finally he gave an order. The searchlight blazed out across the water. Frank and Joe uttered whoops of excitement. The dark mass of the Black Gull lay clearly revealed in the light, not a quarter mile away.

But the freighter was no longer in motion. It lay apparently deserted and adrift, just as they had first discovered it.

âMaybe the crew abandoned the ship when they realized we were chasing them, Joe suggested.

âIâll send a boat over to make sure,â said Captain Gramwell.

âLet me go, sir,â Sparks requested quickly.

âAnd may we join him?â asked Frank and Joe.

Mr. McClintock, who had appeared with Chet and Biff, spoke up. âYou two watch your step,â he advised. âI feel responsible for your safety.â

âDonât worry,â Biff said. âThey can take care of themselves.â

The captain consented to their rowing over. âBut donât go aboard unless youâre sure no oneâs there,â he ordered. âJust circle the Black Gull, and if you hear voices or any sounds of life, come right back. Weâll keep the searchlight trained on the ship. You stay out of range of the light so you wonât be a target.â

Soon the Hardys and Sparks were rowing across the dark waters. Gradually they came closer to the black freighter, lying silent and mysterious in the night. There was not a sound except the steady splash of waves against the steel hull.

To keep out of range of the Father Neptuneâs searchlight, the three rowed around to the far side of the ship. As they went on slowly in the inky darkness, Joe pulled a flashlight from his pocket and switched it on. It revealed a shipâs ladder dangling over the side of the freighter.

âI guess you were right, Joe,â whispered Sparks. âThe crew got frightened and took to the boats.â

âThat would be a stupid move,â Frank said. âThereâs no place to go.â

He feared the inviting ladder might be a trap, but they had to take the risk. Joe grabbed it and climbed up. Frank followed, and Sparks came next, after securing the small boat to the lowest rung of the ladder.

Once on deck, they peered cautiously around in the gloom, keeping out of the rays of the searchlight.

âNot a soul aboard,â muttered Sparks. âYessir, they thought they were going to be caught, soââ

The words died in his throat. From out of the shadows sprang a dozen men. The Hardys and Sparks were bowled over like tenpins, and despite a violent struggle, were seized. Then a sardonic voice said:

âDidnât know when to stay out of trouble, eh? So now youâre in old Crowfeetâs hands ! Take âem below, men!â

They were roughly hauled down a companionway to a cabin. It was brightly lighted, but the portholes were covered with blackout curtains. Here the three faced their captors, who were a villainous-looking lot. The chief was a huge, black-bearded man. He was Crowfeet, leader of the smugglers! He looked his prisoners over, his hairy arms folded.

âWelcome to your new home,â he said sarcastically. âBehave yourselves and youâll get along fine!â

âWe wonât be here long,â Frank retorted defiantly. âThereâll be help coming by morning.â

Crowfeet gave a derisive laugh. âNo one can board this ship unless I let him. No vessel and no plane can touch me, as youâll find out. Iâve got protection!â

Crowfeet turned to his crew. âOrder full speed ahead. And if the Father Neptune tries to follow, give it the works!â

The smugglers went out. Crowfeet slammed the hatch. The captives heard a clang as a heavy bolt fell into place.

CHAPTER XX

Captured!

âTHIS is a fine predicament!â Joe cried in disgust. He hammered at the door of their prison.

âThat wonât do any good,â Frank said. âWeâve got to be calm and think this thing out.â

âItâs like a wild dream,â Joe said. âBoy, did we ever fall into that trap!â

âAnd how!â Sparks added. âWe were really suckered into this one!â

âThe whole thing just doesnât make sense,â Frank said. âThat guy Crowfeet is an old coot with just enough brains to sail this tub.â

âBut a genius heâs not. Is that what you mean?â Joe asked.

âRight. Thereâs something deeper behind all this hocus-pocus and I think the answer can be found on this ship.â

âWhat about giving the Father Neptune âthe worksâ? What did Crowfeet mean by that crack?â Joe asked.

âThatâs what weâve got to find out, and mighty soon. Listen. Weâre under way.â

The shipâs engines throbbed, and at the same time, a draft of fresh air drifted down upon them from a ventilating duct. Joe glanced up. An idea came to him.

âFrank, that duct might lead to another room. Think I could squeeze through it?â

âWant to try?â

âSure.â

âBut donât get stuck, for Peteâs sake!â

Joe stood on Frankâs shoulders, and using a dime for a screwdriver, removed two screws from the grillwork of the ventilator. âItâs larger than the size used in houses,â he remarked.

âDo you think you can make it, Joe?â Sparks asked.

âIâll have to hold my breath all the way,â Joe replied.

He stretched his hands out and put his head and shoulders into the opening. By wriggling, he got himself all the way into the duct. Immediately the flow of cool air stopped.

Joe wormed forward an inch at a time. âIf any thing goes wrong now,â he thought, âI might be trapped in here forever!â

Frank and Sparks, meanwhile, cut off from fresh air, were perspiring in their prison. Frank stood on Sparksâs shoulders and whispered into the duct, âJoe, how are you going?â

But his brother could not hear him. Joe snaked along for a while until he had to rest. âGood thing Iâm getting some fresh air,â he thought. âThank goodness the ship has some modern conveniences!â

The oxygen renewed his strength and he started on again. The air-conditioning duct seemed to be endless. Another inch. Then another.

Finally he saw a dim light. Or was it only his imagination? His fingers clawed against the metal duct. Occasionally they touched a seam, giving his nails enough purchase to pull ahead.

Yes, it was some kind of light. Probably seeping through the next grill. Finally Joe reached it. He peered through into a room containing a bunk and a desk.

Joe found two nuts in the grillwork. His fingertips throbbed with pain, as little by little he turned the small nuts loose.

With a bang of his fist, the ventilator screen fell outward onto the bunk. Joe struggled to get his hands through the opening. He made it. Now his head. Could he wriggle his shoulders enough to get through? Joe felt as if his back were breaking. He emerged from the air duct like a battered butterfly struggling from a metal cocoon and fell out onto the bunk, semiconscious.

The room spun around and Joe gasped until full consciousness returned to him. What to do now? First thing was to replace the grill.

He shoved it back in place and inserted the screws lightly. Then, straining to hear any possible noise, he stepped out into the hallway. It was empty.

He moved along catlike, the palms of his hands flat against the metal wall. Presently he came to a door with a warning marked in big red letters: DANGER. STAY OUT.

âDanger to whom?â Joe thought. âCould this possibly be âthe worksâ that the captain was going to deal out to the Father Neptune?â The boy tried the heavy handle and the door opened. He stepped inside.

âCome in, Captain,â a voice said.

Joe saw an armed guard, sitting with his back to the door. His gun was pointed at a slender, fine-looking, middle-aged man who was working over a battery of dials and switches. Joe crept up behind the guard, and dealt him a karate chop. He fell off the chair like a log.

The other man looked on in amazement. âWho are you?â he asked.

âJoe Hardy. Quick, lock the door!â

While the man followed his command, Joe briefly explained his presence and asked, âAnd who are you? What are you doing here?â

The man said he was Professor Elvin Rossiter, a scientist who had developed a unique repelling device. âI canât go into details on how it works,â he said. âBut it will drive off anything that is propelled by a motor in action.â

âSo thatâs it!â Joe said. âThis ship is able to repel anybody chasing it!â

The man nodded and went on to explain that he had been captured and forced to set up the machine on the old freighter. âI think Captain Crowfeetâs crazy,â he concluded.

âJust crazy enough to use your invention for his own nefarious purposes,â Joe replied. He added quickly, âIs it possible to get a radio message out of here?â

The inventor smiled. âIâve been assembling a radio, but havenât had a chance to use it yet.â He took the front off a console next to the repeller. âHere it is. Ready for operation.â

Joe quickly sent a message to Radley. He explained what had happened and said, âCan you get a speedy sailing yacht? Ship stops anything with motors running.â He gave the latitude and longitude, then signed off.

He turned to the professor. âThanks a million. Iâm going back now. Just make believe nothing has happened.â

The guard had not yet regained consciousness. Joe propped him alongside the chair and went out the door.

Just then the man came to. âWhat happened?â he cried.

As Joe crept away he heard Rossiterâs reply. âI think you fainted and fell off the chair.â

Joe made his way back to their prison. It had a bolt outside that could be pulled upward. Quickly Joe opened the door and slid in. He maneuvered the bolt in such a way that it would fall back in place as he shut the door with a slight bang.

âWow!â Frank said in relief. âI thought something had happened to you!â

âIâve had nothing but luck,â Joe replied, and told about Rossiter and the message he had been able to send over the radio.

âGreat!â Frank exulted.

After their excitement wore off, the three fell asleep, but were awakened a few hours later by Crowfeet. He beckoned them to join him on deck.

âHa-ha.â He chuckled. âI see youâve resigned yourselves to your fate and rested calmly.â

âWhatâs the use of resisting?â Frank said bitterly. âYouâre too smart for us!â

âNow youâre talking sense, boy. Iâm smarter than all the Hardys put together. People call my ship the phantom freighter. Good name for it, eh?â

âYou said last night that weâd get along fine if we behaved ourselves,â Joe said. âDoes that mean youâll let us join up with your crew?â

âI can always use strong hands,â growled Crowfeet. âWeâll see.â He eyed the boys narrowly. âYouâre pretty clever. Caught on to my code, though in the end thatâs how I got you here!â He laughed uproariously.

Frank asked if the various parts of the code stood for ships and places. He was told they did. A23 meant the phantom freighter, and in combination with some other number meant a certain ship was to meet the freighter at a designated time and place.

Crowfeet gave orders that they were to be given breakfast, and later they were allowed to go on deck. The boys scanned the ocean but saw no plume of smoke or other sign of a ship.

âNot looking for the Father Neptune by any chance, are you?â Crowfeet said sarcastically. âWell, forget it. Weâre far away from her. She doesnât even know where we are.â He added, âCome here. Iâll show you something!â

On a staging lowered over the side, two men armed with giant spray guns were directing great clouds of gray paint at the dark hull of the Black Gull.

âSometimes we hardly have time to let one coat dry before we have to change the color and the name again,â Crowfeet bragged. âGet our supplies from launches and never go into port.â

âYou called your ship the Falcon once, didnât you?â asked Frank.

Crowfeet gave the Hardys a superior look. âYou almost found me out while I was using that name, because the motor of that fishing launch went dead. Well, I canât tell you everything! We gotta have some secrets!â

As time dragged by and no help came, Frank and Joe began to lose hope. Perhaps their message had not been received. Then, suddenly, they noticed a white dot on the horizon. Their hearts leaped wildly. The spot soon enlarged into a snowy canvas. Closer and closer it came, until they recognized a racing sloop under full sail!

Suddenly there was a shout from Crowfeet. âWhatâs that yacht doing out there? I donât like this. Full speed ahead!â

The phantom freighter, its name now the Red Bird, rattled and groaned as its speed increased.

âSay, it looks like theyâre chasing us!â Crowfeet yelled wildly. âMy repeller! My repeller! It canât work against a sailing ship!â

He bellowed orders to the engine room. But it was no use. The big sloop soon overtook the Red Bird. Over the water blared a crisp command from a bullhorn:

Â 

âStop your engines and lower a ladder! Weâre boarding you for inspection!â

âCoast Guard!â screamed Crowfeet. He ran toward his cabin for a rifle, but Frank and Joe, hitting him high and low, brought the criminal down with a bone-cracking tackle.

Crowfeet rose to his feet, dazed. A few minutes later an officer came over the side, followed by Fenton Hardy.

After a joyous reunion between the detective and his sons, Crowfeet learned how he had been outsmarted. Realizing the game was up, he gave his real name, Harry Piper, and threw himself at the mercy of the authorities with a full confession.

Crowfeet had preyed on people in many walks of life. He had even stolen inventions and kidnapped their inventors. Professor Rossiter was not the only prisoner on board. There also was a chemist who had perfected a method of aging wood and paper. Crowfeet had forced him to counterfeit old documents and letters which were then sold as collectorsâ items.

âI figured out how to hide the papers in cartons of compressed wool along with ampules of an illegal drug and ship them to the houses of people who were away,â Crowfeet boasted. âAnd if I hadnât had such stupid fools working for me, youâd never have caught me!â

âLike the two who got into a fight in a motorboat on Barmet Bay and threw a carton overboard?â remarked Joe.

Crowfeet just grunted.

âAnd you stole electric motors,â Frank accused.

The captain admitted that he had. He bragged of how he had outwitted Customs in smuggling thousands of dollarsâ worth of goods in and out of the country, including the South American cowhides which the boys had discovered in the old barn.

The Hardys also learned that one of the gang had tinkered with the gas tank and radio on Captain Harknessâs boat, fearful they were going to search for the phantom freighter.

âHow you kids got passage on the Father Neptune Iâll never know,â growled Crowfeet. âBut when I heard you had, I sneaked men aboard the ship to reload the cargo so it would shift.â

Klack, too, was found hiding below. The FBI would have one less wanted man to hunt for!

Mr. Hardy revealed that the captains of the Hawk and the Wasp and several others in the gang had been captured already. âJames Johnsonâ had finally confessed his part in the scheme, saying if he had not been greedy and kept Aunt Gertrudeâs carton, and, with âMrs. Harrisonâsâ help, sold the contents, the Hardys would probably never have caught the gang.

The thief admitted that he had lost his good-luck medal in the Phillipsâs barn and that his cigarette butt might have started the fire.

Because âMrs. Harrisonâ had warned Frank and Joe about the danger of going on the freighter trip, she would perhaps get a lighter sentence, as well as the man who had telephoned the Hardys, telling them that Frank was on the bungalow porch.

Contact was made with the Father Neptune. The worried passengers cheered when they heard the news of the boysâ release and the smugglersâ capture. As the phantom freighter headed toward it, Professor Rossiter came on deck and joined the Hardys.

âYou donât know what this means to me,â he said. âI had given up all hope for rescue. Now if I could only find my partner, Thaddeus McClintock, with whom I worked on the repeller beforeââ

âMcClintock!â the boys interrupted in unison.

âWhy, yes,â Rossiter replied. âDo you know him?â

âHeâs aboard the Father Neptune!â Frank said.

âIâm sure he thought I stole the plans. But now ...â

When the Hardys witnessed the happy reunion of McClintock and his partner they felt well rewarded for their work.

Mr. McClintock beamed. He had been planning to ask Frank and Joe to investigate Rossiterâs strange disappearance when they returned from the freighter trip. It was the mystery he had talked about.

âBut now that wonât be necessary,â he said. âHow would you like a new car instead? Or something else?â

Frank and Joe stopped him short. âPlease, sir,â Frank said, âjust being able to help round up this gang and have a trip is reward enough.â

When the excitement was over, and the Father Neptune with McClintockâs party was steadily plowing southward, the Hardys began to wonder what their next adventure would be. They had no way of knowing then that sinister forces at work in Bayport would involve them in The Secret of Skull Mountain.

Suddenly Chet, who had been listening to them, gave a tremendous sigh. âWeâve had enough mystery for a while,â he said. âLetâs eatlâ

âNothing better than food, is there, Chet?â Joe quipped.

âThere sure is.â

âWhat?â Biff Hooper asked.

âThat new car Frank and Joe just turned down!â Chet replied.

Gales of laughter drifted out over the sea.