Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

The Phantom Freighter (6 page)

BOOK: The Phantom Freighter

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“No telling how long this funny business has been going on,” he thought.

As he was reporting his findings to the others, Mrs. Updyke suddenly gasped and pointed. “The documentsâthey're gone!”

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.

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

“They were hanging there when I left home,” 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, “From what you have told me, I think that the theft of the documents was committed by the person who received the carton. I'd like to talk to Mrs. Updyke.”

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.

“I figured the thief wouldn't walk out of here with the framed documents unwrapped,” the detective said. “They would be too conspicuous. This is the unused part of the cord he tied them with.” He turned to his sons. “What does it tell you?” he asked.

“It isn't the sort of knot people usually tie,” Joe observed.

“It's a stevedore's knot!” Frank said.

Joe thought they ought to look for the seaman with the scar. “He certainly acted suspiciously. I'll bet if we could lay our hands on him, we'd be able to clear the whole thing up!”

“And maybe find Aunt Gertrude's papers,” Frank added. “Say, how about using that copy of Johnson's signature we got from the expressman and see if anyone down at the waterfront recognizes it?”

“Good idea. But drop me off at the house first,” 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.

“If he's a longshoreman he may be working around the freighter that came in about an hour ago,” one clerk suggested. “It's the
Annie J
down at Pier Ten.”

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

“I wonder if this freighter carries passengers,” Joe remarked. “Maybe we can arrange something for Mr. McClintock.”

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

“Dunno,” grunted the fellow. “Ask one of the crew. Hey, you up there!” he called out.

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

“These boys want to talk to you!” the stevedore shouted.

The moment the Hardys saw the crewman's face, they recognized the scarred man.
Johnson!

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

“Come on, Frank! The ladder!” Joe scrambled up and over the side of the ship's rail, with Frank at his heels, just in time to see Johnson leap over a stack of hatch covers and race toward the foâc'sle.

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. “Cut across the other side of the ship,” he shouted. “I'll look for him in the foâc'sle.”

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 Joe's face brought him back to consciousness. He heard a voice saying, “That's enough. He's coming around now.”

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.

“Feeling better?” the captain asked. “I was getting worried about you, young fellow.”

Joe sat up and rubbed his head.

“My brother came on board with me. Have you seen him?” he asked.

“He went chasing some fellow down the ladder a little while ago. What's it all about?”

The men helped him to his feet. “I'm sorry, Captainâ”

“Dryden is the name.”

“Sorry we made such a commotion, Captain Dryden, but we've been trying to catch that man. When we saw him on deckâ”

“Why were you after him?” 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.

“Lost him again,” he grumbled. “That guy is as slippery asâWhy, Joe, what's the matter?” he asked, noticing how white and unsteady his brother was.

“Somebody shoved me down a stairway.”

“Come into my cabin,” suggested Captain Dryden. “And explain to me what's going on.”

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

“First of all, what are your names?” he asked.

“I'm Frank Hardy, sir, and this is my brother Joe.”

The man's friendly smile immediately disappeared. He looked stern and suspicious.

“Hardy!” he cried. “What right do you have barging onto my ship like this?”

The Hardys were dumbfounded at his change in attitude.

“Now get out of here!” he ordered.

“May I ask you a question first, sir?” Frank spoke up.

“Depends on the question.”

“Until you heard our names you were very cordial. Now there's a difference. Why?”

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

“Your name does make a difference. I've already been warned against you.”

“What?”

“A 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 you'd only make trouble.”

“How did you know he was a detective?” Frank asked, suspicious.

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

“What did he ten you?”

“Before I answer, I'd like to know if you've ever heard of me before.”

“No, sir,” answered the boys in unison.

The captain started to speak, stopped, then said, “I think you're telling the truth. Well, last year I got into a little mix-up in a foreign port. It wasn't 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, I'd keep you off my ship.”

“Every word's a lie!” Frank declared angrily. “What did this so-called detective look like?”

Captain Dryden's description fitted the man with the scar.

“He's the fellow we're trying to find,” the boy exclaimed. “The one I was chasing! I'm sure he's not a detective!”

“More likely a crook,” added Joe. “And I'll bet he's the one who knocked me down the stairs!”

Frank asked, “Do you still feel that you wouldn't want us on board?”

The captain laughed. “Not at all. I'd be glad to have you as passengers, but I doubt that this voyage would interest you. It's just a short run down the coast and back.”

“Will you consider us for a longer trip later?”

“If you like. But I won't be taking one for the next three months.”

The boys' faces showed their disappointment. They thanked the skipper and rose to leave. As Captain Dryden escorted them to the ship's 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. “I think he's getting impatient,” she remarked.

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

“How long have I got to wait before you find a ship?” he demanded. “I want action, not promises. If you can't locate one by tomorrow, I'll call the whole thing off!”

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

“Ask him to dinner,” she whispered. “That'll cool him off.”

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.

“Nothing like a well-cooked meal,” he said.

“I quite agree with you, sir,” 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, “How about joining us for dinner, Chet? Aunt Gertrude has something special. I'll show you.”

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. McClintock's admiration in short order.

“I like a boy who relishes his meals,” declared McClintock, “and also is interested in fishing.”

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

“You tie your own?” Mr. McClintock inquired, a gleam of enthusiasm in his eyes.

“Yes, indeed,” replied Chet. “I've just gone into the business of making the most beautiful lures imaginableâall by handâthe expert way!”

Frank nearly choked on a forkful of salad.

“Why, this is great,” declared Mr. McClintock. “I've tied hundreds of flies in my time. Used to be one of my favorite hobbies. You must let me visit your shop.”

“Sh-shop?” Chet said weakly, and Frank quickly got him off the hook by changing the subject.

“Have you done any trout fishing lately, Mr, McClintock?”

“No,” the man replied, putting down his fork and smiling at Aunt Gertrude. “Lost interest in it. Deep-sea fishing is the thing. More thrills. Better sport. Isn't that right, Miss Hardy?”

“Oh, yes, yes. Of course. Bigger fish, too.”

Suddenly their guest looked up, his face wreathed in delight. He snapped his fingers with excitement. “Why, that's it! Why didn't I think of this before? I'll take a deep-sea fishing trip!” He leaned toward Chet. “Do you think you could find a fishing boat and a captain who would take us?”

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.

“Frank and Joe here have been trying to arrange a freighter voyage, but they can't get accommodations. So it may be weeks before we go. In the meantime, we'll do some fishing. I'll pay all expenses. Arrange such a trip for me, Chet.”

“I'll try, sir,” 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. “Holy crow, fellows! That was a tough evening on me. What am I going to do?”

“That's easy,” Joe said. “Hire the boat and make a giant fly to catch whales!”

Chet groaned. “Listen, you two. You've got to help me!”

“Well, if you insist,” 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.

BOOK: The Phantom Freighter

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