The Phantom Freighter (3 page)

“To tell the truth, I didn't. I borrowed it from the money Dad gave me to buy some seed. I was sure he wouldn't mind, because the rod was a real bargain. Now I've got to earn forty-five dollars to pay him back.”

“Use the rod to catch fish, then sell the fish,” suggested Joe.

Chet looked at him sourly. “Forty-five dollars' worth of fish? You've got to be kidding. I may be able to make some money selling flies, though.”

“Flies? Who'd want flies?” asked Frank.

“I don't 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?”

The Hardys recognized this as one more of Chet's 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.

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

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

“Haven't the faintest idea,” Joe said.

“Right now he seems less worried about solving the mystery than going on a vacation,” Frank added.

“Why not suggest a fishing trip?” Chet said. “I'll bet he'd go for that. No trains, no planes, no cars, no ocean liners. Just a nice lazy fishing trip.”

“Sounds like a pretty fair idea,” Joe remarked. “He might like it.”

“Good!” Chet exclaimed. “You can sell him this fishing rod. After all, he'll need equipment.”

But the Hardys were not to be lured into Chet's little sales scheme that easily.

“We'll think about it,” Frank promised. “If 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 much—we'll ask him to talk to you.”

“Humph—a lot of ifs,” Chet grumbled. “I'll probably have the rod sold to someone else by then.” He sauntered off. “See you later.”

Frank and Joe were about to get into their car and drive home when Frank remembered his mother's 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.

“Frank, do you think he's that Johnson fellow?”

“Sure answers the description. I'll phone the expressman to come over and identify this guy. If he leaves, follow him!”

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.

“Expressman hasn't returned from his route,” he told his brother quietly. Then he walked up to the counter to get a better look at the man's face. Noticing some neckties the suspect had discarded, Frank asked pleasantly, “Have you finished with these?”

“Yeah.”

The boy looked directly into the stranger's 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.

“That'll teach you to mind your manners,” the clerk said with a chuckle. “Say, where're you going? I thought you wanted to buy something!”

Frank and Joe were already at the door. “We'll be back,” 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.

“He's going toward the harbor,” said Joe.

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

“Hope he doesn't recognize us,” Frank said, “or he'll know he's being tailed.”

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.

“I'll get out and meet you at the other end,” 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.

“Gave me the slip,” Joe muttered in exasperation. “I'll bet he's Johnson all right. Otherwise why did he run?”

“We might catch sight of him around the docks,” Frank suggested. “He was heading that way.”

“It's worth trying,” agreed Joe and hopped into the car.

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

“Guess we'll have to give up,” Frank said finally. “We'll come back later.”

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. “Hey, Joe, I have an idea!”

“What is it?”

“About Mr. McClintock's trip. Why not a voyage by freighter?”

“He said he didn't want to take a sea voyage,” Joe reminded him.

“He didn't want to go on a passenger liner because of the crowds and he'd have to dress up,” said Frank. “A freighter's different, though.”

“You might have something.” Joe glanced at the big ship. “And I wouldn't mind a trip like that myself.”

On the way home they discussed their new idea excitedly. It seemed like the perfect solution to Mr. McClintock's 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 “No,” 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.

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

“I'm sure the express company will do what it can, Aunty,” 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 expressman's mistake and their adventure in the blazing barn.

“There's something fishy about the whole affair,” Fenton Hardy said thoughtfully. “Gertrude, why don't you talk to an official of the express company and ask him to check further.”

“I certainly will,” 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.

“The forgers also compose letters on aged paper,” Mr. Hardy said. “That's how I got my first clue.”

“Tell us about it, Dad,” 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 “aging” 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 Gertrude's delectable strawberry shortcake, Frank brought up the subject of Mr. McClintock's trip.

After hearing how eccentric the man was, Aunt Gertrude predicted trouble for her nephews. “No telling what a person like that might do,” she said firmly. “Leave you stranded in some foreign country, or never pay you a cent for all your trouble.”

Mrs. Hardy also voiced concern. “Fenton, I think you should look into this,” 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.

“I must go now,” he said. “I'll leave you three to make plans and trust you'll work out something enjoyable.”

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

“We have a suggestion, sir,” Joe said. “How about a voyage by ocean freighter?”

The man scowled. “Ocean freighter? You mean an old tramp steamer? Ridiculous. Dirty. Smelly. Poor food.”

“It wouldn't be that bad,” Frank spoke up quickly. “A modern freighter is a mighty clean ship. Some of them make a business of carrying a few passengers. We'd pick one of those and see that the food and accommodations were A-okay.”

“You'd find it a lot of fun,” put in Joe. “They go to unusual places.”

“Well, look into it. If you discover the right kind of ship, let me know.”

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

“We'd better get it settled before Mr. McClintock has time to change his mind,” he said, laughing.

“Right!” agreed Joe. “He's such a strange guy you can't tell what he'll do or say next. I like him, though. By the way, Frank, did you notice he steered clear of mentioning anything about the mystery?”

“Yes, I did. Guess it was only a lure, after all.”

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.

“Do you know where we can find a freighter that carries passengers?”

The man gestured with a grimy thumb. “Try the
Hawk.
She's loading now.”

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

“We're looking for the captain,” Frank explained.

“He's up forward. What do you want him for?”

“We'd like to ship as passengers.”

“Nothing doing. We don't carry passengers.”

“But we were told—”

“You heard me. No passengers.”

“I think we'll see the captain, anyway,” Frank said and the boys turned away. They walked down the narrow space between the rail and the open hatches toward the officers' quarters.

“Hey! Stay away from the captain!” the seaman bellowed.

“I wonder what's eating him,” Joe said,

“Probably just a grouch. Got up on the wrong side of the bunk this morning.”

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.

“Have to watch your way around here,” 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.

“Duck!” Joe yelled.

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.

“It's okay. Take it easy,” Joe muttered.

Two longshoremen, having seen Frank's 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.

“Get a doctor!” 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.