The Mystery of the Chinese Junk Page 4

“And these are Miss Hardy’s nephews, Frank and Joe,” Mrs. Witherspoon went on.

  The boys shook hands, then said they were about to leave the house for several hours.

  “Mrs. Witherspoon, would you be able to stay here and answer the door or phone while my aunt is consulting Dr. Montrose?” Frank requested. He did not like the idea of leaving Miss Hardy alone on her detective mission!

  “Oh, I’ll keep house while the doctor’s here,” Mrs. Witherspoon promised good-naturedly.

  Frank and Joe thanked her. Before starting off Joe hurried to the basement to turn on the short-wave set.

  “I’d like to call Aunt Gertrude later and hear what she found out from that ‘stock swindler,”’ Joe confided to his brother as they hurried to the dock. Frank grinned.

  At the pier the Hardys found Biff and Tony polishing woodwork on the Hai Hau. Frank and Joe pitched in to help them, and a few minutes later Jim Foy showed up.

  “Welcome aboard, honored guest,” Joe said solemnly, bowing low in Oriental manner.

  The Chinese-American lad chuckled. “Boy, that’s corny enough for a Grade D movie about China! Which reminds me, I wrote my uncle about George Ti-Ming.”

  “Fine,” said Frank. “Let us know as soon as you hear anything.”

  Jim Foy scrambled down from the dock to join the others. Frank reminded them of the Chinese newspaper item concerning Chin Gok and the smuggling plot. “Let’s search this junk and see if anything’s still hidden aboard.”

  “Right!” Tony agreed.

  The boys began a search of every crack and crevice. They were about to give up when Joe gave a shout from the bow.

  “Hey, someone bring a screw driver!”

  Frank grabbed one from the tool locker and hurried to join his brother in the bow. The other boys watched as Joe carefully pried loose a tiny silvery object which had become wedged between two deck planks.

  “What is it?” Biff asked, staring with wide-eyed interest. Then he exclaimed, “A bullet!”

  “Good night!” said Tony. “I wonder when that missed someone and landed here!”

  Frank and Joe examined the bullet. “My guess is that it came from quite a distance,” Frank said. “Probably a stray intended for a practice target.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Biff said with an uncomfortable feeling.

  Tony urged that they stop searching and set sail. But the Hardys told Biff and Tony they needed time to install the two-way radio set they had brought along.

  “I figured we could use it for ship-to-shore communication with that radio setup in our basement,” Frank explained, “and also call the Coast Guard if we need to.”

  The job of installing the short-wave equipment was soon completed. Tony started the outboard and they put-putted away from the dock. Once clear, the sails were hoisted and the centerboard lowered.

  “Wind on the port beam,” Frank observed.

  Soon they were scudding over the water at a brisk clip. It was a bright sunny day and Rocky Isle was clearly outlined on the horizon beyond the mouth of Barmet Bay.

  “Let’s try calling Aunt Gertrude,” Joe suggested presently. “Over an hour has gone by since Dr. Montrose came to the house. I’d like to know how she made out with her detective work.” Speaking into the mike, he said, “Hardy boys to Elm Street. Come in, please!”

  There was no response, except a faint sputter of static. Repeated calls were not answered.

  “Aunt Gertrude must have gone out,” said Joe.

  Suddenly a hissing voice broke in, “Hardys, I warn you. Do not sail the Hai Hau!”

  The boys were electrified. “Good night! Where did that come from?” Tony exclaimed. “Your house?”

  Frank became grim. “If it did, that voice might have been a prowler’s. Aunt Gertrude may have run into trouble!”

  “You’re right,” said Joe. “We’d better get back there pronto!”

  The Hai Hau was turned in a wide sweep, then headed back to Bayport. Biff tried to ease the Hardys’ worries by suggesting that the warning had not come from the boys’ home after all. “Someone who knows your frequency may just be spoofing you,” he said.

  Frank and Joe were not convinced and listened carefully for any further message. Halfway back through the bay, Joe gave the radio call signal again. To everyone’s amazement a familiar voice crackled over the junk’s speaker.

  “Hi, fellows! This is Chet Spelunker!”

  “Chet! For Pete’s sake, where are you operating from?” Joe cried out.

  “Your place,” the stout boy replied. “The front door was open, so I walked in. Hope you don’t mind. Just then I heard your signal and hustled down to the basement.”

  Joe asked, “Were you the wise guy who sent us that warning before?”

  “What warning? What are you talking about?”

  Chet was dumfounded when he heard of the mysterious threat received over the junk’s radio. “It sure wasn’t my voice you heard—I just got here,” he said. “I only stopped by to—well, to see if your aunt had any spare cake for a picnic.”

  “Where’s Aunt Gertrude?” Joe asked.

  “She’s not around, worse luck. I guess she must be out. Didn’t answer when I called her,” Chet replied.

  “And no one else is there?”

  “Not a soul. And the house looks okay.” Chet chuckled. “About that picnic. Callie and Iola are going on the spelunking trip with me.”

  Callie Shaw, an attractive blonde, was Frank’s favorite date. The couple usually double-dated with Iola and Joe.

  “Some guys have all the luck,” Joe remarked.

  “Well, see you later!” Chet called. “I’ll close the door.”

  The plump youth signed off, leaving Frank and Joe more mystified than ever. Where was Miss Hardy? Who had left the door open? And who had sent the strange radio threat, and from where?

  Biff spoke up. “Since everything is okay at your house, Frank and Joe, let’s continue our trip to Rocky Isle.”

  The Hardys agreed, though they would have preferred going home to be sure nothing had happened. Once more the junk was turned and the boys tacked out of the bay and emerged onto the open sea. Rocky Isle lay about five miles distant. The northern end of the small island was a tumbled mass of rock, rising to a sheer cliff, on which stood a white lighthouse. The southern portion of the land was flat and sandy. The only home on it, which was near the shore, was occupied by the park keeper, Dave Roberts.

  “Might be a good idea to practice landing at the public wharf,” Frank suggested.

  Tony laughed. “You mean we’d better look good when we bring our first load of passengers?”

  The wind continued while they crossed the stretch of open water. As they neared the southern end of the island and approached the boat landing, Frank told Biff to cut the engine.

  “Let’s try it under sail,” he said.

  Frank swung the junk’s nose around into the wind to lose headway and ordered the others to slacken off on the sheets. As they did, the wind shifted. A sudden gust sent the junk straight toward the quay!

  “We’ll crash!” Jim cried.

  Acting quickly, Joe shoved the fenders over the side, grabbed a bamboo boat hook, and staved off the shock of impact. With a creaking scrunch the junk swung into position alongside the stone pier!

  “Whew! Let’s not do that again!” he gasped.

  “Nice going, boy!” Tony clapped Joe on the back. “With you aboard, what is there to worry about?”

  The boys practiced several more landings, both with and without the motor. All went off smoothly. Satisfied, they headed back toward Barmet Bay.

  Two miles from the island, a motorboat came racing up astern and pulled alongside the junk. Aboard were two men in Coast Guard uniforms. One, wearing the insignia of a chief petty officer, hailed them in a loud voice.

  “Heave to! We’re coming aboard!”

  CHAPTER VI

  Coastal Search

  THE boys aboard the Hai Hau were surprised at
the unexpected order. The Coast Guard officer’s scowling manner hinted at trouble.

  “Anything wrong?” Frank called across the water as Tony cut the outboard.

  “We’re checking on all private craft in the Bayport area!” the man shouted back. “That junk isn’t properly documented and you’re subject to a fine. The Hai Hau will have to be taken back to the base in tow!”

  Biff reddened angrily. “What do you mean? We have everything required.”

  “We got our Certificate of Award of Number in New York,” Tony called.

  “Tell that to the warrant officer!” the man retorted. “We’re still taking you in! You’ll have to prove what you’re saying.”

  He poised in the stern, ready to leap aboard the junk as his mate steered closer to the Hai Hau.

  “Wait a second!” Joe ordered. With sharp eyes he had looked over the other craft. “That’s no Coast Guard boat you’re in,” he said. “Where’s your official ensign?”

  The burly pilot’s expression became ugly. “Don’t get smart with us, kidl We’ll ask the questions!”

  “I’ll bet they’re phonies!” Frank cried out.

  The men heard him. “Shut up or we’ll clap you all in irons!” one threatened. As the boats touched sides, he vaulted over the gunwale.

  Joe greeted him with a stiff-hand jab before the man could find solid footing on the Hai Hau’s deck. Taken off balance, he toppled backward into the water. He came up spluttering and cursing. The helmsman shouted dire threats at the boys.

  “Now’s our chance!” Joe yelled. “Give ’er the gun, Tony!” He threw the helm hard over.

  Tony revved the outboard and the junk spurted away from the speedboat. Its wheelsman was too concerned with rescuing his partner to give chase.

  Biff chuckled and pumped Joe’s hand. “Nice going, pal!”

  The boys hooted with laughter as they watched the man in the water being hauled into the speedboat, drenched and dripping. He looked balefully at the boys.

  “You won’t get away with this!”

  His angry bellow carried across the water. He and his pal made no attempt to go after the boys, evidently realizing that they stood little chance against the Hai Hau’s husky and determined crew.

  “Wow! This is more excitement than I bargained for!” Jim Foy said. “Are you fellows sure those guys weren’t real coastguardmen from the Bayport station?”

  “We’ll soon find out!” Biff declared.

  He warmed up the transmitter again and tuned in the Coast Guard station frequency. All of the crew were much relieved when the base’s radio operator assured them that no harbor patrol boats had been ordered to pick up unregistered craft. He also said that the lieutenant in charge would send out a launch at once to hunt for the trouble-makers.

  “I wonder where those fakers got their uniforms?” Tony mused.

  Frank shrugged. “Stole them probably. What I’d like to know is why everyone’s so anxious to get hold of this junk.”

  “Maybe all the guys we’ve had run-ins with are members of the same gang,” Joe conjectured.

  Biff offered another theory. He suggested that the two fake coastguardmen might be cronies of Clams Dagget. “Maybe Clams hired them to keep us from starting our boat business,” Biff said. “You told us, Frank, that he sure was mad when he came to your house.”

  “That’s right.”

  The Hai Hau returned to Bayport without further incident, and was tied up at the pier. Jim Foy said he must leave as he had a job to do for his father. The other four boys remained for a while, talking over their plans. Tomorrow was to be the opening day of their passenger service to Rocky Isle.

  “Let’s keep our fingers crossed!” Tony said with a grin as the meeting broke up.

  “Don’t worry,” Frank replied confidently. “I’ll bet we get a full boatload every trip!”

  Biff and Tony, who had chores to attend to, drove off in Biff’s jeep. “See you tomorrow, fellows!”

  “What’ll we do now?” Joe asked his brother.

  “Let’s grab a hamburger,” Frank said. “I’m starved.”

  “So am I. But first I want to phone the Coast Guard and find out if they’ve picked up those two fakers.”

  The brothers went into a nearby restaurant which had a pay telephone booth and made the call. The two men had not been caught.

  As the Hardys perched themselves on stools, Joe suggested, “What say you and I try to trace those phony coastguardmen? Maybe we can spot their boat. After all, we got a good look at it.”

  “Smart idea! We’ll take the Sleuth.”

  The boys finished their hamburgers and hurried to the boathouse where they kept their motorboat. Minutes later, they were cruising along the shore of Barmet Bay. They went the full length of the three miles, first inspecting the north side, then the south. There was no sign of the speedboat anywhere.

  “Let’s try the ocean,” Frank urged.

  Leaving the harbor mouth, the Hardys turned northward along the coast. The ocean was as quiet as a pond. From time to time the brothers hailed fishing boats and other small craft to inquire about the speedboat. None of the skippers they questioned had sighted it, and the boys did not spot the craft hidden anywhere along the rocky, indented shoreline.

  “Looks as if we’re out of luck,” Joe grumbled.

  Frank was keeping binoculars trained along the coast. “Let’s try south of the bay,” he suggested.

  “Okay. Let’s go!” Joe swung the Sleuth around, leaving a frothing wake.

  As it passed Rocky Isle to starboard, a small cabin cruiser crossed their bow. The man at the wheel waved to them. Frank shouted a description of the speedboat and asked if he had seen it.

  “Sure, about ten minutes ago,” the yachtsman called back. “Heading over that way!”

  He indicated a sandy stretch of beach half a mile beyond the harbor mouth.

  “Thanks!” The boys waved back.

  “A break at last!” Joe muttered. He increased speed and the Sleuth lunged ahead, its bow lifting clear of the water.

  As they neared the beach which the yachtsman had pointed out, the boys switched places. Frank took the wheel.

  “Hey, this is where Clams Dagget lives!” Joe remembered suddenly. He trained the binoculars on the shore, picking out Dagget’s shack. “Frank!” he yelled excitedly. “I see those two men who pretended to be coastguardmen. They’re standing in front of the shack, talking to Clams!”

  Frank gunned the motorboat shoreward. As it beached in the shallows of an inlet the boys leaped out and ran toward the shack.

  At that instant their quarry sighted them. Breaking off the conversation with Clams, the two men dashed into the tall cattails behind the shack.

  “After those fakers!” Joe shouted to Frank.

  The marshy ground sloped upward into scrubby underbrush, willows, and sumac. Frank and Joe could hear the men plunging forward, but soon lost sight of them. The boys were finally forced to give up.

  “What luck!” Joe growled. “We almost had ’em!”

  “Let’s see what Clams has to say about them,” Frank suggested grimly.

  Dagget was lounging in front of his shack, whittling a piece of wood. He appeared unconcerned as the two boys walked up to him.

  “Who were those guys?” Frank demanded.

  “What guys?”

  “The ones we were chasing.”

  Clams shrugged. “How should I know?” He began whistling airily as he continued work with his pocketknife.

  “You’d better think hard!” Frank warned him. “Those fellows are—”

  He broke off as a motor roared in the distance. A second later the boys saw their quarry’s speedboat race from a nearby cove. It headed northward.

  Joe clenched his fists in futile rage. “No hope of catching them with that kind of a start! But I can notify the authorities on the Sleuth’s radio. Wait here,” he told Frank, and dashed back to the motorboat.

  The young detective pressed the but
ton for the Coast Guard frequency. He reported having seen the impersonators and that they had taken a northerly route in their escape.

  “Let’s go after those fakers!” Joe urged

  Meanwhile, Frank had been quizzing Clams Dagget. When he found him unwilling to talk, Frank flushed with anger.

  “Listen, Clams—I’m warning you. Those two guys you were talking to just committed a federal offense.”

  “What!”

  The old beachcomber’s mouth dropped open in a look of alarm.

  “You heard me. They’re impersonating members of the United States Coast Guard. What’s more, they tried to board our junk and take over,” Frank added. “That could be attempted piracy.”

  “I don’t know nothin’ about ‘em,” Clams Dagget whined. “Never even seen ’em before. That’s the truth!”

  “Then what were you talking to them about? You were sure acting chummy!”

  “They said they wanted me to do a job for‘em,” Clams replied. “I don’t know what. You and your brother came along and scared ’em off before they got a chance to explain.”

  Presently Joe returned and questioned Clams further, but finally both boys decided he was telling the truth. Boarding the Sleuth, they returned to Bayport.

  It was almost seven o’clock when Frank and Joe arrived home. They found a note from Aunt Gertrude on the hall table. It said:I feel much better and am going out. Dr. Montrose is a good physician. He did not talk about stocks and I had no chance to bring up the subject.

  Phone Chet Morton’s mother as soon as you get in. She has called twice.

  Frank frowned. “I wonder what’s up?”

  He dialed the Morton’s number. A woman’s voice answered almost immediately.

  “This is Frank Hardy, Mrs. Morton. I—”

  “Oh, thank goodness you got my message!” Mrs. Morton sounded frantic. “Chet and the two girls haven’t returned from their cave trip! They were due hours ago! Please help us find them!”

  CHAPTER VII

  Missing Spelunkers

  FRANK tried to calm Chet’s excited mother. “I’m sure there’s nothing to be alarmed about, Mrs. Morton,” he said soothingly. “Joe and I will start looking right away. Did Chet tell you where he and Callie and Iola were going?”