The Arctic Patrol Mystery Page 7

  The crewmen left. Frank and Joe gave the last bunk one more look. A small bit of paper stuck between the wall and the blanket caught Frank’s eye. He plucked it from its hiding place.

  “Holy crow! Joe, look at this!” It had been torn from an Icelandic newspaper.

  “It’s our ad!” Joe exclaimed. “The one Musselman answered!”

  “See, we were right!” Frank said. “He was on this boat!”

  “One thing is sure,” Joe muttered. “That crook isn’t here now, and if he is, he certainly is well hidden.”

  The boys decided not to tell Captain Magnusson about their clue. When they returned to the bridge, the skipper asked, “Any luck?”

  “No. We couldn’t find him.” Frank observed the poaching captain all the while. He did not twitch a muscle, and his eyes remained cold and angry. If he knew of Musselman’s presence, he gave no indication.

  Magnusson called for his first lieutenant, who vaulted over the rail.

  “Hjalmar, take this boat to Reykjavik. We will follow!”

  After admonishing his prisoners not to do anything rash, Magnusson returned to the Thor, with the Hardys at his heels. The coast guard cutter and its captive turned about and were under way toward the Icelandic capital city.

  In the captain’s cabin Frank and Joe talked with the skipper. “What’ll happen to these fellows now?” Frank asked.

  “They will be fined, and their fish confiscated.”

  “But what about our search for Rex Mar?” Joe asked.

  A broad smile came over the captain’s face. “I knew you would ask that question. Everything has been taken care of.”

  “How?”

  “We will pass the Albert about two o’clock this morning. We will transfer you for the continuation of your search for Rex Mar.”

  “Great!” Frank said. “Thank you, sir.”

  “But it will not be as easy as boarding the poacher,” the skipper went on. “You see how rough it is getting? We will have to transfer you by raft.”

  The Thor had begun to pitch and yaw. As night settled over the sea, the wind blew harder.

  “We may be in for a little rough weather,” the captain declared. “But you are good sailors, right?”

  Joe hoped that neither of them would get seasick. But he felt a little queasy already. Dinner with the crew, however, settled Joe’s stomach. The boys joined the young crewmen in a hearty meal of roast lamb and boiled potatoes. The coffee was black and piping hot.

  When they returned to the deck again, the swell was even greater, and the ship rolled and rocked.

  “Get some sleep now,” the captain advised them. “We will wake you when the Albert comes in sight.”

  Frank and Joe slipped into their bunks and the rolling sea lolled them to sleep in no time at all. The next thing Frank knew, there was a hand on his shoulder.

  “Come. We have the Albert in sight,” Captain Magnusson said. “You have your gear ready?”

  “Yes, we’re all packed,” Frank replied as Joe rose sleepily from his bunk.

  On deck the fresh wind with the bite of glacier snow assailed the Hardys’ nostrils, and they were instantly wide awake.

  In the distance the lights of the Albert bobbed up and down. Captain Magnusson gave an order, and a searchlight atop the mast shone down on the sea in a brilliant yellow cone.

  “There comes the raft now,” the skipper said, pointing over the sea. At first it looked like a cork; then, as it drew closer, Frank and Joe saw that it was identical to the one lashed on the forward deck of the Thor. Three seamen, using long oars as paddles, propelled the raft toward them.

  On the Thor a section of rail was lifted up, and as the raft drew alongside, one of the sailors hurled a line aboard.

  “Everything is perfectly safe,” Captain Magnusson assured the boys.

  Frank wondered. The raft rose and fell on each wave, coming even with the deck of the Thor, then dropping ten feet into the trough.

  Clutching their bags, the Hardys waited. Up came the raft. Joe stepped in, and went down like an elevator. Up it came again for Frank. Then the line was cast off, and they were gliding over the frigid sea.

  The raft resembled a small bug struggling in the rolling waves. Overhead, a silver moon illuminated the snow-capped mountains along the shore.

  The young seamen paddled hard. Their oars flashed as they dug deep into the brine.

  Frank’s eyes scanned the ocean. Suddenly he leaned over to Joe. “Something else is out there!”

  “Where?” asked Joe, looking about in the stiff breeze.

  “I saw a wake!”

  Joe peered intently, but could spot nothing. “What do you suppose it was?”

  “A small boat, or a raft, maybe with a motor!”

  Presently the Albert loomed up black beside the raft. A section of its deck rail also had been lifted, but Frank Hardy was not ready to board yet. Crouched in the raft, he looked up at the captain and shouted, “I think I saw another small boat out there, skipper. I’d like permission to look for it!”

  “What? Speak slower, please. I am not too good with English.”

  Frank repeated his request, and the captain called back, “Wait. I will try first to find it on my radar.” He went into the control room, while the raft, banging against the side of the Albert, rose and fell with a dizzying motion.

  The seamen did their best to hold everything steady, and two more aboard the Albert clung to the line which had been thrown to them.

  Then suddenly it happened. A huge wave bore down on them. It hit the raft while it was in a deep trough, and after it had passed over the clinging occupants, Frank Hardy was gone!

  CHAPTER XII

  A Mysterious Offer

  A HEAD bobbed to the surface beside the Albert, then disappeared beneath the sullen waves again. Instantly two of the crewmen sprang overboard, while the third restrained Joe from diving in after his brother.

  Someone on the deck flashed a powerful light on the turbulent waters and Joe saw Frank in the firm grasp of the two seamen. His face was pale, his eyes shut.

  Frank was pushed into the raft, then hoisted quickly to the deck of the Albert. Seconds later, on a rising wave, Joe stepped safely aboard.

  The Albert’s captain, a square-jawed man named Holmquist, immediately applied artificial respiration to Frank, and finally the boy’s eyes fluttered open. The captain helped him to his feet. “You tried to swallow all of the North Atlantic, but it cannot be done!”

  “I sure did go under, like a sinker,” Frank said, shivering from the icy water.

  “Come down below and change into some dry clothes,” Captain Holmquist said.

  Still groggy, Frank followed him and Joe into a warm cabin. There he was supplied with seamen’s clothes, while his own were hung up to dry. Then the three sat down at the table in the skipper’s quarters.

  “Did you see the other raft?” was Joe’s first question.

  “Something was out there,” said Captain Holmquist. “But a raft—I doubt that. Probably a whale. We have them in these waters, you know.”

  “We can’t look for it any more, then?” Frank asked.

  The skipper shrugged. “There’s nothing on our radar now. Anyhow, our mission is to find the Svartfugel, right?”

  “That’s what we came for.” Frank managed a grin. “You think you can find her?”

  “I found her already. She is located on our chart. In the morning you will have your trawler served up for breakfast!”

  Frank and Joe laughed at the captain’s good humor and thanked him again for his help. Then they retired to their bunks and fell fast asleep.

  The Albert was alive with the sound of ship’s noises when the Hardys awakened. Footsteps sounded on gangways, and the smell of ham and hot coffee drifted into their cabin.

  By this time Frank’s clothes had dried. The boys dressed hurriedly and found their way to the breakfast table. The seamen joked about Frank’s dunking.

  “He went down like a sea
l!” said one of his rescuers with a chuckle.

  “More like a walrus I would say,” Frank replied, and took his place at the square table beside Captain Holmquist.

  “Now you will have something to tell back home,” the skipper said.

  The Hardys had soft-boiled eggs, cereal, and milk. In the center of the table stood a tall can of cod-liver oil. After watching the seamen help themselves, Frank and Joe each took a large spoonful, washed down by a second glass of milk.

  “Now you’re all set for the Svartfugel,” Captain Holmquist said. “She’s off our port bow, if you’d like to take a look.”

  The boys hastened to the deck and looked across the leaden waters toward a tubby little trawler. The captain followed with his bullhorn. In Icelandic he asked if Rex Mar was aboard.

  “Ja, ja,” came the answer.

  The ocean was calm enough for the two boats to pull alongside and soon Frank and Joe dropped to the deck of the Svartfugel.

  “Take your time,” Captain Holmquist said. “We will wait for you.”

  The small boat had only a crew of five, and its skipper called below decks for Rex Mar. The man appeared, wearing a brown sweater. Its turtleneck set off a square, weather-beaten face, topped by a patch of flowing gray hair beneath a seaman’s cap.

  Frank Hardy extended a hand in greeting. Rex Mar’s looked like a bear paw in comparison.

  “I’m Frank Hardy. Do you speak English, Mr. Mar?”

  “Yes.”

  Joe introduced himself and said, “There’s something we would like you to do.”

  “No, I won’t do it!” Mar said and turned down the narrow gangway.

  “Wait a minute!” Frank called out. “You won’t do what?”

  The old fellow regarded them grimly through watery blue eyes. “I won’t do what you want me to do. I was asked before. The answer is still No!”

  Frank and Joe exchanged puzzled glances. Finally Frank said, “Mr. Mar, we only want you to identify yourself.”

  Rex Mar closed one eye suspiciously. “Rex Mar is the name, and that’s all.”

  From the rail of the Albert, Holmquist looked down with a slight smile of amusement on his face. In rapid-fire Icelandic he spoke with the old seaman. Instantly Mar seemed more ready to cooperate.

  “What is it you want to know?”

  “We are looking for Rex Hallbjornsson,” Frank said.

  “Why?”

  “Somebody left him some insurance money.”

  The man’s face lit up like the aurora borealis. “Rex Hallbjornsson. Ja, I am the one!”

  Frank and Joe beamed at each other and shook hands vigorously. “Frank, we’ve done it!” said Joe. “We found our man!”

  But the elder Hardy boy was not convinced that the man standing before them was the real Rex Hallbjornsson.

  “Tell us,” he said, “how, why, and when did you change your name?”

  The old seaman took a pail, turned it upside down, and used it for a seat. Frank and Joe leaned against the capstan and listened to his tale.

  Mar said that he once was shipwrecked off the coast of France. After he had been rescued, his name Hallbjornsson—hard to spell for foreigners —had been recorded incorrectly.

  “I went to Spain,” he said, “where my name was spelled wrong again. What a mess it was! The b, j, and the l’s were all mixed up. I don’t think anybody could sneeze the name!”

  Joe chuckled at the description. “So you changed it?”

  “Yes. I chose the name Mar because it means sea. You see, I had to do it. In Spain they thought I was a spy since all the names on my papers were spelled differently. And you know,” he said, rubbing the side of his nose, “somebody still thinks I’m a spy.”

  “Who?” asked Frank.

  “Two men. They came to see me.”

  “About what?” Joe wanted to know.

  “About a job.” Mar explained that someone wanted the help of a man who knew the coast of Iceland intimately. “But I didn’t take it!”

  The Hardys were immediately alerted by the strange request. Frank said, “If they ever come to you with that proposal again, will you let me know?”

  “All right,” Mar replied, glancing up at Captain Holmquist.

  Convinced that Mar was indeed Rex Hallbjornsson, Frank told him that he had been named the beneficiary in a life insurance policy paying fifty thousand dollars. The old fellow’s jaw dropped, and he stood up, looking bewildered.

  When the name of the policyholder was given, a faraway look came into his eyes. He told the Hardys that it was a man he saved from drowning. “Now he will make my old age a comfortable one,” Mar said with feeling.

  Frank suggested that he come with them, leaving the trawler at once. “You’ll have to sign some papers in Reykjavik, and then we’ll try to get your money as soon as possible, Mr. Mar.”

  The Svartfugel’s skipper gave permission for his crewman to leave, and Rex Mar and the boys boarded the Albert.

  It was late in the afternoon when the coast guard boat pulled into Reykjavik Harbor. The Hardys thanked Captain Holmquist and his crew, then stepped onto the dock. The old seaman followed. A taxi took them into town. Mar was let off at his rooming house, with instructions to await word from the boys, and Frank and Joe continued on to their hotel.

  After hastening upstairs, they rapped on the door of Chet’s room. No answer. They went to their own room and phoned the desk. Had Biff and Chet left any message?

  The answer nearly floored them. Their friends had checked out of the hotel the day before.

  “What’s going on?” Frank asked the clerk.

  The man did not know, except that he had observed the pair talking with Gummi shortly before they signed out.

  Instantly Joe got on the phone to their Icelandic friend. “Gummi, where are Chet and Biff?”

  “You should know! They left after getting your message!”

  CHAPTER XIII

  Eavesdroppers

  “WE didn’t send any message!” Joe exclaimed, holding the receiver so that Frank could follow the conversation.

  “Oh no!” Gummi said that Chet and Biff had returned from an unsuccessful visit to Hafnarfjordur and shortly afterward received word ostensibly from Frank and Joe to meet them somewhere.

  “Good night! That was a hoax! Tell me, where were they to meet us?”

  “They didn’t say. Chet only told me it was a secret.”

  The Hardys were worried. Obviously this was an attempt by Musselman to split the ranks and deal with them individually.

  Frank took the phone from Joe. “If we only had a clue! A single clue! Think hard, Gummi. Didn’t Chet or Biff drop some kind of hint where they were going?”

  “Yes, Chet did,” Gummi said after a thoughtful pause. “He mentioned that he had better get some seasick pills.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, if you remember anything else, Gummi, give us a ring, will you?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Frank hung up.

  “At least we know they were going somewhere by boat,” Joe said.

  “Don’t jump to conclusions, Joe. The deduction might be true, and it might not.”

  “If it were,” Joe reasoned, “perhaps Chet and Biff went somewhere off the coast of Snaefell Glacier where you saw the mysterious raft!”

  “There’s only one thing to do now—inform the police and the coast guard,” Frank said crisply. “I’ll call them right away.”

  After he had notified the authorities about their missing friends, Frank telephoned Captain Magnusson. The skipper told him that the poachers had been heavily fined. The Tek was also fine-combed again, but the only thing found was a coil of fine nylon line attached to an underwater hook. No sign of a man fitting the description of Musselman.

  Then Frank told the captain about Chet and Biff.

  “The Thor is going on patrol again tonight, Frank,” Magnusson said. “If they are anywhere in the Icelandic waters, we’ll fi
nd them!”

  “Thanks, Captain.” Frank hung up and turned to Joe. Quickly he told him the news. “Obviously the nylon line was for towing something,” he concluded.

  “Yes, but we didn’t see any boat behind the Tek,” replied Joe.

  “I know. It’s a puzzler all right.”

  “What’s next?”

  “Let’s have something to eat, then we’ll radio Dad.”

  After a quick supper the boys contacted their father. They got through to Texas immediately.

  Frank reported that they had found Rex Mar, and Mr. Hardy congratulated them. Then he spelled out in detail an affidavit, which Frank was to prepare for the man to sign. The boy copied down the document, then told about Chet and Biff’s mysterious disappearance.

  Mr. Hardy expressed his worry, and casually switched to code. He was sure that the boys’ disappearance was tied in with the astronaut case.

  “If you find Musselman, you will probably find Biff and Chet,” Mr. Hardy advised.

  After their father signed off, the boys tried to map out a plan of action.

  “We’re really stuck,” Joe muttered. “The only clue is that Chet and Biff may be on a boat, and we can’t chase them on the ocean.”

  “The coast guard’ll have to do it,” Frank admitted. “But where to find Musselman? As far as he’s concerned, we don’t have any clues at all!”

  Joe sighed. “How about going over to Rex Mar with the affidavit? There’s not much else we can do tonight.”

  “Okay.”

  The boys walked the short distance to the sailor’s place. He occupied a large room on the first floor.

  Mar greeted them cordially, putting down his pipe on a small table to shake hands with them. He offered them chairs, then sank back onto a sofa and sent ringlets of smoke from his pipe.

  “You look pretty happy, Mr. Mar,” Frank said jovially.

  “I am a rich man.”

  “You will be, after a few formalities,” Joe agreed as Frank produced the affidavit.

  Rex Mar held it at arm’s length, scrutinizing every word, then he took the pen proffered by Frank in his gnarled fingers and scratched his name at the bottom of the paper.

  “After this is processed in the States,” Frank said, “you will receive your money.”