The Phantom Freighter Read online

  “With all my deep-sea fishing, I never went out for tuna,” he remarked excitedly. “Wonderful day for it!”

  “All aboard!” 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.

  “Tuna grow pretty big, don’t they?” asked Mr. McClintock, becoming a little nervous. “It won’t pull me overboard, will it?”

  “Could be.” Captain Harkness grinned. “But don’t worry, we’ll rescue you!”

  Frank signaled to Chet. “Hey, how come you didn’t bring your own rod? I thought you wanted to sell it.”

  “I do. But I thought I’d better wait and see how he likes fishing.”

  “Oh. Well, it sounds like a good idea.”

  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.

  “Strike him!” 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.

  “Help me, somebody!” he yelled. “I can’t hold on!”

  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.

  “He’s a monster!” 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!

  “I ... I can’t hold on any longer!” Chet gasped finally. “Take over, somebody!”

  Joe and Frank sprang to help him. Joe reached Chet’s 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.

  “Head him out to sea or we’ll go on the rocks!” Harkness roared.

  Joe pumped on the line with all his might. It did not work!

  “No use!” shouted Captain Harkness. “I’ll have to start the engine and pull her away, or we’ll pile up on the reef. Chet, get ready to cut that line!”

  “Please—not yet!” 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.

  “Wow!” 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.

  “Weighs six hundred pounds if he weighs an ounce,” Andy Harkness said. “After we tow him back to Bayport, we’ll have him put on display.”

  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.

  “Most interesting afternoon I’ve ever had!” he declared.

  Captain Harkness swung the wheel over. “We’d better start for home. Won’t make as good speed towing six hundred pounds of fish behind us, and I want to get to Bayport before dark.”

  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.

  “Sounds as if we’re out of gas,” Frank commented.

  “Can’t be,” the captain said. “I topped her off before the trip.”

  He tinkered with the engine, spun the flywheel. Then he thrust a rod into the tank. It came out dry. He was dumbfounded.

  “No gas!” he muttered. “I don’t understand it. There was enough gas in that tank to last us all day!”

  “You think somebody may have tampered with it, Captain?” Frank asked.

  “Could 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,” he returned slowly. “Most of the men around the fishing wharves know it’s a serious thing to run out of fuel when you’re in open water!”

  Mr. McClintock nervously asked what they could do about the situation.

  “Radio for help,” the skipper replied. He switched on his transmitter. It was dead!

  A close examination by the Hardys revealed that it had been sabotaged.

  “Now what?” asked Mr. McClintock.

  “We’re not far out,” the captain replied. “We’ll signal the first ship in sight. Meanwhile, they were drifting slowly toward Barmet Shoals.

  “I don’t like it!” 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 Frank’s sharp eyes detected a faint moving glimmer.

  “I think I see lights!” 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.

  “A freighter. Off our starboard,” said Captain Harkness.

  The lights bore steadily toward them. The ship’s engines became louder and louder. Harkness signaled.

  Suddenly the lights vanished. The engines became silent.

  “Strange!” muttered Frank.

  Captain Harkness gave a hoarse cry. “We’re too near Barmet Shoals. I knew it! There’s no ship out there at all. It’s the phantom freighter!”

  CHAPTER XIII

  “Mrs Harrison” 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 captain’s light. Result—negative. 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!

  “Ahoy there!” everyone shouted.

  There was no answer from the ship.

  “Maybe it’s not the same one we heard,” Frank suggested. “This might be a deserted ship.”

  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 keepi
ng 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. McClintock’s binoculars and raced forward, then aft, gazing through the glasses in all directions. There was no ship of any kind in sight.

  “Funny!” he said. “How could she have left without our hearing her? There wasn’t a sound all night of engines starting.”

  Joe, who had followed his brother, was puzzled. “Maybe she got caught in the crosscurrents and drifted off?”

  Captain Harkness, who had been dozing, came to with a start and cried out, “Crosscurrent nothing. That was the phantom freighter! Now do you believe me?”

  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.

  “Mr. Hardy asked us to search for you,” the officer said, “but we didn’t bargain on hunting ghost freighters. I’ll signal our patrol plane, though, to make a sweep of the area. If there’s any derelict or a ship named Falcon within three hundred miles, the plane will spot it and report back by radio.” With that the rescue boat left.

  Soon the fishermen arrived at the Bayport docks. Mr. and Mrs. Hardy met them, accompanied by Chet Morton’s 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.

  “Takes too much energy,” he groaned. “I’m going back to the hotel and sleep for a week!”

  “There goes your sale! I don’t think he’ll buy your rod now!” Frank whispered to Chet.

  The stout boy nodded glumly. “Just my luck!”

  When the Hardys arrived home they were alternately praised and scolded by Aunt Gertrude. “I was pretty sure you’d turn up,” she said, “but I was worried. Almost canceled my trip because of it.” She looked at the clock.

  “Leaving us, Aunty?” Frank asked in amazement. “Where are you going?”

  “To Bridgewater. I’ll only be there for the day.”

  “Who’s in Bridgewater?” Joe asked.

  “You are inquisitive, aren’t you!” Aunt Gertrude said. “If you must know, it’s a business trip.”

  Joe’s 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.

  “I’ve just heard something that might interest you Hardys.” he said. “Remember the carton addressed to your aunt that was delivered to the Phillips house?”

  “Sure do,” replied Frank.

  “Well, 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.”

  “You’re right!”

  “The express company is investigating, of course. I’ll let you know if anything further turns up.”

  “Thank you very much,” Frank said.

  The news about the incident, close on the heels of Aunt Gertrude’s trip there, struck the boys as being more than a coincidence.

  “I think we’d better drive down to Bridgewater and do a little checking ourselves,” decided Joe.

  “Good idea,” 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.

  “I don’t think you’ll learn much from the people at those addresses,” he said. “The police have already checked every angle,”

  Frank smiled. “We’ll try, anyhow.”

  When they left the office Frank came to a sudden stop. “Now look who’s over there!” he said.

  In front of a hotel directly across the street two women were in earnest conversation.

  “Aunt Gertrude!” exclaimed Joe.

  “Recognize the woman with her?”

  Joe looked again. Then he gasped. “Why, that’s the phony Mrs. Harrison!”

  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.

  “We’ll have to do a little fancy shadowing if we want to find out what this is all about,” said Joe. “Maybe we should call the police. Remember the Bayport police are looking for this woman!”

  “Let’s wait until she leaves Aunt Gertrude,” advised Frank. “If we call the police now, it would put Aunty in an awkward spot, particularly since we don’t know what those two are up to.”

  “I guess you’re 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.”

  “If Aunty falls for it, she’s got a mighty good reason,” declared Frank. “I guess that’s what she’s been so jittery about lately. This impostor must have written or phoned her.”

  The boys hurried into the hotel and made their way toward the restaurant. From the lobby they could see Aunt Gertrude and “Mrs. Harrison” 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.

  “Just as I said. Blackmail!” Joe whispered excitedly.

  Frank shook his head. “I can’t understand it.”

  Aunt Gertrude got up and walked out of the restaurant to the street. The other woman finished her coffee and prepared to leave.

  “Get the house detective,” Joe told his brother. “I’ll stall her in the meantime.”

  While Frank hurried into the lobby, Joe got up and walked across to the woman’s table, determined to take a bold approach.

  “Well, if it isn’t Mrs. Harrison!” he exclaimed, smiling.

  The woman looked up at him coldly. “You’ve made a mistake. My name isn’t Harrison.”

  “Don’t you remember me? I called at your house in Bayport. With the expressman.”

  The woman’s eyes were wary. Hastily she got up. “I was never in Bayport in my life,” she snapped.

  “Better sit down, Mrs. Harrison, or I’ll call the police,” Joe said.

  The threat worked. She turned pale and sat down again. “Really, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

  “I want some information from you. Where do your friends keep the stuff they steal?”

  The woman did not answer. Instead, she uttered a low moan, then slumped forward with her head on the table.

  “Why, she’s fainted!” 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.

  “Our friend has pretended to faint,” Joe said quickly. “Maybe we’d better let her think she’s getting away with it.”

  “Not around this hotel she won’t get away with it!” declared the detective.

  “I think we can handle it ourselves without the publicity,” Joe suggested smoothly. “If you’ll see that she’s helped out to a taxi, we’ll take over.”

  The detective nodded. He went into the restaurant. In the mea
ntime 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.

  “I’m feeling much better now,” they heard her say. “If you’ll get me a taxi ... so stupid of me ... just a weak spell ... I’ll be all right.”

  “Okay, lady,” the house detective said as he hailed a taxi. He helped her in. “Hope you feel better when you get home.”

  “Thank you.”

  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.

  “I wonder where Aunt Gertrude went,” Joe said.

  “We’ll catch up with her later,” Frank replied. “Right now I’m very curious as to where we’re going.”

  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.

  “We had a call a few minutes ago that that woman was at a downtown hotel,” the officer reported. “She moves fast.”

  “Aunt Gertrude must have notified him,” 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.

  “Okay. Come on!” agreed the detective.

  The only occupant of the rooming house at the moment, besides the owner, was “Mrs. Harrison.” They found her packing a trunk in a room that was in a state of disorder. She looked up in alarm.

  “Who are you? What do you want from me?”

  “Police,” said the Bridgewater detective, showing his badge. “Taking a trip, eh? Let’s have a look at some of this baggage.”

  “Not without a warrant, you don‘t!” the woman snapped.

  “Here!” The man pulled a “Jane Doe” search warrant out of his pocket, then proceeded to check through the belongings in the trunk.