The Phantom Freighter Read online

  The woman watched him tensely. There was nothing but clothing, shoes, and hair curlers.

  Frank and Joe, meanwhile, searched the room. In a corner closet they found a cardboard box. Frank pulled it out. It was addressed to Miss Gertrude Hardy!

  “Here’s the evidence!” Joe exclaimed. He examined the contents, There were old books and pictures, antique jewelry and heirlooms, but no personal letters.

  “Why didn’t you sell our aunt the whole lot?” Frank asked the woman.

  She glared at him. “This box does not belong to me. Someone else must have left it there. I never even saw it!”

  “Sorry, lady, but you’ll have to come to headquarters,” the detective said. He informed her of her constitutional rights, to which she replied with a snort.

  Frank and Joe followed the squad car to police headquarters. The woman was booked on theft and blackmail charges. She refused to say anything, however, and was held for arraignment.

  “Aunt Gertrude will make a perfect witness,” Joe said.

  The Bridgewater police chief thanked the Hardys for their help and gave them permission to take home the top from the carton with Aunt Gertrude’s name on it. It was hanging loose and the boys promised to return it if needed as evidence.

  “She’ll have to claim her property later,” he said. “It’s a lucky break for us, getting this woman behind bars,” he added. “After she’s had time to think the matter over, she’ll probably start talking. Then we’ll nab the rest of the gang.”

  Frank and Joe left police headquarters and drove around for a while in search of their aunt.

  The carton was addressed to Miss Gertrude Hardy!

  When they could not find her, they went to the railroad station. The train for Bayport had just pulled out.

  They hurried home, reaching the house about ten minutes before Miss Hardy arrived in a taxi. When she walked in, both boys were innocently absorbed in the afternoon newspaper. The top from the carton was lying on a living-room table.

  “Back already!” exclaimed Joe. “We thought you’d stay a couple of days!”

  “I transacted my business sooner than I expected.” As Miss Hardy took off her hat her eyes fell on the box top. She blinked, took off her glasses, put them back on again. Then she gasped. “Where did this come from?”

  “We found it in Bridgewater,” replied Joe.

  “You what?” She turned crimson.

  “Expressman here gave us a tip,” Frank explained. “We rushed over and nabbed a woman in a rooming house.”

  Aunt Gertrude gave both of them an inquiring look. They knew she was wondering whether they had seen her in Bridgewater. She said nothing, however, and went to her room.

  “It isn’t often we see Aunty blush.” Joe laughed. “She’s dying to ask us questions, but she’s afraid to. What do you suppose is in those letters? She must have wanted them badly.”

  “I’ll bet they’re old love letters.” Frank grinned. “Dad said Aunt Gertrude was engaged at one time.”

  The boys found it difficult to think of their aunt as a romantic person, but Mr. Hardy had often told them that his sister was very popular and had had many admirers. Conversation on the topic was interrupted by a telephone call from Mr. McClintock.

  “I don’t like to wait two weeks for that ship,” he announced. “Tried to get other reservations this morning. Tell me, what does a man have to do in order to get some? Bring a letter from the president of the Maritime Commission? It’s perfectly ridiculous!”

  Frank and Joe were secretly amused. Now Mr. McClintock was finding out for himself how difficult it was!

  “By the way,” the man continued, “I went down to the docks and heard someone say there’ll be a freighter coming in tomorrow morning. Get down there early and meet the boat!”

  “Sure, Mr. McClintock. We’ll try!” Frank promised.

  Following his instructions, they went to the waterfront before breakfast, arriving just as a big freighter pulled slowly up Barmet Bay. As it approached the dock the Hardys were amazed to see that it was the Hawk.

  “Wonder why she came back so soon,” Joe remarked. “She couldn’t have sailed very far.”

  “Bet she’s in for repairs,” Frank replied. “Say, maybe Captain Sharp will be in a better frame of mind this time and give us passage.”

  But when the Hawk was moored and Captain Sharp came ashore he looked as dour as ever. Nevertheless, the boys decided to speak to him. They walked up, smiling.

  “Welcome back, Captain,” said Frank. “Carrying any passengers this time?”

  Sharp squinted at them. “I’ll say you two are persistent,” he grunted. “You got my answer last time.”

  “We hoped you might have changed your mind.”

  “Well, I haven’t. Now stop bothering me!”

  Captain Sharp brushed past them, but Joe hung on like a barnacle. “All right, we won’t mention it again,” the boy said. “But I’d like to ask you something else. Have you ever seen or heard of a ghost ship, a phantom freighter, out beyond Barmet Shoals?”

  Captain Sharp turned and glared. “Are you trying to make a fool out of me? Phantom freighter, indeed. Do I look like a man who believes in fairy tales?”

  “There’s been talk around here—” Joe began, but the captain interrupted him fiercely.

  “That’ll be enough of your impudence. Get out of my way!” He pushed Joe aside and strode down the pier.

  The boys decided to eat breakfast at a diner along the waterfront, thinking that perhaps they could pick up some information about a passenger freighter. They had no luck, so they started for home. On the way they found themselves across the street from Klack’s Agency. A shabby man sat on a bench in front of the place, idly watching passers-by.

  At the same moment Captain Sharp, looking thoroughly preoccupied, hurried into the agency. The Hardys followed and stood listening in the doorway.

  Turning to the clerk, Sharp said, “I want to hire another cook. Mine jumped ship.”

  The girl nibbled at the end of her pencil. “We haven’t had many cooks in here looking for jobs lately. If you can wait until Mr. Klack comes back—”

  “What?” growled the man. “I want to hire a hand and I want him right now!”

  The shabby man rose from the bench outside and sidled into the office past the Hardys, to whom Sharp paid not the slightest notice.

  “I’m your man, skipper,” he said. “How much does the job pay?”

  Captain Sharp looked him over from head to foot. He asked a few brusque questions about his experience, a bargain was struck, and the two left.

  The girl looked at the boys. “You here again?” she snapped.

  Frank, having heard that Klack was away, merely asked if she had booked passage yet for his party. She replied in a bored manner that there were no reservations for them and that they would have to wait until Mr. Klack got back.

  “Let us know when he returns,” said Frank. But from the look on the clerk’s face he knew that she would do nothing of the sort.

  Reaching home, the boys had a conference with their father and told about the return of the Hawk.

  “Captain Sharp undoubtedly is in on something crooked,” said Fenton Hardy. “We don’t have any proof, but his freighter should be watched. As for Klack, I can tell you why he’s out of town. The FBI has become interested in his activities.”

  “You think he’s hiding?” Frank asked.

  “Yes.”

  “On the Hawk?”

  “No. The ship could be searched too easily.”

  Joe was standing near a front window. He glanced out and saw something that made him step back quickly. “We’re being watched,” he said.

  Mr. Hardy and Frank hurried to the window, not close enough to be seen, but enough to look out. Across the street, in the shadows of a tree, a shabby man stood gazing at the Hardy house.

  “Why, that’s the man Captain Sharp hired as a cook in Klack’s office!” exclaimed Frank.

  C
HAPTER XV

  The Abandoned Farm

  “CAPTAIN Sharp definitely has something to hide,” Mr. Hardy said grimly. “He’s afraid we suspect him.”

  “And that we’d see something if we ever got far enough out of Bayport Harbor!” Joe added.

  “Which is precisely what we have to do, and fast. We can’t wait a couple of weeks for the Crown of Neptune to sail,” Frank said. “I have an idea. Suppose Biff Hooper tries to get us tickets at another out-of-town agency.”

  “Good thought,” Mr. Hardy agreed. “But you’d better not call him from here. Our phone might be tapped.”

  “Then how do we contact Biff?” Joe asked.

  “Your mother will take care of that,” Mr. Hardy said with a grin and called in his wife. She readily agreed to the plan that he outlined. On her way shopping she would call Biff from a pay telephone.

  “If the spy follows you, we’ll tail him,” Mr. Hardy told her.

  But the man remained where he was, seemingly not interested in Mrs. Hardy’s leaving.

  “I must get out of here myself,” the detective said. “I almost hope he’ll follow me. I may learn something.”

  He went upstairs. After a while the boys heard shuffling footsteps in the hall. An old man, white-whiskered and bent with age, appeared.

  “I won’t be long, boys,” he croaked, a twinkle in his eye. “Just checking out the Hawk. If the guy tails me, don’t worry!”

  Frank and Joe laughed. Their father’s disguise was perfect. The detective went out the back door and made his way toward the corner.

  Eagerly the boys watched from the window. Either the suspicions of the man across the street had not been aroused, or else he was posted there to shadow only Frank and Joe. He did not stir.

  “I suppose we might as well stay home and wait for Biff’s report,” Frank said. “Dad’s watching the Hawk and there’s nothing much we can do anyhow.”

  Their mother returned, saying she had telephoned the message. The boys stayed up late, but there was no call from Biff, and their father had not returned.

  Next morning he told them the Hawk had sailed ahead of schedule.

  “There was nothing suspicious about it,” Mr. Hardy reported. “I had Sam Radley posted at the docks for the past two days, looking things over. He watched the ship being loaded. Most of the cargo was destined for cities down the coast.”

  “What did she carry?” Frank inquired.

  “Large cans of paint and some machinery.”

  “Is Sharp’s spy still on duty?” asked Joe, walking toward the front window. “He’s gone,” the boy reported, “but it seems someone else has taken his place!”

  A taller, leaner man was strolling back and forth across the street, as if waiting for someone.

  The telephone rang. It was Biff Hooper.

  “The trip’s off,” he said to Joe, who had answered.

  “Okay,” Joe replied. “See you later!”

  Biff had spoken in code in case the wire was being tapped. “The trip’s off,” meant that he was still trying to get reservations.

  “I wish we could get rid of that spy,” said Joe. “I don’t feel like sitting home all day!”

  “I’ve got a plan,” Frank said. “If it works, we’ll also have a pretty good idea why he was posted here.”

  The ruse was simple. Joe walked out of the house and headed down the street. The man on the other side eyed him carefully, apparently undecided whether to follow or not. When Joe was halfway down the block, Frank ran out of the house.

  “Joe!” he shouted.

  His brother turned and looked back.

  “Come here a minute!”

  Joe ran rapidly toward the house, and Frank called out loudly, “The trip’s off.”

  “The freighter trip?”

  “Yes. Mr. McClintock says to forget it. He’s leaving town.”

  Joe came up the steps and into the house. From behind the window curtains the boys watched the man across the street. Obviously he had heard enough, for he walked briskly away and disappeared from sight around the corner.

  “Pretty good trick!” Joe chuckled. “No doubt he’s off to report what he’s heard.”

  “Let’s get out of here while he’s gone,” said Frank. “I’d like to follow up something new. You remember when I was on the Wasp I heard a man speak of old Crowfeet? Maybe we can find out who he is.”

  “How?”

  “When we were with Andy Harkness the other day he mentioned an Abel Jedson, an old retired officer. Says this guy knows every ship along this coast and everybody on them. Suppose we ask him about Crowfeet.”

  “Why not? Come on.”

  They found Abel Jedson living in a little cottage near the bay, where he could watch the comings and goings of the ships. He was a spry, shrewd man with a stubby gray beard and twinkling blue eyes.

  Jedson sat on his porch, listening to the radio. On the window sill nearby was a noisy parrot that squawked, “No boarders wanted!” as the boys came up the walk.

  They introduced themselves, and after talking about ships in general, Frank asked, “Have you ever heard any stories about a phantom freighter?”

  “Hundreds of them.” The old man chuckled. “I’ve been hearing yarns ‘bout ghost ships ever since I was knee-high. All nonsense.”

  Joe asked if he knew Captain Sharp of the Hawk. The old sailor cocked his head to one side and said he had seen the freighter, but knew nothing about her or her captain.

  “Ever hear of a man called Crowfeet?” asked Frank.

  “Name seems familiar, somehow,” mused Jedson. “I’ll try and remember.” He twiddled the short-wave dial of the radio and brought forth a barrage of squeals that provoked the parrot to a rasping protest. “Turn it off! Turn it off!” he squawked.

  Jedson gave the dial another twist. Suddenly the boys jumped in astonishment. Over short-wave they heard a gruff voice say “A23—151—C2.” Then silence.

  The numbers printed on the boxes Frank had seen in the hold of the Wasp!

  “Crowfeet,” Captain Jedson muttered, unaware of the excitement the announcement had aroused. “Seems to me it had something to do with a fellow named Harry—that’s it—Harry Piper! That’s what folks used to call him. Crowfeet!”

  “Is he still alive?” Joe asked.

  “Don’t know. Never heard of him dying, anyway. Captain Harry Piper of the freighter Falcon.”

  “The Falcon!” exclaimed Frank.

  “That’s right. Tell you where you might find out about him. When he was ashore he used to live with his brother John, about ten miles out of town. John had a farm a little ways in from Shore Road.”

  The Hardys were elated. At last they had unearthed a valuable clue! After thanking Jedson, they got into the car and set off for Shore Road.

  The Piper farm was difficult to locate. A man cutting grass in a small country cemetery finally put the boys on the right track. He pointed out an abandoned property next to the cemetery.

  “John Piper died last year,” he informed them. “No one has lived there since.”

  Frank and Joe got out of the car and crossed the unkempt fields. The whole place was in a state of neglect. Weeds grew high in the yard. Parts of farm machinery lay rusting by a tumble-down fence. The farmhouse windows were boarded. But the place might hold a clue I

  “Let’s check out the barn first,” Joe suggested.

  To their surprise the hayloft was stacked high. On the floor was another immense pile of hay, but upon closer investigation the boys found that it was merely a cover for quantities of cowhides.

  “These hides are worth plenty!” Frank exclaimed. “I wonder why they’re stored here.”

  They decided to ask the cemetery caretaker if he knew anything about it, and crossed the fields again to talk to him. The man was amazed to hear about the hides.

  “Can’t figure it out,” he said. “I haven’t seen anyone near the farm since John Piper died.”

  “Did he have a large herd of cat
tle?”

  “Heck, no. Never kept more than one cow.”

  “Let’s go back there,” Joe said. “Something funny about this.”

  Surprisingly a truck had arrived in their absence and was parked in the barnyard.

  “We’d better take it easy,” advised Frank. “I don’t like this.”

  They approached cautiously, circling to the rear of the barn. Quietly they crept up to the back door and opened it. The place seemed as deserted as before. Then they noticed that the great pile of hay on the floor had been scattered from one end of the place to the other. Stepping inside, they gasped in amazement.

  The stacks of hides had disappeared!

  CHAPTER XVI

  Success and Failure

  “WE’D better take a look at that truck,” Frank suggested.

  But before the Hardys reached the door, there was a sudden murmur of voices and sounds of footsteps above them. They glanced up just as a huge mass of hay came tumbling down directly at them!

  Frank, unable to get out of the way, was knocked to the floor by its weight and completely covered. He held his breath to avoid sucking in the dust. When he tried to rise, he was unable to throw off the heavy load.

  With a startled cry Joe had leaped back, but too late. Though he was not engulfed by the hay, a hard object struck him on the head. He fell to the floor, unconscious!

  Frank, struggling to get out, was almost smothered. As he fought his way clear of the hay he heard a man say:

  “That’ll take care of those kids till we can get the rest of this stuff moved.”

  “Let’s hurry,” urged a companion.

  Moments later the truck lumbered down the lane. Frank was still clawing at the hay and gasping for air. Stumbling free at last, he saw to his horror that Joe lay motionless. There was a large box beside his head.

  It was several minutes before Joe revived. “What hit me?” he gasped.

  Frank pointed to the box. When he lifted it, he realized that Joe might have been fatally injured if the box had struck him squarely. He opened it and found an electric motor inside.