CHAPTER IX

The Phantom Freighter

the shock of cold water splashing against his face brought Joe back to consciousness. He heard a voice saying, "That's enough. He's coming around now," and opened his eyes.

Two men crouched beside him. One, a seaman in dungarees and jersey, knelt by a bucket of water. The other, lean, sharp-eyed and gray-haired, was evidently the captain of the ship.

"Feeling better?" he asked. "I was getting worried about you, young fellow. Thought maybe you'd fractured your skull."

Joe sat up and rubbed his head. He was still groggy, but not too groggy to wonder where Frank was.

"My brother was with me. Have you seen him?" he asked.

"He went chasing some fellow down the ladder half an hour ago. What's it all about?"

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Half an hour! He had been unconscious a long time!

The men helped him to his feet. "I'm sorry, Captain-"

"Dryden is the name."

"I'm sorry we made such a commotion, Captain Dryden, but we've been trying to catch that man. So when we saw him on deck-"

"You were after him?" asked the officer, puzzled.

He dismissed the seaman and helped Joe up the companionway to the deck, and then toward his cabin. At this moment Frank appeared, having climbed up the ladder.

"Lost him again," he grumbled. "That fellow is as slippery as- Why, Joe, what's the matter?" he asked, noticing how white and unsteady his brother was.

"Somebody shoved me down a stairway, that's all."

"Come into my cabin," suggested Captain Dry-den. "It strikes me that this thing needs an explanation."

He was cordial and solicitous as he ushered them into his own quarters, and the three seated themselves.

"First of all, what are your names?" he asked.

"I'm Frank Hardy, sir, and this is my brother Joe."

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The man's friendly smile immediately disappeared. He looked stern and suspicious.

"Hardy!" he cried. "What right do you think you had barging onto my ship as you did?" he demanded curtly.

The brothers were dumfounded at his change in attitude.

"Now get out of here!" he ordered.

"May I ask you a question first, sir?" Frank asked.

"Depends on the question."

"Until you heard our names you seemed friendly, Captain Dryden. Now there's a difference. Why?"

The officer had not expected anything so flat and direct. He cleared his throat, grunted and mumbled. Finally he came out with it:

"Your name does make a difference. I've already been warned against you two boys. But you can't hurt me."

"Warned against us?"

"A detective came on board as soon as we docked. Sent by a friend of mine, he said. Told me you boys probably would show up here trying to book passage on the Annie J, but not to let you aboard because you'd only make trouble."

"How did you know he was a detective?" asked Frank, suspicious.

"He showed me his badge. Said he dressed like a seaman because of his work on ships."

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Captain Dryden studied the boys for a moment. When he continued, some of the coldness was gone from his voice. "To tell you the truth, now that I've met you, I don't believe half of what he told me," he said.

"What did he tell you?"

"Before I answer, I'd like to know if you've ever heard of me before."

"No, sir," answered the Hardys in unison.

The captain cleared his throat, started to speak, stopped, then finally said, "I think you're telling the truth. Well, last year I got into a little mix-up in a foreign port. It wasn't my fault and I thought the whole thing had blown over. This detective told me you Hardys had been engaged to get new evidence, and if I was wise I'd keep you off my ship."

"Every word of that is false," declared Frank angrily. "What did the detective look like?"

Captain Dryden's description fitted the man with the scar perfectly.

"He's the fellow we're trying to find!" the boy exclaimed. "The one I was chasing! I'm sure he's not a detective."

"More likely a crook," added Joe, "and I'll bet he's the one who knocked me down the stairs."

It was the captain's turn to be puzzled. But the boys did not tell him that they were sure now there

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was some sinister reason why they were being kept from sailing.

"Do you still feel that you wouldn't want us on board?" Frank asked.

The captain laughed. "Not at all. I'd be glad to have you as passengers, but this voyage wouldn't interest you, I'm sure. It's just a short run down the coast and back."

"Will you be taking a longer trip later?"

"Not for three months."

The boys were disappointed. As Captain Dryden escorted them to the ship's ladder, he said he would keep his eyes open for the bogus detective and would let them know at once if the man showed up again.

When they returned home Mrs. Hardy reported that Mr. McClintock had telephoned several times, and that the boys were to call him as soon as they arrived.

"I think he's getting impatient," she remarked.

She was right. Mr. McClintock was more than impatient. He was angry and querulous.

"How long have I got to wait before you find a ship?" he demanded. "I'm beginning to think you're not even trying."

"If you could see the bump on Joe's head from trying, you'd think so," said Frank.

"Don't be funny," stormed McClintock. "I want action-and quick. If you can't find a ship by to-

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morrow, I'll call the whole trip off," he snapped.

Aunt Gertrude, who had been hovering near the telephone, gave Frank a nudge.

"Ask him up to dinner," she whispered. "That will cool him off."

Frank took the cue. Aunt Gertrude's invitation did have a surprisingly soothing effect. After grumbling that he would not come unless they got him back to the hotel by nine o'clock, Mr. McClintock said he would be glad to eat a home-cooked meal, and accepted the invitation.

Aunt Gertrude hurried to the kitchen. She was an excellent cook and this time did herself proud. When their guest showed up at six o'clock he sniffed appreciatively, for there was a tantalizing fragrance of food in the air, and he began to beam at once.

"Nothing like a well-cooked meal," he said.

"I quite agree with you, sir," said a voice from the doorway, and Chet Morton walked in.

He introduced himself, saying he had heard Mr. McClintock was there and wanted to meet him. Frank and Joe were fearful that he might bring up the subject of the bamboo fishing rod and it would annoy the man. So Frank said quickly:

"How about staying to dinner, Chet? Aunt Gertrude has something special. I'll show you."

He escorted his friend to the kitchen and there

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warned him that Mr. McClintock was jittery and should not be disturbed by being asked to purchase anything. Chet acquiesced. In a few minutes the family, except Mr. Hardy, who was away, sat down to dinner with their guests.

"Urn, cream of tomato soup," grinned Chet. "My favorite." Presently, as he saw the meat course come in, he exclaimed enthusiastically, "Fried chicken! This is my lucky day!"

The irrepressible Chet chatted first about food, then fly fishing. He was so amusing in his comments that he quite won Mr. McClintock's admiration.

"I like a boy who relishes his meals," declared McClintock, "and also is interested in fishing."

Chet gave the Hardy boys a sidewise glance, and steered the conversation around to the subject of fly tying.

"You tie your own flies?" inquired Mr. McClintock, with a gleam of enthusiasm in his eyes.

"Yes, indeed," replied Chet. "I've just gone into the business."

Frank nearly choked on the salad in his mouth.

"Why, this is very interesting," declared Mr. McClintock. "I've tied hundreds of flies in my time. It used to be one of my favorite hobbies. You must let me visit your shop."

Chet, speechless, turned pale. Frank spoke up to ask McClintock if he did much trout fishing.

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"Not any more," said the guest. "Lost interest in it. Deep-sea fishing is the thing. More thrills. Better sport."

Suddenly he looked up, his face wreathed in smiles. He snapped his fingers with excitement.

"Why, that's it! Why didn't I think of this before? I'll take a deep-sea fishing trip!" He leaned toward Chet. "Do you think you could find a fishing boat, and a captain who would take us?"

Frank and Joe were aghast. Was he going to give up the freighter idea? Were they to lose both the trip and the reward at the end? His next remark relieved their minds somewhat.

"The Hardy boys have been trying to arrange a freighter voyage, but they can't find a freighter, so it may be weeks before we can go. In the meantime, we'll go fishing. I'll pay all expenses. Arrange a deep-sea fishing trip for me, Chet."

"I'll try, sir," the stout boy promised.

During the rest of the dinner Chet and Mr. Mc-Clintock discussed deep-sea fishing. Chet talked so learnedly about marlin, swordfish and tuna that the boys knew he must have read up on the subject very recently. But after they had taken Mr. McClintock to his hotel and were driving their friend home, he suddenly gave a deep sigh and said quaveringly:

"Jeepers, fellows, that was a tough evening on me. What am I going to do?"

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"Oh, arrange a trip, make all the flies to catch whale, and-" said Joe.

Chet groaned. "Listen, you two. You've got to help me. You know more about boats than I do. You arrange trips. You-"

"We?" said Frank in pretended innocence. "Why, we're not even invited."

"Oh, you've got to go!" wailed Chet. "I wouldn't know a marlin from a goldfishl"

"Well, if you insist," grinned Joe.

The next morning found the Hardy boys at a wharf talking to Captain Andy Harkness. He was a grizzled veteran of the coast, and owned several fishing vessels.

"Fishing trip? Sure," he said, when they told him about Mr. McClintock's request. "I'll take you and your man anywhere you like, so long as you don't ask me to cruise off the Barmet Shoals."

"What's wrong with the shoals, Captain?" asked Frank. "You know every foot of water in these parts. You're not afraid of them, are you?"

"Not me. But I got a terrible fright there last evening and I don't want to go near the place again."

The boys were curious. Captain Andy Harkness was not the sort of man who scared easily. They asked him what had happened.

"Don't know if I ought to tell you," the fisherman grumbled. "Most likely you won't believe a word

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of it, but it's true just the same. Some time after sundown, with a high sea running, I got off my direction a bit. Suddenly I spotted a freighter off my starboard bow. I could see our courses were going to cross,, so I threw the helm over hard, but I couldn't hold my boat against the rough water. I knew I was going to hit the freighter but there wasn't a thing I could do, 'cause she didn't see me."

"And the freighter rammed you?" asked Joe.

Captain Andy wagged his head. "It did and it didn't. I'd say I ran right through her! That's the part you won't believe, but it's true as my name is Andy Harkness. By rights I shouldn't be alive now to tell the tale."

"You ran through the freighter?" Frank gasped.

"That's the way it seemed. One minute she's looming up ahead of me big as a mountain, all her lights on, and the next minute she ain't there at all and my boat is swinging northward off the shoals."

"And where was the freighter?" Joe queried, unbelieving.

Captain Andy Harkness looked at them chal-lengly, as if defying them to doubt his weird story. "She wasn't in sight!"

"Not in sight?" cried Frank. "Where could she have gone?"

The old captain gave a convulsive shrug, as if even the recollection frightened him.

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"She was a phantom freighter!" he vowed.

The Hardy boys asked him several other questions, but he stuck to his story. The only thing he admitted was that the lights on the freighter had vanished an instant before the unavoidable accident would have occurred.

"But I was right there," he insisted. "Too close to avoid being hit."

"Did you see any name on the freighter?" asked Frank.

"Yep! Caught a glimpse of her name up on her bow. The Falcon, she was called. Never heard of her before. But she's a phantom freighter, that's what she is, boys; a phantom freighter!"