CHAPTER XII

Code Numbers

"So klack. is mixed up in this mystery," said Frank grimly. "I thought so."

"We'd better go right back to Bayport and see him," declared Joe.

Despite the fact that they did not like to break up what had started out to be a nice party, Joe and Frank felt they should interview Klack as soon as possible. Chet and the girls rode with them as far as the agency, then left. The Hardys went into the office.

"Mr. Klack is out of town," said the same bored girl to whom they had spoken before.

"When do you expect him back?" Frank asked.

"Don't know," she shrugged. "He went out of town for a week, maybe."

"Has Mr. Klack booked passage for us yet?" Joe

asked.

100

Code Numbers 101

The girl shook her head. "No reservations for you."

"Pardon me, boys," said a familiar voice. A man stepped up to the desk. "Have you a freighter reservation for me, young lady? I telephoned yesterday. The name is Jennings." The man smiled at the boys. "You fellows taking a trip too?"

Mr. Jennings was instructor of ancient and modern history at Bayport High. As the girl pawed through a list of reservations he chatted pleasantly with the boys. He had long planned a freighter voyage down the coast for his summer vacation with his two sons, he said, and now he was ready to leave.

"Here you are, Mr. Jennings," said the girl.

The boys gasped, as he paid for the passages and put the papers in his billfold.

"I suppose you made your reservations a long while ago, Mr. Jennings?" Frank asked politely.

"Well, no," returned the teacher. "It wasn't until yesterday that I knew I could get away at all. I telephoned Mr. Klack about four o'clock. Very quick service."

He strolled out of the office, leaving the Hardys wrathful at the agency. Frank demanded that the girl explain why the Hardys were unable to get tickets when others could.

"You'll have to ask Mr. Klack about that," she said.

102 The Phantom Freighter

The boys went out. By now they were convinced that there was a definite reason for their failure to get freighter passage and that Klack had something to do with it.

"I believe we shouldn't take reservations from him even if we can get them," said Frank. "I don't trust him."

"Neither do I," Joe agreed. "What say we try an out-of-town agency? Southport, for instance?"

"Good idea."

The next day they drove over to Southport. The people working in the agency which booked passage on freighters were a great deal more courteous than at Klack's and the owner more co-operative. While Frank discussed their problem with him, Joe picked up a stray copy of the local newspaper and glanced through it to see the shipping notes.

"We haven't anything just now," said the agent pleasantly, "but I'll get in touch with the Neptune Line. It may take half an hour or so."

"Good," said Frank. "We'll come back."

"Say, look here," said Joe to his brother, pointing to an item on the front page.

uninvited visitors

When Mrs. W. G. Armstrong of Rushdale Road returned home yesterday from a vacation trip to Maine, she discovered that someone had broken into her house

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during her absence and had apparently lived in the place for several days.

So far as is known, nothing of value was taken, but the police are investigating.

A driver for the Southport express agency reports having delivered several cartons addressed to Mrs. Armstrong and says they were accepted by a woman claiming to be a relative of Mrs. Armstrong. The cartons were not in the house and Mrs. Armstrong says she had not ordered anything delivered.

#

"Sounds familiar, doesn't it?" said Joe. "Same old racket. Owner absent. Someone moves in. Cartons are delivered. The person skips out with them before the house owner gets back."

"I think we'd better call on Mrs. Armstrong," suggested Frank.

Mrs. Armstrong, like Mrs. Updyke in Bayport, could tell the boys very little except what the South-port Times had reported. Beds had been slept in and kitchenware and dishes used, but nothing had been stolen.

"The police have searched the house thoroughly," she said, "but my visitor didn't leave any clues. Unless you could call this a clue," she added, taking a ragged slip of paper from the mantel. "I found it in a corner when I was dusting this morning."

The boys examined the paper. On it had been scribbled some letters and numbers:

104 ,The Phantom Freighter

A23-151- C2-D576-A19395-M14

"Can you make anything of that?" she asked.

Frank shook his head. "It could be a motor number, a safe combination, a lot of things. Do you mind if I copy these numbers?"

"Not at all."

Frank took a notebook from his pocket and wrote down the numbers. They might or might not be a clue, but Frank was leaving nothing to chance. After the boys had left the house, Joe said:

"I believe it's a code of some kind."

"Let's memorize the numbers," suggested Frank. "They may prove to be important, so we'd better not carry them around."

Both boys went over them several times until they were sure they would not forget them, then went back to the booking office. This time they were in luck.

"I got in touch with the Neptune Line," said the agent, "and I managed to get passage for you. One of their boats, the Crown of Neptune will be leaving in two weeks."

"Can we pick up the tickets now?" asked Joe.

"Not right away. I have to wait for confirmation. The tickets will be ready in a day or so. In the meantime I'd suggest that you and your friends get

Code Numbers 105

birth certificates and passports, because the boat will be putting in at a couple of Central American ports and you'd better have all your papers in order."

"Fine," agreed Frank. "We'll do that right away."

They drove back to Bayport, relieved that they would have favorable news for Mr. McClintock at last.

"Two weeks, eh?" he said. "Well, that's not so bad as I thought it might be."

He promised to get his passport picture very soon. The Hardys and Chet went together to get theirs. "I saw a sign down near Klack's Agency of a fellow who takes passport pictures. Let's go there," suggested Joe.

The photographer occupied a shabby little place at the end of a narrow, water-front street. In the window were several dozen hideous samples of his art. All his subjects looked popeyed and in need of a shave.

"Come in, boys, come in," he invited, rubbing his hands. "Won't take five minutes. Quick service, that's my motto. Every photo looks so much like you that you think you're looking in the mirror. All right, young man," he said to Chet, "sit down."

He sat the boy in a straight-backed chair, switched on a dazzling light and trotted back to his camera.

106 The Phantom Freighter

"You been inoculated yet?" he asked. "If you're traveling to foreign parts you'd better be inoculated against smallpox, typhoid, leprosy-"

"Nobody's going to jab me full of holes with a needle!" replied Chet, wincing at the thought.

"Then I guess you can't leave the country," said the helpful photographer. "Sit back, young man. There now. Hold still a moment, please."

The camera clicked. One after another the man snapped the boys' pictures. While he developed them behind a screen, Chet looked worried.

"Gee whiz, fellows," he said, "if I've got to be punctured with a lot of sharp needles, the trip's off."

The pictures were ready in a few minutes. Though the photographer bragged about how lifelike they were, the boys laughed at the strange likenesses. Chet's was particularly grotesque.

"They'd never recognize me in South America," he said. "I look as if I had several diseases already!"

"Let's go out on the docks," Joe suggested, as they left the place. "We might run across that fellow with the scar."

A burly longshoreman, who had been lounging outside the door listening, slowly followed them. As they walked toward a truck being unloaded by a stevedore, he became very nervous, and tried to signal to the worker.

At this moment Joe happened to turn around and

Code Numbers 107

saw the man's strange motions. Quickly he looked ahead again to see what was going on. What he saw convinced him that the matter needed investigating. The stevedore quickly threw a carton back on the truck and dived out of sight.

Like a flash Joe leaped into action. Racing ahead of the others', he sprang to the truck and looked underneath. A man was just crawling out the other side. Joe ran around just in time to see him dodge through a doorway. He was the man with the scar!

"He won't get away this time!" decided Joe grimly, starting after him.

But he was stopped by two workmen with several packages. They blocked his way completely. Joe stepped back and raced around to the other side of the vehicle. He hoped that the fellow he was chasing would still be in sight.

He was so absorbed in the chase that he did not see that he was heading straight for an accident. But Frank did!

"Joe, look out!" he screamed.

Out of the shed doorway, through which the scarred man had disappeared, sped a loaded hand truck. No one was at the wheel!

In another instant Joe would be crushed by the runaway vehicle!