CHAPTER XVI
The Giant Tuna
frank and Joe, astonished, leaned forward to hear their father's explanation of the mysterious numbers.
"It fits in with something I happen to know," said Fenton Hardy. "A few days ago I told you I was working on a couple of important cases. One concerned fake documents and autographs. The other case came to me from a large company manufacturing electric motors. The president engaged me to check on a lot of new motors which bear his trade name but weren't sold by his company. They're appearing in various cities along the coast, but his branch offices in those places say they know nothing about them."
"Wouldn't it be an easy matter to check the serial number of the motors that leave the factory against
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the motors being received at the branches, to be sure of this?" asked Frank.
"My men have done that and all the invoices match up. If five hundred motors are produced in the factory, five hundred motors reach the branch offices. So I'm inclined to think the extra motors are being assembled in secret somewhere from stolen parts."
Joe was puzzled. "What have the numbers got to do with it?"
"They sound like motor numbers and may have a great deal to do with it. At any rate, I'm going to transfer some of my men to the Bayport water front right away."
With that, the detective dropped the subject and the boys knew better than to question him further,
"But I did have a little luck on another matter," he said. "Joe, will you ask your Aunt Gertrude to come into the library? I think she'll be interested in this." Mr. Hardy unbuckled the straps of the big suitcase he carried on his longer trips. When Aunt Gertrude came into the room he was removing the wrapping paper from a flat parcel.
"Recognize this, Gertrude?" he asked.
He held up a small picture; an oil painting in an old-fashioned frame. It was the portrait of a stern-looking old gentleman with muttonchop whiskers.
"Great-grandfather Hardy!" gasped Aunt Ger-
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trude. "That picture was in my lost carton! Where did you find it? Don't just sit there grinning at me, Fenton. Speak up!"
Mr. Hardy told how he had come across the picture in Washington while visiting antique shops in search of forged documents. He had recognized the portrait at once, because Great-grandfather Hardy had stared down at him from over the piano in the Hardy homestead when he was a boy, and he could never forget him.
"He didn't look very happy in that antique shop," Mr. Hardy smiled. "The proprietor couldn't tell me much about the woman who had sold it to him, along with various odds and ends, about a week ago. He couldn't describe her very well, so I wasn't able to trace her."
Aunt Gertrude said nervously she hoped the rest of the contents of the carton would come back to her without too much trouble. "There were certain things ..." she said dreamily. Just then they heard the postman's step on the front porch. "I'll get it!" she cried, and fled toward the hallway.
Frank glanced at his brother. "Have you noticed how jumpy Aunty has been ever since she lost the carton?"
"And every time the phone rings she jumps as if she'd been stuck with a pin," Joe grinned.
Both boys had noticed their aunt's odd behavior
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in recent days. They had laid it to the fact that she was worrying about her lost carton. Now, however, it seemed to them that there might be more behind her conduct than worry about missing letters and papers. Aunt Gertrude was jittery and nervous because she was expecting a message-either a telephone call or a letter. Was it in connection with the mystery? There were times when she secretly helped on cases in her own way. As they were discussing this, the brothers heard the telephone ring.
"I'll get it," shrieked Aunt Gertrude from the hall. A moment later she called out in a disappointed voice, "It's only Chet. Will one of you boys come and talk to him?"
When Frank answered, their friend remarked in an aggrieved tone, "It's only Chet. A fine thing to say about me. Listen, Frank, isn't tomorrow the day we go tuna fishing with Captain Andy Hark-ness?"
"You're right. We'll be there! Call Biff, will you?" Frank asked.
"And say, Mr. McClintock's going to look at that rod I want to sell. I bet you he'll buy it!"
When the Hardys arrived at the wharf the following day, Mr. McClintock was hopping about like a youngster. Swinging over one shoulder were straps holding a binocular case.
"With all my deep-sea fishing, I never went out
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for tuna," he remarked. "Wonderful day for it," he beamed, looking up at the blue sky and sniffing the salty air. "I tell you, when this fellow Chet Morton organizes an expedition he gets somewhere. None of this business of waiting around for days."
Mr. McClintock glanced meaningly at the Hardys. Chet turned pleading eyes on them not to give him away.
"All aboard that's comin' aboard!" bellowed Captain Andy Harkness. "We ain't got all day."
In a few minutes the fishing boat swung away from the wharf and went chugging smoothly down the bay. Chet, as commander of the expedition, bustled about importantly. He assigned places to every one and explained the technique of tuna fishing, about which he had just read.
"I brought along some deep-sea fishing rods," he said. "They belong to my father."
The Hardys noticed that Chet did not have with him the bamboo rod he wanted to sell to Mr. McClintock.
"Mighty nice of your dad to lend us these tuna rods," declared Biff appreciatively.
"My dad is like that," returned Chet. "He'd be glad to lend them to us. At least, I'm pretty sure he would if I'd asked him. I didn't ask him, though, just in case he might worry a little. I do hate to see
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my father worried, because he loses his appetite and that makes my mother worry, and when Mother worries we all worry. So it saves bother all around if I don't ask him about borrowing things."
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, Captain Harkness announced they had reached tuna water. He distributed the herring he had brought along as bait and scattered freshly ground 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 the line.
"Tuna grow pretty big, don't they?" asked Mr. McClintock, becoming a little nervous. "It won't pull me overboard, will it?"
"Could be," grinned Captain Harkness.
The fishermen had no luck until early afternoon. Then suddenly Mr. McClintock let out a yelp as there was a slow tug at the line. Then it started to uncoil fast.
"Strike him!" shouted the captain, realizing there probably was a tuna at the end of it.
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The line straightened out. McClintock yanked the rod sharply upward. The reel screamed. The man was pulled halfway out of his chair.
"Help me, somebody!" he bawled, his eyes bulging. "Take this rod! I can't hold on! I'll be dragged overboard!"
He would have let the rod get away from him in his panic 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 tuna tow the boat. Though its heavy weight slowed the big fish 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. Even through the stout gloves and stalls his hands were burned. Beads of sweat hung on his forehead.
Suddenly the boat began to swing around. They caught a glimpse of the great dorsal fin and the huge black tail of the tuna above the waves. It was a monster!
"I ... I can't hold on any longer!" gasped Chet. "Take over, somebody!"
Joe, Frank and Biff sprang to help him. Joe reached Chet's side first. Slowly, the big rod was
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transferred to him. Gripping it hard, he realized why Chet was 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 exhaustion.
"Head him out to sea or we'll go on the rocks!" roared Captain Harkness.
Joe caught a glimpse of the jagged, black teeth of a reef not two hundred yards away. He pumped on the line, trying to head the big fish from the dangerous waters. It did not work!