The Mystery of the Chinese Junk (2 page)

The brothers quickly washed the dishes, then went downstairs. They laid plans for the Staten Island trip, then Frank went to make a call to Chet Morton on the cellar extension.

Joe, meanwhile, hurried upstairs, dialed the combination on his father's safe, and opened it. While locating the money for the Chinese junk, he noticed a Manila packet marked
Secret File on Chameleon.

The young sleuth took out the two crisp one-hundred-dollar bills with the picture of Benjamin Franklin on the face and Independence Hall on the back. Joe closed the safe and turned the tumblers. As he walked downstairs, he looked at the bills. Having worked on a counterfeit case, he knew a good deal about currency.

“Federal reserve notes, one from the eighth district, St. Louis, and the other from the fifth, Richmond,” he mused, noticing the green seal, and the letters H before one serial number and E in front of the second. “And what do you know? This one starts with H18 and ends with F. Hmm.
Hardy—Frank
—eighteen years old.”

Joe studied the second bill. “And this one begins E1015 and ends with A. E for Elm Street on our corner.” He chuckled. “And JO are the tenth and fifteenth letters in the alphabet! That means me. The A—well, that could be for Aunt Gertrude.”

Joe went to his mother's desk in the living room and obtained an envelope printed with the Hardy name and address. He slipped the bills inside. Just then, Joe thought he heard a car stop in front of the house. Laying the envelope on the mantel, he went to look out the window. No automobile was in sight. “Guess I was wrong,” Joe told himself and hurried down to the basement.

Ten minutes later, just as Frank finished the conversation with Chet on the phone, he suddenly gasped and pointed to one of the basement windows. A fearsome-looking Oriental face was pressed against the pane—the man's teeth bared in an evil grimace!

For a moment the boys were too startled to act. Before they could make a move, the lights went out, plunging the basement into darkness!

“A prowler!” Joe exclaimed. “And we forgot to turn on the alarm!” The warning system automatically rang a bell in the house and flood-lighted the Hardy grounds when anyone approached.

“Too late now,” Frank said. “Let's get that man! I'll go out the cellar door. You run upstairs and find out if everything's okay.”

The boys dashed to the landing and Frank hurried outside. Joe continued to the top of the steps and put his hand on the doorknob.

“It's locked!” he murmured, rattling the knob and pounding on the door panel.

After a few tense moments Joe heard slippered feet enter the kitchen. Then Aunt Gertrude unlocked and opened the door.

“Mercy, what's all the racket about?”

“Someone locked us in after turning off the switch here in the kitchen,” Joe explained. He pointed to the wall button, which was in
Off
position. “You didn't—”

“Of course not,” Aunt Gertrude replied tartly. “There must be a burglar in the housel”

“A burglar!” Joe echoed. The next second he raced into the living room and stared at the mantel.

The envelope containing the two new hundred dollar bills was gone!

JOE, sure the burglar had made his escape from the house, dashed to the front door. He switched on the porch light. Out on the lawn he could see two figures struggling on the ground. One was Frank.

Before Joe could reach his brother, he recognized the other fighter. “Jim Foy!” he cried out.

The two boys separated and grinned sheepishly.

“Gee, I didn't mean to scare you guys so much that you'd tackle me,” Jim said, panting.

“You mean that was
you
staring at us through the basement window?” Frank exclaimed.

Jim nodded. He screwed his face into a horrible grimace. “The Oriental Avenger—that's me!”

Frank laughed, but Joe said quickly, “Jim, we've been robbed! Frank, our two hundred dollars are gone!”

Frank looked amazed, and Jim said, “Fellows, I saw a man run out your back door, just after the cellar light went out.”

“Let's hunt for him!” Joe urged.

The trio made a quick search of the grounds and adjoining streets, but the thief had eluded them.

“Did you get a look at him?” Joe asked Jim.

“Not a good one. It was too dark in the yard. The guy was tall and thin. Say, come to think of it, he made no noise. Probably was carrying his shoes.”

“So there won't be anything but sock footprints,” Frank commented. He went for a flashlight and found this to be the case. They were of no use in identifying the thief.

The searchers returned to the house. Aunt Gertrude had checked to find out what the burglar might have taken and how he had entered the house. She had found a cut in a screen at an open window, but reported nothing missing. Joe now told her about the stolen money.

Miss Hardy sucked in her breath. “Two hundred dollars!” she cried out. “Joe, why did you leave it on the mantel? Go tell the police right away. But you'll never get those bills back. Money's too hard to trace.” Then, seeing the crestfallen look on her nephew's face, she added,

“Never mind. I'll lend you boys two hundred dollars for your share in buying the junk. You can repay me from your profits.”

Frank and Joe relaxed, gave their aunt a tremendous hug, then urged her to go back to bed. “I'll turn on the prowler alarm,” Frank told her, and immediately went to do this.

Meanwhile, Joe had picked up the phone and was giving Police Chief Collig, an old friend of the Hardys, a report on the stolen money, including the letters and first few serial numbers on the bills.

“Good clues, Joe,” the officer said. “I'll send out word right away.”

When the excitement subsided, Jim Foy informed the brothers he had come to tell them that he could not go to New York after all. “So I brought you my share of the money for the junk,” he explained, pulling several bills from a pocket.

“Too bad you can't go,” said Joe. “By the way, what is your cousin's address in New York?”

“He lives in Chinatown with his parents. My uncle Dan Foy owns a restaurant there called the Canton Palace.” Jim wrote down the address and telephone number and handed the paper to Joe.

The next morning, before Frank and Joe were dressed, the prowler alarm sounded, then the front doorbell began to ring persistently.

“Who can that be?” Frank asked, puzzled.

He slipped on a robe and hurried downstairs, with Joe at his heels. When Frank opened the door, he found himself face to face with Clams Dagget. The wiry, stooped old pilot thrust his way inside. As usual, he was wearing a striped jersey, dungarees, and a squashed-down yachting cap.

Joe said, “Clams, if you've come to apologize about nearly running me down yesterday—”

“Apologize!” Clams roared in a hoarse voice. “Nothin' to apologize for. Now listen. I heard that pal o' yours, Biff Hooper, talkin' on the dock last night about how you fellers are buyin' a Chinese junk and startin' a passenger service to Rocky Isle!”

“What about it?” Frank asked coolly.

“It's a blamed outrage! Takin' bread out o' an old man's mouth, cuttin' in on my business! I won't stand for it!”

“Now just a minute,” Frank said. “No one's trying to take away your business. There'll be plenty for both our boats.”

“What do
you
know about it?” Clams shook his fist at the Hardys. “I'm warnin' you young snips you won't get away with this!”

Suddenly a voice in back of them called, “How dare you threaten my nephews!” Aunt Gertrude, coming from the kitchen, bore down indignantly on the visitor.

“You won't get away with cuttin' in on my
business!” Daggett roared

Clams stepped backward. Aunt Gertrude pressed her advantage by inching him out of the house and closing the door. Then she put her hand to her head.

“I—I feel faint. I'd better lie down.”

Joe helped his aunt to the living-room couch, while Frank rushed off to get her some tea. As she sipped it, her nephews ate the breakfast she had prepared. Presently Miss Hardy declared that she was feeling fine again. Nevertheless, the boys insisted that she relax while they washed the dishes.

“Aunt Gertrude, promise me you'll call a doctor if you don't feel well,” Frank urged, when the brothers were ready to leave.

“I promise.” Miss Hardy then handed Frank a check for two hundred dollars. “You can cash it on your way to the bus,” she said.

Both boys thanked her and gave their aunt resounding kisses on the cheek. Then they drove downtown, and after cashing Aunt Gertrude's check, went to the Bayport bus terminal. Frank left the car in an adjoining parking lot. Chet, Biff, and Tony were waiting for them.

“Hi, fellows!” they exchanged greetings. Ten minutes later their bus pulled out.

They rolled at a fast clip through the country-side, but it was late afternoon before the travelers reached New York.

“What's first on the schedule?” Biff asked as they paused in the terminal waiting room.

Frank suggested that they register at a hotel, then do some night sight-seeing. He telephoned the Canton Palace but learned that neither Jim's uncle nor cousin would be there during the evening, so the boys decided not to go to Chinatown. Instead they strolled along Broadway, and were fascinated by the crowded theater district, with its huge lighted signs, restaurants, and hotels.

The next morning the boys checked out of their hotel and took an early ferry to Staten Island. A short bus ride along the waterfront brought them to the pier where the Hong Kong Trading Company had its warehouse and office.

“Hot dog! There they are!” Tony exclaimed. Two of the Chinese junks were tied up at dockside, while three more could be seen resting in cradles inside the warehouse, with their masts unstepped. The five boys entered the office.

“Something I can do for you?” a bald-headed man asked, rising from his desk.

“We've come to see about the secondhand junk,” Frank told him. “Is Mr. Foy in?”

“I'll get him.”

Ben Foy was a pleasant-faced young man. He gave the callers a friendly smile and said he was sorry that Jim had not been able to come.

“I'll show you the junk you took the option on,” Ben said. “I think it's a rare buy.”

Even with its sails furled, the craft had a romantic, adventuresome look. The boys seethed with excitement as they jumped aboard. The junk was a thirty-foot two-master, carrying two large sails and a jib. Amidships there was a round-roofed cabin.

“Boy! What a dream boat!” Joe exclaimed.

“It's the biggest, most seaworthy craft you can get for the money,” Ben Foy boasted. “These jobs are shipped by freighter from Hong Kong. Normally we just sell new craft. This used one got into our consignment by mistake, so we're letting it go at a sacrifice.”

He added that the junk was built of Borneo ironwood with one-inch-thick mahogany deck planking. “It'll last for years.”

“Look at that figurehead up front!” Biff exclaimed. Leaning over the prow, he pointed to the painted figure of a stern-looking, slant-eyed Chinese mandarin holding a scroll in his hands.

“What are those eyes up at the bow?” Tony asked. He pointed to two realistic-looking eyes, made of glass, one on each side of the prow.

Ben Foy laughed.
“ ‘Boat with no eyes cannot see!'
That's an old proverb,” he explained.

Other decorations, such as Oriental dragons and banners, were painted in bright colors at various points around the junk. At the stern was the name
Hai Hau.

“That's Chinese for ‘Queen of the Sea,' ” Ben Foy translated.

He showed the boys the junk's equipment, which included awnings to cover the afterdeck in bad weather, a
euloh
or sweep oar, to assist the ship in light wind or against the current, and a thirty-five-horsepower auxiliary outboard engine.

“Part of the stern area can be used as galley space,” Ben added. “Here's a charcoal stove, and there's a small icebox compartment in the port-side locker.”

“That's for Chet!” Tony laughed.

The boys were highly satisfied and declared they were ready to purchase the junk. In answer to questions from Frank and Joe, Ben gave them a number of tips on handling and sailing the craft. Then they all went into the company's sales office to sign the purchase papers.

“Before sailing the junk home,” Ben said, “you'll have to go to the Coast Guard office and obtain a Certificate of Award of Number.”