The Mystery of the Chinese Junk (8 page)

“Amazing!” the detective exclaimed. “I probably should come home to pursue this cuff-link clue. On the other hand, it may tie in with a new lead I have—that the Chameleon has recently had some business with certain Chinese in California. I believe I'll stay here, since he may be in this vicinity.”

Frank asked, “How's your case coming along, Dad?”

“Not much luck yet,” Fenton Hardy reported. “I need certain data from my safe. Get out all the top-secret records on Balarat and shoot them to me here in Los Angeles by airmail special delivery. You'll find them in a Manila packet labeled
The Chameleon.”

“We'll send it right away, Dad.”

“Fine! See you later, boys! Good-by.”

The brothers hurried upstairs to their father's study. Joe dialed the secret combination of the safe, then opened the safe door.

He stared inside, gulped, and cried out in dismay, “The file on the Chameleon is gone!”

Frank nodded, grim-lipped. “This'll be a blow to Dad. That envelope contained all his private evidence against the Chameleon.” He grabbed his brother's arm. “Do you know what this means? One of the Chameleon's henchmen must be watching this house. When he saw the front door open, he walked in without the alarm going off.”

“Right. And, Joe, he must be an expert at safe-cracking! I think we'd better notify Dad at once.”

“First, let's see if anything else is missing,” Joe suggested.

On the inside of the safe door the boys' father had pasted a printed list of the contents. As Joe read each item, Frank checked. Finally he said, “Everything's here. That burglar only wanted the Chameleon file.”

Frank placed the call to his father's hotel in Los Angeles. Fenton Hardy took the bad news with little comment, but said he was disturbed for the safety of the boys and his sister.

“You'd better be extra careful from now on,” the detective warned. “And call the police to investigate.”

“Right, Dad!” Frank said.

Within five minutes after the young sleuth had phoned headquarters, a police car arrived at the house. Chief Collig hurried inside, accompanied by two plain-clothes men, Hanley and Darkle.

“Now then, what happened?” Chief Collig demanded.

Frank gave the details of the robbery, then led the men upstairs to the study. Joe followed.

Collig and Hanley examined the safe. The latter dusted it for prints, but found none.

“Smart operator,” he remarked. “Wiped off all traces clean as a whistle!”

Chief Collig nodded shrewdly. “He'd
have
to be smart to open this job without blowing it.” Turning back to the boys, the chief said, “I didn't have time to check my files on the Chameleon. What's the story on him?”

Frank explained that he was an international thief and confidence man, whose real name was Arnold Balarat. Originally from New York, Balarat had operated all over the United States and in Europe, as well as on ocean liners.

“The Trans-Ocean Lines engaged Dad to find him after he swindled a number of their passengers,” Frank concluded. “The FBI is certain that Balarat is now in this country. Dad's been hunting for him out on the West Coast after some clues turned up in Los Angeles. But so far the Chameleon is still at large.”

Together the police and the Hardy boys looked for clues to the identity of the burglar. They found none and Chief Collig shook his head, perplexed. “That man left no fingerprints. Well, we'll talk to the neighbors about seeing any prowlers and find out what they have to offer.”

After the officers left, Frank said, “I suggest we call Mrs. Witherspoon and Dr. Montrose. They may have seen someone.”

He spoke to Mrs. Witherspoon first. “Oh, how dreadful! A robbery!” she said.... “No, Frank, I didn't see anyone. I hope you catch him soon. I'm too weak to talk any more. I'll have to see Dr. Montrose. Good-by.”

Frank now called the doctor himself. His line was busy. In a few minutes Frank tried again. Still busy. After a third try he proposed that he and Joe stop at Dr. Montrose's office on their way to the dock.

“Good enough,” his brother agreed.

They said good-by to Aunt Gertrude, then hurried off in their convertible. Frank parked in front of Dr. Montrose's downtown office. Entering, they found themselves in a comfortable waiting room. Apparently the doctor employed no receptionist.

“Hey, take a look at some of these,” Joe murmured in a low voice.

He pointed to a number of framed letters hanging on the walls. They were glowing testimonials from former patients. An ornate diploma stated that Hubert Montrose had been awarded the degree of Doctor of Medicine from Ardvor College.

Frank grinned. “Mighty impressive!”

The brothers seated themselves in two of the leather chairs. Presently Dr. Montrose came from a rear room. A look of surprise flickered across his face, but this was quickly replaced by a smooth professional smile.

“Ah, good morning!” He shook hands with his two visitors. “Tell me, how is your aunt?”

“Much better, thanks,” Frank said.

Dr. Montrose did not invite the boys into his consulting room. He evidently had a patient inside. “Just what can I do for you?” he inquired.

Frank explained about the robbery and asked if the physician had noticed anything unusual during his visit to the house.

Dr. Montrose frowned thoughtfully. “Now that you mention it, I did hear a noise upstairs just as I was leaving,” he replied. “However, I assumed it was a maid or one of the family moving about.”

“That was the robber!” Frank cried.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” said Dr. Montrose. “But I'm afraid I can't help any. And now, if you'll excuse me—”

The Hardys left and started for the pier. A block from the waterfront they saw Biff Hooper coming from a market, his arms loaded with cartons of fruit drink. They stopped and he hopped into the car.

“Hey, what kept you guys?” Biff asked. “We have a full load of passengers.”

“Swell!” Joe told him.

“Sure is,” Frank added.

The Hardys found a gay crowd gathered on the dock to watch the
Hai Hau
leave. The passengers were already aboard.

“How about that?” said Tony proudly as he came up and showed Frank and Joe the cash receipts. “Full the first trip!”

Frank beamed, slapped his friend on the back, and climbed aboard. The
Hai Hau's
owners took their places. Jim Foy cast off amid shouts and waves from the spectators. Biff revved the outboard and Frank steered out across Barmet Bay.

It was a fine sunny morning, promising a most enjoyable voyage to Rocky Isle. Joe and Tony hoisted the sails to take advantage of the slight breeze. The passengers called out in delight as the junk rode the waves.

Presently Frank noticed that the stern was riding low in the water. Setting the wheel, he went to open the afterdeck hatch, then gave a low cry of alarm. The shallow compartment below was awash with water!

“Hey, fellows! Come here!” When they arrived, he whispered hoarsely, “We've sprung a leak!”

The boys' faces filled with alarm.
Could they possibly make the island safely with their boatload of passengers?

“WE'RE shipping water too fast!” Joe said, peering into the compartment. “At this rate we'll capsize before we get to Rocky Isle!”

“What'll we do?” Biff gasped.

“We'd better come about and try to make it back to Bayport,” Frank said. “I'll start the bilge pump!”

As the boys shifted sail and brought the junk around, the passengers plied them with anxious questions. Consternation spread when they learned the
Hai Hau
was leaking.

“We should have known better than to trust ourselves in a crazy boat like this!” a stout woman stormed.

“You're right, dear,” agreed her husband, a very thin man in a flowered sports shirt. “We should've listened to Clams Dagget when he said this junk was nothing
but
junk!”

Joe stifled the angry retort that rose to his lips, and Frank said, “Please be calm, everyone. We'll get you safely back to Bayport.”

“You'd better!” the stout woman snapped.

Meanwhile, the action of the bilge pump had stemmed the flood of water pouring into the compartment. The source of the leak was now visible—a gaping hole several inches in diameter.

“Hey!” a man in the bow called out. “You mentioned Clams Dagget. Isn't that his boat over there?”

A motor launch was speeding toward them. “That's Clams, all right!” a high school youth confirmed.

The girl beside him clutched his arm happily. “Thank goodness!” She sighed. “Now we'll all be saved!”

The other passengers cheered.

The crew of the
Hai Hau
felt too disgusted and heartsick to comment. Joe and Tony had crawled down into the compartment below the afterdeck and were plugging the leak with socks and sweaters.

“That hole was no accident,” Tony muttered between clenched teeth. “Look!” He picked up a round piece of wood floating on the water in the compartment.

“Check,” Frank replied, disturbed. “Someone made it with a keyhole saw from the outside. After a while the wood gave way.”

“Please be calm,” Frank said. “We'll get you
safely back to Bayport.”

By the time the leak was stopped, Clams Dagget's motor launch, the
Sandpiper,
had arrived within hailing range of the
Hai Hau.
In response to shouts from the junk's passengers, he pulled alongside.

“What'sa matter, boys? Havin' trouble keepin' that Chinese bathtub afloat?” Clams taunted with a sneering grin. To the others aboard, he added, “Just climb over into my launch, folks. I'll get you to Rocky Isle safe and sound. I coulda told you that old hulk wasn't seaworthy!”

“You did tell them!” Tony said angrily. “Maybe you had something to do with this leak, too!”

“You tryin' to say I caused it?” Clams roared.

“I sure wouldn't be surprised!”

The rest of the exchange was drowned out by the passengers clamoring for their money back. The boys refunded all fares, then assisted the people to climb over into the motor launch.

As it sped away, the
Hai Hau's
crew looked at one another in deep chagrin. Biff revved the outboard to top speed and they headed back to Bayport.

Reaching a repair dock, the junk was hoisted out of water and thoroughly examined. The boys spent the next few hours pounding in a plug, covering it with a steel plate, and calking the patch securely. When they finished, the
Hai Hau
was as seaworthy as ever.

“Neat job,” said Biff, wiping his hands on a rag. “But I'd sure like to know if Clams
did
saw that hole.”

“We can't prove he's the guilty party,” Frank reminded the others. “If those Chinese we tangled with in New York are here in Bayport, they might have done it.”

Late that afternoon, after Frank and Joe had returned home, Jim Foy stopped at the house. He said he had brought a letter from his uncle in Chinatown. It contained information not only about George Ti-Ming, but Chin Gok as well, gleaned through the Chinese Benevolent Association.

“Better read it yourselves,” Jim advised.

The report stated that Chin Gok and Ti-Ming were the New York agents for two rival Chinese export firms based in Hong Kong. Both firms had been in trouble with United States and British authorities on smuggling charges. During the past few years, however, Ti-Ming's group seemed to have stayed within the law.

“Ti-Ming became a traveling salesman, so far as anyone knows, and is rarely in New York any more,” Mr. Foy concluded in his letter.

The Hardys thanked him, and Jim left. That evening, the brothers were discussing the report in their room when Joe jumped up impetuously.

“What's eating you?” Frank asked.

“Hunch. Plain hunch that someone may try tampering with the
Hai Hau
again. I'd feel better sleeping there tonight.”

“You have a point,” Frank agreed. “But what about the dock watchman?”

“He doesn't have eyes in the back of his head,” Joe said cryptically.

“That's right,” Frank agreed. “We'll tell Aunt Gertrude.”

When the brothers relayed their idea to her, she nodded assent. “If you decide to come back here any time during the night, phone first, or call on the radio—I'll turn it on,” she directed, “because if the burglar alarm goes off, I'll certainly call the police at once.”