The Mystery of the Chinese Junk

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  CHAPTER I - Hong Kong Junk

  CHAPTER II - Mysterious Engine Trouble

  CHAPTER III - Shadowy Attackers

  CHAPTER IV - Chet’s Dilemma

  CHAPTER V - A Strange Warning

  CHAPTER VI - Coastal Search

  CHAPTER VII - Missing Spelunkers

  CHAPTER VIII - Stolen Evidence

  CHAPTER IX - Wharf Chase

  CHAPTER X - Shore Pirates!

  CHAPTER XI - A Peculiar Theft

  CHAPTER XII - The Vanishing Visitor

  CHAPTER XIII - A Cryptic Threat

  CHAPTER XIV - The Newspaper Clue

  CHAPTER XV - Hunting an Intruder

  CHAPTER XVI - Signals

  CHAPTER XVII - The Cliffside Cave

  CHAPTER XVIII - Legend of Treasure

  CHAPTER XIX - Sleuths in Danger

  CHAPTER XX - Underground Battle

  “We’ll crash!” Jim Foy cried out

  Copyright © 1988, 1960 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  All rights reserved. Published by Grosset & Dunlap, Inc., a member of The Putnam &

  Grosset Group, New York. Published simultaneously in Canada. S.A.

  THE HARDY BOYS® is a registered trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Grosset & Dunlap, Inc.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-07652-1

  2008 Printing

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  CHAPTER I

  Hong Kong Junk

  “JOE, look out! That launch will hit you!” shouted Frank Hardy from the beach.

  A split second before, his brother Joe had surfaced after a dive off a float. Now the launch was almost on top of him!

  “That’s Clams Dagget’s boat!” Frank cried to two companions, Tony Prito and Biff Hooper. All stared ahead in horror.

  A third boy, plump Chet Morton, who had been bobbing like a cork in the cool, blue water, had seen the oncoming launch and dived under the float with Joe Hardy. The craft roared off, the pilot paying no attention to the two swimmers. In a moment they came to the surface and swam ashore to join the others.

  “Whew! That was close!” Chet gasped. “Thought I was a goner. Clams must be going blind!”

  “He’s as absent-minded as they come!” Joe stormed, panting.

  “He sure is,” Tony agreed. “I don’t see why the town of Bayport lets him run a ferry service to Rocky Isle.”

  “Probably because no one else has a boat big enough or wants the job,” Biff suggested.

  Suddenly Frank grinned. “Maybe we fellows can run a service of our own—in a Chinese junk from Hong Kong. I know where one is for sale cheap.”

  The dark-haired boy, a year older than his blond brother, said that their Chinese-American friend, Jim Foy, had told him only the day before about the boat.

  “Jim’s cousin lives in New York City,” Frank explained, “and works as a salesman at a place in Staten Island where the junks are sold. New ones cost plenty, but the company isn’t even advertising this secondhand boat. They’re asking only a fraction of its original value.”

  “Say, that sounds neat,” Joe broke in. “And a ferry business would solve our summer work problem.”

  It was a bright June afternoon, a few days after Bayport High had closed for vacation. The five boys had gathered for a swim and to make plans for earning money during the next two months.

  “You mean we’d charge passengers for picnic excursions to Rocky Isle?” Biff asked.

  As Frank nodded, Tony remarked, “Good idea, if we could raise enough money to buy the junk, and provided it’s seaworthy.”

  “It might have an interesting history,” Frank said, not at all discouraged by Tony. “The junk may once have belonged to a Chinese pirate and have jade treasure hidden aboard!”

  “How can we lose?” Biff declared with a grin.

  “A real Chinese junk would sure attract attention here on Barmet Bay,” Chet remarked.

  The price of the junk was several hundred dollars, but after much figuring, all the boys except Chet decided that they could raise equal shares from their savings.

  “Gosh, fellows, I’m sorry,” said Chet. “But you know I’ve just bought all that spelunking equipment and I—”

  Joe grinned. “You can take out your share in work,” he said, whereupon the stout boy groaned. The last thing Chet ever wanted to do was work!

  “It’s more fun exploring caves than swabbing decks,” he mumbled. “But I can put in fifty dollars. Who’s going to make up the difference in the amount we need?”

  “Jim Foy might, if he got a share of the profits,” Tony suggested.

  “Okay. What’s stopping us?” said Joe eagerly. “Is it a deal?”

  The five high school chums shook hands solemnly, then pulled on their slacks and T shirts.

  It was decided that the boys would get their parents’ permission for the trip first, then Frank would contact Jim Foy and ask him to telephone for an option to buy the secondhand junk from Hong Kong. If everything was in order, the boys would leave the next morning by bus for New York City.

  Tony and Biff went off with Chet Morton in his fire-engine-red jalopy. Hopping into their own yellow convertible, the Hardys drove back to their pleasant, tree-shaded home at the corner of High and Elm streets.

  As Frank and Joe came in the kitchen door, they were greeted by Miss Gertrude Hardy, their father’s tall, angular sister, who now lived with him and his family.

  “Supper will be on the table in a minute,” Aunt Gertrude said, lifting a flaky-crusted beef pie from the oven.

  “Mm! Does that smell good!” Joe exclaimed. “Double helping for me, please!”

  “Same here!” Frank added, sniffing the delicious aroma.

  “Never mind the flattery about the food.” Miss Hardy waved them off, but Frank and Joe observed a pleased expression on her face. “It’s a wonder this crust isn’t burnt to a crisp with you two getting home so late,” she scolded.

  The boys, chuckling, went to wash their hands. Although their aunt was sometimes peppery in manner, the brothers were as fond of her as she was of them.

  When they came to the table, Frank and Joe each found an extra-large serving on his plate and exchanged knowing grins. Aunt Gertrude poured milk into their glasses, then said with a sigh:

  “Don’t know what ails me today. I just seem to ache in all my joints.”

  “That’s too bad, Aunty,” Frank said sympathetically as he held her chair and she sat down. “You rest after supper. Joe and I will wash the dishes.”

  “And break half of them most likely!” Miss Hardy retorted. But her face softened. “Still, it’s a kind offer. I may accept.”

  As the brothers ate, they asked Aunt Gertrude if she had heard from their parents, who were now in California. Fenton Hardy, once a crack detective on the New York City police force, had retired to the thriving seaside town of Bayport, where clients from all over the country sought his services as a private investigator. At present, he was at work on a case in Los Angeles, seeking to track down an international thief known as the “Chameleon.” Mrs. Hardy had flown to the West Coast with her husband for a vacation.

  “Your father,” Aunt Gertrude replied, “phoned this afternoon. He said to tell you boys that if you want to help him out on this case, keep your eyes open for a pair of rare gold cuff links with a bluish amber tiger set in them. They’ve been reported stolen in Hong Kong and smuggled into this country. In your father’s sleuthing he learned that the Chameleon, who collects priceless jewelry, is trying to get hold of such a pair. If you find them, you may also find the Ch
ameleon.”

  “It sounds like hunting for a needle in a haystack,” Frank remarked, “but if we should come across either the cuff links or the Chameleon, we’ll certainly let Dad know.”

  Though amateur detectives, the brothers had solved many mysteries, and hoped to follow careers similar to that of their father. From The Tower Treasure through their latest adventure in Alaska, The Mystery at Devil’s Paw, Frank and Joe had experienced many exciting and dangerous adventures.

  Suddenly Frank clapped a hand to his head. “Aunt Gertrude, I almost forgot. Joe and I have another project.”

  The brothers outlined their scheme for purchasing the Chinese junk. Then, with quickened pulses, they awaited Miss Hardy’s reaction.

  “Well,” she said finally. “If it’ll keep you boys occupied this summer, I guess it’s all right. By the way, where is the money for your share coming from?”

  “We have some in Dad’s safe up in his study,”

  Joe replied. “It’s the reward money Frank and I got for finding that lost child. A brand-new one-hundred-dollar bill for each of us.”

  Frank got up and hurried to the telephone. After learning that Biff, Tony, and Chet were also set for the trip to buy the junk, Frank called Jim Foy. The Chinese-American boy was amazed to hear the proposal and excused himself for a few minutes to speak to his parents. Returning, he said:

  “My good parents say I may go. I will phone my cousin at once and have him place an option on the junk. When shall I meet you fellows?”

  “Just before ten o’clock tomorrow. Bus terminal.”

  “I’ll be there. This is a terrific break for me.”

  Frank returned to the table to find Joe urging his aunt to retire. She agreed, adding that she was disgusted with herself for not feeling as strong and vigorous as she generally did.

  “Anything else we can do for you—besides wash the dishes?” Frank asked.

  “Yes. Try to be quiet. Noise makes my head hurt. If you want to watch TV or do anything else, please go to the recreation room in the basement.”

  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!

  CHAPTER II

  Mysterious Engine Trouble

  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.”