The Mystery of the Chinese Junk

by Franklin W. Dixon

  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.”

  “How long will that take?” Frank asked.

  “It could be several days.”

  At this announcement the boys sighed. “Say, what’s going on outside?” Biff asked suddenly.

  Through the open window they could see four Chinese gesturing as they examined the Hai Hau. A moment later the men crowded into the office. One was tall, the others short. All had cruel, calculating expressions.

  “We wish to buy the Hai Hau,” the tall Oriental declared. He took out a bulging wallet.

  “Sorry.” Ben shook his head. “You’re too late to buy that junk. But we have some brand-new ones which I can show you.”

  The tall man snarled, “I said we wish to buy the Hai Hau—that is the one we prefer!”

  “Well, you’re out of luck. These fellows have just purchased it.”

  The four Chinese glared at the youths and burst into angry chattering, but Ben repeated firmly that the deal was closed. He finally managed to usher the obnoxious men outside.

  Chet looked worried. “Why do you think they only wanted our boat?” he asked.

  “Yes. Why?” Tony echoed. “It wasn’t advertised. This could mean trouble for us.”

  “Oh, stop stewing,” Biff scoffed. “They may have seen it being unloaded here.”

  The boys went to the Coast Guard office, and told a clerk what they wanted. He asked them to sit down and wait.

  Half an hour went by. One hour. The boys fidgeted and walked around.

  “We may have to sit here for days,” Chet said aloud, following his statement with a loud groan. The other boys looked glum.

  A commander, standing nearby, overheard Chet’s remark. With a smile he walked over and said, “Boys, I think we can take care of you now.”

  All of them jumped up. He laughed and said, “One will do—the one with the receipt for the purchase of the junk.” Frank followed him and in a short time the transaction was finished. The boys hurried off. They ate lunch, then stowed their gear and some food aboard the Hai Hau. Frank revved the motor and they shoved off.

  “Good junking!” Ben Foy waved a smiling farewell from the dock.

  It was a hot, dead-calm day, so there was no point in hoisting the sails. They traveled southward along the Staten Island shoreline. Biff handled the tiller while Frank studied a chart on which he had plotted their course. Part of the homeward trip would be along inland waterways.

  “Hey, the engine’s missing!” Joe exclaimed suddenly.

  “Sounds like the plugs are fouled,” Tony said.

  “Maybe it’s the oil film from storage.”

  Before the boys could check, the outboard began to cough and vibrate alarmingly.

  “That’s more than just the plugs!” Frank declared. He shut off the motor hastily and Tony removed the cowling. As Frank had predicted, the ignition system was not at fault. Evidently the trouble was more serious.

  Chet groaned. “And Ben Foy guaranteed the motor!”

  “So how do we get back to port?” Tony asked. “No wind, no sail.”

  “Use the sweep oar, I guess,” Frank replied gloomily.

  The boys unshipped the long, heavy euloh and fitted it onto the stern peg. Each of the chums took turns working as oarsman. At first they found the euloh clumsy to handle, but after a little practice they were able to keep the junk moving steadily.

  The water was dotted with vessels moving through the Narrows,
in and out of New York Harbor. Gulls screeched and wheeled overhead. Presently the Hai Hau returned to the Staten Island pier. After tying up, the boys hurried to inform Ben Foy of their plight. He frowned with surprise, but upon checking the motor himself, promised to have a new engine installed immediately.

  “We’ll live up to our guarantee,” he assured the boys. “But it beats me what made that motor conk out! We overhauled it completely.” Ben Foy said that he was leaving the office shortly but would give orders to have the work done. “If you boys decide to stay over, come to the Canton Palace as my guests,” he urged.

  As the Bayport group waited for a new engine to be installed, the four Chinese who had tried to buy the junk suddenly appeared at the dock. “For Pete’s sake, why are they here again?” Tonv muttered.

  The tall leader walked up to the boys and offered to buy the junk from them at a price far higher than they had paid. Frank, as spokesman for his group, refused, but the Chinese and his friends continued to pester the youths.

  “No deal—that’s final!” Frank said.

  The Orientals exploded into angry phrases in their native language but finally walked away. Chet said under his breath, “What’s eating those guys, anyway?”

  “I wish I knew,” Frank replied, puzzled.

  By the time the new engine was installed, it was too late in the day to start for Bayport. They decided to leave the junk moored at the dock and sleep on it overnight.

  Tony, feeling uneasy about the safety of the junk if left unguarded, offered to stay aboard while the others visited the Canton Palace in Chinatown. “Those mystery men may even come back here and help themselves to it!”

  Biff, Chet, and the Hardys took the ferry to Manhattan. Alighting at the Battery, they asked directions from a policeman. Frank suggested they walk to the restaurant.

  “Suits me!” Chet said. Joe and Biff nodded.

  Dusk was shadowing the city when they reached the outskirts of Chinatown. Presently Joe gave his brother a nudge.

  “Don’t look now, but I think we’re being followed! Probably by those four guys who want the Hai Hau!”

  CHAPTER III

  Shadowy Attackers

  FRANK sneaked a swift glance over his shoulder. The men were coming up behind the boys, hats pulled low over their faces.

  “Let’s go faster!” Frank hissed. “Then we can find out if they’re really following us.”

  The boys quickened their pace and turned at the next corner.

  “They’re still with us!” Joe reported.

  Unfortunately, there was no policeman in sight; only pedestrians, who were, in the main, Orientals.

  “We’d better shake those men off!” Frank decided.

  The four youths broke into a sprint, ducking in and out among the sidewalk strollers. The pace got hotter as the pursuit continued. The boys cut through an alley, crossed a street, and turned at the next corner. For several minutes they dodged and doubled back through the narrow streets. Finally they were sure they had shaken their pursuers.

  “Man, I’m bushed!” Chet panted as they paused for breath in front of a Chinese grocery. Then his expression changed. “Hey, look at all this chow!”

  He pointed to the store window. Shark fins, pressed ducks, and dried squid were displayed along with Chinese herbs and vegetables.

  “Interesting,” said Frank, “but we’d better find the Canton Palace before those men spot us again!”

  By this time, colored electric signs were blinking on all over the neighborhood, many in Chinese. Store windows were crammed with Oriental merchandise, including carved Buddhas, jade trinkets, and Chinese silk pajamas.

  “Here’s the restaurant!” Joe exclaimed presently.

  When they entered the dimly lighted restaurant, the headwaiter came forward and with a polite smile showed them to a booth. Frank asked for Jim Foy’s uncle and cousin.

  “Ah, yes, I bring them right away,” the headwaiter promised.

  A few moments later Mr. Dan Foy approached. He was a pleasant, round-faced man with gold-rimmed spectacles. He said that Ben had had to go on an errand.

  “You are friends of my esteemed nephew, I understand.”

  “That’s right, sir.” Frank introduced himself, Joe, and their two chums. “Jim is a good friend and he’s one of our partners in buying the junk.”

  “So happy to hear that.”

  Mr. Foy chatted with the boys awhile and took personal charge of ordering their dinner. Soon the four youths were enjoying bird’s-nest soup, roast duck, egg rolls, and almond cakes.

  Suddenly a deep singsong voice said, “I understand you are owners of a junk called the Hai Hau.”

  The boys looked up, startled. The speaker was a giant Chinese, with a long melon-shaped head and jutting ears. He had glided out of the shadows to their booth.

  “How do you know that?” Frank asked sharply.

  “Did you not say so to honorable restaurant owner?” The man smiled. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Chin Gok. I would like to buy the Hai Hau.”

  “I’m sorry, but the boat is not for sale.”

  The huge Chinese smiled. “Do not decide too hastily. I will pay much more than it cost. Let us say, a profit of one hundred dollars?”

  Frank glanced at the others, then shook his head. “No, thanks. We’re keeping the junk.”

  Chin Gok’s face went pale with rage, but he did not speak. Bowing, he walked away.

  “Wow! A hundred bucks’ profit!” Biff muttered. “Maybe we should have taken it!”

  “Nothing doing,” Joe declared in a whisper. “If that junk is so valuable, we’re hanging on to it.”

  Worried by the strange events of the afternoon and evening, the boys were anxious to get back to the Hai Hau. They finished their meal, thanked Mr. Foy for his hospitality, and left the restaurant.

  “Let’s take a taxi,” Chet suggested nervously.

  “Good idea, if we can find one,” Frank said.

  The boys hurried toward Chatham Square. As they passed a darkened doorway, Joe heard a shuffling noise. Before he could turn, someone grabbed him.

  “Look out!” Joe yelled to the others.

  The boys whirled to find themselves facing four masked assailants! The assault had come so suddenly there was no time to plan a defense. Fists swung wildly in the darkness as the youths fought off their attackers.

  Bam! Frank landed a terrific right that sent one thug reeling back against the wall. Biff was swinging like a windmill, while Chet’s beefy strength was slowly wearing down another opponent.

  Joe, whose arms had been pinioned from the back, was having the roughest time of all. But he fought tigerishly, kicking his opponent’s legs.

  Suddenly one of the masked men barked out something in Chinese. The boys assumed it was a warning that a policeman was coming, for they saw one in the distance. The next moment all four attackers went racing down a nearby alley in the darkness.

  “Let ’em go,” Frank advised as the others started after the thugs. “This might even be a trap.”

  “Those sneaking rats!” Biff panted. “I wonder if they were the same guys who were following us? And what’s the big idea, anyhow?”

  “Maybe this’ll prove something,” Joe said. He picked up a torn-off piece of newspaper. “When I was scrapping with that guy who jumped me, this fell out of his pocket.”

  “Let’s see.”

  Frank held the paper up to the light from a nearby store. It was printed in Chinese.

  “What good’ll that do us?” Chet asked. “None of us can read Chinese.”

  “Mr. Foy can. Let’s go back and ask him,” Frank suggested.

  The boys retraced their steps to the restaurant. Mr. Foy was shocked to hear about the attack. He took the boys into a back room and read the article to them in English.

  It was a story about a smuggling plot, which had just been uncovered by the United States customs authorities. It stated that while Chin Gok was a suspect, nothing had been def
initely proved against him and he had been released.

  “What’s his game now?” Biff puzzled. “I mean, where does the junk come in?”

  Frank frowned thoughtfully. “Remember, Ben Foy told us that the Hai Hau had been shipped to his company by mistake. Actually, it might have been a put-up job. Chin Gok may have used it to smuggle contraband into this country.”

  Chet’s eyes bugged. “You mean there was treasure hidden aboard and not by some old pirate either?”

  Frank nodded. “That would explain why all these guys are so eager to get hold of our boat. It’s full of nooks and crannies where it would be easy for a smuggler to sneak stuff through customs.”

  Joe shot his brother a worried glance. If the Hai Hau did contain contraband, the boys might find themselves in real trouble. But neither of the Hardys wished to alarm their chums by pointing this out.

  “Perhaps it would be safer if I called a taxi to take you back to the ferry,” Mr. Foy suggested. The boys agreed to this, and the restaurant owner added, “Please be careful!”

  The chums arrived at the pier on Staten Island without further incident. Tony reported that nothing had happened while they were gone, and listened to their night’s adventures with keen interest.

  “Let’s get away from here early,” he urged.

  The next morning, as the boys prepared to embark for Bayport, a little after six o’clock, a short, slender Chinese approached them on the dock.

  “Good grief, another one?” Chet muttered.

  Their visitor was dapperly dressed in a summer suit and straw hat. “Good morning, boys. May I introduce myself? George Ti-Ming. The Hai Hau is most pleasing to me. It is exactly like one owned by my family in China. I was disappointed to learn that you young gentlemen had purchased it, because I should like to have it. Perhaps you would be willing to sell for a suitable price?”

  The boys exchanged suspicious glances. Was he another member of a large gang determined to get the boat, or were there three separate groups interested in it? And why?

  “We do not wish to sell,” Frank told Mr. Ti-Ming.

  The man shrugged. “There is an old Chinese saying that bad luck follows those who will not be reasonable. You may regret your decision.”