The Mystery of the Chinese Junk

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “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?

  CHAPTER IX

  Wharf Chase

  “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.”

  Frank and Joe kissed her good night and drove to the dock.

  “Let’s look up Mike the watchman and tell him our plan,” Frank said.

  They hunted around but could not find Mike. Frank, indicating a nearby warehouse, remarked, “Doesn’t he guard that too? Maybe he’s inside. Let’s look.”

  They found the great sliding door to the pitch-black building part way open. Frank snapped on his light and entered, then stepped back in con. sternation.

  Mike lay on the floor unconscious, bleeding from a deep gash in his head!

  Frank leaned over and began counting the pulse beat in Mike’s wrist. “Pretty feeble,” he announced.

  Seeing a wall telephone, Joe put in a call to police headquarters. Meanwhile, Frank was using thumb pressure to stop the bleeding. A few minutes later a police car and an ambulance arrived. Mike was lifted onto a stretcher and carried away as the two officers, Hanley and Darkle, began to question the Hardys.

  Frank was busy giving them full details when Joe, who had gone outside, exclaimed suddenly, “Frank, I just spotted two guys sneaking around the cabin of the junk! Let’s see what they’re up to!”

  As he spoke, the shadowy figures reappeared, scrambling to the dock.

  “There they are!” Joe cried out.

  His voice must have carried. With a glance in the boys’ direction, the intruders raced off along the wharf. The Hardys and the two policemen sped after them. The fugitives darted past parked cars and piled-up freight cartons, and disappeared into an old warehouse.

  “We have ’em trapped!” Joe exulted.

  “Maybe!” Frank muttered.

  When the four pursuers reached the warehouse, Hanley tried a small door, which yielded to his push. A faint scuffle of footfalls reached the ears of the four as they entered.

  “I’ll use my pocket flash,” Joe whispered, reaching for it.

  Frank grabbed his arm. “No sense making targets of ourselves.”

  Hanley was groping along the wall. Finding a light switch, he clicked it on. Dim illumination flared from bulbs on the rafters overhead. The warehouse was stacked with bales and crated goods.

  “Now what?” Joe murmured.

  “Stay behind Darkle and me,” Hanley ordered, as the officers began a search among the piled-up merchandise.

  The next moment a faint bang came from the farthest corner of the warehouse. The Hardys and the police converged toward the source of the sound.

  “A trap door!” Frank exclaimed, pointing to the floor. “And no ring to pull it open.”

  Hanley pried it up and Joe pointed his flashlight down the hole. A slime-covered ladder led downward to dark, oily water. Evidently this part of the warehouse jutted out on pilings. The next moment the group heard a splash of oars dwindling in the distance.

  “What a break!” Joe groaned. “Those men must have had a rowboat hidden under here!”

  The boys rushed out of the warehouse with the police and down to the waterfront. They peered out, straining their eyes for a glimpse of the rowboat, but it had disappeared.

  “We’ve lost ’em!” Frank muttered. “And I’ll bet they’re the ones who slugged Mike.”

  “I’ll ask the harbor patrol to look for them,” Hanley said.

  “In the meantime, Joe and I will go aboard the Hai Hau and see what those fellows were up to.”

  A fresh shock awaited the Hardys when they went aboard. The cabin was in wild disorder, with bunk cushions pulled out and accessories strewn about the deck.

  “Those men must have been searching for something!” Frank said worriedly.

  A brief check indicated that no serious damage had been done to the junk and nothing was missing. Relieved but baffled, the boys restored order, all the while speculating on what the intruders had been looking for.

  “Probably contraband,” Frank guessed. “Wonder if they found any.”

  “I doubt it,” said Joe. “Every place they tore up we’d already examined.”

  Hanley and Darkle came aboard. They too were puzzled by the mysterious search.

  “You fellows may as well go home,” Hanley told them. “The police will look after your junk from now on.”

  “Swell,” said Frank.

  He and Joe went to their car and at once turned on the short-wave radio. In a moment they were talking to Aunt Gertrude.

  When she heard that they planned to return home, she remarked, “Good! You’ll be much safer in your own beds! I’ll watch out the window for you.”

  As soon as they reached the house, the brothers used the second-floor extension to call first one, then another, of the co-owners of the Hai Hau to tell them what had happened. Tony was angry, Biff annoyed, Chet a little scared.

  Only Jim Foy seemed genuinely alarmed. “I do not like this,” he said. “The junk must be most carefully guarded. Some evil influence is at work.”

  “I sure agree,” said Joe, who was talking to him. “Well, see you in the morning.”

  The Chinese boy had just said good-by when the alarm buzzer sounded throughout the house.

  “Oh—oh!” Joe exclaimed. “The prowler again?” He and Frank dashed downstairs to nab him. When the doorbell rang almost instantly, the boys relaxed. Evidently the caller was friendly.

  Aunt Gertrude was already answering the ring. She gasped as a huge Chinese towered in the doorway.

  “Chin Gok!” Frank murmured, as he and Joe came down the
steps.

  “Well, what is it you want?” Miss Hardy demanded, a trifle shakily.

  The Chinese bowed low. “I wish to speak to the young men,” he answered.

  “Aunt Gertrude, this is Mr. Chin Gok,” Frank spoke up. Miss Hardy nodded.

  “I would not trouble you at this time, but it is a matter of the utmost importance,” Chin Gok went on. His voice was polite but insistent.

  “All right. Step inside.” Frank held the door open and Chin Gok entered, ducking his melon-shaped head. The Hardys ushered him into the living room and they all sat down.

  “What have you come to see us about?” Joe opened the conversation.

  “About the junk which you purchased in New York. Once again I beg you most earnestly to sell it to my humble self. Name your own price!”

  The boys glanced at each other but remained silent. Chin Gok went on, “I will admit to you certain interests in Hong Kong are most anxious to obtain the Hai Hau.”

  “What interests?” Frank challenged.

  “A group of religious worshipers,” the huge Chinese replied. “You see, the Hai Hau is a sacred boat to my people. Once it was used to transport a large statue of Buddha from Singapore to Hong Kong. I repeat—we will pay any price you ask, within reason!”

  The Hardys were more mystified than ever. Also, they were tempted by the chance to realize a large profit. In view of all the difficulties they were having, it might be wiser to sell the junk. On the other hand, Frank and Joe hated the thought of giving up an unsolved mystery, and besides, they would have no summer job.

  Just then the telephone rang and Frank went to the instrument in the hall. A moment later he gasped. Putting down the phone, he beckoned Joe to join him.

  “Wow! Wait till you hear this!” he whispered.

  CHAPTER X

  Shore Pirates!

  “WHAT’S up?” Joe asked his brother excitedly.

  Frank shot a quick glance toward the living room from which Chin Gok was eying the boys with intense curiosity, then replied in a low voice:

  “That was a telegram from Ti-Ming. It said, ‘Don’t sell the Hai Hau at any price or the curse it carries will descend on you!’ ”