“I’ve just had a shock. A terrible shock!” he gasped. “Look what I found in my cabin. Pinned to my pillow!”
He held out the note with shaking hands. Frank took it and read the typed message:
This is your last warning. Go ashore before it’s too late!
Frank tried to calm the man by suggesting that the note was a practical joke, but he was worried just the same. Later on, in the privacy of their stateroom, he discussed the warning with Joe.
“Either one of the gang slipped on board for a few moments before we sailed, or has shipped with us,” he said.
“But Captain Gramwell says every member of the crew has been with him for a long time. Do you suppose we have a stowaway?”
Frank shrugged. “Let’s speak to the captain.” With the captain they made a search of the ship, but found no one in hiding.
The Father Neptune headed southward on her course down the coast, and everything went smoothly. The passengers retired early. Their bunks were so comfortable, and the salty air so fresh and tangy that they slept well and forgot all fears they had about trouble on the ship.
The next morning the Hardys roamed about the freighter, keeping their eyes open for a stowaway, and at the same time learning something of the duties of the crew. They visited the sailors’ quarters in the fo‘c’sle, then went down into the engine room.
It was as compact and efficient as a navy vessel. On the way up they met Sparks. The radioman had a message for the Hardys. “Can’t make head or tail of it.” He laughed. “It must be in code.”
While Chet and Biff were talking with Mr. McClintock on deck, Frank and Joe took the message to their cabin. It was from their father. They deciphered the code without difficulty. The message read:
Important to locate the phantom freighter. Smuggling gang eludes authorities by clever disguises. Suspect Klack is aboard. Use every precaution. Dad.
The Hardys decided to tell Captain Gramwell about it right away. As they reached the bridge Frank suddenly stopped short. “Hey, Joe, this ship is listing badly to starboard!‘.
Just then an excited seaman darted past them, yelling:
“Captain! The cargo’s shifting! We’re going over!”
CHAPTER XIX
Crowfeet
CAPTAIN Gramwell was barking orders over the loudspeaker:
“All hands report to the hold to move shifting cargo! Delay may mean disaster!”
Frank and Joe dashed below deck. Chet and Biff followed them. In the hold, men were heaving crates of cargo to the portside, their bodies glistening with sweat. They worked frantically. The heavy thud of boxes was the only sound, except for an occasional sharp command.
The boys were directed to a post where the men had formed a double line and were swiftly passing cargo from one to another. Together the Hardys caught the bulky cases as they came, and then tossed them on, their arms working like machines in high gear.
On, on, on came the cases in rapid-fire succession. Minutes passed, and each box felt heavier than the one before. The boys’ backs ached, their hands stung. Their breathing turned into short painful gasps for air, and streams of perspiration rolled down their faces. But to let up for even a fraction of a second would throw off the whole operation.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity but was only a few minutes, there was a perceptible movement underfoot. Slowly, reluctantly, the ship rolled to an even keel.
“We’ve righted her!” shouted the officer in charge.
The boys went up on deck. As they were discussing what had happened, Captain Gramwell came over to thank them for helping out. Then he shook his head, muttering grimly:
“I can’t understand it. How could that cargo have been loaded so badly—whoever was in charge is going to hear about it!”
Frank and Joe looked at each other. The same thought had been running through their minds. Then Frank spoke up. “I thought we should tell you this, sir. We think that it was done deliberately, because we shipped with you.”
Joe told him about the woman’s warning. “You’ll never come back alive!”
The captain was incredulous. “Why, it’s fantastic that anyone would go to such lengths!”
Next, the boys informed him of the note left for Mr. McClintock, and finally showed him the decoded radio message from Mr. Hardy.
“Well!” sputtered the captain. “One thing I can do is to have Sparks contact every ship in this area. If there is an unknown freighter around, we’ll do a little investigating!”
That afternoon he called the boys to his cabin, and told them he had received a report on all vessels known to be within a three-hundred-mile radius, and had then established radio contact with each.
“Only one ship reports seeing something strange,” he said. “There’s an unidentified freighter that seems to be drifting. No signs of life, no response to signals.”
The Hardys were sure that it was the smug glers’ ship. Captain Gramwell promptly set his course toward the position indicated.
“Should sight her before dark,” he said.
His estimation was correct. The sun had just touched the horizon when the report came from the crow’s nest.
“Freighter on the starboard bow!”
They soon glimpsed the dark silhouette of a ship. Captain Gramwell gazed at the vessel through his binoculars.
“Just as reported—no sign of life. It may be a derelict.”
The Father Neptune drew steadily closer. “It’s called the Black Gull,” the captain said. “I think I saw a man run across the deck just now and dive behind the fo‘c’sle cabin.”
Captain Gramwell ordered flag signals run up, in case the Black Gull’s radio was out of commission. But there was no answer. Instead, there came a puff of smoke from the Black Gull’s stack and the freighter began to move!
“She’s on the run!” Captain Gramwell exclaimed as he rang for full speed ahead. “That’s no derelict!”
“Will she get away from us?” Frank asked apprehensively.
The captain laughed. “That hulk! No boat of that type can outrun mine.”
But to his surprise and fury, the Black Gull not only remained out of reach but gradually widened the gap. The captain snatched up the intercom telephone.
“What’s the matter down there?” he demanded. “I called for full speed and we’re not overtaking that ship!”
“I can’t understand it, sir,” returned the chief engineer. “We register top speed.”
It was growing dark now. Captain Gramwell, puzzled by the inability of his vessel to catch up to the clumsy-looking Black Gull, ordered a searchlight trained on the fleeing vessel.
Frank, meanwhile, slipped down to the radio room and coded out a message to Sam Radley in Boston.
Believe phantom freighter Black Gull has been sighted but cannot overtake.
He gave its approximate position and handed the message to the radio operator, then hurried back on deck.
By this time the Black Gull had escaped the probing searchlight and vanished into the night. Captain Gramwell stalked the bridge in a rage. His pride was hurt.
“There’s not a freighter in these waters faster than my ship!” he insisted. “I can’t understand it.”
Frank went back to the radio room. As he walked in, there was a faint burst of signals from the set. Sparks shrugged. “Just numbers,” he commented. Frank, who was familiar with the international code, cried out in surprise.
The signals spelled out the familiar numbers A23—151—C2!
“That’s the smugglers’ code!” Frank told himself. “Not the motor numbers at all!”
A few minutes later the signal was repeated. “The smugglers must feel certain,” Frank thought, “that their code won’t be recognized.” Again came the numbers.
“Can you get a fix on that radio?” Frank asked.
“I’ll try,” Sparks replied. By contacting another ship and using triangulation he was able to pinpoint a fix on the chart. Soon Captain Gramwell had set
a new course, and the Father Neptune steamed swiftly through the night.
The Hardys went up on the bridge and stood beside the captain. Finally he gave an order. The searchlight blazed out across the water. Frank and Joe uttered whoops of excitement. The dark mass of the Black Gull lay clearly revealed in the light, not a quarter mile away.
But the freighter was no longer in motion. It lay apparently deserted and adrift, just as they had first discovered it.
“Maybe the crew abandoned the ship when they realized we were chasing them, Joe suggested.
“I’ll send a boat over to make sure,” said Captain Gramwell.
“Let me go, sir,” Sparks requested quickly.
“And may we join him?” asked Frank and Joe.
Mr. McClintock, who had appeared with Chet and Biff, spoke up. “You two watch your step,” he advised. “I feel responsible for your safety.”
“Don’t worry,” Biff said. “They can take care of themselves.”
The captain consented to their rowing over. “But don’t go aboard unless you’re sure no one’s there,” he ordered. “Just circle the Black Gull, and if you hear voices or any sounds of life, come right back. We’ll keep the searchlight trained on the ship. You stay out of range of the light so you won’t be a target.”
Soon the Hardys and Sparks were rowing across the dark waters. Gradually they came closer to the black freighter, lying silent and mysterious in the night. There was not a sound except the steady splash of waves against the steel hull.
To keep out of range of the Father Neptune’s searchlight, the three rowed around to the far side of the ship. As they went on slowly in the inky darkness, Joe pulled a flashlight from his pocket and switched it on. It revealed a ship’s ladder dangling over the side of the freighter.
“I guess you were right, Joe,” whispered Sparks. “The crew got frightened and took to the boats.”
“That would be a stupid move,” Frank said. “There’s no place to go.”
He feared the inviting ladder might be a trap, but they had to take the risk. Joe grabbed it and climbed up. Frank followed, and Sparks came next, after securing the small boat to the lowest rung of the ladder.
Once on deck, they peered cautiously around in the gloom, keeping out of the rays of the searchlight.
“Not a soul aboard,” muttered Sparks. “Yessir, they thought they were going to be caught, so—”
The words died in his throat. From out of the shadows sprang a dozen men. The Hardys and Sparks were bowled over like tenpins, and despite a violent struggle, were seized. Then a sardonic voice said:
“Didn’t know when to stay out of trouble, eh? So now you’re in old Crowfeet’s hands ! Take ‘em below, men!”
They were roughly hauled down a companionway to a cabin. It was brightly lighted, but the portholes were covered with blackout curtains. Here the three faced their captors, who were a villainous-looking lot. The chief was a huge, black-bearded man. He was Crowfeet, leader of the smugglers! He looked his prisoners over, his hairy arms folded.
“Welcome to your new home,” he said sarcastically. “Behave yourselves and you’ll get along fine!”
“We won’t be here long,” Frank retorted defiantly. “There’ll be help coming by morning.”
Crowfeet gave a derisive laugh. “No one can board this ship unless I let him. No vessel and no plane can touch me, as you’ll find out. I’ve got protection!”
Crowfeet turned to his crew. “Order full speed ahead. And if the Father Neptune tries to follow, give it the works!”
The smugglers went out. Crowfeet slammed the hatch. The captives heard a clang as a heavy bolt fell into place.
CHAPTER XX
Captured!
“THIS is a fine predicament!” Joe cried in disgust. He hammered at the door of their prison.
“That won’t do any good,” Frank said. “We’ve got to be calm and think this thing out.”
“It’s like a wild dream,” Joe said. “Boy, did we ever fall into that trap!”
“And how!” Sparks added. “We were really suckered into this one!”
“The whole thing just doesn’t make sense,” Frank said. “That guy Crowfeet is an old coot with just enough brains to sail this tub.”
“But a genius he’s not. Is that what you mean?” Joe asked.
“Right. There’s something deeper behind all this hocus-pocus and I think the answer can be found on this ship.”
“What about giving the Father Neptune ‘the works’? What did Crowfeet mean by that crack?” Joe asked.
“That’s what we’ve got to find out, and mighty soon. Listen. We’re under way.”
The ship’s engines throbbed, and at the same time, a draft of fresh air drifted down upon them from a ventilating duct. Joe glanced up. An idea came to him.
“Frank, that duct might lead to another room. Think I could squeeze through it?”
“Want to try?”
“Sure.”
“But don’t get stuck, for Pete’s sake!”
Joe stood on Frank’s shoulders, and using a dime for a screwdriver, removed two screws from the grillwork of the ventilator. “It’s larger than the size used in houses,” he remarked.
“Do you think you can make it, Joe?” Sparks asked.
“I’ll have to hold my breath all the way,” Joe replied.
He stretched his hands out and put his head and shoulders into the opening. By wriggling, he got himself all the way into the duct. Immediately the flow of cool air stopped.
Joe wormed forward an inch at a time. “If any thing goes wrong now,” he thought, “I might be trapped in here forever!”
Frank and Sparks, meanwhile, cut off from fresh air, were perspiring in their prison. Frank stood on Sparks’s shoulders and whispered into the duct, “Joe, how are you going?”
But his brother could not hear him. Joe snaked along for a while until he had to rest. “Good thing I’m getting some fresh air,” he thought. “Thank goodness the ship has some modern conveniences!”
The oxygen renewed his strength and he started on again. The air-conditioning duct seemed to be endless. Another inch. Then another.
Finally he saw a dim light. Or was it only his imagination? His fingers clawed against the metal duct. Occasionally they touched a seam, giving his nails enough purchase to pull ahead.
Yes, it was some kind of light. Probably seeping through the next grill. Finally Joe reached it. He peered through into a room containing a bunk and a desk.
Joe found two nuts in the grillwork. His fingertips throbbed with pain, as little by little he turned the small nuts loose.
With a bang of his fist, the ventilator screen fell outward onto the bunk. Joe struggled to get his hands through the opening. He made it. Now his head. Could he wriggle his shoulders enough to get through? Joe felt as if his back were breaking. He emerged from the air duct like a battered butterfly struggling from a metal cocoon and fell out onto the bunk, semiconscious.
The room spun around and Joe gasped until full consciousness returned to him. What to do now? First thing was to replace the grill.
He shoved it back in place and inserted the screws lightly. Then, straining to hear any possible noise, he stepped out into the hallway. It was empty.
He moved along catlike, the palms of his hands flat against the metal wall. Presently he came to a door with a warning marked in big red letters: DANGER. STAY OUT.
“Danger to whom?” Joe thought. “Could this possibly be ‘the works’ that the captain was going to deal out to the Father Neptune?” The boy tried the heavy handle and the door opened. He stepped inside.
“Come in, Captain,” a voice said.
Joe saw an armed guard, sitting with his back to the door. His gun was pointed at a slender, fine-looking, middle-aged man who was working over a battery of dials and switches. Joe crept up behind the guard, and dealt him a karate chop. He fell off the chair like a log.
The other man looked on in amazement. “Who are
you?” he asked.
“Joe Hardy. Quick, lock the door!”
While the man followed his command, Joe briefly explained his presence and asked, “And who are you? What are you doing here?”
The man said he was Professor Elvin Rossiter, a scientist who had developed a unique repelling device. “I can’t go into details on how it works,” he said. “But it will drive off anything that is propelled by a motor in action.”
“So that’s it!” Joe said. “This ship is able to repel anybody chasing it!”
The man nodded and went on to explain that he had been captured and forced to set up the machine on the old freighter. “I think Captain Crowfeet’s crazy,” he concluded.
“Just crazy enough to use your invention for his own nefarious purposes,” Joe replied. He added quickly, “Is it possible to get a radio message out of here?”
The inventor smiled. “I’ve been assembling a radio, but haven’t had a chance to use it yet.” He took the front off a console next to the repeller. “Here it is. Ready for operation.”
Joe quickly sent a message to Radley. He explained what had happened and said, “Can you get a speedy sailing yacht? Ship stops anything with motors running.” He gave the latitude and longitude, then signed off.
He turned to the professor. “Thanks a million. I’m going back now. Just make believe nothing has happened.”
The guard had not yet regained consciousness. Joe propped him alongside the chair and went out the door.
Just then the man came to. “What happened?” he cried.
As Joe crept away he heard Rossiter’s reply. “I think you fainted and fell off the chair.”
Joe made his way back to their prison. It had a bolt outside that could be pulled upward. Quickly Joe opened the door and slid in. He maneuvered the bolt in such a way that it would fall back in place as he shut the door with a slight bang.
“Wow!” Frank said in relief. “I thought something had happened to you!”
“I’ve had nothing but luck,” Joe replied, and told about Rossiter and the message he had been able to send over the radio.
The Phantom Freighter Page 11
