The Mystery of the Chinese Junk (12 page)

Frank, Joe, and the others gathered around tensely to examine his find. The note was badly typed on cheap pad paper, with two words misspelled. It said:

“Where'd you find this, Biff?” asked Tony, who had not seen him pick it up.

“It was lying on the deck wrapped around a stone. Someone must have thrown it up here last night!”

“Clams Dagget probably!” Tony growled. “This sounds just like him!”

“Have you found out who sent the threat?”
Sam Radley asked

“You may be right,” Frank said. “We'd better compare this with the mining-stock letter and see how the typing checks out.”

After a hurried conference, the Hardys decided to take the note back to their crime laboratory for immediate study. The other four boys would man the
Hai Hau
on its daily cruise to Rocky Isle.

Frank and Joe sped home. While Frank set up the magnifying camera and lights in their basement laboratory, Joe telephoned Sam Radley to report the latest find. The operative promised to come over at once and assist in analyzing the typed specimens.

When he arrived ten minutes later, Radley asked, “Found out yet who sent the threat?”

“We've just started photographing it,” Joe reported. “We think they were both written on the same typewriter.”

The detective examined the threatening note for a few moments. “Offhand, I'd say you're right. The three key letters check out at first glance, but we'll need precise measurements to prove it.”

With Radley's help, the boys shot a number of magnified close-ups of the typing. Then Frank took the films into the darkroom which the Hardys had rigged in one corner of the basement.

While he was busy with the developing, the radio crackled.

“Hai Hau
calling Hardysl” Chet's voice came over the loud-speaker.

Joe hastily flicked on the transmitter. “Hardys to
Hai Hau!
Come in, please! ... What's up?” he added.

“We just left the pier!” Chet reported excitedly. “And guess who's on board?”

“Skip the games!” Joe said. “Who?”

“Ti-Ming! He's one of our passengers!”

Joe was startled. Had the Chinese decided to make their next move out in the open? And if so, did this forebode trouble aboard the junk?

“Does he know you're calling?” Joe asked.

“I doubt it,” Chet replied. “He's up in the bow, acting like a sight-seer.”

“Okay. Keep a watch on him. And remember, we have the safety of the passengers to think about—so don't let him pull any fast ones!”

“Roger!” the plump lad's voice acknowledged. “Over and out.”

Frank and Joe worked closely with Sam Radley in analyzing and comparing the threatening note and the mining-stock letter. Microscopic details and measurements proved that the typed characters were identical in both.

“No doubt about it. These were written on the same machine,” Radley concluded. “However, they must have been typed by different people, judging from the way the keys were struck—not to mention these two misspelled words.”

“That might've been intentional to throw us off the track,” Frank pointed out.

The investigator nodded. “Could be. But it's not easy for a typist to disguise his touch.”

“Maybe Tony was right about Clams writing the threatening note,” Joe put in, “although I doubt that he's the one who stole the typewriter from the hotel.”

“But it means he knows the thief,” Frank speculated.

“Not necessarily,” Radley said. “The machine could have been sold to an innocent buyer.”

The Hardys heaved great sighs. “We're just going in circles,” Joe remarked. “All the same, I'm going to check further on Clams Dagget.”

“Let's radio the
Hai Hau
and find out if the fellows have seen his boat,” Frank suggested.

“Good idea.”

Joe soon made contact with the junk, which had not yet left Rocky Isle on its return trip to Bayport.

“Is Clams' boat around?” he asked.

“Yes, he reached here right after we did,” Chet reported. “Had a full load of passengers, too. I don't know why
he's
so worried about business!”

“Well, keep an eye on him too, while you're at it,” Joe ordered. “Frank and I want to ask him some questions when he lands.”

“Okay, pals,” Chet promised and signed off.

During the afternoon, while waiting for the junk to return, Frank and Joe phoned Dr. Montrose's office and house. There was no answer either place.

“Must be out on calls,” Frank determined. “But what say we go out to his house again this evening?”

“I'm with you.”

The boys sat down in the kitchen to chat with Aunt Gertrude while she gathered together the ingredients for a strawberry shortcake. They asked her what she knew about Clams Dagget.

Miss Hardy frowned. “Clams Dagget? Humph! He's an old curmudgeon!” With her usual honesty, she added, “But I'm sure he's harmless.”

Joe immediately got out the dictionary to look up
curmudgeon.
He chuckled wryly as he read the definition. “Just an old crab, eh? We think he's that all right, Aunt Gertrude!”

Suddenly the short-wave radio speaker in the basement blared out. Frank dashed down to answer. Chet's voice came over loud and excited. “Frank! Joe! You'd better get down to the dock pronto! We'll land in a few minutes. Ti-Ming's causing trouble—hurry up!”

“Be right there!” Frank signed off. A minute later he and Joe were speeding toward the pier. They arrived just as the
Hai Hau
was mooring.

To their amazement, Biff and Chet led Ti-Ming off the junk with his hands tied behind his back!

“WHAT'S this all about?” Frank demanded as he and Joe reached the
Hai Hau.

The dapper Ti-Ming seemed more amused than angry at his being a captive. “I am afraid you will have to ask your friends,” he replied with a bland smile. “The whole situation is quite beyond my humble understanding.”

“Oh yes? We caught him snooping around the junk!” Chet Morton declared furiously.

Biff, Tony, and Jim vouched for this. But Ti-Ming appeared unconcerned. “I feared I had lost something,” he said.

By now a crowd of curious spectators had gathered on the dock to stare at the proceedings. A policeman walked up.

“Mind if we search you?” Joe asked the Chinese.

Ti-Ming shrugged. “One can hardly resist with one's hands tied,” he answered nonchalantly. “Go ahead.”

Frank untied him and requested the policeman to make the search, explaining the reason. Ti-Ming's pockets contained nothing unusual and held no object belonging to the
Hai Hau.

“We're sorry this happened, Mr. Ti-Ming,” Frank apologized. “If there's any way we can make it up—”

“Please do not trouble yourselves,” the Chinese assured him. “I had, otherwise, a most enjoyable boat trip.”

Ti-Ming smiled suavely, bowed, and walked off the pier. Now that the excitement was over, the crowd quickly dispersed. The Hardys and their friends stared at one another, nonplused.

“Pretty slick!” Chet burst out. “But I still think that guy was looking for something on this boat.”

“Maybe so,” Joe said, “but we can't have him hauled in on just suspicion. He could sue us for false arrest.”

Meanwhile, Clam Dagget's motor launch, the
Sandpiper,
had pulled up alongside the dock. The Hardys waited until his passengers had disembarked, then went over to speak to him.

Clams scowled. “You two again?”

“We'd like to ask you a question,” Frank said.

“That ain't sayin' I'll answer it.”

Frank ignored the retort and went on, “Do you own a typewriter?”

Clams' face took on a belligerent look. “Mebbe. What if I do?”

“We'd like to see it,” Joe said.

“Oh, you would, would you? And what if I tell you Hardys to go jump in the bay!” the old man stormed. “I've had about enough o' your pesterin' and pryin'! What business is it o' yours whether I got a typewriter or not?”

“Just take it easy,” Frank said evenly, “and read this.” He handed Clams the threatening note.

“Did you write it?” Joe asked bluntly.

Clams' eyes widened as he scanned the message. “Me!” he croaked indignantly. “I never wrote no such thing!”

“All right. But maybe someone else used your typewriter.” Frank paused, then added, “Unless you'd rather have the police take over.”

Clams' belligerence seemed to melt away. He glanced from one to the other of the Hardys with a worried expression. “Wal, all right,” he grumbled. “But you're wastin' your time.”

Frank and Joe motioned their friends not to wait for them, then climbed aboard the
Sandpiper.
Clams pushed off and sailed up the bay toward his shack. When they arrived, the boat-man inserted a key in a rusty padlock to open the front door, and led the Hardys inside.

As Clams lighted a kerosene lamp, Frank and Joe stared about the shack curiously. It was crammed with knickknacks and salvage items picked up during years of beachcombing. There were a boat anchor with a broken fluke, coils of hemp line, and numerous carvings of driftwood. The only furniture consisted of a cot, a potbellied stove, and a rickety table and chairs.

Joe reflected that the kerosene lamp was certainly needed, since the tiny windows were patched with cardboard, shutting out most of the daylight. Evidently the old salt was a voracious reader. Stacks of back-issue magazines lay piled about the floor.

“Wal, you wanted t' see my typewriter,” Clams snorted. “There it is!”

He pointed to a battered machine standing on an upended orange crate in one corner of the shack. Frank and Joe walked over to examine it. Their faces fell after one glance at the rusty antique. Not only was it much more ancient than a three-year-old model—it was not a Zeus!

The two boys stared at each other in chagrin. A moment later both burst out laughing.

Frank turned to Clams. “Guess we did draw a blank,” he admitted.

Clams had listened in amazement, but gradually his face broke into a grin. Chuckling, he said, “Made a mistake, did you? Wal, I reckon we all do, now and then!”

Relaxing, he sank down on the cot and invited the boys to make themselves at home.

“Understand, I got nothin' personal agin you two,” the old beachcomber said. “But I still think you're goin' to ruin my business with that Chinese junk.”

Frank and Joe tried to reassure him. They pointed out that the
Hai Hau
was a good attraction for publicizing Rocky Isle as a picnic spot. In the long run this would bring them all more customers.

“Hmm. Never thought o' that,” Clams confessed. “Might be somethin' to it. I had a full boatload today, sure enough.”

The Hardys offered to hike to town or catch a bus, but Clams insisted upon taking them back to the pier in the
Sandpiper.

“Reckon we may as well bury the hatchet,” he told the boys as they shook hands on parting.

“That suits us!” Joe replied with a grin. Frank agreed heartily.

Driving home, the Hardys puzzled over the reason for Ti-Ming making the trip on the junk that day. Like their chums, Frank and Joe felt that the Chinese had a definite reason for being aboard—and it was not just to admire the scenery!

First Chin Gok had appeared in Bayport, and now the second Oriental. Certainly this was no coincidence. If the two men
were
rival leaders, they probably were transferring their war front to Bayport. But why? Was the
Hai Hau
the sole reason?

Thoughtfully the Hardys continued to High and Elm Streets. Reaching there, Joe remarked:

“You know, Frank, the solution to this whole mystery is probably right in front of our eyes, if we could only see it.”

Next day was Sunday. After attending church, Frank and Joe sat in the living room, and once more speculated on the different angles of the case. Gradually the boys became aware of an appetizing aroma wafting out from the kitchen.

“Mm, boy! Roast beef!” Frank exclaimed.

Joe perked up hungrily. “I could eat the whole piece!” he declared. “Let's see what else is on the menu!”

The boys strode out to the kitchen. Aunt Gertrude, in an apron with her sleeves pushed up, was beating whipped cream to top two large chocolate pies. On the stove were pots of simmering vegetables and fluffy mashed potatoes. A bowl of crisp salad stood ready for the table.