Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

The Twisted Claw (7 page)

BOOK: The Twisted Claw

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“Meanwhile, we'll go to Port Manthon to check on the
Yellow Parrot,”
Frank told his father.

“Good idea,” Mr. Hardy replied.

Next morning Frank rented another car and arranged for the first one to be recovered. Then they started off. The trip took a little more than two hours. When they arrived in Port Manthon, they drove along a road looking down onto the water. Frank pulled into a turnoff and parked. Then the boys got out to scan the waterfront.

Joe spotted the
Yellow Parrot
tied to a pier.

“There she is,” he said.

Frank nodded. “Port Manthon is not very big. Doesn't appear as if it could accommodate more than two or three ships at a time.”

“That might be the reason she came here,” his brother said. “More privacy.”

The boys observed the freighter for a while. There was a gaping hole in its hull near the bow. Several crewmen were repairing the damage.

“Strangers around here, aren't you?” came a voice from behind them. “Interested in ships?”

They whirled around to see a bewhiskered old man who had walked up quietly behind them.

“Whyâerâyes,” answered Joe.

“We were just passing through,” Frank added, “and stopped to take a look at the port.”

“Not much to see these days,” the man replied with regret. “Used to be mighty active around here years ago.” A smile spread across his face. “But it's always good to meet up with lads who like the sea.”

“Not me!” Chet interrupted. “I'mâ”

His words were cut off by a sharp nudge of Joe's elbow.

“Are you from this area?” Frank put in quickly.

“Born in Port Manthon, and sailed my first ship from here nearly sixty years ago,” the man said proudly. “Name's Falop. Captain Falop.”

There was an exchange of handshakes. The boys gave only their first names. Then Frank pointed toward the
Yellow Parrot
and asked, “What happened to that ship?”

“Don't quite know,” Falop answered. “Never saw it in here before. Odd crew. Don't want to talk much. Different from my day.” He rubbed his chin dubiously. “I asked one of 'em about the damage. Can't understand why he'd try to get away with such a lie.”

“Lie?” Joe echoed. “What do you mean?”

“The fella told me their ship'd run aground,” explained the man, “and that the hole was caused by a sharp rock. Nonsense!”

“Why do you say that?” Frank asked.

“The hole's well above the water line and is too neat,” Falop replied. “If you ask me, I think it was done by a shell.”

“You mean the ship was fired on?” Chet questioned excitedly.

“As far as I'm concerned it was.”

“Wonder how long it will take to repair the damage,” Frank remarked, trying to act nonchalant.

“I'd say at least two or three days,” Falop replied.

The boys continued to watch the activity aboard the
Yellow Parrot.
After a while they said good-by to the captain and checked in at the only hotel in Port Manthon. That evening Frank telephoned the authorities in Montreal and asked if his father had arrived there. A police officer stated that he had, and gave Frank the number of Mr. Hardy's hotel.

When Frank reached him there, his father said, “Hope you had better luck than I did, so far. If those three men know anything about the museum robberies, they're certainly not admitting it. I'm going to try again tomorrow.”

Frank then told him about the ship, and what Falop thought had caused the damage to her hulL “Hm! Very interesting,” said Mr. Hardy. “Perhaps I'd better request a complete investigation.”

“I've another idea,” Frank went on. “If it works, we might learn once and for all if the Parrot ships are involved in the case.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Joe and I want to sail aboard the
Yellow Parrot!”

CHAPTER IX

A Daring Plan

MR. HARDY strongly objected to Frank's plan. “It's too dangerous!” he insisted. “You and Joe have been seen by crew members of the
Black Parrot.
What if some of them switched ships in the meantime?”

“I doubt it, Dad,” his son answered. “Their sailing schedules were such that they never came within miles of each other during the past few weeks.”

“I still don't like it.”

“We'll be careful.”

There was a moment of silence. “Okay,” Mr. Hardy finally said reluctantly. “But make sure your plan is foolproof before going ahead with it.”

“We will,” Frank promised.

Chet tingled with excitement as he listened to the plan. “This is going to be fun!” he exclaimed. “I can't wait to get aboard!”

Frank patted him on the shoulder. “Sorry, old friend,” he said sympathetically. “No reason why you should risk your neck. You'll have to go back to Bayport.”

“What?” the chubby boy shouted. “I'll do nothing of the sort!”

“We know how you feel,” Joe said. “But two of us will have a better chance of getting jobs than three.”

Chet's pique gradually changed to a feeling of great disappointment. He continued to plead with the Hardys without success.

“Okay, have it your way,” he muttered. “When do you want me to leave?”

“After the
Yellow Parrot
sails,” Frank replied. “We might come up with some useful information for Dad in the meantime. Then you can give him a report.”

Next day they went to the pier and watched the ship from a distance. Repairs were progressing well. Some crewmen were working with acetylene torches, while others were positioning new metal plates over the gaping hole in the hull.

“Looks as if the job is almost finished,” Joe observed.

“You're right,” Frank agreed. “We'd better start putting our plan into action.”

They found a general store in town and purchased work clothes, then returned to the hotel to eat and change.

“We'd better put our plan into action,” Frank said

“I hope there's no one from the Black Parrot aboard,” Joe remarked as he pulled on a denim jacket.

“I'm sure there isn't,” Frank said.

Chet listened quietly to their conversation. He grunted a couple of times to let his friends know he was still unhappy about being left out.

Frank and Joe had finished dressing and the three went back to the pier.

“What do you want me to do?” Chet muttered.

“Keep an eye on the ship when we go aboard,” Frank instructed. “I don't expect trouble, but it'll be good to know you're around to helpâjust in case.”

Chet could not suppress a slight smile. “You can depend on me.”

The Hardys walked toward the
Yellow Parrot
and climbed the gangplank to the main deck.

“What are you fellows doin' aboard?” called out a stocky, tough-looking man.

“We'd like to see the first mate,” Joe said.

“What about?”

“Jobs.”

The man laughed. “Hey, Rawlin!” he shouted sarcastically. “Here's a couple of old salts wantin' to sign on.”

The young detectives turned to see a tall, wiry man march down the deck toward them. “Who are you?” he demanded.

“Frank and Joe ... Karlsen,” Frank replied.

“From around here?”

“No,” Joe said. “We've been traveling and doing odd jobs. But what we really want is a chance to go to sea.”

Rawlin was hesitant. “I've got to think about it first. ”

“Why not sign 'em on?” the crewman suggested. “The king can always use a couple of more handsâ”

“Shut up!” Rawlin growled.

“King?” asked Frank. “What king?”

“WellâerâI meant the cap'n,” stammered the crewman. “Sometimes I call him the king.”

Much to their surprise, Frank and Joe were hired and ordered to report the next morning. Elated, they hurried to tell Chet of their success.

“Dad should be home by the time you get to Bayport,” Frank told his friend. “Tell him our plan is going well. We'll try to establish contact as soon as we can.”

Still disgruntled, Chet departed for home that evening. Early the next day Frank and Joe reported aboard the
Yellow Parrot.
Rawlin was the only one on deck when they arrived.

“So you two were serious about going to sea,” he said. “I didn't think you'd be back.”

“We wouldn't miss this for anything,” Joe replied.

“I'm assigning you to general duties,” Rawlin went on. “We'll be sailing in two hours.” He shouted through a hatchway. “Evans! Get up here!”

A thin middle-aged man appeared. “Yes, sir?”

“Find a couple of bunks for these two up forward. Then take 'em to the cargo hold with you. Make sure everything's secured.”

Evans led the boys down a passageway and into a small cubicle which was to serve as their quarters.

“Not much room,” Frank observed.

“Barely enough space to breathe,” Joe replied.

“Don't complain,” Evans snapped. “There's a lot of things you won't like aboard this ship.”

The Hardys exchanged glances. Then they stowed their gear and followed the crewman to the cargo hold.

“Look!” Joe whispered. He pointed to a pile of logs tied down at the far end of the hold. “They're just like the ones we saw hoisted aboard the
Black Parrot.”

“Start checking this stuff!” Evans yelled. “Make sure it's all battened down!”

The boys did as they were told. Gradually, during the course of their inspection, they edged their way toward the pile of logs. Frank began to examine them closely.

“What are you doing?” Evans shouted in annoyance.

“Checking the cargo,” Frank answered.

“Then keep moving!”

“You want us to do a good job, don't you?” Joe retorted.

“None of your back talk!” Evans gave Joe a hard shove.

Frank stepped in and the crewman lashed out with his fists. The young detective grabbed his opponent's left wrist, and with a lightning move, pinned the man's arms behind his back.

“Let go of me!” Evans yelled.

“Not unless you calm down.”

“Okay! Okay!”

Frank released him. “Now I suppose you're going to report us to the captain.”

Evans was embarrassed by having been overpowered. “Naw,” he growled. “I'll get even with you two later. Go to your quarters and wait for further orders.”

“This should be a pleasant voyage with him around,” Joe said, shaking his head.

“We'll just try to stay out of his way,” Frank replied. “Trouble is what we don't want.”

When they arrived at their quarters, Frank spotted a note on his bunk. He snatched it and a cold chill quivered down his spine as he read aloud:

“ âGet off this ship before it's too late!
' ”

CHAPTER X

Deck Watch

“WHO could have written this note?” Joe exclaimed.

“I don't get it!” Frank said. “I'm sure none of the crew knows who we are. Yet someone's trying to warn us.”

The ship's engines started and the hull vibrated.

“We're getting underway,” Joe observed. “That was a pretty quick repair job.”

Frank stuffed the note into his pocket. “Too late to worry about this now. We'll have to take our chances.”

“You kids!” came Evans's voice. “Get up on deck and help haul in the lines!”

The Hardys hastened topside, where they saw the bow of the
Yellow Parrot
swerving away from the pier.

“Come on! Come on!” Evans barked. “Get working!”

Frank and Joe assisted the other crewmen. Soon the heavy lines were pulled aboard and stacked in neat coils.

The job was hardly finished when Evans began shouting orders again. “Now get below and report to the ship's carpenter. Ask him to give you some paint. There are a few vents around here I want redone.”

“We won't have time to do any investigating with him around,” Joe said under his breath.

“We'll have to be patient and hope for a break,” Frank replied.

The Hardys were kept busy painting. Later that day Joe was high on a ladder daubing the top of a door when his paint can slipped.

Splat!
It hit the deck with a thud, spattering a gray mess in all directions.

What was worse, Rawlin walked past the spot at that very moment. He was decorated with gooey blobs.

BOOK: The Twisted Claw

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