“It's dated 1786,” Frank observed as he and Joe examined the opening page.
The text that followed revealed a fascinating story. It concerned the adventures of an early eighteenth-century pirate named Cartoll. The sight of his ship, the
Black Parrot,
struck fear into those who sailed the Atlantic trade routes of that era.
“Good grief!” Joe exclaimed. “Whoever named the freighter we tried to investigate must've known about Cartoll.”
“Kind of weird. What do you make of it?” Frank asked.
“I don't know. Let's go back to the story.”
Reading on, the boys learned that Cartoll discovered an island somewhere in the Caribbean. He used it not only as a base of operations for his pirating activities, but also for the creation of a private kingdom. Cartoll referred to his realm as the Empire of the Twisted Claw.
“Wow!” Joe declared. “He certainly was an ambitious guy.”
“It says here,” Frank stated as he ran his finger along the page, “that the few natives on the island were forced to become his subjects. Later, his kingdom was enlarged by bringing captives there from the ships he had plundered.”
The story also revealed that Cartoll had formed an elite personal guard. Each of the men had the symbol of the twisted claw on the breastplate of his armor.
As the Hardys turned the next page, they found that the remainder of the text was so faded it was impossible to read. Apparently the last section of the volume had been damaged by seawater.
“Bad luck.” Frank sighed. “I was hoping we'd learn more about Cartoll and where his island was located.”
“If we could take the book to our crime lab,” Joe suggested, “the rest of the text might show up under ultraviolet light.”
“The owner will never go along with it,” Frank replied.
“What've we got to lose? Let's try, anyway.”
The proprietor flatly refused their request. He quickly placed the book back on its shelf. “You fellows must think I'm crazy!”
“Not at all, sir,” Frank said apologetically. “We can't tell you why at the moment, but it's important that we see the rest of the text.”
“Only the buyer of that book will leave my shop with it!” the man snapped. “Anyway, I'd never permit it to be exposed to chemicals and lights.”
The young detectives decided not to press the issue any further. They paid for the volume of essays and started back to the airport.
“I wonder if there's another copy of that Twisted Claw book around somewhere,” Joe remarked as Wayne lifted the plane off the runway at La Guardia.
Frank glanced at his brother. “The bookshop owner claimed that it's the only one known to be in existence. If there is another one, it could take years to track it down.”
It was early evening when they arrived home. After supper Frank settled down to look at the book they had bought for their father. Joe, meanwhile, leafed through the evening newspaper.
Suddenly he sat bolt upright in his chair. “Frank! We're due for a break! This is great!”
“What are you talking about?”
“There's an item here which says the Black Parrot has developed engine trouble and is returning to Bayport Harbor for repairs!”
“When?”
“Sometime tomorrow afternoon,” Joe replied, tossing the paper to his brother.
Frank read the article. “According to this, the captain doesn't expect repairs to take more than twenty-four hours.”
“This might be our last chance to investigate the ship,” Joe said. “We'll have to work fast.”
The following afternoon the boys drove to Bayport Harbor, hopeful that the ship would arrive as scheduled. Their spirits soared when they spotted the
Black Parrot
easing into a dock.
Members of the crew spilled down the gangplank to help secure the lines.
“Let's stick to our original plan,” Frank sug gested. “We'll disguise ourselves as seamen again and board the ship after dark.”
“Meanwhile, I'll call Chet and ask him to meet us here later,” Joe said.
As night approached, the young detectives began putting on their disguise and facial makeup. They finished just as Chet arrived. Their friend was dumbfounded when he saw his two chums.
“How do we look?” Joe asked him.
“Great!” Chet declared. “You'd fool anybody into thinking you're a couple of old salts.”
The Hardys then told him what they wanted him to do. “And remember,” Frank urged, “stay out of sight and keep your eyes open. Don't run for help unless we really get into a tough spot.”
“Roger. You can count on me,” Chet replied. The boys braced themselves and started down the pier toward the
Black Parrot.
They climbed the gangplank and stepped onto the deck.
A crewman came toward them. He stopped and glanced at the youths. “I ain't seen you guys aboard before.”
Frank mumbled in doubletalk.
“Better check with the first mate then,” the fellow advised. “You'll find him in the forward galley.”
“Thanks,” Joe replied.
The crewman continued on his way. Casually the boys walked along the deck for a short distance, then dashed down a passageway.
“Whew!” Joe sighed. “That was close. I was afraid that guy would insist on taking us to the first mate.”
Frank creased his brow. “There's a chance he might check later to see if we did report. We'd better not risk staying aboard too long.”
“What should we investigate first?”
“The cargo hold. I'd like to see what sort of load they're carrying.”
Stealthily they made their way midships, pulled open a hatch, and descended a ladder into the cargo hold. Taking out their flashlights, the boys began to scan the area. The room was filled with wooden crates. They carefully pried the top off one of the boxes and found that it contained a coil of electric cable.
Examination of the labels on other crates indicated that the merchandise varied from leather goods to automobile parts. Most of the shipments were slated for Iceland.
“So far,” Frank remarked, “there's nothing suspicious about this cargo.”
“Maybe it's all a cover-up for some kind of an illegal operation,” Joe said.
As they continued their search, the beam of Joe's flashlight fell upon a metal enclosure. It formed a small, separate room at the far end of the hold.
“Wonder what's in there,” Joe said.
“Let's take a look,” Frank suggested.
The Hardys unlatched the door of the enclosure and went inside.
Joe let out a low whistle. “More crates. And they're marked âExplosives'!”
Frank tugged at the top of a box. “We'd need a long crowbar to break into one of these.”
Suddenly the area outside the enclosure was filled with light and crewmen descended the ladder into the hold.
The boys listened anxiously as one of the men shouted an order to the others. “Double check to see everything is secure!”
Frank and Joe held their breath. The door of the enclosure was partially open. They stiffened at the sound of approaching footsteps.
“Hey!” a man yelled. “Someone left the door to the special storeroom unlatched. Won't you guys ever learn?”
An instant later the door was slammed shut. The Hardys were left in total darkness.
Frank switched on his flashlight. “Oh, oh. Now we're in for it. There's no latch on the inside. We're trapped!”
“Wh-what'll we do?” Joe stammered.
“Either yell for help and get caught, or wait until the hold is clear and try to find a way out. What say?”
“Let's wait.”
Ten minutes later they heard the men leave.
“Okay, let's move some of this stuff to see if there's another exit,” Frank suggested.
He placed his flashlight on the floor near the door and with Joe's help moved the heavy crates away from the walls. The work was backbreaking, but to no avail. There were no other doorsl
Dripping with perspiration, the Hardys sat down on the floor and leaned against a crate to ponder their next move. As Joe made himself comfortable, his fingers touched an object and he picked it up.
“Hey,” he cried out, “look what I found!”
Frank beamed his light on a large screwdriver which Joe held in his hand.
“Maybe we can open the latch with this,” Frank said. “Here, let me have it.” He scrambled up and tried to ram the tool through the narrow slit between the door and the wall. No luck. The screwdriver was much too thick.
“Oh, nuts!” Joe said.
“Let's see if we can't locate something else,” Frank said hopefully.
They shifted the crates again and scoured the floor. Their hands were black with dirt, and they coughed as dust assailed their nostrils. But not another tool was to be found.
“I guess we'll just have to wait until someone comes down again, and then play it by ear,” Joe muttered.
Presently the boys sensed a strong vibration. The engines of the
Black Parrot
had been started.
“The ship's getting underway!” Joe exclaimed.
CHAPTER IV
Good Old Chet
“WIE'VE got to get out of here!” Frank declared.
The Hardys tried to force the door, but their efforts were useless. They thought of Chet. Would he give the alarm? Perhaps he'd send the Coast Guard to free them.
Finally, drowsy because of the lack of fresh air, they dozed off. Hours passed before they awoke.
Frank glanced at his watch. “The ship must be eighty or ninety miles out of Bayport by now,” he said weakly.
“We can't stay in here much longer,” Joe answered. He was breathing heavily. “Our only chance is to let them know we're in the storeroom.”
“You're right. Start pounding on door. We're bound to attract someone's attention
Each of the boys removed one of the shoes and used it to hammer away at the door. But no one heard them.
“It's no use,” Joe muttered in despair.
They were ready to give up, when Frank suddenly whispered tensely, “Wait! I hear footsteps!”
An instant later the door was pulled open. The boys found themselves facing three startled crew. men.
“Who are you?” one of them demanded. “Watcha doin' in here?”
The Hardys did not answer. Hungrily they gulped in fresh air.
“Stowaways, eh?” the man snarled. “The cap'n will know how to deal with you!” He stared at the youths curiously. “What's that you got on your faces?”
Frank and Joe glanced at each other. They realized with dismay that the hours they had spent in the warm, stagnant air of the enclosure had caused their makeup to streak. They had no choice but to remove it completely.
“Why, they're a couple of kids!” one of the men shouted in surprise.
The boys were ordered to march off with one of the crew members leading the way to the captain. He was a middle-aged man with a thin beard and skin that looked as tough as an elephant's hide. His eyes were deep-set and piercing. The Hardys felt uncomfortable in his presence.
“Cap'n,” the crewman reported, “we found these two guys hidin' in the special storeroom.”
“What were you doing there?” the officer demanded. “How did you get aboard?”
At that moment the first mate appeared on the scene. His eyes widened with surprise when he saw the Hardys. “What are those troublemakers doin' here?” he thundered.
“You know them?” the captain asked.
“Yes, sir. Had to run them off the ship when we were takin' on cargo in Bayport Harbor. They asked for work and I hired them to help load. Then that blond-haired one tried to pick a fight with me.”
“You've no right shoving people around!” Joe said.
“Quiet!” the captain shouted. “Now that you're aboard, you'll stay. And you'll work without pay
“We demand you let us off this ship!” Frank exclaimed.
The first mate roared with laughter. “It's a long swim back to Bayport!”
“What's your next port?” Joe asked. “We'll go ashore there.”
“None of your business,” the captain retorted. “What's more, if you give us any trouble you won't eat. Now I'm turning you over to my first mate. His name is Marik. You'll be responsible to him.”
“I warn you,” Frank protested. “You'll regret it if you try to keep us aboard!”
Marik stepped forward and shoved them on ahead of him. “Stow the talk and get goin'. We can use a couple of hands in the galley. Some hard work will take the starch out of you.”
When they arrived in the galley, the first mate ordered the Hardys to begin scrubbing the floor. “I want the job finished before the cooks come on duty to start breakfast. That gives you only an hour.”
“But we need some sleep and food!” Joe protested.
“No back talk!” Marik growled.
Frank and Joe were given brushes and pails. They finished their task just minutes before the cooks appeared.
“So you're the stowaways Marik told me about,” one of the men boomed. “I've got orders to see that you're kept busy. Look lively now!”
As soon as one galley chore was completed, the boys were assigned another. The aroma of food nearly drove them mad with hunger. Finally they were permitted a few moments to eat.
When they had finished, one of the cooks shouted to Frank, “Hey, yout Take this tray of food to the skipper!”
Frank picked it up. As he approached the captain's cabin he heard voices inside. Cautiously he pressed his ear against the door.