048 The Arctic Patrol Mystery by Franklin W. Dixon

Author:Franklin W. Dixon [Dixon, Franklin W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XI

Over the Waves

JOE took the glasses to confirm Frank’s suspicion. No doubt about it! The face was that of the bogus Hallbjornsson!

“Captain Magnusson,” Frank said, “there’s a wanted man on the Tek!”

“The entire trawler is wanted,” the captain replied with a grim smile. “She’s poaching in Icelandic waters.”

He dispatched a radio message commanding the Tek to stop. Then he took the binoculars and watched. Suddenly he gave an exclamation in Icelandic. The trawler was turning about and racing toward the open sea!

“She’s trying to get away!” Frank cried out.

If Captain Magnusson was startled by the poacher’s action, he did not show it. Calmly he gave the order for full speed ahead.

Much to the surprise of Frank and Joe, the fleeing boat had exceptional speed. Churning up a greenish-white wake, it high-tailed straight west. But it was no match for the Thor. The cutter gained with every minute.

Finally the ships came side by side. Captain Magnusson, using a bullhorn, ordered the fleeing boat to stop for boarding. “You are under arrest!” he thundered.

Beckoning to the Hardy boys and two seamen, he boarded the poacher and was met by her irate skipper, who declared in broken English, “You cannot stop us. It is illegal!”

“You are in Icelandic fishing waters,” Captain Magnusson replied evenly. “And you are not Icelandic.”

“I am thirteen miles off your shore!”

“Only ten by my calculations. And my calculations are what count.” Magnussen asked curtly, “Why did you flee when I radioed for you to stop?”

“I did not hear your message.”

“Then you should get your radio repaired. What you did was dangerous; you could have been shot.”

The captain accompanied the poacher to his bridge, where he obtained the fishing boat’s registration and other vital details. Then Magnusson said, “I think you are harboring a fugitive from Iceland and will conduct a search.”

The poacher glared at him in rage. “How dare you! You cannot do this!”

“But we will,” Magnussen retorted. He motioned to Frank and Joe, along with his two crewmen. The four conducted a painstaking search for the fugitive, expecting to see Musselman pop out of a closet or jump out of a locker at any moment. But the baldheaded spy could not be found.

“Maybe he’s hiding in some kind of a container,” Frank said.

“You mean under the boat?” Joe asked.

“It’s possible.”

Although they searched the sides of the boat for any telltale line leading under the water, their efforts were fruitless.

“Come on. We’ll give the crew’s quarters one more look,” Frank said.

The bunks were thoroughly checked to see if anyone was hiding under a false mattress. Each mattress was thumped, but all were genuine. No Musselman!

The crewmen left. Frank and Joe gave the last bunk one more look. A small bit of paper stuck between the wall and the blanket caught Frank’s eye. He plucked it from its hiding place.

“Holy crow! Joe, look at this!” It had been torn from an Icelandic newspaper.

“It’s our ad!” Joe exclaimed. “The one Musselman answered!”

“See, we were right!” Frank said. “He was on this boat!”

“One thing is sure,” Joe muttered.

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