Read Online Ghost Stories by Franklin W. Dixon - Free Book Online Page A

out in their motorboat, the
Sleuth.
Frank shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed around at the surging waves dotted with whitecaps.
    â€œLooks like a storm coming up, Joe,” he said to his brother. “We’d better get out of the Atlantic before it gets any worse.”
    Joe wiped drifting spray from his face. “It’s getting dark,” he noted. “But we’re not far from the bay. Let’s head home. I’ll rev up the motor and gain some speed.”
    The Hardys often took their boat out into the Atlantic, but when a storm began on the ocean, they knew they had to get back into Barmet Bay, which was near their home in Bayport, for safety. Otherwise, the
Sleuth
might sink or overturn.
    Joe pressed the accelerator. The boat shot forward in a burst of speed. But suddenly the engine sputtered, then stopped, and they came to a halt in the water. Joe struggled to get the boat started again, but in vain.
    â€œNo use,” he said at last. “It’s conked out.” The brothers checked every part of the mechanism according to the manual. When they had finished, Frank scratched his head.
    â€œEverything seems just fine, Joe. Transmission, oil, gas—everything.”
    â€œBut the engine won’t start,” Joe declared.
    â€œWell, we’d better get help. It’s a long swim from hereto the bay!”
    Frank took the transmitter of the ship-to-shore radio and flipped the switch. Nothing happened! He levered the switch up and down, examined the cord, and checked the batteries.
    â€œNothing wrong with the radio,” he muttered, “except the fact that it won’t work, either. It’s odd. We must be under a hex or something.”
    The
Sleuth
rocked helplessly in the waves churned up by strong winds as darkness fell. There was no moon, and black clouds covered the stars. Frank and Joe shivered in the cold.
    â€œLooks like we’ll have to spend the night out here,” Joe mumbled. “I just hope we don’t capsize!”
    â€œWe don’t have much chance of being picked up, either,” Frank said glumly. “I can hardly see my hand in front of my face. Even if a ship came past, they’d never spot us.”
    Suddenly a towering black mass loomed towardthem in the darkness. A harsh voice shouted over the water: “Who are you?”
    â€œIt’s a ship!” Joe exclaimed exultantly. “And someone saw us!” He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted back, “We’re Frank and Joe Hardy! We’re marooned! Can you take us aboard?”
    â€œAye, we can do that!” came the reply.
    The black mass moved closer and stopped beside the
Sleuth.
A lantern swaying in the wind revealed the curving bow of a large ship. On the bow were painted in white letters the words
Samoa Queen.
    A rope ladder fell down the side of the vessel until it dangled over the
Sleuth.
Frank gripped the ropes on either side, got his foot onto the bottom rung, and quickly climbed up. Joe tied the launch to the ladder and followed.
    The Hardys vaulted over the railing and came down on a deck of massive oak planks. In the dim light of old-fashioned lanterns they saw they were on a sailboat. The sails billowed in the wind and the mainmast pointed high into the dark sky. A flight of wooden steps led up to the wheelhouse.
    A crew of rough-looking sailors were on deck. They wore old-fashioned work clothes and stood silently, glowering at the newcomers. One held a harpoon in his hand and waved it menacingly.
    â€œThis must be some sort of training ship,” Frank said to Joe in a low tone.
    â€œWell, it’s the spookiest training ship I’ve ever seen,” his brother whispered back.
    A man in a salty pea jacket strode toward them. He was tall and gaunt with a black beard and piercingblack eyes. When he spoke, they recognized the harsh voice that had hailed them over the water.
    â€œSo you are Frank and Joe Hardy, are you?” he