The Phantom Freighter by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

point in grubbing through the ruins,” Frank said. “Any papers would have been burned to ashes.”
    â€œMilitary medals wouldn‘t,” replied his aunt. “There were a couple of old citations among the papers. I’d like to know what happened to that carton one way or another.”
    Since Frank and Joe had some spare time while waiting for Captain Harkness to arrange the fishing trip, they drove out to the Phillips house. Permission to search the ruins of the barn was granted, and for the next hour they poked through the debris. Their hands were black with soot and their shirts covered with ashes. Weary of the messy task, they were about to give up the hunt as hopeless when Joe picked up a small object near the front foundation.
    â€œLooks like a penny with a hole in it,” he said and cleaned off the metal. He held it to the light. The inscription was now legible. Good Luck!
    â€œI’ve seen medals like this in the stores down at the docks,” remarked Frank. “Many sailors wear them.”
    The boys returned to the house and asked Mrs. Phillips if she knew anything about the medal. She said it did not belong to them. Joe then telephoned Aunt Gertrude, who declared that the medal had not been among her possessions.
    Frank put the medal in his pocket and the boys left. On the way to town Frank said, “It must belong to our friend with the scar.”
    â€œWho else?” Joe agreed.
    They had nearly reached Bayport when a familiar jalopy which sounded more like a helicopter than a car overtook them and pulled alongside. Chet Morton was at the wheel. Biff Hooper sat beside him.
    â€œHi!” Chet said. “We want you to go out in the Sleuth. Got something to show you!”
    The Hardys followed, wondering what was up. When they reached the boathouse they learned that Chet wanted to go fishing.
    â€œNot just for the sake of fishing, mind you,” he explained hastily. “It’s a scientific experiment for our trip. I’ve invented a new fish lure. If it works I’ll make a fortune. Look!”
    From a cardboard box he produced a weird-looking gadget made of tin and strips of aluminum, barbed with hooks.
    â€œI can’t imagine any fish going for that!” said Frank. “What is it?”
    â€œA mechanical herring. Commercial fishermen won’t have to use real herring for bait any more. One of my mechanical ones will last a lifetime. I’ll sell so many I’ll make forty-five dollars like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Come on. I’ll show you how it works.”
    They climbed aboard the Sleuth. In a few minutes the trim little craft was about a quarter of a mile out in the bay. Chet attached his mechanical herring to a length of heavy line. Then he doused it with a foul-smelling fluid which he poured from a bottle.
    Joe sniffed. “Wow! What’s that?”
    â€œHerring oil,” Chet explained. “A mechanical herring should smell like a herring, shouldn’t it?”
    â€œI thought fish couldn’t smell,” Biff said.
    â€œThey do when they’ve been left out in the sun too long,” Joe quipped.
    Chet carefully lowered his creation into the water and payed out the line. Frank throttled down the engine to trolling speed, and they cruised out into the bay.
    â€œThe whole secret of this lure,” Chet explained, “is—Wow! I’ve got a bite!”
    The others stared incredulously at their chum, who began hauling in the line. He finally landed a small sea bass with a shout of triumph.
    â€œI knew it would work,” Chet declared proudly. “Just wait until I put that thing on the market. I’ll sell thousands. I‘ll—”
    â€œLook!” Joe said suddenly.
    His attention had been attracted by a fast motorboat running offshore. It was speeding crazily from side to side as if out of control. Two men in the craft were fighting violently.
    Frank snatched up a