Free The Arctic Patrol Mystery by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

the Waves
    JOE took the glasses to confirm Frank’s suspicion. No doubt about it! The face was that of the bogus Hallbjornsson!
    â€œCaptain Magnusson,” Frank said, “there’s a wanted man on the Tek !”
    â€œThe 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!
    â€œShe’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!”
    â€œYou are in Icelandic fishing waters,” Captain Magnusson replied evenly. “And you are not Icelandic.”
    â€œI am thirteen miles off your shore!”
    â€œOnly ten by my calculations. And my calculations are what count.” Magnussen asked curtly, “Why did you flee when I radioed for you to stop?”
    â€œI did not hear your message.”
    â€œThen 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!”
    â€œBut 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.
    â€œMaybe he’s hiding in some kind of a container,” Frank said.
    â€œYou mean under the boat?” Joe asked.
    â€œIt’s possible.”
    Although they searched the sides of the boat for any telltale line leading under the water, their efforts were fruitless.
    â€œCome 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.
    â€œHoly crow! Joe, look at this!” It had been torn from an Icelandic newspaper.
    â€œIt’s our ad!” Joe exclaimed. “The one Musselman answered!”
    â€œSee, we were right!” Frank said. “He was on this boat!”
    â€œOne thing is sure,” Joe muttered. “That crook isn’t here now, and if he is, he certainly is well hidden.”
    The boys decided not to tell Captain Magnusson about their clue. When they returned to the bridge, the skipper asked, “Any luck?”
    â€œNo. We couldn’t find him.” Frank observed the poaching captain all the while. He did not twitch a muscle, and his eyes remained cold and angry. If he knew of Musselman’s presence, he gave no indication.
    Magnusson called for his first lieutenant, who vaulted over the rail.
    â€œHjalmar, take this boat to