Free The Phantom Freighter by Franklin W. Dixon

to Mrs. Armstrong and says they were accepted by a woman claiming to be a relative. The boxes were not found in the house and Mrs. Armstrong claims she had not ordered anything delivered.
    â€œSounds familiar, doesn’t it?” said Joe.
    â€œThe same old routine. We’d better call on Mrs. Armstrong,” Frank agreed.
    The woman, like Mrs. Updyke in Bayport, could tell the boys very little other than what the newspaper had reported. Beds had been slept in and kitchenware used, but nothing was missing.
    â€œThe police have searched the house thoroughly,” she said, “but my visitors didn’t leave any clues. Unless you could call this a clue,” she added, taking a ragged slip of paper from the mantel. “I found it in a corner when I was dusting this morning.”
    Frank and Joe examined the paper. Scribbled on it were some letters and numbers:
    A23—151—C2—D576-A19395—M14
    â€œCan you make anything of that?” she asked.
    Frank shook his head. “It could be a motor number, a safe combination, a lot of things. Do you mind if I copy these numbers?”
    â€œNot at all!”
    Frank took a notebook from his pocket. “You’d better give this slip to the police,” he advised.
    â€œYes. I’ll do that.”
    After the boys had left the house, Joe said, “I believe it’s some kind of code.”
    â€œLet’s memorize the numbers,” suggested Frank. “Just in case we should lose them.”
    Both Hardys went over them several times until they were sure they would not forget them, then returned to the shipping agency.
    â€œI got in touch with the Neptune Line,” the owner told them, “and got reservations for you. One of their freighters, the Crown of Neptune, will be leaving in two weeks.”
    â€œCan we pick up the tickets now?” Joe asked.
    â€œNot right away. I’ll have to wait for confirmation. They’ll be ready in a day or so. I suggest that you get passports and vaccination certificates because the ship will be putting in at a couple of Central American ports.”
    â€œFine,” said Frank. “We’ll take care of that.”
    They drove back to Bayport, relieved that they would have good news for Mr. McClintock at last.
    â€œTwo weeks, eh?” he said. “Well, that’s not so bad. Meantime, we’ll go fishing. Do you know if Chet had any luck yet?”
    Frank suppressed a grin. “As far as I’ve heard he’s talked to a Captain Harkness. The skipper told him he’d call him as soon as he has a free day.”
    â€œGood.”
    An hour later Frank, Joe, and Chet were at the docks to search again for the man with the scar. Unknown to the boys, a longshoreman followed them at a discreet distance. As they walked toward a truck being unloaded by a stevedore, the man tailing them signaled to the worker.
    Instinctively Joe turned around and saw the fellow’s strange motions. Then he glanced ahead to see the stevedore throw a carton back onto the truck and duck beneath the chassis.
    Joe leaped into action. Racing ahead of the others, he dashed to the truck and looked underneath. The man was crawling out on the other side. Joe ran around just in time to see him dodge through a doorway to a storage shed.
    The man with the scar!
    â€œFrank, Chet! I found him!” Joe beckoned furiously. “He ran in there!”
    Joe dashed toward the doorway, but was blocked by two workmen carrying crates on their shoulders. The men moved off slowly, revealing the darkened entrance once again. Joe sprinted forward, just as Frank, running up behind him, shrieked out a warning.
    â€œJoe! Stop!”
    Out of the shadowy doorway sped a hand truck. It was loaded but nobody was at the controls!

CHAPTER X
    Frank in Trouble
    â€œLOOK out, Joe!” Frank yelled in horror.
    Joe dived to safety on the cobbled pavement a split second before the cart whipped by and smashed