Free The Phantom Freighter by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

into the parked truck. Boxes and parcels flew through the air.
    Unhurt, Joe scrambled up. He suspected that the fugitive had shoved the hand truck toward him in an attempt to gain time for a getaway in the network of alleys along the waterfront.
    He caught sight of the man at a gateway to the dockyard. Then the fugitive vanished from view.
    Joe raced in pursuit. As he reached the open gate he got a brief glimpse of the fugitive hurrying up the street, but a moment later he was gone again.
    â€œProbably ducked into one of the stores,” Joe concluded. He dashed up the street, not sure which door the man might have entered. Joe looked into two shops, then spoke to a fellow lounging outside a pawnshop.
    â€œI saw a guy run into Fit-Your-Figure-Charlie’s a minute ago,” the man told him.
    Joe rushed to the clothing store. It was apparently deserted. No clerk. No customers. Three clothes dummies were in the front window.
    Then Joe heard a groan. He traced it to its source in an anteroom used for tailoring, and found the shopkeeper unconscious on the floor. In the corner was a sink. Joe grabbed a towel, wet it and put it on the man’s forehead. The cold water revived the man and he sat up.
    â€œGuy came in here—slugged me—” he murmured.
    â€œDid he have a scar on his cheek?” Joe asked quickly.
    The man nodded. “Knocked me out—don’t know where he went.”
    Both looked up at the sound of footsteps in the doorway. Chet poked his head in. “Hey, what’s going on?” he asked.
    A hurried explanation followed. Then Joe said, “Help Charlie to the couch in his office, Chet. I’m going to call the police.”
    He looked around for a telephone but saw none, and stepped outside. Suddenly he paused. From the corner of his eye he had caught a glimpse of the display window. Four dummies stood there, one of them in a raincoat, with a hat pulled low over its head!
    Joe remembered that there had been only three dummies in the window before! He stepped back inside, quietly slipped the automatic catch on the lock to the window, and went back to Chet. He drew him aside and told him of his discovery. “I locked him in. He’s our prisoner,” he whispered.
    Chet did not like the idea of being left alone with the fellow. “Where’s Frank?” he asked worriedly.
    â€œI don’t know. Wasn’t he with you?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œHe must have followed another lead. I’ll go find a phone.”
    Before Chet could object, Joe was out the door. He ran to a drugstore at the corner, called police headquarters, and asked for Con Riley. When he had him on the line, Joe said:
    â€œThis is Joe Hardy. Listen, how fast can you make it to Mack Street? Fit-Your-Figure Charlie’s place. I want you to arrest a guy in the window.”
    â€œIn the window?”
    â€œLive dummy. He slugged Charlie. I think he’s the scarred man we’re after.”
    â€œBe right over, Joe.”
    The young detective started back to the store. Suddenly he heard a crash. A figure hurtled through the show window and landed on the sidewalk. It was followed by a man in a raincoat.
    At the same instant Chet raced from the store and tackled the fugitive. They went down in a heap. The scarred man struggled to escape, but Chet hung on grimly, yelling to Joe.
    Joe raced up and helped subdue the suspect. A moment later a police car arrived and Con Riley jumped out. He snapped handcuffs on the man’s wrists.
    â€œWhat’s this all about?” the prisoner snarled. “I haven’t done anything.”
    â€œThat’s what they all say,” replied Riley. “You’re coming down to headquarters.” Riley then informed the prisoner of his rights.
    â€œYeah, I understand. When I want a lawyer, I’ll tell ya,” the man muttered.
    Chet and Joe, after making sure that Charlie was all right, climbed into the squad car with Riley and