CHAPTER VIII

A Fishy Cargo

"I'M sure Chet's all right, lola," said Joe, trying to soothe the worried girl. "He probably had a flat tire, or just stopped for a late snack. Tell you what. Frank and I will go look for him, and as soon as we find him, we'll give you a call. Okay?"

"Thank you, Joe. I knew I could depend on you."

When Joe hung up and told Frank, the older boy looked concerned. "I don't like the sound of this. Chet could change a flat in ten minutes and be on his way again."

"I know," Joe said. "But there wasn't any sense in worrying lola any further."

"Right." Frank reached in his pocket for his car keys. "We'd better get started."

Joe was just opening the front door when two muffled explosions split the still night air.

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66 Mystery of the Whale Tattoo

"Speak of the devil!" Frank exclaimed with obvious relief.

Chet's battered old jalopy pulled up to the curb. The car backfired a third time before sputtering into silence on the quiet street. Chet jumped out and ran up to Frank and Joe.

"Have I got something to tell you!" he blurted. "A fantastic piece of luck!"

"All right," Joe said, "but first you'd better call your sister. She's worried about you."

"Oh." An expression of regret crossed Chet's face. "I know I should have phoned, but I had to get here as fast as I could."

"Come on in," Frank said. "Call Tola and let her know where you are, then tell us about it."

Chet quickly telephoned his sister, then announced to the boys, "I've found another whale!"

"Where?" Joe asked. "What kind?"

"California Gray. When I left you guys I headed straight out of town on the parkway. You know Marty's Giant Burgers place?"

"Sure," Frank answered.

"Well, I was feeling a little hungry so I stopped in for a quick bite. There was a fellow sitting at the counter next to me-a big man, rough-looking, strong. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, and when he raised his coffee cup, I saw the tattoo. It was a small one on his right biceps. As good a picture of a California Gray as I've ever seen."

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Chet said that when the man had noticed him staring at the tattoo, he had gulped down the remainder of his coffee, paid his bill quickly, and hastened out of the diner.

"I followed him," Chet said. "He got into the cab of a large tractor truck-a very large truck!"

"Large enough to hide a Blue Whale in?" Frank asked.

"I'm not sure," Chet said. "But I do know that it was one of the biggest trucks I've ever seen. And to top it off, it was a Connecticut license plate. I remembered the postcard clue, and here I am!"

"What are we waiting for?" Joe asked.

"Not a thing," Frank said, heading for the Har-dys' car. "Did you get the license number, Chet?"

"You bet I did." Chet produced a scrap of paper on which he had written the plate number.

The boys sped down the highway, overtaking several trucks, but not the one they wanted. Joe had done some quick computations and reckoned they should close the remaining gap within the next half hour.

"There it is!" Chet cried finally.

The truck was a huge tractor-trailer combination with twin diesel exhaust stacks that belched thick, acrid columns of smoke into the air. Frank moved the car into a position that was a short, but safe distance behind the roaring behemoth.

"What do we do now?" Joe asked.

68 Mystery of the Whale Tattoo

"I'll wait for an open stretch of road," Frank said. "Then I'll move into the next lane and pull abreast of the cab. When the driver can see you, motion for him to swing onto the shoulder and stop."

"What if he doesn't?" Joe queried.

"We'll assume he's got something to hide, and we'll find the nearest phone, call the State Police and have him stopped."

"That's a fine plan if it works," Chet said fearfully. "But what if he waits until we're alongside, then decides to run us off the road?"

"It's a risk we'll have to take," Frank answered coolly. "I'll be on my guard. Everyone set?"

The car swung into the passing lane and zipped forward.

"A little bit more, just a bit more," Joe said tensely. The two vehicles were almost nose and nose. Joe began waving for the truck driver to pull over. Nothing happened.

"He either doesn't understand, or he's just not going to stop," the boy shouted above the roar of the truck's motor.

"Looks as if we have our answer!" Frank bellowed. "I think it's time to call the police."

"Wait a minute!" Joe yelled. The truck's directional signal blinked like a big red eye as the thundering wheels eased onto the shoulder of the highway.

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Frank pulled in behind on the gravel strip and stopped. The three boys leaped out and ran forward to where the truck had hissed to a halt. The driver climbed down from his cab to meet them. To the Hardys' surprise, he wore a friendly smile.

"What's the trouble, guys?" he asked. "Motor problems or something?"

The boys were taken aback by the trucker's unexpected good humor. Frank suddenly realized they might have made a mistake. "One question," he said. "What's the tattoo on your right arm?"

The boys were poised, ready to spring into action at the first sign of a hostile move.

The driver touched his arm. "You mean Hilda?" he asked, bewildered.

"Hilda?" Frank repeated with equal confusion.

"Sure." The truck driver exposed his arm and offered his tattoo for the youths' inspection. He even jiggled his biceps. "She's just something I had put on while I was in the U.S. Navy."

The boys gaped. The tattoo was a girl in a bikini reclining on one elbow.

"You and your California Gray Whale!" Joe exploded at Chet.

The stout boy stared at his feet with embarrassment. "Well, if you look at it from an angle, it does look like a Gray Whale. And besides, you Hardys are always drumming into my head that no possible clue can be overlooked."

70 Mystery of the Whale Tattoo

"You do have a point there," Frank admitted.

"Hey, guys!" the trucker said. "Since you pulled me off the road, would you mind letting me in on the story?"

The boys apologized, then told the driver who they were and what they were doing. The man, who gave his name as Adam Snow, burst out laughing. "So you thought I might have a whale in here, eh?" He led them to the back of the truck and opened the massive doors. Instantly a pungent, fishy odor assailed the young sleuths' nostrils.

"Eight tons of salted fish," Snow said, pointing to the stacked barrels. "But it's all mackerel and herring, not whale!"

The boys chatted with Snow a while longer. Learning he had been raised in Mystic, they asked him if he could recommend a place to stay.

"That's easy," Snow told them. "Best place in town belongs to Mrs. Elmira Snow, my mother! She rents rooms, sets the finest table you can find, and her place is within walking distance of the Marine Historical Museum."

The boys thanked Snow and the four of them parted with a hearty round of handshakes. On the ride back home, Joe teased Chet again about his California Gray Whale.

"Look at it this way," the chubby boy said. "Without me, we'd never have found such a good spot to stay in Mystic."

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"We?" said Frank. "Since when have you been eager to go on a trip that might prove dangerous?"

"Oh," Chet answered, "I think we can be cautious enough to avoid danger, but the big thing is that one of the best scrimshaw collections in the United States is located at the museum in Mystic. And I'm not going to miss that, let me tell you."

"To say nothing of Mrs. Snow's kitchen abilities," Joe added.

"That is an extra incentive," Chet admitted.

Before he drove off in his jalopy, the boys decided to depart for Mystic the day after next.

"I'll be ready!" Chet promised. Frank and Joe stood grinning a moment as the jalopy backfired its way down the street and disappeared, then they went inside.

Joe raided the refrigerator and the boys had a short snack before they went to bed.

Early the following morning they began making preparations for the trip. First they called Biff and Tony and asked them to fill in as carnival sleuths until they returned.

Biff and Tony promised they would and said they would begin their duties as soon as the carnival opened for the day. Then Joe called Solo, who agreed to the change and wished the Hardys luck in their hunt for the mysterious person known as Beluga.

"Mr. Solo said the arrangement would be fine," Joe told his brother.

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"Good," Frank said with an air of abstraction. He was staring out the window and his brow was wrinkled. Suddenly he snapped his fingers. "Wow!" he said. "What an idea I just got to smoke out our enemiesl"