Ghost Stories by Franklin W. Dixon

written on it in large letters.
    â€œI guess that has to be the year as long as we’re aboard ship,” Joe commented.
    Orne frowned. “You two have not escaped from an asylum, have you?” he asked anxiously.
    â€œNo, we haven’t,” Frank assured him, “But we’d sure like to escape from this ship!”
    Orne nodded. “I will help you later if I can. Now I have to get back on duty.” The sailor vanished up the stairs.
    Frank lay down on his bunk with his hands behind his head. Joe sat on the table with his legs dangling over the edge. They discussed their predicament, using their detective training to analyze the facts.
    â€œThe trouble is,” Frank observed, “we can’t figure out what to do since we’re dealing with phantoms. They kidnapped us, but how do you outwit somebody who lived in 1850?”
    Joe scratched his head. “We’ll have to play it by ear, Frank. I tell you what. If Captain Parker lets us out of here, let’s show him we’re good sailors. If we’re handy enough around the ship, maybe he’ll change his mind about dumping us overboard.”
    â€œGood thinking. It may be our only chance. But you know something,” Frank added, glancing at his wristwatch. “It’s only a few hours since we were picked up from the
Sleuth.
How can all these things have happened to us?”
    Joe was about to say something when an oddfeeling made him turn his head. He was startled to see a man in sailor’s garb at the door to their cell. Struck by Joe’s amazed expression, Frank raised his head and looked in the same direction.
    The man stood, silently gazing at them. He was a ghostly figure with a gleaming white face and long, tapering white fingers clutching one of the bars. His face had no expression, and his blue eyes were fixed on them.
    â€œHow did he get here?” Joe mumbled. “I didn’t hear him come down the stairs.”
    Frank sat up. “Neither did I. He doesn’t look like one of the crew.”
    Suddenly the weird stranger beckoned to them to follow him.
    â€œWho are you?” Frank demanded. “And why should we go with you?”
    â€œIt’s impossible, anyhow,” Joe pointed out. “The first mate locked the door when they threw us in here. Unless you have a key?”
    To their astonishment, the man pulled the door open. He gestured at them again by crooking his finger.
    â€œHe doesn’t need a key!” Joe gulped.
    â€œWe might as well go with him,” Frank advised. “Maybe he’ll show us how to escape from this tub. But he could be dangerous, too, so watch out.”
    Joe nodded and the Hardys stepped out of the cell. Their eerie guide closed the door silently, then walked to the stairs and started up. His feet made no sound as he ascended to the deck.
    The uncanny silence unnerved the Hardys. Joe got goose bumps, and Frank felt a cold chill run down his spine.
    At the top of the stairs, the man stepped out on deck and started toward the stern of the ship. Frank and Joe stopped at the doorway and cautiously peered through to see if anyone was there. But the whale-oil lantern flickering in the darkness told them the deck was empty.
    Their silent guide turned and once more beckoned to them. Obediently, they followed him across the deck.
    They felt the up-and-down sweep of the stern as it rose and fell under the surge of great waves. Looking down, they saw the water churning into a bubbling white froth. Out of the black, starless sky came the harsh scream of a seabird.
    The uncanny stranger stopped and stared at the Hardys with eyes that never blinked.
    What’s he going to do now? Frank asked himself. Will he try to push us overboard?
    Suddenly the man pointed into the darkness directly astern. Straining their eyes, the Hardys were able to make out the bow of a ship! It was following the
Samoa Queen!
    The mysterious sailor pointed down into the water and