The Mystery of the Chinese Junk by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

up the bay where they could conduct their investigation undetected.
    When the Hardy group, including Chet, gathered on the pier at the appointed time, Biff remarked wryly, “Boy, we sure could have picked a better evening!”
    Tony glanced at the overcast sky. “You said it ! We’d better keep a weather eye out for a storm.”
    The humidity had risen steadily since late afternoon, making the air hot and muggy. Not a breath of wind stirred.
    Frank started the outboard and they set off. As the Hai Hau pulled away from the dock, lightning flecked the horizon.
    â€œOh—oh! Hope that’s just heat lightning,” Chet muttered.
    The boys cruised offshore and finally picked a hidden cove several miles from Bayport to drop anchor. The Shore Road ran close to the beach at this point, but a row of large willows partially screened the junk from anyone using the road.
    For over an hour the Hardys and their chums searched the Hai Hau from stem to stern. But no hidden cache was revealed. By now the stormy-looking sky had become very dark.
    Frank lighted a pair of lanterns, quipping, “Okay, team. Night shift coming up.”
    Chet wiped his perspiring forehead. “Say, boss, don’t we get time out for a snack? I’m hungry.”
    The plump youth’s eyes had fallen on a bag of cookies which Jim Foy had brought along. Jim chuckled and passed the bag around. “Thought these would come in handy.”
    Biff bit into one of the crisp cookies. The next moment he said, “Hey! What’s this little paper inside?”
    â€œPull it out and learn your future.” Jim grinned. “These are Chinese fortune cookies.”
    Biff extracted the tiny strip of paper. He read aloud:
    â€œGREAT WEALTH Is IN STORE!”
    â€œWe’d better keep looking for that smugglers’ loot!” Biff exclaimed in glee. “Maybe it’s pirate gold!”
    Laughing, the other boys examined their own fortunes. Frank’s warned, “YOUR BEAUTIFUL EYES SPELL TROUBLE,” and the others roared with laughter. Joe’s advised him not to trust a certain red-haired girl he would meet.
    â€œGood advice,” Biff remarked. “Iola wouldn’t like her, anyway.”
    Tony’s fortune told of an impending discussion with a stocky, dark man. “My dad probably,” Tony joked. “He’ll have a few things to say if I get home late!”
    Chet was looking indignantly at his paper. “Huh! Mine says, BEWARE! You EAT TOO MUCH!”
    His friends burst out laughing. “Better not finish that cooky,” Frank said with mock gravity.
    â€œYou guys don’t understand,” the stout boy asserted. “I just need lots of food energy for all the work I do!”
    His words were greeted with fresh merriment. “Listen! I’ll bet you’re too out of condition to balance on the rail of this junk!” Joe dared him.
    â€œIs that so? Just watch!” Chet boasted.
    Before anyone could advise caution, the chunky lad climbed up on the gunwale. He teetered precariously, arms outstretched. The next moment Chet gave a wild yell and toppled overboard. Feet first, he hit the water with a mighty splash and disappeared beneath the surface. His friends held their sides and quaked with merriment.
    â€œFor Pete’s sake!” Joe said. “I didn’t think he’d really try that stunt.”
    Chet bobbed to the surface. Sputtering, he pulled himself up, grabbed the Hai Hau’ s bowline, then to his comrades’ complete astonishment, swam rapidly to shore. Dashing up onto the beach, Chet hitched the line around a gnarled old tree stump.
    â€œOkay, this’ll show you guys!” he shouted. “If you want to get back to Bayport, you’ll either have to untie this end of the rope or leave it behind.”
    â€œThat rope’s valuable,” Frank commented, and added, grinning, “Looks as if the joke’s on us!”
    Joe