The Missing Chums by Franklin W. Dixon Read Free Book Online

into a back pocket and pulled out a blackjack. He lunged at Frank with the agility of a cat.
    â€œCut it out, Sutton!” barked a voice. The new-comer, a broad-shouldered young man, darted between Frank and his assailant. A boxer’s hand chop sent the blackjack flying to the sand.
    Sutton muttered under his breath, clenched his fists, and glared at the tall man. He was young and strong, with a blond crew cut.
    â€œIf you’re looking for trouble, I’ll give it to you,” the big fellow said meaningfully.
    Sutton dropped his eyes and turned away. He retrieved his weapon and disappeared behind his shanty.
    Relieved, Frank said, “Thanks a lot, Mr.—”
    â€œCall me Alf,” was the friendly reply. “I was wading over there when I saw Sutton go for you. You’d better stay away from this place. We’ve had a lot of trouble lately.”
    â€œWell, thanks again, Alf,” Frank said warmly as he shook the huge, hard hand. “You sure saved me a lump on the head. I’m Frank, and this is my brother Joe.”
    The three strolled along the beach. “So there’s been trouble in Shantytown lately,” Joe repeated, hoping to learn more from their new acquaintance.
    â€œYes. Sutton and his pals have been the ones making it, too. All they do is fight among themselves. Shantytown wouldn’t be such a bad place, otherwise.”
    â€œDo you live here, Alf?” Frank inquired.
    â€œMe?” The man laughed good-naturedly. “No, but I work on the docks and I know some fellows who work in town occasionally and live here, so I come out a lot on my hours off.”
    By now the three had reached the far edge of the colony. “I’ve got to see a fellow,” Alf told them. “Look out for Hank Sutton when you go back. If he tries anything, just yell for Alf—Alf Lundborg.”
    The young giant’s friendly act and his open face made Frank decide to trust him. “Maybe we can help you sometime, Alf,” he said. “Our name is Hardy, but we don’t want anyone in Shantytown to know it.”
    â€œNobody’ll hear it from me,” Lundborg replied. “Say, if you’re going to be around for a while, why don’t you eat with my friends and me?”
    â€œWe’d like that,” Frank said. “How’ll we find you?”
    Alf reached into his pocket. “Just listen for this,” he replied, opening his hand. In the palm lay a harmonica. “See you around,” he said and moved off.
    When Alf Lundborg had gone up the beach, the brothers retraced their steps. While picking up more stones and shells, they scanned the sand carefully for anything that might belong to their missing chums. This time they took care not to venture too close to Sutton’s shanty.
    â€œThere’s our ‘friend,’ ” Frank said in a low voice.
    Stealing a glance toward the hut, Joe saw Sutton standing at one corner, talking earnestly with another man. His companion was listening with obvious impatience. He shifted his weight and suddenly turned full around. The Hardys saw that he was short in build, and had black hair combed straight back.
    â€œThat man!” Joe whispered. “It’s—”
    â€œI know!” Frank took his brother’s arm and hurried him toward the beach. “It’s the speedboat driver who almost rammed us! What’s he doing here?”

CHAPTER VIII
    Postcard Puzzle
    â€œKEEP going,” Frank advised Joe. “If we turn around for another look, that powerboat pilot may recognize us!”
    With bent heads, the young detectives shuffled along the beach between the ocean and the first line of squatters’ shacks. If the stranger with the dark, combed-back hair noticed them at all, he saw only two ragged beachcombers wandering back in the direction of Bayport.
    â€œSo, the fellow who rammed us hangs around Shantytown!” Joe burst out.
    â€œYes,” Frank