The Mystery of Cabin Island (11 page)

“Oh swell! I can hardly wait!” Chet rolled his eyes dramatically and the others laughed.

“Or,” Joe remarked, growing serious, “Hanleigh may return for the notebook, if he's the person who lost it.”

When Mr. Jefferson had retired, Frank said, “Let's try to decipher the message!”

The boys sat down with pencils and paper. The Hardys told their friends more about solving substitution ciphers, and they all worked diligently for nearly two hours.

Finally Joe declared, “This code is a tough one. I've tried a number of combinations, but so far no luck.”

Biff stretched and yawned. “My brain won't work any more. Let's get some sleep.”

Joe offered to take the first watch, and Frank the second.

“I'll put in for last!” Chet requested wearily. Everyone laughed, and the plump boy protested. “Well, I've been doing all the hard work in the kitchen!”

Biff grinned. “Okay. I'm third.”

“We'd better be ready for action,” Frank advised. “Don't get undressed.”

But hours later when Biff finished his watch, the place was still quiet. He awakened Chet, who wandered drowsily into the living room. Yawning, he stared into the steadily burning fire.

“I have to keep alert!” he told himself with determination.

Chet began to pace around the room, trying to shake off his sleepiness. At last, when night was beginning to lift in the east, he sat down in a big soft chair near the fireplace.

The cabin's stillness and the warmth from the crackling logs was lulling. Chet's lids grew heavy, his head dropped, and he dozed.

Suddenly a loud
bang
jolted him awake. For a moment he was speechless, then a yell of fright burst from his lips. Before his chair hulked a dark figure!

As Chet shouted, the intruder streaked across the cabin and out the door, which was swinging wide open.

“Help! Fellows!” Chet bounced out of his chair, heart thumping with excitement, and dashed wildly in pursuit. But by the time he reached the doorway, the figure was already disappearing into the woods.

“What's up?” cried Frank as he burst into the room. Joe and Biff were close at his heels.

“Somebody was in here!” Chet said, shivering as the wind whipped into the cabin. “I drowsed off, and when I woke up, the guy was standing right in front of me! He ran down the hill!”

“It may be a ruse to get us out of the house,” Frank said. He and Joe hastily pulled on their parkas and boots. “Chet, you and Biff stay on guard—he may try to circle back!”

Rushing outside, the Hardys quickly spotted the intruder's tracks—clear bootprints in the thin layer of fresh snow that had fallen during the night. They followed the trail down the wooded slope.

“He headed across the ice!” Joe exclaimed as they reached the shore. Pressing forward, the Hardy boys strained their eyes to peer through the gray dawn mist, but it was not light enough for them to see the fugitive.

“His tracks lead toward the mainland,” Frank observed. “Come on!”

As the young sleuths crossed the frozen cove, they found that the snowy prints were more widely spaced.

“Oh, oh,” said Joe. “He started running here.” When the brothers reached the mainland, breathing heavily, they exchanged looks of disappointment. The trail ended at a place where tire prints showed a car had been parked.

“That fellow didn't waste any time!” Frank exclaimed in chagrin. “He must have had a big lead on us, or we'd have heard the motor.”

“I guess we may as well go back,” Joe said.

The two trudged across the ice. The sun was rising as they hiked up the slope to the cabin. Inside, a fire was blazing and Chet, Biff, and Mr. Jefferson sat in front of it drinking hot cocoa.

“No luck,” Joe said, and reported what they had found.

“Fellows, I'm sorry I let you down,” Chet said sheepishly. “I dozed off and never knew the guy was in here until the door banged against the wall. He must have left it unlatched and the wind blew it open.”

“That's okay, Chet,” said Frank. “What did he look like?”

“I was too scared to notice, except that he was big. Besides, he was facing the fireplace. I don't think it was the ghost, though,” Chet added, “because he didn't have on white.”

“Could have been Hanleigh,” Frank remarked.

“It must have been,” Chet admitted.

“He still is interested in the fireplace,” Frank observed.

“But why?” Mr. Jefferson asked. “I built this place. Nothing's in the fireplace.”

Frank hesitated, unwilling to raise the old gentleman's hopes. “That remains to be seen. Is there a chisel here?”

“Yes,” Chet replied, “in the toolbox in the kitchen.” He hastened out and returned at once with the tool.

Despite the heat, Frank stepped close to the fireplace with the chisel and pried at the stones, hoping to find one that moved. Meanwhile, Joe brought a ladder from the kitchen and climbed up to test the chimney rocks which Frank could not reach.

“No use,” Joe finally admitted. “They're cemented in tight.”

Frank agreed. “If there is a loose stone, it might be outside. Let's take a look!”

Chet cooked breakfast while the other boys were gone. The wind was blowing hard as the trio carried the ladder around the end of the cabin to the chimney.

“Let's check the bottom first,” Frank said. This time Joe used the chisel as they poked and pushed at each of the large stones.

Biff shook his head. “No luck there.”

“I'll go up on the roof and examine the chimney,” Joe said.

Biff and Frank lifted the ladder and placed it beside the chimney. The legs sank into the snow and slid on the ice beneath, so that the boys had to brace the ladder with their feet to keep it from falling.

“You two'll have to be my anchor man,” Joe said. He put the chisel into his pocket, and as Biff and Frank leaned their weight against the ladder, he climbed to the roof. Joe crawled onto the edge and stood up gingerly. The heat from the fire below had melted the surrounding snow and the wet shingles were slippery. Joe made his way around the chimney, testing each stone patiently with his chisel, but none was loose.

As he rested a moment Joe noticed a fragment of yellow material caught between two stones just inside the chimney top.

Squinting against the smoke, Joe reached in and worked the material loose. With watering eyes, he stuffed it into his pocket and turned his face away. After a few moments his vision cleared and he could see the entire island below—blanketed in white.

Suddenly his glance was caught by a dark patch ringed by tall rocks on the brow of the cliff. As he stared hard at it, the wind suddenly cut sharp across his face and showered him with snow from the roof. Half-blinded, he felt his way around the chimney to the ladder.

“Be careful!” Frank called, but the wind whipped the words away. The next moment Joe slipped and he fell with a cry. Instinctively he grabbed for a rung and caught it. The ladder skidded at the jolt and the boys below struggled to hold it steady. Shakily Joe climbed down.

“Thanks,” he gasped, reaching the ground.

Buffeted by the wind, the three boys made their way into the cabin.

“Any luck?” Mr. Jefferson asked as they took off their parkas.

“I found this inside the chimney,” said Joe, and took the piece of yellow material from his pocket.

“It's a piece of a tape measure!” Frank exclaimed. “See, it's marked one inch.”

“It was stuck tight,” Joe said. “Someone must have torn the tape trying to pull it lose.”

“But why measure the inside of the chimney?” Chet asked.

“Maybe the person thinks the loose stone is in the chimney lining,” Mr. Jefferson suggested.

“You mean there are two layers?” Biff asked, surprised.

“Yes. My stone mason insisted on a lined chimney as a safety measure.” Then he added, “What makes you so sure there is something hidden in the chimney?”

“We're not certain,” Frank confessed. “We suspect it because of Hanleigh's interest in the fireplace. But for all we know, he may be on the wrong track.”

“We must crack the code,” Joe declared. “That will probably give us the answer.”

“Not before breakfast,” Chet said firmly. “I'm about to make the pancakes.” He hurried to the kitchen and a short time later served stacks of golden-brown cakes, with a pitcher of hot maple syrup and a platter of spicy sausages.

“Chet, you've redeemed yourself!” Joe exclaimed, between mouthfuls. “This hits the spot after our early-morning exercise!”

Mr. Jefferson was quiet during most of the meal. Finally he said, “Do you know? It has just occurred to me that Sparewell mentioned a relative named Hanleigh.”

Frank asked eagerly, “What did he say about him?”

“It was so long ago—I can't remember,” Mr. Jefferson replied.

“That may be an important clue!” Joe exclaimed. “Perhaps Johnny stumbled onto the connection somehow and decided to start trailing Hanleigh.”

“Yes,” Frank went on, “if Johnny was determined to solve the puzzle of your missing medals, he may have dug up information about Sparewell's past and learned the names of relatives. Then, when Hanleigh showed up at your home, Johnny had his chance to follow him.”

“It's all supposition,” Mr. Jefferson said with a sigh. “What we need are facts.”

“Well, speaking of facts,” said Joe, “are there hot springs on this island, Mr. Jefferson?”

The man looked at him in amazement. “Hot springs! Certainly not! My goodness, Joe, whatever made you ask that?”

“Oh,” Joe mumbled vaguely, “nothing—just an idea.” But his eyes met Frank's and the older boy bit back a grin.

“Nothing, my foot!” he said to himself. “Joe's found a clue!”

“WHAT can Joe's lead be?” Frank wondered. He knew his brother was not ready to talk about it in front of the others.

Frank turned to Mr. Jefferson, who seemed sunk in despair. “Don't give up hope,” the boy said kindly. “We'll keep trying to find Johnny and your medals, too.”

“If anyone can locate ‘em, the Hardys can,” Chet put in.

“I know that. You're all fine lads, and will do your best,” Mr. Jefferson said, brightening somewhat. “I think I'd better return home now.”

“Are you sure you feel strong enough, sir?” Biff asked anxiously.

“Yes, indeed,” the man assured him. “I'm warm now, too. And if you don't mind, I'll take along this iceboat model. It will give me reassurance that Johnny will come home.”

“Certainly, Mr. Jefferson,” Frank said, taking the boat from the mantle.

“And Sparewell's notebook,” Mr. Jefferson added suddenly. “It may contain clues for my detectives.”

Frank spoke up. “We'd like to keep the notebook a little longer. Joe and I want to study it carefully and crack that code.”

Mr. Jefferson nodded. “Of course. You've certainly earned the right to examine it first. But please be careful, boys. Possession of the notebook may be dangerous, if someone else wants it badly enough.”

Joe offered to stand guard on the island while the others accompanied Mr. Jefferson to the mainland.

A short time later the
Sea Gull
went whizzing out of the cove, with Frank at the tiller. They made a quick trip to the Hardys' boathouse, then drove to the Jefferson home.

As Frank parked the convertible, Chet suddenly gave a gasp of disbelief. He pointed a quivering finger at the wide front porch and cried out, “It‘s—it's the ghost!”

Frank leaped from the car, with Chet and Biff close behind him and Mr. Jefferson following slowly.

The white-robed, turbaned figure darted away from the door as the boys dashed up the front walk. He jumped off the far end of the porch and disappeared around the side of the house. The three youths sprinted in pursuit, but soon stopped short, scanning the landscape. Their eyes roved over the snow-covered walks and flower beds, the birdbaths capped with ice, and the bare bushes and trees. The “ghost” could not be seen.

“That white robe is great camouflage against the snow,” Biff commented glumly.

“Let's split up and search!” Frank directed quickly.

The boys hunted while Mr. Jefferson stood and watched in tense silence. Suddenly Frank noticed a blur of whiteness moving behind a hedge of low junipers.

The young sleuth stepped backward, took a running start, and vaulted the shrubs. A loud cry split the air as he landed on top of a crouching figure. The two rolled over, struggling.

“Hold ‘im, Frank!” yelled Biff. He and Chet sprinted up and yanked the slender, white-robed man to his feet. The boys gasped as they got a clear look at the prisoner's dark-skinned, frightened face. No doubt about it, he was the man in the photo!

“Okay, Mister Ghost—what's your story?” Biff blurted angrily. “You have a lot of explaining to do.”

“Take it easy,” Frank told his friend. “Let's get him inside first.”

Panting, the captive was led into the house.

“Now then,” said Mr. Jefferson when they had all gathered in the living room, “who are you? And why have you been prowling on my property?”

The swarthy man replied in a soft, slightly accented voice, “I apologize for my seeming intrusions. I ran because I was startled, and also these young men have pursued me previously. The last time one of them was carrying a firearm.”