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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

BOOK: The Mystery of Cabin Island
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“Not only did those troublemakers delay us, they've made me wait overtime for my lunch!” Chet complained. “Hey! Was any of the food stolen?”
Frank laughed. “As far as we can tell, Chet, every morsel is intact! Evidently Ike and Tad aren't thieves or gluttons.”
“That's the best you can say for them,” Biff said scornfully.
“Well, we're set for some hard-water sailing!” Joe announced.
The Hardys replaced their tools in a kit. They made sure that the convertible and the boathouse doors were locked. Then the four put on goggles and helmets. Frank took his place at the tiller while Chet and Biff climbed aboard. Joe shoved the
Sea
Gull before him with short, running steps until the sail caught the wind.
“Wow! Some load!” he gasped, jumping in beside Frank.
“Full speed ahead for Cabin Island!” Chet cried out. “I'm starving!”
The
Sea Gull
swooped downwind near the shore of Barmet Bay. It was a clear, sharp day, and the sparkling sun made the ice gleam like glass.
As the boat passed through the narrow inlet and glided toward Cabin Island, Chet chortled. “I'd like to see Hanleigh try to throw us out this time! We have the key!”
“Anyone who causes trouble—let me at him!” Biff sang out gaily.
But Frank looked grave. He pointed to the pine tree where they had parked the
Sea
Gull on their first visit.
An iceboat was outlined against the dark evergreens. “The
Hawk!”
“It's been repaired,” Frank observed.
“And ready for more trouble!” Joe groaned.
CHAPTER VI
Troublesome Trio
FRANK eased the tiller over and made a deft 90-degree turn to port. As the
Sea Gull
passed the Hawk, the boys noted that there was no one in the vicinity.
“Maybe Ike and Tad are hiding,” Chet suggested.
“Could be,” said Frank. “I'll circle the island and find a more secluded place to tie up.”
Joe nodded. “Then we can try to find out what's going on without being seen.”
Chet and Biff were disgruntled. “What are that grubby pair doing on Cabin Island, anyway?” Biff asked.
Frank frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe Ike and Tad have some connection with Hanleigh.”
Joe nodded. “Perhaps they taxi him to the island whenever he wants to come.”
“That's right,” Biff agreed. “Last time we were here we wondered how Hanleigh made it without a boat.”
“Yes, and he might've been behind their trick on us at the boathouse,” Joe said. “I can't figure out, though, how they knew we were heading for Cabin Island today.”
Biff grinned. “One more puzzle for us to work on. I have a feeling that the mystery is getting hotter by the minute!”
Presently Frank slowed the
Sea
Gull toward a spot on the island's shore where a thick growth of pines and evergreen bushes would conceal the iceboat. Then he braked and Joe slackened the sail.
The boys got out and trudged up a slope toward the rear of the cabin. Their footsteps crunched crisply in the snow, but the four Bayporters were careful to keep their voices down.
Suddenly Joe stopped and pointed toward a clearing on the right. “Look! Footprints!”
A line of tracks could be seen all the way to the cabin. Whoever had made them had evidently come up through the clearing from some point along the shore below. Trees farther down the slope, however, blocked the boys' view.
“Maybe Ike or Tad,” Chet suggested.
“Or Hanleigh himself,” Joe said quietly. “Whoever he is, he must have come here on the
Hawk.”
“Probably,” Frank agreed. “Let's make sure, though, before we tackle him. We can backtrack on the prints and find out if anyone came with him.”
“Good idea,” said Joe.
With Frank leading, the companions followed the footprints downward to a small, windowless boathouse about a hundred yards from the
Sea
Gull.
Nearing the building, Frank motioned for silence. Voices could be heard from inside.
The four boys crept closer and soon every word sounded clearly. The speakers were Tad Carson and Ike Nash!
“Hanleigh is sure paying us a lot,” Ike was saying. “I'd like to find out what for.”
“Who cares, as long as we get our money?” Tad responded lazily.
“Look—figure it out. All we're doing is giving him a boat ride now and then.”
“So maybe Hanleigh likes our company.”
Ike was evidently becoming impatient with his partner's indifference. “If he likes us so much, why does he make us freeze in this boathouse while he's inside the cabin? I'd like to sneak up there and see what cooks.”
“You worry too much, pal,” Tad drawled. “We bring him here, we get our money. It's simple.”
“Well, stop being simple and maybe we'll learn what's so valuable that Hanleigh's after!” Nash exploded. “We can cash in even more on this deal if we play it right!”
Now his buddy sounded annoyed. “To me, play it right means follow Hanleigh's orders. Trip up the Hardsy, stay in the boathouse, don't ask questions.”
“You'll do what I say,” Ike threatened harshly, “-or else!”
“Okay, cool off,” was the quick reply. “Have it your way.”
The Hardys and their pals were excited. So Tad Carson and Ike Nash were working for Hanleigh. That was why they had slashed the
Sea
Gull's sails!
Frank beckoned the others away from the boathouse. When the four were out of earshot of the troublemakers, he urged, “We'll deal with those two later. Let's go up to the cabin and see what Hanleigh's doing!”
“Right!” Biff declared fiercely. “And if that guy gives us trouble, just let me handle him!”
“Easy, Biff,” Frank cautioned. “We'll never learn anything if we tangle with him.”
Quietly the boys climbed the tree-covered slope. At the edge of the woods they stopped and peered at the cabin. Stealthily the quartet moved to a window and looked into the long living room at the front of the building.
Hanleigh stood with his back to the boys, facing a huge stone fireplace. He held a measuring tape and was apparently determining the dimensions of various sections of the stone chimney. Frequently he paused to write in a small notebook.
The big man began to pace back and forth, then stood still. By the motions of his right forefinger, the watchers could tell that he was counting the stones in the height and width of the fireplace, mantel, and chimney. Finally he got down on hands and knees and explored the interior of the fireplace.
Once Hanleigh shook his head as if baffled. The boys were so intrigued, they unconsciously crowded closer to the window until their faces were pressed against the pane.
Suddenly a gust of wind blew open the door of the cabin, which Hanleigh evidently had left ajar. Startled, the man leaped to his feet and whirled around. He glanced toward the door, then gave a shout of consternation, glimpsing the boys a second before they ducked out of view.
Hanleigh strode across the room and rushed outside. “Hold your ground!” Frank advised his companions. “Don't let him bluff us.”
The intruder was red with wrath as he confronted the boys. “Can't you pests mind your own business?” he snarled. “I told you to stay off this island!”
“So you did,” Frank returned coolly.
Startled, Hanleigh whirled around
“Then what are you doing here?” roared Hanleigh. “You're a bunch of meddlers! Now, get out! And if I catch you again, I‘ll—”
“You'll do nothing, Mr. Hanleigh,” Joe interrupted. “You have no right to be on this island, but we have.”
“Prove that!” Hanleigh scoffed.
Joe took the key to the cabin from his pocket and said, “Mr. Jefferson gave this to us. Do you have a key, too? Or did you break in?”
“Young punks!” the man snarled.
Quickly Joe examined the front door and saw that it had not been forced. “My guess is that Mr. Hanleigh has a skeleton key,” he said. “The lock is a simple one.”
The intruder flushed but said nothing.
“Suppose you tell us what's so interesting about Cabin Island, Mr. Hanleigh,” Frank suggested. “And what's special about the fireplace?”
Hanleigh licked his lips nervously. “Jefferson collects antiques. Maybe I collect fireplaces, that's all. I made him a good offer for this place. He's a fool to turn it down.”
“Well, stay off this property!” Joe snapped. “Mr. Jefferson instructed us to order you to leave if we found you here.”
Hanleigh clenched his fists and glared at the boys. “Think you're pretty smart! Well, you fellows are going to be sorry! This spooky place is no picnic. You'll be glad to clear out!”
Before the boys could retort, the man turned on his heel and strode down the hill toward the boathouse. The sleuths watched from outside the cabin until they saw the Hawk glide out of the cove into the open bay with the trio aboard.
“We made short work of that crew!” Biff said cheerfully.
The Hardys did not comment, but inwardly felt certain they had not seen the last of Hanleigh.
“Short work nothing!” Chet exclaimed. “It's starting to get dark, and we still haven't had lunch! Come on, have a heart! I need supper.”
“You won't be able to eat until we get our supplies unloaded and organized,” Frank reminded him.
Joe grinned. “I'm starved, too. Let's get the stuff.”
Everyone set to work with a will and plodded back and forth between the
Sea
Gull and the cabin. Joe noticed that Chet was less talkative than usual. “Thinking about your meal?” he asked.
Chet shivered. “Not now. I'm thinking about Hanleigh's warning. What did he mean about ‘this spooky place'?”
“Probably meant it's haunted,” Biff said somberly. “You wouldn't mind a couple of ghosts for company, would you, Chet?”
“Cut it out!” Chet quavered, glancing around into the deepening shadows.
“If there's a ghost here, I wish he'd show himself,” Frank put in, chuckling. “We could use an extra hand. But this should be the last load.” He unreeved the main sheet completely, so the sail would be free to swing in the wind.
The four were halfway to the cabin, their arms filled with provisions, when suddenly Chet stopped short and gave a startled cry. The provisions he had been carrying fell to the ground.
“What's wrong?” Joe asked.
For a moment Chet could only point. Then he declared in a strange, hollow voice, “There! In the woods! A ghost!”
CHAPTER VII
Cry for Help
CHET stood rooted to the spot. He kept staring straight ahead. The other boys looked but could see no sign of the ghost.
Finally Joe said, “You sure talked yourself into that one, Chet.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mr. Hanleigh planted the idea in your mind and your old brain conjured up a ghost for you,” Joe explained.
Chet looked scornful. “Is that so? Well, you're wrong, Joe Hardy. I saw a ghost.”
Frank winked at his brother to stop his needling. To Chet he said, “Let's get to the cabin—and some food.”
The trudge was continued without any further evidence of a ghost. When the boys reached the living room of the cabin, Joe lighted a large oil lamp that stood on the table, and a mellow glow spread over the room.
Chet declared he felt better, but added, “Honest, fellows! I did see this white thing—moving 1-like a ghost!”
Frank spoke up. “Okay. Biff and I will go out and take a good look around while you and Joe put away our things and start supper.”
“Fine ideal” Joe agreed. “I was thinking that we ought to appoint Chet cook, anyway. Then we'll never miss a meal!”
Chet brightened at once. “Kitchen, here I come!” he said with enthusiasm.
Frank and Biff rummaged among the gear for flashlights before leaving the cabin.
“This'll be a good chance to go over the island thoroughly,” Frank remarked to his brother. “I still have a hunch that Johnny Jefferson may have come here.”
“You could be right,” Joe agreed. “If we're lucky, maybe you'll pick up a clue.”
“Be on your guard,” Chet cautioned as Frank and Biff started out the door.
“Don't worry, we'll keep our eyes open-especially for spooks!” Biff called back over his shoulder.
When the two boys had left, Joe went into the kitchen, opened the back door, and discovered the woodshed Mr. Jefferson had mentioned. It was an enclosed lean-to and had a door that locked with an outside bolt.

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