The Mystery of Cabin Island Page 4

  “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.

  Joe carried enough wood into the cabin to stoke both the living-room fireplace and the cookstove. Soon the cabin began to
warm up and Joe and Chet removed their heavy parkas.

  Chet lighted the oil lamp which stood on the kitchen table and unpacked enough of the food for several meals. “I’ll leave the rest in the cartons,” he said, and set them on the bottom shelf in the cabinet.

  Meanwhile, Frank and Biff had decided to separate in order to scout the whole area more quickly. Each was to search half the island, then meet the other boy at the boathouse.

  “Watch out for white things!” Biff warned jokingly.

  “You mean like snowballs?” Frank returned with a grin. “Seriously, Chet may not have imagined that spook—so don’t take any chances, Biff. If you spot anything suspicious, give a blast on that police whistle.”

  “Wilco!”

  The two boys started off in different directions. Frank trudged through the crusted snow, playing his flashlight beam ahead of him among the pines and underbrush. The wind had picked up, its icy chill stinging his face to a raw numbness.

  As Frank plodded on through the dusk, he stopped to listen as each new sound caught his ear. Once he was sure he had heard someone cough and hurried in its direction. Nobody was in sight. But just then, an owl flew past, and Frank jumped back startled.

  “I’m getting as jittery as Chet,” Frank berated himself. He squared his shoulders and went on, beaming his light.

  Half an hour later the two searchers met at the boathouse. “Any luck, Biff?”

  “None, Frank. Cabin Island evidently has visitors only in the daytime. How about you?”

  “I didn’t find a clue, but I—” Frank stopped speaking as an object on the ground caught his attention. He bent over to pick it up.

  “Wow!” said Biff. “A model of an iceboat.”

  “And expertly carved,” Frank remarked, examining the intricately made model.

  “Do you think Tad or Ike or Hanleigh lost this?” Biff asked. “Or could it belong to Mr. Jefferson?”

  Frank examined the little boat, then declared, “It probably belongs to some very recent visitor to the island. The wood doesn’t look as though it has been exposed to the elements very long. In fact, it seems to be newly carved.”

  “Anyway, it’s a beauty,” Biff commented. “Why don’t you take it along and put in on the cabin mantel?”

  It was fully dark by the time Frank and Biff reached the cabin and reported that they had found no one on the island.

  “Well, I’m willing to forget the ghost, now that we’re about to eat,” Chet called from the kitchen.

  “How long before chow’s ready?” Frank asked. “The wind has started to blow pretty hard. I’d like to take the Sea Gull around to the boathouse.”

  “You have time,” Chet replied. “But hurry.”

  Frank showed Joe and Chet the iceboat model, then set it on the mantel before stepping outside and hurrying to the shore. Quickly he jumped into the iceboat and trimmed the sail. The instant the brake was released, the craft glided off like a phantom and in a short time Frank reached the boathouse. It was unlocked and empty. The boy stored the boat inside, then tramped back to the cabin.

  There he found Joe and Biff staring at the massive stone chimney. “We’re trying to figure out what interested Hanleigh,” Joe remarked.

  “Beats me,” Biff added.

  Chet interrupted from the kitchen. “Chow time!” he called, and ushered his buddies to the table on which stood bowls of steaming beef stew. There was plenty of milk and a big basket of warm, crusty bread.

  “Delicious!” exclaimed Biff after tasting the stew. “I’ll bet that ghost was just hungry and hoping for an invitation!”

  “It’s an old family recipe,” Chet boasted.

  “You mean an old family can opener?” Joe rejoined. “I saw all those cans you brought!”

  “I had to add special spices, though, and salt and pepper,” Chet said defensively. “That’s what makes it taste so good.”

  When the meal was finished, Biff was elected dishwasher. “Scrub hard and you’ll develop your boxing biceps,” Chet teased. Frank volunteered to help, and soon the kitchen was in order.

  The wind was howling louder now, but the interior of the cabin was snug. The boys sat in front of the briskly burning logs in the fireplace and listened to the creaking of low branches against the cabin.

  “I wish we could learn what Hanleigh hopes to gain by coming to this place,” Joe mused, “or by purchasing it.”

  “One thing I’m convinced of,” said Frank. “He wasn’t studying the fireplace just for its artistic look.”

  “He’s certainly nervy with other people’s property,” Biff remarked.

  Frank nodded. “I keep wondering if it was he who ransacked the Jefferson home.”

  “Again, the question is why?” Joe said.

  “I’d think you guys would be more worried about that ghost I saw pussyfooting around here,” Chet spoke up plaintively.

  “What’s more important,” said Frank, “is that we don’t forget the mystery we’re supposed to solve, to find Johnny Jefferson. Joe and I believe he’s hiding in this area.”

  Joe added, “I’ve a hunch this mystery will be solved near Bayport. Johnny is bound to run out of money, and if he looks for a job, somebody will become suspicious because he’s so young.”

  “Besides,” Frank said, “if we stick to our theory that Johnny is searching for the stolen medals, we can be pretty sure he hasn’t given up. Not if he’s as keen on sleuthing as his grandfather says he is. As far as we know, no one has located Mr. Jefferson’s collection or the servant suspected of stealing it.”

  Biff looked puzzled. “I’m glad we’re going to stay. But what’s this talk about stolen medals and a suspected servant? You’ve been holding out on us.”

  “Yes, explain!” Chet gave the Hardys a sideways look. “I have a feeling that once again you two have taken me along to a double-header mystery!”

  The brothers related the story of the missing rosewood box and the priceless collection of honorary medals. As Joe told of the suspect, and of Johnny Jefferson’s desire to be a detective, the storm suddenly grew in violence. Snow hissed against the windows and the sashes rattled ominously.

  Then, in the distance, the boys heard a muffled crash.

  “A big tree must have gone down!” Joe exclaimed.

  Frank looked at the fire. “Let’s each bring in an armload of logs before we go to bed. This is going to be a long, cold night.”

  The four donned their parkas and took flashlights. Pushing hard, they managed to open the back door and hurried to the woodshed. Abruptly the boys stopped and listened intently. Through the darkness and the wind-driven sleet and snow came a faint cry.

  “Help!”

  CHAPTER VIII

  The Mysterious Messenger

  STARTLED, the boys stood motionless in the swirling snow, scarcely able to believe that someone was crying for help on that dark, ice-locked island.

  Then the faint sound came again above the tearing wind. “Help!”

  “Where’s it coming from?” Biff asked anxiously.

  “Hard to tell,” Frank replied. “Let’s fan out and make a search. Hurry!”

  Each boy started off in a different direction. When the pleading cry was repeated, Joe shouted as loudly as he could, “Fellows! This way! Down by the shore!”

  He kept following the call for help, trudging through the blowing snow which stung his face. The flashlight’s beam did not penetrate the dense whiteness, and Joe could barely see a step ahead. Frequently he tripped over roots and nearly went sprawling.

  Joe was becoming uncertain of his direction. Perhaps his ears had played tricks on him!

  The young sleuth stood still until he heard the desperate voice again. “Help!”

  “This way!” shouted Joe, moving forward, certain that the cries were coming from somewhere near the boathouse.

  Who could the person be? What was he doing on Cabin Island? How could anyone have crossed the ice in the violent storm? Joe beamed his light about in hopes
that the other boys would find him.

  All at once he realized that the surface had become level and slippery beneath his feet. “I must have stepped onto the ice,” Joe thought, and made his way back to land. Where was the stricken person? He must be close by!

  A groan came suddenly from Joe’s left. Moving the flashlight in a slow arc, he called out, “Hello? Where are you?”

  There was another moan, which trailed off weakly. As the youth moved toward the sound, his foot struck something soft. Joe dropped to his knees and flashed the light downward. The beam revealed a stranger, barely conscious, his legs pinned beneath the limb of a fallen pine tree.

  The man had gone face downward and his right cheek was crunched into the snow. Joe scrutinized him, but could not place the man from what he could see of his features.

  “Frank! BIS! Chet!” Joe called out again. “Here, by the boathouse!”

  Meanwhile, Joe attempted to free the victim, but all his strength could not budge the heavy branch. To lift it, the whole tree would have to be levered.

  “I’ll just have to wait for the others,” Joe realized, panting. He crouched alongside the man, trying to shield him from the biting wind and the snow.

  At last Joe saw the dim glow of flashlights moving down the slope. “Over here!” he called. “Hurry!”

  “Joe!” came Frank’s voice above the wind. “I can see your beam now! We’re coming!”

  Biff and Chet were close behind Frank, and the three soon reached Joe and the stranger.

  “Who is he?” Chet puffed excitedly.

  “I never saw him before,” Joe replied. “See if you fellows can hoist this branch a bit so I can pull his leg free.”

  While Joe continued to shelter the man, the others laboriously managed to raise the tree limb.

  “Okay—that’ll do it!” Joe said, easing the victim free. “Now let’s get him to the cabin pronto.”

  As gently as possible, the Hardy boys lifted the stranger and started up the slope—Joe supporting the man’s head and shoulders, while Frank carried his legs. Chet and Biff went on ahead to light the way and forge a trail through the drifting, deepening snow.