“We think this is the best place to start down,” Frank told him.
He walked to a crevice in the cliff edge about six feet deep, and lowered himself to the bottom. From there he stepped to a flat icy ledge, digging in hard. Beyond it stood another jutting stone. Frank moved ahead, and, one by one, the others followed him on rough footholds across the cliff.
Occasionally they stopped and examined the rocky wall for an opening, but saw none. Once Chet glanced toward the inlet and froze at the sight of the drop-off.
“Don’t look down!” Joe shouted.
Frank, making his way along a ledge, stopped to look back at his companions. Just behind him was a narrow opening between the cliff and a slab of rock which angled out from it. About twenty feet above, Frank could see the circle of stones.
“This may be the cave!” he thought, and signaled to the others.
As they stood in a line on the ledge, he indicated the opening and gestured for silence. Then Frank led the way into a dark passage which opened into a rock chamber, dimly lit by a pile of glowing embers.
“Nobody here!” exclaimed Joe, his voice sounding hollow.
Against one wall was a stack of cans, food boxes, and pots. Nearby lay a sleeping bag, a carton of tumbled clothes, and an unlit kerosene lantern.
“This is the hideout, all right,” Frank said. “We’ll settle down and wait for Johnny.”
“It might take a long time,” Biff remarked.
“I doubt it,” said Frank. “With a storm coming up, he’s probably heading for here right now.”
For a while the boys sat in silence, then suddenly they tensed. A footstep in the passage!
As they scrambled to their feet, Biff stumbled over the lantern. It turned over and clattered across the stone floor. Instantly the footsteps in the passage stopped, then hurried away.
“Chet! Don’t look down!” Joe shouted
“After him!” Frank cried out. “Johnny!” he called. “Come back! We’re friends!”
As the boys emerged from the passage they were met by roaring wind and swirling snow. Frank shouted again, but the words were lost. Daylight was nearly gone. The boys peered back across the cliff, but there was no sign of anyone.
Anxiously the Hardys looked upward. Had the boy tried to climb to the crags above the cave mouth?
“No one there!” said Joe.
“Don’t see him anywhere!” shouted Biff.
With sinking hearts the four looked around the drop-off, each with the same unspoken fear.
Chet suggested, “Maybe he’s hiding behind a rock.”
“Let’s hope so,” Frank thought grimly, then said aloud, “No one could survive a storm on this cliff. If Johnny’s hurt or hiding, we must find him.”
It was decided that Joe and Biff would examine the cliff from above. Frank and Chet clambered down toward the drop-off. Now and then they stopped and shouted, and looked for a figure among the crags. But Johnny was not in sight nor did he reply.
When they reached the jutting rocks at the drop-off, the boys lay down and peered over the ledge. With a gasp Frank pointed. Something white lay among the jagged rocks at the base of the cliff.
“A wreck!” Chet said. “An iceboat!”
“And there’s somebody in it!” exclaimed Frank.
CHAPTER XVIII
The Crash
“SOMEBODY’S hurt!” said Frank. “Come on! Let’s get Joe and Biff.”
He and Chet climbed to the top of the cliff, where their companions were waiting.
“Any sign of Johnny?” Joe asked anxiously.
Frank shook his head and breathlessly told about the wrecked iceboat.
“We’ll find the nearest spot we can to climb down,” said Joe.
Frank took the lead. The foursome, their flashlights turned on, plodded through the deepening dusk and wind-whipped snow. Finally Frank stopped at the far end of the cliff, where the terrain sloped more gently. “I think we can make it here.”
The descent seemed interminable, since the boys had to wind their way around boulders, high drifts, and in and out of thickly growing pines. At last they reached the shore and stepped onto the ice. Facing into the screaming wind, they headed toward the cracked-up boat.
As the boys drew near the scene, Joe shone his beam on the tilted hull and yelled, “It’s the Hawk!”
“Who’s the man?” Biff called as the others rushed up.
“Hanleigh!” Frank exclaimed.
As the Hardys and their friends carefully freed the man, he regained consciousness. Groaning loudly, he clutched his right leg. It did not appear broken, so the Hardys helped him to his feet. Hanleigh took a few steps, then insisted he was in too much pain to walk.
“I think it’s just a wrenched muscle,” Frank muttered to Joe. “But give me a hand and we’ll carry him.”
Making a chair of their hands, Frank and Joe transported their heavy burden to the cabin, where they settled him on the sofa. Hanleigh grimaced with pain as Biff pulled off his boot. “I know my leg is broken,” he complained bitterly. “And I nearly froze to death out there!”
“You had no qualms about leaving Joe to freeze in the snow this afternoon,” Frank said.
Hanleigh’s only response was a prolonged groan.
“Why’d you take the Hawk out in this storm?” Joe asked. “You must have been desperate to pay us another visit! And in a stolen boat at that.”
“I only borrowed that old boat,” Hanleigh growled.
“We know that isn’t true,” Frank retorted.
Hanleigh raised his head to glare at the boys. “Cut it out!” he snarled. “Can’t you see I’m in terrible pain? You’d better get me to a doctor fast!”
“That’s out of the question,” Frank said, “until the storm lets up.”
The boys exchanged uneasy glances. They realized that the violence of the storm also made it impossible to search for Johnny Jefferson.
“Hanleigh,” Joe said sharply, “it’s high time you leveled with us. Have you seen Johnny Jefferson on this island?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Frank described the boy. “Now what about it? Have you seen him?”
“No,” barked Hanleigh. “I’ve seen nobody, but—” He broke off and looked uneasy.
“But ghosts?” Joe asked with a grin.
“You think it’s funny? You’ll find out!”
“We’ve already caught the spook in the attic,” said Biff. “It was the wind blowing over a soda bottle.”
At the look of astonishment on Hanleigh’s face, the boys laughed. “Let me alone!” he burst out. “I don’t want to talk.”
He would say no more, but ate greedily of the hearty supper which Chet prepared. He maintained a stubborn silence, refusing to answer further questions put to him by the young sleuths.
The Hardys learned nothing from him about his interest in the fireplace or his meetings with Yussef. The boys noticed, however, that his eyes traveled frequently to the chimney.
Finally the injured man fell into a deep sleep. “At least he can’t escape,” Joe remarked. “Too bad we can’t get some information out of him.”
“There’s one thing we can do,” Frank said in a low tone. “Break that code.”
The boys hurried into the kitchen, and Joe closed the door. They settled down at the table with pencil and paper, the notebook turned open to the page bearing the cryptic letters. Soon all four became oblivious to the storm’s increasing fury as they concentrated on the task.
Suddenly Frank exclaimed, “I think the first and second words are ‘Cabin Island’!”
“How can you tell?” Chet asked.
“The number of letters are the same,” Frank pointed to the HJOSW and SHRJWN of the code.
“Look. The words cabin and island both contain A, I, and N. So, the letter J stands for A, S for I, and W is N.”
“Terrific!” Joe exclaimed. “Then, H is C, O is B, R equals L, and W stands for N.”
“Let’s try to find the key,” said Frank. “I’ll set up the alphabet.” The others watched intently as he wrote:
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ JOHN SRW H
“John Sparewell! Joe burst out. ”But what does H stand for?”
“Houseman, maybe,” Frank replied. “Try that. There’s a comma in the cipher,” he added. “It may stand for R.”
“John Paul Sparewell, Houseman,” Joe read. “That’s the key. Now substitute those letters for the ones in the code.”
Frank printed rapidly and held up the result:
HJOSW SHRJWN HLSEWPA RPAO
CABIN ISLAND CHIMNEY LEFT
A, EWO WSWP APPO L SUL
FRONT NINE FEET HIGH
“We’ve got it!” Joe exulted.
“But,” said Biff, “we’ve gone over all the chimney stones.”
“Remember, there’s an inner lining,” Frank pointed out. “As soon as the fire dies down, we’ll check.”
“You think Hanleigh deciphered the code?” Chet asked.
“No,” Frank replied. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have been so eager to recover the notebook.”
“I’d still like to know how he got his hands on it,” said Biff. “Did he steal it from John Sparewell?”
“I don’t know,” Joe replied, “but I vote we zero in on the medals pronto.”
The boys’ discussion was broken off by a signal for silence from Frank, who pointed to the door.
From the other side came the sound of creaking of floorboards. Swiftly the Hardys scooped up the notebook and the papers and hid them in a cupboard. Then Frank and Joe went over and pushed open the door a crack.
They peered out and saw Hanleigh limping to the fireplace. He pulled aside the screen from the fire, now burning low, took a poker and thrust it up inside the chimney.
“Bet he was eavesdropping,” Joe muttered.
“Well, the code directions won’t do him much good without tools,” said Frank, and stepped into the living room.
“Looking for something, Mr. Hanleigh? Glad to see your leg is better.”
The big blond man wheeled, his face purple with rage. “I’m sick of being hounded by you pests. I’ll fix you-”
Hanleigh lunged forward, brandishing the poker, but tripped on a rug and went sprawling. The poker flew from his hands. Quickly Frank retrieved it.
“I wouldn’t try that again,” Joe said in warning tones as Chet and Biff rushed in.
Scowling, Hanleigh dragged himself over to the sofa and sank down heavily. “All right, all right. I was just going to stir up the fire,” he mumbled. “It’s cold as an iceberg in here.”
The boys had to agree, because the wind had risen to great velocity and gusts shook the cabin. Chill drafts seeped beneath the outside door and the windows were half covered by driving snow.
“Maybe I’d better stoke the fire,” Chet said.
Joe nudged him. “Later. We have something to do first.”
Chet grinned. “That’s right. Well, I can turn out a snack, anyway. That’ll warm us.”
The stout boy headed for the kitchen, but the next instant stopped in his tracks as a shrieking blast of wind struck the front window full force.
With a loud crash the entire pane shattered inward. The frigid wind roared inside, knocking over all the oil lamps. Fire flared along the spilled fuel and Joe leaped forward, flailing at the flames with his parka.
Hanleigh rolled off the couch as his terror-stricken voice shrilled through the darkness. “Get me out of here! The whole place is going to collapse. I’ll be killed!”
CHAPTER XIX
A Frightened Thief
“QUICK! Into the kitchen!” Frank ordered. “Grab the parkas!” Hanleigh limped out hastily and the others followed. Having smothered the flames, Joe entered last and locked the door.
Their prisoner sprawled onto a chair and listened apprehensively to the roaring wind. “I never heard anything so bad before. What’re we going to do?”
“Stick it out,” Frank replied coolly. He eyed the rattling window over the sink. “We’d better board that up,” he said, “and the ones in the bedrooms, too. Come on! We can rip up some of this flooring.”
Chet brought two hammers, some nails, and a pinch bar from the toolbox. For half an hour the sound of ripping boards and hammering could be heard through the noise of the storm.
As the four boys worked, they saw that the snow had drifted almost to the tops of the windows. Their thoughts went again to Johnny Jefferson.
Frank visualized the boy lying injured behind a crag on the icy cliff. “Joe,” he said quietly, “as soon as the wind lets up we must go looking for him again.”
His brother nodded. “I know.”
When everyone gathered in the kitchen once more, Chet said, “I think we’d better fill the wood box and bring in some extra logs. If the drifts get any higher, we won’t be able to open the back door.”
He put on his parka, took a flashlight, and plunged outside.
Suddenly there was loud pounding on the door. Joe looked surprised. “What’s he doing back so soon?”
Biff opened the door and Chet fairly fell inside.
“The ghost!” he gasped. “In the woodshed!” The boys stared at their trembling chum in amazement.
“I guess he’s not kidding,” said Frank. “There’s something out there. Come on, Joe!”
The Hardys stepped out and trudged through Chet’s tracks to the woodshed.
Frank pulled the door open and flashed his light inside. Cowering in the corner was a white turbaned figure!
“Yussef!” Joe exclaimed.
But a moment later he saw that he was mistaken, as Frank pulled the white-robed figure of a young boy to his feet. Johnny Jefferson!
The Hardys knew him instantly from the photograph Mr. Jefferson had given them. But he was more sturdy and better looking than they had imagined.
“Good grief!” Joe exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“Quick, into the cabin!” Frank commanded.
Wordlessly, the boy stumbled ahead of them toward the kitchen. Biff, Chet, and Hanleigh looked up in astonishment as the trio entered.
“Here’s your ghost, Chet,” said Joe. “Johnny Jefferson. That’s right, isn’t it?”
Johnny nodded, a frightened look on his face.
Chet found his voice. “You must be frozen, Johnny. I’ll get some soup.”
“Thanks,” The boy removed the turban and the white robe. Underneath he wore a heavy jacket, ski pants, and boots with creepers.
“Who are you?” he asked the boys, then nodded toward Hanleigh. “Friends of his?”
“Certainly not,” said Frank. He introduced everyone and explained why they were on the island.
Johnny looked at them anxiously for a moment, then said, “Okay. I’ll buy that.”
“Good. Mr. Jefferson sure will be relieved to hear you’re okay,” Frank said.
Then Johnny turned to Hanleigh. “You lied to me,” he burst out. “You promised to teach me to be a detective, so I could find my grandfather’s medals. But I know now you wanted them for yourself.”
Hanleigh pretended he was not listening.
“Sit down and eat, Johnny,” said Chet, serving a steaming bowl of soup. “Cheese sandwiches coming up.”
The lad broke into a smile. “Gee, thanks.” He began eating hungrily. “I thought you fellows were working with Hanleigh,” he said, between bites. “So I decided to play ghost and scare you off. I got the idea from somebody else in a white robe and turban who was prowling around here and scared Chet.” He glanced at Chet. “I’m sorry. That howl in the woods really shook you!”
As Chet grinned, Johnny could not repress a chuckle. “The trick worked so well that I decided to scare Hanleigh, but I couldn’t find him. When I got back to my cave I heard a noise inside, so I ran away.”
“Where did you hide?” Frank asked.
“In a crevice I knew about in the rocks above the passage. Later I s
aw you hunting for me, but I kept out of sight.”
“Suppose you start from the beginning,” Frank said. “How did you get mixed up with Hanleigh?”
“Well, one day last summer when Gramp was in Europe, Hanleigh came to the house to see him about buying Cabin Island. Our housekeeper sent Hanleigh away, but some loose pages fell out of a notebook he was carrying.”
“And you found them?” Frank asked.
“That’s right. There was a map of this island and a plan of the cabin. Next time he came to the house I gave him the papers he had lost. I questioned him, too.”
Hanleigh looked up. “I thought he knew something about the value of the medals so I kidded him along. Turned out he didn’t know anything.”
After a few more bites Johnny continued:
“At first I believed Mr. Hanleigh was a detective and when I got back to school I wrote to him several times, but he didn’t answer. I began to suspect that he was trying to find the medals for himself. About two weeks before Christmas I ran away from school and came to Cabin Island to see if Hanleigh was here. I hoped I could find Gramp’s medals myself.”
“He’s worried about you,” Frank said. “You should have seen his face when we gave him that iceboat you carved. We found it by the boathouse.”
Johnny looked concerned. “I didn’t mean to worry Gramp. I’m glad he liked the iceboat. I carved it to pass time in the cave. I wondered where I’d lost it.”
“You’ve been living in that cave all this time?” Chet asked.
“No. At first I lived here in the cabin, but when Hanleigh started coming around, I moved out fast. I had a key and came back for a couple of blankets.” As to the cave, Johnny said he had played in it for years, but had kept its location a secret.
“What about the letter from Texas you wrote your grandfather?” Joe asked.
Johnny smiled. “I read about that trick in a detective story. I sent the letter to a friend of mine in Texas and asked him to mail it—and not to tell anyone. I was afraid Gramp might suspect I was here at Cabin Island and would send his detectives after me.”
As Johnny finished, the wind suddenly shrieked and a strong draft made the oil lamp flicker. Hanleigh turned pale.
The Mystery of Cabin Island Page 10