“Yes, that’s a funny question, Trix. What’s smoking got to do with sails?” Jim asked.
“Only this. Look over here a minute. See all those cigarette butts?” she asked, pointing to the corner.
“By Jove, what do you know!” exclaimed Peter as he knelt down beside Trixie who was examining them closely.
“Trixie’s found a clue. Trixie’s found a clue,” chanted Mart.
“Maybe I have and maybe I haven’t, lame brain, but I know one thing. There are only two brands here. Whoever smoked this filter kind smoked his right down to the tip, but the regular brand butts are crushed out before they’re half gone,” she observed as she separated the butts into two piles.
“There must have been just two people up here, then,” said Brian.
“Elementary, my dear Watson,” quipped Trixie, “and they must have stayed quite a while, judging from the number of cigarettes they smoked.”
“Like overnight, maybe?” asked Mart.
“By Jupiter, you’re right!” cried Peter. “And they probably pulled the sail bags down to sleep on. First I thought it might have been some of the little kids from school who think it’s pretty smart to smoke. They know this place and might have come over to sneak a smoke, but they wouldn’t stay a whole night.”
“It looks as though someone wanted a real hideaway,” Trixie said thoughtfully. “I wonder who.”
“I guess we’ll have to put a padlock on the door. We’ve never locked up anything around here before. The only way to get off the island is by ferry, so it doesn’t make a very good place for burglars to operate,” Peter commented. “Abe would have them before they had a chance to buy their ferry tickets. They wouldn’t have a chance.”
“Couldn’t anyone come in on his own boat?” Diana asked as they went downstairs.
“Oh, I suppose they could,” Peter answered, “but it isn’t very likely. The mainland is much easier for a professional thief.”
“Well, it certainly looks as though someone was prowling around here who had no business to, professional or not,” Trixie said solemnly.
“It’s a funny coincidence that it should happen just after we found the letter, isn’t it?” Honey commented.
“I wonder if it is coincidence,” Trixie said, half to herself. “Let’s look through this part of the shed and see if we come up with any leads,” she suggested as she started systematically to examine the room.
The others joined in, but despite an intensive search, nothing seemed to be missing or out of place. There was no sign of the chart’s having been hidden there, either. No floor boards showed the slightest sign of having been tampered with, and even though they explored the old fireplace, brick by brick, it revealed nothing unusual.
“Gosh,” exclaimed Trixie, who had stuck her head inside one of the little ovens, “there’s nothing in here but spider webs.” She shook her blond curls which were covered with dust and soot, and brushed the cobwebs from her face. “I don’t think this is the place Ed meant at all. Oh, I’m so disappointed. Instead of finding the chart, all we come up with is evidence of an intruder whom we don’t really want to be bothered with at all!”
“Oh, let’s forget it. How about a swim to cool off? Last one in’s a monkey’s cousin!” yelled Peter as he dashed in the direction of the beach with the others in close pursuit. They hurriedly put on their suits which they had left in the bathhouse and raced down to the water’s edge. Peter was about to dive into the water when Trixie, who had managed to get abreast of him, grabbed him and pointed to a single sail out in the bay.
“Well, look who’s out for a sail. That’s Cap trying out his new Lightning. He’s a top-notch sailor and a great guy,” said Peter warmly.
“Gee, what a beautiful boat!” exclaimed Jim. “And he’s sailing it all alone, isn’t he?”
“That’s one of the good things about a Lightning. One person can easily manage it, but in a race you have to have three people—the skipper, the spinnaker man, and the other crew who handles the mains’l.”
“They must be awfully roomy boats to carry three people,” commented Diana.
“Oh, they’ll hold even more than that,” Peter replied. “They’re nineteen feet long and quite beamy, and—I’ll tell you what,” he suddenly said. “If we get the gazebo fairly well cleared out this afternoon, I’ll ask Cap to take his boat, and I’ll take mine and we’ll go for a sail tomorrow. How about going out to the abandoned lighthouse?”
“How perfect!” cried Honey. “Let’s take a quick dip and then get back to work so we’ll finish up for sure this afternoon. I’ve never been in a sailboat in my whole life, and I’m dying to go.”
“Whoops! There goes Honey ‘dying.’ She’s getting to be as bad as Trixie,” Brian teased.
Honey chased him into the water, splashing him as she went.
“Let’s race down to the dock at The Moorings and back,” suggested Peter.
“Okay, any special stroke or just freestyle?” asked Honey, who was the best swimmer of the Bob-Whites.
“Anything goes except a dog paddle,” Peter told her. “On your mark, get set, go!”
Despite her best efforts, Honey, who had been ahead at the turning point, was outdistanced by Peter on the return lap. “You’re phenomenal, Peter!” she gasped as she climbed the ladder to the dock. “How do you do it?”
“It’s a tricky little kick I learned last summer,” Peter answered. “Come on in again and I’ll show you.” They dived in, and after Honey had mastered the secret, she and Peter swam together in beautiful form. Trixie and the others clapped their hands in admiration as the two returned to the dock, shaking the water from their faces and hair. Then they all hurriedly dressed and ran back to the garden to have lunch beside the lily pool.
Chapter 7
The Gazebo
By four o’clock the lovely little octagonal gazebo had been freed of the encroaching vines. The original paint had begun to peel in places, but it was not in bad condition. The vines had probably served as protection from the weather, but the steps were quite rotten and one of the delicate supporting columns was broken off completely. It was a great surprise when they uncovered a weather vane on top of the pointed roof, a copper boat under full sail.
“Isn’t that darling?” sang out Diana, stepping back to admire it. “Do you suppose it works?”
“There isn’t enough wind now to tell,” answered Peter. “A little oil will probably get it going again if it’s stuck.”
While the others were talking about the vane, Trixie and Jim had been looking around the inside of the gazebo to see how much work would really be necessary to get it in shape for the party. Jim was examining the broken column when he heard the sound of breaking wood and a cry from Trixie. Turning quickly around, he saw that a floor board had given way and one of Trixie’s legs had gone through and was caught in the hole.
As the others came running to see what had happened, Jim, who had caught hold of Trixie so she wouldn’t lose her balance, yelled, “Peter, pull up the board next to this broken one so she can get her leg out. Does it hurt, Trixie?” he asked solicitously.
“Not much,” she answered. “It just stings a little around the ankle. That’s all.”
The board came up more easily than they had expected, and Trixie, stepping gingerly out of the hole, said, “That’s funny. It doesn’t look as though either of those boards had been nailed down.”
“Oh, don’t worry about the floor now,” said Honey, putting an arm around Trixie’s waist and helping her to one of the seats built around the inside of the gazebo.
“Take a look at this ankle, Brian,” said Jim, as he knelt down in front of Trixie. A spot of blood on her sock was growing bigger, so Brian carefully took off her sneaker and sock. A look of relief came over his face when he saw that the wound was not a deep one, but only an abrasion. Peter had already gone to the house for a first-aid kit, and on his return, Brian carefully swabbed the wound with antiseptic and put on a sterile bandag
e.
“Lucky for us we have an almost-doctor in the house,” said Mart. “Are you prepared to handle an emergency appendectomy?”
“Don’t mention it!” chuckled Brian. “Don’t think I haven’t imagined such a situation. ‘Brian Belden saves a child’s life with a penknife.’ Can’t you see the headlines? The only hitch is that no one carries a penknife anymore, so my dream collapses.”
“How long has it been since you’ve had a tetanus shot, Trix?” asked Jim as he was helping Brian put the scissors and extra bandages back in the box.
“Let’s see. It was last year when I had my annual check-up. I loathe needles, even though they don’t really hurt much, but Dr. Ferris said they’re a lot easier to take than the treatment you get if you cut yourself or stepped on a nail or anything and haven’t been immunized.”
Trixie, who was never one to brood very long about herself, again turned her attention to the hole in the floor. “We’ll have to fix it before the party, and the steps, too. I wonder why those boards weren’t nailed down.” She knelt to get a closer look. Presently, she leaned way over and put her arm in the hole so far that her chin was practically resting on the floor.
“What on earth are you doing?” cried Di.
As Trixie drew her arm out, she brought forth a dust-covered bottle, with the cork still in it.
“What’s in it?” they all asked at once as Trixie carried it over to the seat and started to blow the dust off.
“It’s awfully light, and it doesn’t rattle, so there’s probably nothing in it,” she said.
“One of your ancestors was probably trying to hide an empty rum bottle from his wife,” said Jim to Peter. “Here, let me have a look,” he said, taking the bottle from Trixie. “Holy mackerel!” he cried, after he had wiped it off. “There’s a paper all rolled up inside!”
“The chart, the chart!” cried Trixie. “Hurry and break the bottle and see if I’m right!”
“Oh, don’t break it here. It’ll get glass all over everything. Take it over to that rock,” Honey suggested, pointing to a large stone, not very far away.
They all hovered around as Jim broke the bottle. Trixie picked up the tightly rolled paper and carefully spread it out on the ground.
“It’s a chart all right,” said Peter. “Look, it has the compass marks up there in the corner. They call that a compass rose, and there’s a black buoy and a red nun.”
“A what? A red nun? I can’t say that sounds very nautical,” Mart said as he leaned over to get a better look.
“You’re right; it doesn’t,” Peter answered, “but the red buoys are called nuns because they look something like a nun in her veil. They always have even numbers, so you say ‘N 2’ or ‘N 8.’ Notice the harbor buoy the next time you’re near there.”
“What about the black ones? Do they have odd numbers?” asked Mart.
“Right you are,” answered Peter. “They’re flat-topped and carry odd numbers, and are called ‘cans’ so you refer to them as ‘C 5’ or ‘C 7.’ But what’s that down there at the bottom of the chart?”
“Well, of all things to find on a map,” said Honey as she looked over Peter’s shoulder. “It’s a bar of music!”
“A bar of music? That’s funny.” Brian was puzzled. “Maybe when Ed was drawing the chart he had a sudden inspiration to write a sea chantey or something.”
“Well, he sure didn’t get very far,” said Mart. “Erato and Euterpe must have left him in the lurch.”
“Who?” asked Trixie, for once falling into Mart’s linguistic trap.
“The two Greek muses who preside over poetry and music,” Mart answered loftily.
“Oh, no! You’re not satisfied with English any more, so now we have to endure Greek!” Trixie moaned.
“Here, Honey, see if you can make out the tune. You’re our musical authority,” said Jim, picking up the chart and handing it to her.
After studying it for a minute and humming softly to herself, Honey said, “It’s just a simple bar of music, but it doesn’t mean a thing to me. There isn’t any time indicated, and the notes are all whole notes. Listen.” And she whistled the elusive little tune.
“Well, the main thing is that we’ve found the chart,” said Trixie excitedly. “We were so busy cleaning up this place we never even thought the gazebo might be the building Ed said was in line with the Chain tree.”
“Look, now you can see our porch from here,” added Honey, pointing toward The Moorings.
“Yes, and an imaginary line running from the tree through the gazebo would end right where Jim climbed on the railing yesterday,” said Trixie, her voice tense with excitement. “Now all we have to do is follow the chart and find the money!”
“Hey, not so fast,” cried Peter who had been studying the chart while the others were talking. “This isn’t going to be as simple as it looks.”
“What do you mean?” Trixie asked. “It looks simple to me with all those landmarks, or rather, sea-marks on it.”
“I know it does,” answered Peter, “but the funny thing is, it doesn’t say where to start sailing. If you take off from the dock at The Moorings, which seems the logical place, and follow these directions, you end up somewhere in the vicinity of our own cabbage patch! Something’s obviously wrong with that.”
“Oh, bother,” cried Trixie. “Are you sure?”
“Let’s all puzzle over it tonight, and maybe by tomorrow it will make some sense,” suggested Diana.
“You were right yesterday when you said we should wait a while, so I’ll go along with your suggestion again,” Trixie replied warmly.
“Maybe we’ll get some leads on our sail,” Peter said. “It may help us to see what it’s all about when we get out in the boat. I think I’ll make a copy of the chart, and then you can take this one to The Moorings with you.”
“Okay,” agreed Jim, as the Bob-Whites gathered up the tools and headed back to the shed. Peter drew the chart on the back of an old calendar that had been hanging on the wall, and then walked as far as the gate with his friends.
“What time do you want to get started, and where shall we meet?” Trixie asked.
“I’ll pick you up around ten—that is, if the Ice-Box cooperates. Sometimes she acts as though she resented my going sailing and refuses to start,” he answered with a chuckle.
“If you have any trouble, call me up and maybe I can give you a hand,” Brian offered.
“Oh, Brian can make any car run, no matter how old it is,” Honey said, looking admiringly at him.
“The Bob-Whites are full of hidden talents,” Trixie added laughingly, “but when it comes to sailing, we are complete landlubbers.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll give you the Special Kimball Sailing Course tomorrow,” Peter assured them, “and by the time we get home, you’ll be old hands!”
Chapter 8
A Sailing Lesson
It was a few minutes before ten when they heard Peter’s car chugging up the driveway, and they all ran out to greet him. Although the Ice-Box coughed and hiccoughed as it turned under the porte-cochere, it was running.
“Should we bring sweat shirts or anything extra?” Trixie called out from the porch.
“It’s a good idea to have something along to put on,” Peter answered. “Even if it’s boiling hot when you start out, it may turn cold or the sea can get rough and toss a couple of buckets of water into the boat.”
Celia came out carrying two straw baskets packed with food and handed them to Jim who stowed them in the trunk along with the sail bags.
“Yes, Jim,” Trixie teased. “You’d better take charge of the food and keep it away from Mart or there won’t be anything left by lunchtime!”
They waved good-by to Miss Trask who had come out to see them off and were away in a cloud of smoke from the exhaust.
As soon as they were on Shore Road, Trixie burst out, “You know, I had an idea about the chart last night just before I went to sleep, and the more I think about it, the mor
e sense it makes.”
“I’m glad someone had an idea,” said Mart, shaking his head disconsolately, “because my cranial cavity was as empty as a broken drum.”
“As usual,” Trixie flung at him.
“Mother had so many things for me to do when I got home, I never did get a chance to look at the chart again,” Peter confessed. “What did you figure out, Trix?”
“You know how clear it was last night,” she began. “Well, I was standing by the window looking out over the bay, and I noticed a church steeple over in Greenpoint. It was lighted up with floodlights just like the one back in Sleepyside. Later, I got to thinking it might be the one on the chart. Then I tried to remember where north is from there, and when I traced an imaginary line in the direction Ed had on the chart, it ended up at the yacht club.”
“By Jove, Trixie, I believe you’re right!” exclaimed Peter. “You have the makings of a crack navigator. I think I’ll sign you up for my next trip to the South Seas. When we get to the club, we’ll look at the big map and see if your theory makes sense.”
Cobbett’s Island Yacht Club was about a mile from The Moorings by car. It lay almost directly across the harbor from the house. It was an attractive, gray-shingled building, surrounded by a fence made of heavy chain supported by white posts.
After they had parked the car, they went inside and looked for Cap, who Peter said had been delighted at the idea of going for a sail with them. Cap wasn’t in the clubhouse, so they had time to look at the large map of Cobbett’s Island, the bay, and Greenpoint. Trixie ran her finger slowly along the mainland coast and finally found a circle with a little dot in the middle and the word “spire” in tiny letters beside it. Peter, reaching over her shoulder, traced a line from that point to the yacht club and compared it to the markings on the chart which Trixie had brought with her.
“By Jupiter, Trixie’s right! The direction is southwest from the church,” cried Peter. “We’ll lay that landfall and go in as close to the shore as we can before heading for the next mark.”
“You make about as much sense as Mart,” Diana said. “In plain English, what do we do?”
The Mystery on Cobbett's Island Page 6