The Mystery of Cabin Island

Table of Contents

 

 

THE HARDY BOYS are elated over their good luck when wealthy Elroy Jefferson invites them to spend Christmas vacation at his private retreat on Cabin Island. But when Frank and Joe make a reconnaissance trip in their iceboat the
Sea Gull
to the island, a belligerent stranger orders them off. Why?

Before twenty-four hours have passed, the Hardys find themselves involved in two mysteries: the first concerns the recent disappearance of Mr. Jefferson's grandson, Johnny; the second, the baffling theft of a priceless collection of antique medals which took place two years ago. The young detectives, with their pals Chet Morton and Biff Hooper, pursue both cases on the icebound, snow-covered island.

Sabotage to the
Sea Gull,
danger to themselves, and a ghostly prowler do not daunt Frank and Joe in their search for Johnny Jefferson and for clues to the stolen antique medals. How the teen-age investigators outwit a ruthless foe and succeed in solving both mysteries makes for mounting suspense in this brisk-paced adventure.

“We're going to hit!” yelled Joe

Copyright © 1994, 1966, 1957, 1929 by Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved.

Published by Grosset & Dunlap, Inc., a member of The Putnam &
Grosset Group, New York. Published simultaneously in Canada. S.A.
THE HARDY BOYS
^®
is a registered trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Grosset & Dunlap, Inc.

eISBN : 978-1-101-07623-1

2008 Printing

“WHAT a reward!” Joe Hardy exclaimed. “You mean we can stay at Cabin Island over the winter vacation?”

“Right. Starting the day after Christmas,” said Frank. “The whole place is ours, and Mr. Jefferson says he'll throw another mystery our way.”

“About what?”

“Wouldn't say. He'll tell us at his home tomorrow when we get the key.”

The Hardy boys were elated over their good luck. The young detectives recently had broken a car theft ring, and in gratitude for the return of his automobile, Elroy Jefferson, a wealthy resident of Bayport, had made the offer of his private retreat near the entrance to Barmet Bay.

Impulsive, blond-haired Joe snapped his fingers. “Frank, let's call Chet and Biff and take our iceboat over to the island. I'd like to give it a quick preview.”

“Okay. We can meet ‘em at our dock.”

Dark-haired Frank, eighteen and a year older than Joe, was just as eager to set foot on Cabin Island and also to skim over the ice, now glossy smooth after a long siege of zero weather.

Joe dashed to the hall telephone and dialed the number of the Morton farmhouse. In a moment he was speaking to Chet Morton, a beefy team-mate on the Bayport High football eleven.

“What's up?” the stout youth asked.

“Get your long johns on,” Joe told him. “We're going to whip out to Cabin Island on the
Sea Gull.
That wind on the bay'll really start your blood circulating!”

Frank and Joe had designed and built the iceboat during the previous summer. They had saved their money to buy materials and had worked slowly and carefully on the project. The craft was made so that it could be taken apart and compactly stored in the boathouse where the brothers' motorboat, the
Sleuth,
also was housed.

“Sounds great, but I don't know.” Chet hesitated wistfully. “Mom's just mixing a batch of maple fudge.”

“Save it till we get back—think of the appetite you'll work up!” Joe added with a chuckle, “Think of your waistline, too. We'll meet you at the boathouse in twenty minutes.”

“Well—okay—as long as you don't go poking into any more mysteries.”

“No promises, pal!” Grinning, Joe slammed down the receiver before Chet could object.

Moon-faced Chet Morton, who was much fonder of eating and relaxing than he was of dangerous adventures, was constantly bemoaning the Hardys' habit of becoming involved in crime cases. But the stocky youth was a loyal pal and could always be depended on in a tight spot.

After calling Biff Hooper, who agreed to the trip enthusiastically, Joe dressed warmly and hurried outside. Frank was already backing their convertible out of the garage.

The Hardys drove to the boathouse on Barmet Bay. Chet and Biff were waiting for them. Biff, a muscular youth whose hobby was amateur boxing, was dancing about, attempting to persuade plump Chet to spar with him.

Chet held up his hands to fend off the blows. He grinned as Frank and Joe walked toward them. “Glad you're here!” he exclaimed. “This guy is trying to use me for a punching bag!”

“Do you good,” Biff rejoined. “Get you in shape!”

Frank laughed. “If you keep this up, Cabin Island won't be big enough for both of you—and us.” He gave them hearty slaps on the back. “Let's get going!”

Joe opened the doors of the boathouse and led the way inside. The
Sea Gull
was chocked on boards which lay over the ice between the cat-walks. Suspended above it in a steel cradle was the
Sleuth.

From a gear shelf the boys took iron-pointed creepers and attached them to their boots, then donned crash helmets and goggles. As they pulled the iceboat outside, the wind whipped hard at their backs. Joe tilted the brake on the outside of the hull, so that the point dug firmly into the ice.

Ten minutes later the four had fastened the long runner plank crossways under the bow, raised the mast, and set the sail. Quickly they climbed into the stern's cockpit.

“Strap yourselves in tight,” Frank warned as he took the tiller. “That wind's strong and the
Gull's
rarin' to go!”

He released the brake and the sleek white craft glided swiftly out into the bay, now solidly frozen except for the channel, which was kept open by the shipping lines and the Coast Guard.

Cold clear air stung the boys' faces and they were showered with ice chips from the bow runner. They waved to friends who were skating near shore.

“Where is Cabin Island, anyway?” Biff called to the Hardys.

“In a cove off the bay,” Frank shouted, as he guided the
Sea Gull
in a swooping half circle around a hole that had been cut in the ice by a fisherman.

“Ever been there before?” Chet asked, straining to get his words out against the cold air that whipped across his face.

Joe shook his head. “We've never tried to take our motorboat into that cove. It's shallow and you'd rip the hull unless you knew for sure where every rock is. But we shouldn't have any trouble now.”

Presently the iceboat swooped up the inlet. “We'll go around for a look-see,” said Frank.

Skillfully he circled the heavily wooded island. The shoreline facing the bay dropped off in an icy cliff, but the side opposite the mainland road to Bayport sloped gradually. At the edge of the shore Frank spotted a tall pine.

“Let's land there,” he said.

He put the speeding craft into a wide semicircle opposite the tree. The sails slackened and the iceboat slowed up, then drifted straight to the pine, where Frank put on the brake and Joe lashed the craft to the tree.

“Right on the nose,” Biff said admiringly as they clambered ashore.

The four started up the hill. Soon they glimpsed the cabin, perched in a clearing on the highest point of the island.

Joe stopped abruptly and pointed to a set of large bootprints in the light snow. “How can anyone else be here?” he asked. “There's no other iceboat around, and it'd be a long, slippery walk from the mainland.”

Frank shrugged. “I doubt that the person is still here. It hasn't snowed for a week, so those prints could have been made several days ago.”

“But they only lead upward,” Joe observed. “There are none going back down the hill.”

“Maybe whoever he was went down another way,” Frank suggested.

The boys resumed their ascent. As they approached the cabin, a broad-shouldered figure in a plaid Mackinaw coat appeared from behind a clump of brush and strode toward them.

He was a surly-looking man in his early thirties, who walked with his neck thrust forward. His off-balance, lumbering gait amused Joe, but the man's words were not funny.

“Get off this island!” he shouted. The Hardys were taken by surprise, but only for seconds.

“Who says?” Joe retorted.

“I say so, and I'll show you!” came the reply as the man thrust his right hand into the Mackinaw's deep pocket. He strode closer, glaring at the foursome.

“Don't threaten us!” Biff said angrily, cocking his right fist.

“If it's a fight you want,” Frank said coolly, “the odds are one to four. So don't be foolish. Besides, we have permission to be on this island.”

The hostile man hesitated, looking from face to face. “What makes you think I don't have permission, too?” he asked. Then the stranger made the mistake of advancing a step farther. Biff feinted with a quick left hand and sent his right fist into the man's midriff. With an “oof” the man sat heavily in the snow, then scrambled to his feet, muttering threats.

“Aw, knock it off,” said Chet.

“We won't get anywhere arguing with him,” Frank said quietly. “Come on!” The boys turned and retraced their steps to the
Sea Gull.
Frank and Joe kept glancing back, but the hostile stranger did not follow.

Back in the iceboat, Joe said, “I wonder if Mr. Jefferson knows that man and gave him permission to come to Cabin Island.”

“I doubt it,” said Frank. “Say, maybe this has something to do with the mystery.”