The Mystery of Cabin Island (7 page)

“I think he's sleeping normally now,” Frank said. “He's worn out.”

“So am I!” Chet exclaimed with a yawn. “What a day! Let's go to bed.”

“We can't leave this man alone,” Joe objected. “We'll have to take turns watching him.”

“You're right,” Frank agreed. “Besides, someone should keep an eye on the fire. We can't let it go out tonight! I'll stand first watch.”

Everyone agreed, and Frank sat by the fire while the others readied their sleeping sacks. Chet and Biff shared the north bedroom. The Hardys were to occupy the one across from it.

The patient continued to sleep soundly, and after two hours, Frank placed a large log on the fire and went to rouse his brother. “Your turn!” he told Joe. “All's well!”

Joe put on a bathrobe and took his place near the fire. The snow had stopped, but the wind was still tearing viciously at the trees and cabin.

As time passed, questions again filled Joe's mind. Where was Johnny? What was Hanleigh's interest in Cabin Island? Did the two have any connection? Who was the injured man and what did his cryptic utterance mean? Who had sent the message?

“Lots of questions but no answers,” Joe thought with a feeling of frustration. He scowled intently into the fire burning steadily in the grate.

Gradually the warmth radiating from the fireplace, together with the comforting hiss and crackle of the logs, had a soothing effect. The mystery continued to nag at Joe's brain, but he found it harder and harder to focus his thoughts.

“Boy, Chet can sure saw wood!” he said to himself with a grin as a faint sound of snoring drifted from the north bedroom. At last Joe's own eyelids began to droop.

Suddenly the young sleuth gave a start and leaped to his feet. Somewhere in the cabin an eerie noise was shrilling. “Owoooooo!”

Joe did not move, but tensely looked around the room. The weird sound began again with a plaintive quality that was almost human. What could it be?

The boy sternly told himself, “I'm imagining things! It must be one of the fellows. Biff's playing a practical joke on poor old Chet!”

“Owoooooo!” came the wail once more.

Joe walked softly into the bedroom, resolved to surprise the prankster. To his astonishment, he found both Chet and Biff wide awake in their bunks, worried looks on their faces. The two youths were sitting upright and listening to the sound which moaned and then rose to a howl.

“W-what did I t-t-tell you?” Chet quavered. “Th-the ghost—it's right here in the cabin!” He burrowed into his sleeping bag like a woodchuck diving for its hole.

The noise came again just as Frank strode in to join them from the Hardys' bedroom across the hall.

“Sure is unnerving!” Biff admitted, glancing about uneasily.

“We're going to find out what's happening,” Frank declared. “If this is somebody's idea of a joke, I want to get my hands on him.”

“You said it!” Biff's momentary apprehension vanished. “We'll rout out that phony spook and really give him something to joke about!”

As the lanky youth hopped out of bed, Chet spoke up fearfully, “Be careful, you guys! You may be asking for all kinds of trouble!”

Frank and Biff donned bathrobes. Then with Joe they took up flashlights and searched the cabin for the source of the sound.

In the kitchen Joe cast his light on the ceiling beams. “I think it's coming from somewhere up in the rafters!” he said.

The sinister shriek seemed to grow louder with every gust of wind.

“You're right!” Biff agreed.

The boys moved their flashlights slowly over the ceiling. Suddenly Frank exclaimed, “Yes, look!” He pointed out thin lines forming a rectangle across the boards.

“It must be a trap door!” Joe said excitedly.

“To the attic, I suppose,” Frank reasoned.

He grabbed a chair, stood on it, and pushed the trap door open. “I'll need a boost,” he said.

Biff gave him a lift. Frank scrambled into the dark opening, then disappeared. His footsteps made the boards creak ominously above Joe and Biff.

The wailing noise came again with a kind of taunting quality. “Owoooooo-oo!”

“Hey, what's going on?” Joe called out.

There was no response.

JoE broke out in gooseflesh as the wailing abruptly ceased. The attic floor creaked again and Frank looked down through the opening into the kitchen. “I've captured the ghost!”

“No kidding. Show me,” Biff said.

“Here!” Frank replied. He handed down an empty soda bottle.

“What do you mean?” Joe asked as Frank swung himself through the open trap door and dropped to the floor.

“Listen,” Frank said.

He held the neck of the bottle to his lips and blew hard. The others heard a low, thin version of the doleful sound that had terrified Chet.

“Where did you find this?” Biff asked.

“The bottle was being used to plug a hole in the roof,” Frank explained. “When the wind blew across it in a certain way—it hooted!”

Joe laughed. “I wonder if Hanleigh heard that sound and that's why he said the place has spooks!”

Frank took a piece of wood from the box beside the stove. “This'll do to plug the opening,” he said. With a boost from Joe, he went into the attic again. After plugging the hole, he lowered himself onto Joe's shoulders and closed the trap door before jumping down.

The three returned to the north bedroom. Biff pulled Chet from his cocoon of blankets. “Here's your wailing ghost,” he said, handing the soda bottle to his friend. Then he explained how the wind had produced the noise.

Chet placed the bottle on the floor and gave the others a scornful look. “Maybe this is what we heard,” he said, “but it's not what I saw running through the woods in a white sheet!”

“Now that you're awake, Chet, why don't you take your turn standing guard?” Joe suggested.

“Oh, all right!” Chet grumbled, crawling from bed. When he reached the living room, he called out, “Hey, everybody! Come here! Our patient is waking up!”

The three rushed to the sofa. “W-where am I?” the stranger asked, blinking his eyes and staring in bewilderment at the boys' faces hovering above him.

Joe took a match and lighted the kerosene lanterns, then sat on the floor beside the sofa.

“Easy,” he cautioned. “You had a close call!”

“The sudden storm!” the man muttered. “The wind and the snow—I couldn't see—”

“We know,” Joe said soothingly. “But you're safe now, and the storm is over.” The boys realized for the first time that the wind had stilled.

“How do you feel?” Frank asked.

“I'm all right,” the man insisted, as he started to rise.

“Be careful!” Chet warned, but the stranger chuckled and sat upright. They noticed that the man's eyes were bright blue, and had a merry twinkle.

“You may be injured,” Frank said. “Please lie down. We can take you to see a doctor.”

“I don't need any doctor!” the red-haired man declared cheerfully. “I feel a little sore and I must have bumped my head, but that'll do no damage!” He moved his arms and legs. “See? I'm okay.”

“Who are you?” Frank inquired again.

“My name is Mack Malone. Call me Mack.”

The boys introduced themselves and the man's face crinkled into a big grin. “So you're the Hardys!” he said to Frank and Joe. “I came out to give you a message.”

“Who sent you?” Joe asked excitedly.

“Your father,” Mack replied. “You see, I often do errands for the Bayport police. Fenton Hardy asked me to bring his sons a message. I drove my car to the mainland road across the cove from here and walked over on the ice.”

“Didn't you realize the danger?” Joe asked.

“The storm hit suddenly. For a while I nearly gave up. But then I thought I'd finally reached Cabin Island. The ground was so slippery I couldn't get out of the way of that falling tree.”

“Lucky we found you,” said Joe. “And the message—?”

Mack Malone chuckled. “It's a funny one—doesn't seem worth the trouble we've all been through! Well, here it is:
‘The alley cat is after
the mice, but feed him
well!' ”

“Very strange!” Joe commented.

“I'll say!” Frank agreed.

“Boy! It's a riddle to me!” Chet declared, then added, “It's almost daylight, and you Hardys will probably puzzle your brains over that message, anyway. How about some breakfast?”

“Good idea!” Biff agreed.

The boys dressed and a short time later Mack Malone joined them for a hearty meal of fried eggs, bacon, and toast. When they had finished, the man stood up and said, “Well, fellows, the sun is rising. I'd better be on my way.”

“We'd be happy to take you to Bayport for a checkup,” Frank reminded him.

“No, thanks. I'm fit as a fiddle, except for a few bruises,” the red-haired man assured him. “I'll stroll over to my car and be home in no time!”

“Watch your step crossing the ice,” Joe cautioned.

“You bet your boots I will!” Malone gave a wry laugh and added, “One accident is enough—and besides, I'd sure hate to spend New Year's Day on crutches!”

“Thank you for bringing the message,” Frank said as their visitor left the cabin. Malone responded with a parting wave.

When he was out of sight, Biff turned to the Hardys. “What about that double-talk?” he questioned. “Do you really believe your father would send a man to tell you some nonsense about cats and mice?”

“Somebody's pulling your leg!” Chet put in.

“No, it's on the level,” Frank assured them. “Joe and I were pretending we didn't understand while Mack was here. Dad sent the message in code because he wanted it to be kept secret.”

“Then what does it mean?” Chet asked impatiently.

“That someone is out to get Frank and me—we're the ‘mice,' ” Joe explained. “We're to play along with the person—he's the ‘cat'—and trap him. In other words, ‘feed' him and avoid being ‘eaten' by him!”

“Fine!” declared Biff. “But who is this cat? How will you find out?”

“We already know,” Frank said.

“You do!” Chet exclaimed.

“Dad frequently uses the phrase about the cat in secret communications to us,” Joe explained. “The clue is in the adjective. Here, it's ‘alley cat' —the second syllable, ‘ley,' could stand for the ‘leigh' in Hanleigh!”

“Wow!” Chet was wide-eyed. “So Hanleigh is out to get you!”

“How does your dad know?” Biff asked.

Joe shrugged. “He must suspect the fellow is after something in the cabin or on the island.”

“Hanleigh's a rough customer,” Frank said grimly. “That's probably why Dad used code. He was afraid Hanleigh might intercept Mack and force the message from him.”

Chet groaned. “Maybe we ought to pack up and go home while we can!”

“We can't leave,” Frank insisted. “If Hanleigh is trying to steal something from Mr. Jefferson, we must stop him.”

“But aren't you supposed to keep looking for Johnny?” Biff asked. “And he doesn't seem to be on Cabin Island. So what do you do next?”

“First, I'd like to search more thoroughly,” Frank replied, “to make sure Johnny hasn't come here since yesterday.”

The boys donned their outdoor clothes and spread out over the whole island. Each examined a separate area, searching among bushes, trees, and rocks. Then they combed the entire shoreline. When they finally rejoined each other, none had any clues to report.

After they returned to the cabin, Chet asked, “Now what?”

“We could investigate the mainland near here, and inquire if anyone has seen Johnny,” Frank proposed.

“But I'm leery of leaving the place unguarded, especially after getting Dad's message,” Joe said with a look of concern.

“We can use my binoculars from the main-Iand,” Chet reminded him, “to keep an eye on the island while we're away.”

“Good idea!” Joe exclaimed. “And I'll bring the camera Dad gave us. Maybe we'll get some good photos with the telescopic lens.”

Frank remarked, “Our going away might lure Hanleigh here, and that may be what Dad wants.”

“Let's have lunch before going off on this wild-goose chase.” Chet urged. “I'll make some sandwiches.”

“Good and thick, please,” Biff begged. “All that tramping around has really given me an appetite!”

“Same here,” said Joe.

The boys ate quickly, then set off in the
Sea
Gull. The strong wind of the previous evening had blown most of the snow to the land, so the iceboat tacked across the surface at a fast clip.

Looking back at the island, Chet remarked, “It's sure a pretty place.”

Tall pines looked like white pyramids, and bare branches were coated with ice which glittered in rainbow colors.

On the mainland directly opposite, the four boys spotted a shack built of sun-bleached boards. Smoke was drifting upward from its rickety stove-pipe chimney.

Frank slackened sail and let the
Sea
Gull drift to a complete stop.

“Let's talk to the person who lives here,” he suggested, putting down the brake.

A bearded man came out and called, “What can I do for you?”

“We're looking for a boy who is missing from his home in Bayport,” Joe replied. “His name is Johnny Jefferson. He's fifteen, and big for his age.”