“That’s right,” the Cub leader agreed. “The Scouts have been dickering with him for nearly six months to purchase a stretch of beach for their permanent camp. They’re also considering a site two miles farther down river.”
“Which will they take?” Chips asked. “I should think Skeleton Island would be better, because it’s closer to Webster City.”
“So far, Mr. Manheim has asked a fairly steep price and doesn’t seem inclined to come down,” the Cub leader replied. “The Scout director has made two inspection trips and is well satisfied. Now he wants me to make my recommendation.”
“You said the Cubs might go there on an over-night camping trip,” Red reminded him.
All the Cubs waited expectantly for the answer.
“Yes, if plans work out, we’ll make it next weekend,” Mr. Hatfield answered. “The Den fathers are planning the trip.”
The Cubs began to talk about the proposed excursion, discussing what they would take with them to camp.
“Maybe we’ll see the ghost of Skeleton Island while we’re there!” Chips declared hopefully. “Or find the entrance to the old tunnel!”
The Cub meeting broke up shortly after nine o’clock. Dan and Brad remained a few minutes after the others had gone to make certain that the last embers of the beach fire had been extinguished.
Then together, they started home, selecting a route which took them along the deserted waterfront.
At Clinton Street, the boys turned at the corner, passing a cafe from which issued the discordant notes of a player piano.
On the curb outside the restaurant stood a short little man, who was munching popcorn from a paper bag. His face was sharp and weasel-like, his eyes darting and shrewd.
The Cubs might have passed him with scarcely a second glance, had he not been talking to another man who looked faintly familiar to Dan. The fellow plainly was a sailor, dark of hair and with sturdy body build.
“That fellow looks like one of the men who were in the motorboat that struck the Holloway sailboat!” Dan said in an undertone to Brad.
“Not the little one with the paper bag?”
“No, the other. I’m sure I’ve seen him somewhere. Let’s watch for a minute.”
Sliding into a shadowy doorway, Brad and Dan kept their eyes on the pair. However, they were too far away to hear the conversation. A newsboy noticed their interest.
“Know those guys?” he asked, sidling up to them.
Dan shook his head, hoping that the boy would move on.
“See that guy with the paper sack,” the lad continued, eager to impart information. “Know who he is?”
Dan shook his head.
“That’s the one they call ‘Paper Bag Eddie,’” the boy said, awe in his voice. “He’s a bad one.”
“Paper Bag Eddie?” Dan repeated, keeping his voice low. “Never heard of him.”
“You never heard of Paper Bag Eddie? Why, he’s known to every cop in town, but they never get much on him.”
“He’s a crook then?” Brad interposed.
“Sure, they say he’s the brains of a waterfront gang. Guess what he carries around in those paper bags of his’n?”
“Popcorn,” said Dan.
“Guess again. He packs a revolver. Eddie loafs around the waterfront and you hardly ever see him without his little paper bag.”
“I should think the police would pick him up for carrying a concealed weapon,” Brad said.
“Oh, Eddie ain’t dumb enough to go around with the revolver all the time. Mostly you’ll see him munching peanuts or popcorn, and if the cops search him that’s what they find. But if he pulls a job, he slips the revolver into the sack. The cops figure he only has a bag of popcorn.”
“Eddie never has been arrested?” Brad inquired.
“Oh, the cops run him in regular, but they’ve never dug up enough evidence to convict him. Eddie’s a slick one.”
“Who is his companion?” Dan asked.
“Never saw him before,” the newsboy said indifferently. “Some sailor, I guess.”
Apparently aware that they were under scrutiny, Paper Bag Eddie and his company glanced briefly at the Cubs and sauntered on down the street. A few doors farther on they entered the Green Parrot Cafe.
“Let’s get on home,” Brad urged.
Dan, however, had another idea.
“Brad, I’m dead certain that sailor with Paper Bag Eddie is the one who was operating the motorboat when it crashed into Mr. Holloway’s sailboat,” he insisted. “I’d like to try to pin it on him.”
“And end up in plenty of trouble. You know Mr. Holloway advised that the entire matter be dropped.”
“Sure, I know. But that was mostly because Mr. Manheim is well known at the club. I have a hunch he didn’t know anything about the boat accident. And it may not have been his speed craft either.”
“Even so, I say we’re asking for trouble if we try striking up an acquaintance with that pair!”
“We don’t have to speak to them,” Dan argued. “Why not follow them into the cafe and take a table nearby? We might hear something interesting.”
“W-e-ll,” Brad hesitated, “I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm. Okay.”
Feeling somewhat ill at ease, the two boys entered the Green Parrot. The room was dingy and dimly lighted, its plaster walls streaked with smoke. Only a few customers were visible.
Brad and Dan slipped into a booth diagonally opposite a table where Paper Bag Eddie and his companion sat.
“You know your orders, Frisk,” they heard the one with the weasel-like face say. “When you get the signal—”
He broke off as his gaze fastened upon Dan and Brad. The Cubs instantly looked away but Paper Bag Eddie’s suspicions had been aroused.
Shoving back his chair, he walked over to the booth.
“Say, what’s the idea?” he demanded in a soft, purring voice.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Brad returned, meeting his gaze steadily.
“You followed me in here. Now you’re trying to eavesdrop.”
“This is a free country,” Brad retorted. “If my friend and I want to come in here for a sandwich, I’d like to see you stop us!”
“You would, eh?” the man replied, his lips parting in an ugly smile. He grasped Brad by the shoulder, pulling him half-way out of the booth. “Who are you and what’s your game?”
Before Brad could answer, the proprietor of the Green Parrot came quickly from the direction of the kitchen. He had seen what was happening and did not want any trouble in his place.
“Cut it out, Eddie,” he said. “No rough stuff here.”
“Who are these kids?”
“How should I know? Never saw ’em before.”
“They were standing outside the cafe, watching,” Eddie informed the proprietor. “When we came in, they followed. I say, throw ’em out.”
The proprietor hesitated, reluctant to antagonize either party.
“Throw ’em out!” Paper Bag Eddie repeated in a tone not to be denied.
“I’m sorry, boys,” the proprietor apologized. “I don’t want any trouble here. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
“We’ll go,” Brad said. “Come on, Dan.”
In sliding out from the booth seat, Dan bestowed another glance upon the man Paper Bag Eddie had called “Frisk.” More than ever he was convinced that he had not been mistaken in identifying him as the motorboat operator.
“I’ve seen you before,” he said, halting beside the table. “You were handling the wheel of the motorboat that struck our dinghy!”
“That’s a lie!” the florid-faced man rasped. “I never set eyes on either of you before—and what’s more, I don’t want to again. Now if you know what’s healthy, get out of here!”
Dan would have stood his ground, but Brad grasped his arm, pulling him firmly along. The proprietor followed the two boys to the door.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized once more. Then in an undertone, he added: “Don’t come back. For some reason Eddie has taken a dislike to you—and when he’s crossed, he’s bad medicine!”
Three days elapsed during which Brad, Dan and the other Cubs spent much time at the “Y” and at the river practicing for the final swimming meet of the year with Den 1.
Annoyed by the manner in which they had been treated by Paper Bag Eddie and his friend “Frisk,” the two Cubs interested themselves in making a few inquiries along the waterfront.
They learned that a sailor by the last name of Fagan frequently was seen with Eddie. Although known to have no employment, he was reported always with enough money in his pocket.
“I’m as sure as anything Fagan was in the motorboat that struck us,” Dan repeated to Brad one afternoon when the two boys were at the river preparing for a swim. “I suspect that was why he acted so sore in the cafe. He was afraid we’d accuse him.”
Since their meeting with Paper Bag Eddie and the sailor, the two Cubs had not seen either of them again. Nor had they glimpsed Mr. Manheim’s boat or any that resembled it.
On this particular afternoon, Mr. Holloway had promised to take Brad, Dan and Midge for a sail. Four o’clock, the hour appointed for their meeting at the Yacht Club dock, came and went. Finally, Mr. Holloway telephoned from his office to say that he had been held up and would be unable to make the excursion.
“There’s no reason why you boys can’t take the boat by yourselves,” he urged. “You’re both experienced at handling the tiller, and good swimmers. Go ahead! Only don’t go too far from the Yacht Club. A storm could kick up before dusk.”
Fortifying themselves with bottles of pop, Dan and Brad hoisted sail and cast off. With Brad at the tiller, they sailed down the channel, past Fish Island, and on toward Skeleton Island. They had been anxious to explore this island for some time.
Dan lounged in the bottom of the boat, lazily sipping his drink.
“Let’s sail all the way around Skeleton Island,” he proposed. “Okay?”
“Sure, if we have time,” Brad agreed, glancing at the darkening sky. “Those clouds are rolling up rather fast though. We might have rain in a couple of hours.”
“We’ll make it back before then,” Dan replied, stretching luxuriously. “The breeze is just right now.”
In a long tack, they crossed to the far shore of the river and came about, pointing toward Skeleton Island.
As Dan dropped an empty pop bottle overboard, he noticed a mahogany motorboat almost directly opposite the island.
The craft had pulled up along shore, its motor idle. The boy was unable to see the occupants or to obtain a clear view of the boat itself, for it lay half-hidden in a clump of bushes.
“That boat looks a little like Mr. Manheim’s,” he remarked, calling Brad’s attention to it. “Wonder what it’s doing over there? No one appears to be fishing.”
Holding the sailboat to its course, the two Cubs kept watch of the idle motorboat. Though they were too far away to be certain the craft was Mr. Manheim’s, they thought it bore a marked resemblance to the craft operated by Wilson Jabowski.
Presently, as the boys watched, they saw someone aboard the motorboat lower and raise a red flag three times in succession.
“What’s the idea of that?” Dan demanded, all attention. “They’re signaling!”
“To someone on Skeleton Island,” Brad added quietly.
Dan turned his gaze toward the island beach. A man stood there, apparently focusing his attention upon the motorboat. In answer to the signal, he raised and lowered his arm three times.
“What goes?” Brad muttered.
For awhile, the Cubs witnessed nothing more of interest. The man on the beach vanished from their range of vision, while the motorboat remained in the clump of bushes.
“Guess there’s nothing more to see,” Dan remarked in disappointment.
“Yes, there is!” Brad corrected, bringing the sailboat closer into the wind. “Listen!”
The two boys distinctly could hear the putt-putt-putt of a gasoline engine. For a minute they could not localize the sound. Then, from the far shoulder of the island, they saw a flat gasoline-propelled raft scooting across the river.
“That looks like Jabowski,” Dan observed. “And he’s heading straight toward the motorboat! Can we get closer, Brad?”
“Unless the breeze shifts it will take us two or three tacks to come even with the island.”
“And by that time, there may be nothing to see,” Dan grumbled. “I sure wish we had a pair of binoculars!”
Dividing their attention between pressing more speed out of their own craft, and watching the raft, the boys begrudged the time it took to make the long tack.
The raft, they noted, moved directly to the waiting motorboat. What transpired at the meeting place, they were unable to see.
So intent were the Cubs on watching the boat and raft, that they paid scant heed to the low cumulus clouds which had gathered close to the horizon.
Black underneath and hard-edged, they were moving up fast from the leeward!
The Cubs, however, were elated because a stiffening breeze rapidly bore them toward Skeleton Island. Now they could discern two men aboard the motorboat. Though they could not see the face of the man on the raft, they were convinced he was Jabowski.
“What do you figure they’re doing?” Dan speculated. “And who are those men that have Mr. Manheim’s speedboat?”
“Maybe it isn’t his,” Brad replied. “I’d say it’s the same length and make though.”
Apparently observing the approach of the sailboat, the raft began to pull away from the motor craft.
At that same moment, a dead calm fell upon the river. Startled, Brad raised his eye to the sail which had been drawing well. Now it had slumped into listless, discouraged folds.
“Just our luck!” Dan muttered in disgust. “The breeze plays out!”
“It’s worse than that,” Brad said, thoroughly alarmed. “We’re in the calm that precedes a bad thunderstorm!”
Both the sky and the water had taken on a dark cast. Although not a breath of air stirred, heavy waves pounded against the drifting boat.
“Gosh, we’re a long ways from shore too!” Dan said in dismay. “Skeleton Island is the closest point of land. Think we can make it before the storm breaks?”
“Not a chance,” Brad muttered. “She’s coming now!”
Across the water they could see a misty sheet of water descending.
“There will be wind in a minute! Plenty of it! Dan! Help me get the sail down before it strikes us.”
Working with all speed, the boys lowered the sail from the mast. Before they could furl it, the wind struck, throwing the boat far over on its side.
Dan’s Cub cap was lifted from his head, and carried far down river. For a moment it floated on the surface, and then slowly sank out of sight.
Dan scrambled to fasten down all other loose objects. Rain now was coming down in a torrent. Unable to see many feet ahead of them, the boys lost sight of the raft and the motorboat. For a time they could hear the chug-chug of the raft’s engine, and then all sound except the howl of the wind died away.
“This is awful!” Dan exclaimed as a vivid streak of lightning cut across the dark sky. “Let’s strike for Skeleton Island. We can find shelter there, at least.”
He reached for the paddle. Already the strong wind was propelling the boat in the general direction of the island.
At the tiller, Brad guided the craft more by instinct than sight. Wind and rain had blotted out all view of the shore.
Finally, the shadowy island loomed up. Worn out from hard paddling, Dan put on a last burst of energy which drove the boat onto the sandy beach.
Leaping out, he and Brad pulled the craft high up on the sand beyond reach of the waves. Then they raced for the shelter of a heavily wooded section some distance back from the beach.
“Jabowski lives in the caretaker’s quarters at the other end of the island,” Brad remarked, huddling against the trunk of a sheltering oak. “We might go there.”
“I’d rather wait here, Brad. This storm shouldn’t last long. Then we can hoist canvas and sail back to the clubhouse.”
Already the rain had slackened. The Cubs waited twenty minutes under the trees. By that time the downpour had dwindled to a drizzle. Then they made their way back through the dripping bushes to the beach.
“Hey! Where’s our boat?” Dan demanded, stopping short.
The stretch of beach where the craft had been left less than thirty minutes before, now was deserted.
“But the boat can’t be gone!” Brad exclaimed, refusing to believe his eyes. “We pulled it well up on the sand before we took shelter! The waves weren’t high enough to have washed it away!”
“Well, it’s gone all right. And there it is, Brad.”
Dan pointed two hundred yards from shore where the empty sailboat drifted aimlessly. Slowly the craft was being carried downstream by the current.
The Cubs stared at it in stunned dismay. Without the sailboat, they were stranded on Skeleton Island!
The Cubs stood a long while, silently viewing the drifting boat. No other craft now was visible on the river, and no one appeared aware of their plight.
“Maybe I could swim out there before the boat moves farther downstream,” Dan proposed, estimating the distance.
“Not on your life!” Brad promptly vetoed the suggestion. “You’re an expert swimmer and might make it, but we’re taking no chances. We’ve already messed things up enough.”
“Mr. Holloway warned us a storm might blow up,” Dan added, kicking disgustedly at the wet sand. “We’d have been more alert if we hadn’t been so interested in that raft and motorboat.”
“Mr. Holloway just had his boat repaired too. Now if it sinks or rams into something, we have no one to blame except ourselves.”
Dan’s gaze had focused upon a man’s large footprint visible in the sand.
“Say! Maybe we do have someone else to blame besides ourselves!” he cried. “Look at that!”
Brad stared at the footprint which plainly had been made since the Cubs had pulled their boat up on shore. Half-protected from the rain by a piece of driftwood, it remained the only mark on an otherwise smooth beachway.
“Someone’s been here since we were!” he exclaimed, stooping to examine the shoe print.
“And that someone must have set our boat free to drift, Brad!”
“Jabowski?”
“Could be, Brad. He took a dislike to me, I know.”
“Even so, it would be a contemptible trick. I hate to think he’d do it.”
“Who else is on the island?”
“No one so far as I know,” Brad replied, his eyes troubled. “Well, it’s a relief to know the boat didn’t drift off due to our own carelessness. Even so, we’re in a jam.”
Dan nodded, his face sober. The afternoon had grown dark and night would come on earlier than usual. When the sailboat failed to return to the clubhouse, he knew Mr. Holloway would be very worried.
“We’ll be picked up eventually,” he said, shivering in his wet clothing. “Meanwhile, we’re in for an uncomfortable time of it.”
“Let’s find Jabowski’s place,” Brad proposed. “He might be willing to pick up our boat with his raft, or at least take us ashore.”
“Think he’d do it? After the way he set our boat loose—”
“We may suspect he did it, but it could have been someone else, Dan. Anyway, isn’t it better than standing here?”
“Sure,” Dan agreed. “It’s our only chance.”
From the beach, the boys could see no buildings on the island. However, from previous sails in the locality, they knew that the old hotel building was situated in a heavily wooded section to the north.
Setting off diagonally through a thicket of saplings, they found a trail which led in the direction they wished to go. After wading through a patch of weeds and rushes which came to waist-depth, they emerged into an area of thin green turf.
Beyond they spied the old hotel, a sprawling building with grimy windows and broken shutters. Unpainted in recent years, it had a look of utter abandonment. The foundation had crumbled in many places and the roof sagged. Broken window panes in the upper story windows had not been replaced.
“Why, the place is deserted,” Dan said in disappointment.
“Then why is smoke coming from the chimney?” Brad demanded. Trained as a Scout to be observing, he had noticed the blue-white wisp curling from the rear of the building.
“You’re right. Someone must be there now. Let’s knock.”
They pushed on, circling the old building. Brad rapped on the rear door. There was no answer.
He pounded. Still no one came to the door. Glancing upward, however, Dan fancied he saw a face at a dirt-streaked window almost directly overhead. Before he could be sure, the shadow was gone.
“It’s no use,” Brad said, after rapping again on the door. “Someone must be living here, but the place seems to be deserted now.”
“Either that, or Jabowski’s hiding out. I thought I saw a face at the window.”
“Where, Dan?”
The younger boy indicated the window.
“No one there now,” Brad said. “But I think you may be right. Ever since we came here, I’ve had a feeling as if we’re being watched. There’s something about this place I don’t like.”
Convinced they were to obtain no help from the caretaker, the boys sought an easier route back to the beach.
Not far from the rear of the hotel, they noticed an abandoned pier which had fallen into decay. Tied to it was the same raft they had observed earlier that afternoon.
Farther down the shore extended a long stretch of loose sand which gradually merged into turf and wooded area.
“Wonder if that tale Mr. Hatfield told us about the tunnel is true?” Brad speculated as they dog-trotted along. “No evidence of it anywhere around.”
Without seeing anyone, the boys struck across the dunes, and finally emerged on the beach not far from where they first had taken refuge.
Gazing down-river, they sought to determine the position of their drifting boat. To their astonishment it was nowhere to be seen.
“Well, for crying out loud!” Dan yipped. “Now what became of it? How could that boat have drifted out of sight so fast?”
“It couldn’t. Either someone has hauled it in or—”
“Or what?” Dan demanded as his companion broke off.
Instead of answering, Brad pointed far upstream. The missing sailboat had been taken in tow by a motor launch from the Yacht Club.
“There goes our boat now, Dan! And with it our chance for a rescue.”
“Let’s yell. Maybe we can attract attention.”
In unison, the boys shouted and waved their arms. Running far down the beach, they watched the receding launch anxiously.
“They see us!” Brad cried in relief. “She’s turning around.”
True to his observation, the motor craft had come about. With the sailboat still in tow, it set a direct course for the island.
“Lucky break for us,” Brad mumbled in relief. “I had visions of spending the night on this place.”
Within a few minutes the launch came close to the island. Brad and Dan saw then that Mr. Hatfield was at the wheel, accompanied by Midge, Red and Chips. The owner of the launch, a man they did not know, also was in the boat.
The Cub leader eased the craft as near shore as he could. When the launch could approach no closer without grounding, he advised Brad and Dan to wade out. Eager hands pulled them over the side into the launch.
“We’ve been worried about you,” Mr. Hatfield said, wrapping his coat about Dan. “Didn’t Midge’s father warn you to remain close to the clubhouse?”
“He did, sir. We meant to carry out his orders. But a lot happened.”
“We’ll discuss that later, Dan. The important thing is that you’re both safe. By the way, meet Mr. Fisher.”
Dan and Brad grasped the launch owner’s horny hand, expressing gratitude for the rescue. From him they learned that their drifting boat had been sighted by Midge from the Cave. The Cub had summoned Mr. Hatfield, who had sought the help of Mr. Fisher in finding them.
“You and Brad scared us out of a year’s growth,” Chips said accusingly. “Seeing that empty boat made us think you might have drowned.”
“Me drown?” Dan snorted.
“You may be a crack swimmer, but accidents do occur,” Mr. Hatfield interposed. “Suppose you tell us what happened that caused you to sail so far from the clubhouse.”
Together Dan and Brad explained how their attention had been drawn to the raft and motorboat.
“The storm struck us unexpectedly,” Brad added. “We barely had time to get the sail down.”
“I’m glad you managed that,” Mr. Hatfield approved. “The wind didn’t last long but it was strong when it came. If it had hit you with the sail up, the dinghy probably would have capsized.”
“We made Skeleton Island,” Dan took up the account. “After beaching the boat, we dashed back into the bushes to get out of the rain. When we returned to the beach, our boat was gone.”
“Oh, Dan,” Mr. Hatfield sighed. “How many times have I warned the Cubs always to pull a boat beyond reach of the waves?”
“But we did, sir! Someone deliberately set the dinghy loose.”
Mr. Hatfield braced himself as the launch swung sharply around a buoy which marked a river shoal.
“Your boat was set loose?” he demanded. “Are you sure, Dan?”
“Well, we found a man’s footprint in the sand. That boat couldn’t have broken away by itself.”
“We have an idea who did it,” Brad added.
“Let’s mention no names,” Mr. Hatfield said quickly. “That is, not unless you’re certain.”
Being unable to prove that it was Jabowski who had shoved their boat from the beach, Dan and Brad remained silent.
“I know you believe you were careful about the boat,” Mr. Hatfield said. “Perhaps you were. On the other hand, you might have been mistaken.”
“Hardly,” commented Brad in quick protest.
“Bear in mind that Mr. Manheim, the island owner, has been very friendly to the Scouts and Cubs. He’s given permission for us to camp on Skeleton Island this weekend. Now if wild accusations should reach his ears, it might prove embarrassing to say the least.”
Brad and Dan grasped the idea Mr. Hatfield intended to convey.
“After all, maybe we were mistaken,” Brad grinned. “Those waves were pretty big.”
No more was said about the sailboat mishap at that time. But later at the Cave, the two boys told Mr. Hatfield why they had been so interested in the raft operator’s contact with the motorboat.
“It seemed queer the men in the motorboat would signal,” Dan remarked. “We figured it must have been Jabowski who ferried across the river to meet them. No one else appears to be living on the island.”
“We’ll know more about Skeleton Island after this weekend,” Mr. Hatfield remarked. “The camping trip should give us an opportunity to see that everything is satisfactory before the property is purchased.”
“Then you think something queer may be going on there?” Brad demanded alertly.
Mr. Hatfield smiled and did not answer the question directly. “Oh, one can’t tell,” he replied. “No use exciting the Cubs in any case. So not a word of this to the other boys!”
During the remainder of the week, preparations for the camping trip kept Dan and Brad so busy they had little time to think of possible mystery at Skeleton Island.
However, unknown to them, Mr. Hatfield was more disturbed by the sailboat incident than he cared to admit.
On two occasions he telephoned Mr. Manheim, intending to inquire as to any possible intruders on Skeleton Island.
He was informed that the island owner was out of the city and would not return before Saturday.
Though Brad and Dan were careful to say nothing of their unfortunate experience on Skeleton Island, the other Cubs guessed that there was more to the story than had been told.
“Come on—give,” Midge urged. “I know you boys are too smart to let a boat get away from you, even in a storm.”
“Nothing to report,” Dan replied with a wide grin.
His silence only made the Cubs more curious. They discussed the proposed camping trip at great length, building up elements of mystery and adventure. And to make their rivals, the Cubs of Den 1, envious, they passed out hints that something queer already had happened there.
In due time, these rumors reached the ears of Ross Langdon.
Still smarting from his defeat in the swimming meet, he told his buddies that he intended to have a little wholesome fun at Dan Carter’s expense.
“Just be sure it’s fun and not revenge,” a fellow Cub warned him. “Seems to me you’ve been a sore-head ever since you lost the race.”
“Who lost a race?” Ross retorted. “I wuz robbed!”
Unaware that Ross was plotting revenge, Dan continued to practice his swimming faithfully at the “Y” pool.
Between times, he slaved on the coded message left by Jacques. But try as he would, he could not decipher it.
“When it comes to solving a puzzle, I’m a dud,” Dan remarked one afternoon as he and Brad lounged in the cave. “And that reminds me—we’ve heard nothing more about Paper Bag Eddie or his friend Fagan.”
“You know, that fellow’s hook-up with a man of Eddie’s shady reputation makes me wonder if he could have had any part in the fur theft,” Brad said thoughtfully. “I’ve not seen a word in the paper lately about any hauls by river pirates.”
“Neither have I, Brad. That robbery was pulled just about the time of night Mr. Holloway’s boat was hit.”
“Sure, that’s what I’ve been thinking, Dan. Why not drop around and talk to Hank Hawkins? He may have heard of this bird Fagan.”
Having nothing more pressing to do, Dan agreed to the proposal.
The boys found the warehouseman at the dock chatting with his friend, Joe Matt. The seeing-eye dog, upon sighting Dan, began to strain at his leash. Only after the blindman had restrained the animal were the Cubs able to enter the warehouse.
For awhile the conversation centered on river commerce. Then presently, Dan and Brad steered it to the topic of river pirates.
“I wish the police would get busy and catch these pug-uglies that have been makin’ so much trouble along the waterfront,” Hank said irritably. “Trouble is, they’re slick operators.”
“Have you lost any shipments lately?” Joe Matt inquired.
“Not since the furs were snatched. All the same, I’m keeping my fingers crossed.”
“You don’t think the river pirates would strike twice in the same area?” the blindman scoffed. “Especially with police on the lookout.”
“I wouldn’t put anything past those boys!” Hank retorted as he studied a bill of lading. “I’m taking no chances! Not with another valuable shipment due any day.”
“Another box of furs?”
“That’s right.”
“Coming through around the 24th,” the blindman remarked casually.
“That happens to be the date,” Hank admitted, gazing at the other rather sharply. “But I don’t remember saying anything about it. Fact is—”
“You told me the other day.”
“Then it was a slip of the tongue,” Hank replied. “You’ll do me a favor not to speak of the date. It’s confidential information.”
“Sorry,” Joe Matt apologized. “I didn’t know there was any secret about it.”
“Every precaution is being taken to safeguard the shipment. Special police will guard the docks. I got nothing to worry about—and yet I do it anyhow.”
“You’re jittery,” the blindman said, starting away. “Well, see you later. Come on, Rudy!”
After he had tapped off down the dock, Brad and Dan lingered a few minutes longer. Hank, however, seemed preoccupied. Dan asked him if he knew any sailor by the name of Frisk Fagan.
“No, I don’t,” he answered a trifle irritably. “Now I wish you boys wouldn’t pester me. I got work to do.”
Thus dismissed, Brad and Dan took themselves off.
“Hank was out of sorts because we overhead Joe Matt mention that 24th shipping date,” Dan remarked as they tramped along together. “Say, that’s funny!”
“What is, Dan?”
“Those two dates being the same!”
“What two dates?”
“Don’t you recall?” Dan demanded excitedly. “That coded message Jacques had in his pocket mentioned the 24th!”
“The note included the numerals 24,” Brad admitted. “But what does that prove?”
“Nothing perhaps. Then again, it may mean plenty!” Dan spoke with quiet conviction. “I know one thing. I’m really going to work on that message. I’ll break the code if it’s humanly possible!”
On the night prior to the departure of Den 2 for Skeleton Island, all the Cubs gathered at the Cave to receive final instructions.
Mr. Hatfield informed the boys they were to meet at the Webster City Yacht Club promptly at eight o’clock the next morning. Transportation would be provided to the island in a launch contributed by a friend of Midge’s father.
“Now don’t oversleep,” he warned as the meeting broke up. “And don’t arrive at the dock before the crack of dawn either! Try to make it about a quarter to eight so we can leave on the hour.”
After nearly all of the Cubs had gone, Mr. Hatfield and Brad busied themselves straightening the clubroom. Dan brought the record of the meeting up to date. Then, pulling a chair up beside the gasoline lamp, he reverted to his favorite occupation—that of trying to solve the coded message left by Jacques.
“Having any luck?” Mr. Hatfield presently inquired.
“Not yet.” Dan dropped his pencil in a gesture of utter discouragement. “I guess I’m a sap to waste time trying to figure it out. Maybe it isn’t even a code.”
Mr. Hatfield paused at the table to study the scratch pad on which the boy had been writing.
“Don’t give up, Dan,” he advised, resting his hand for a moment on his shoulder. “Worthwhile things usually come hard. Keep plugging.”
“I’ve tried every possible combination of letters. No soap.”
Mr. Hatfield studied the odd grouping of numerals: “020614 7552845 24.”
“Number 5 reappears three times,” he observed. “If only you could figure that one out, it might give you a start.”
“I’ve tried at least twenty combinations with no luck.”
“Well, don’t give up hope, Dan. Bring the message along with you to camp. Perhaps some of the Den Dads can figure it out while we’re there.”
“Guess I’ll have to,” Dan sighed. “I’d rather do it myself though. I have one more idea I want to try.”
Mr. Hatfield, who was ready to leave for home, remarked that the hour was growing rather late.
“Shouldn’t you break it off for tonight, Dan?” he suggested. “Remember, we leave early for Skeleton Island.”
“I’ll be there, Mr. Hatfield. I just want to try one more idea. Don’t wait for me. You and Brad go on.”
The Cub leader was reluctant to leave the boy alone in the Cave. Twice during the week, Red and Chips had reported that they thought someone might be spying on the clubroom.
Although inclined to believe the boys were fanciful, Mr. Hatfield nevertheless disliked to leave Dan by himself.
“Sure you’ll be all right?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“Brad and I will be glad to wait if you’re set on working longer on that code.”
“No need, Mr. Hatfield. I’ll put out the light and see that everything is ship-shape when I leave.”
“Well, don’t stay too long, Dan.”
In departing, Mr. Hatfield and Brad lowered a canvas covering which served as a door across the cave entrance. Of no practical value in protecting the clubroom from intruders, it kept out wind and rain.
Left to himself, Dan devoted himself once more to the task at hand.