CHAPTER XStolen Supplies
A completerecital of the boys’ doings on Cabin Island during their first two days would be of small interest to any but themselves. Suffice it to say that they enjoyed themselves just as any other group of boys of the same age would in similar circumstances.
Cabin Island was located in a lonely cove, and, as it was some distance away from Bayport, few ice-boats ever ventured so far down the bay. However, this isolation did not mar the holiday. On the contrary, as Joe expressed it, they could easily imagine that they were having their outing in the remote Canadian wilderness, instead of but a few miles from their own homes.
The storm that had welcomed them to the island, died down during the night and when they awakened the next morning they found that there had been a heavy snowfall, with deep drifts. To get down to the ice-boats they had to break trail in real Northern fashion.
“This will spoil the ice-boating,” predicted Joe. But, to their delight, they found that the high wind had swept clear great expanses of the bay, and although there were certain areas where the snow was piled high, by dexterous steering they could skirt these patches and keep to the open ice.
The first morning, they spent clearing a path from the cabin to the ice-boats in the little cove. In the afternoon, they went out in the boats for a while, then returned to the cabin for a piping hot supper. That evening, they sat about the fire, telling stories and chaffing one another. They found that the keen winter air and the wholesome outdoor exercise rendered them sleepy long before their accustomed bedtime and they were glad to turn in shortly after nine o’clock.
“At home I’d raise a rare kick if any one tried to get me to go to bed at this hour,” said Biff. “Now I’m mighty glad to hit the hay. Boy, I’m tired!”
The next morning they explored the lower reaches of Barmet Bay, going as far as a little village that nestled in a cove on the southern shore, about three miles to the east of the island. After lunch, they decided to make an exploration of the country along the shore. Leaving the island, they went inshore by ice-boat, then donned snowshoes and went up on to the mainland.
This country was heavily wooded in spots, and they spent an enjoyable afternoon snow-shoeing far up on the hills, from where they could look down and view the entire expanse of the bay, with Cabin Island looking very small in the distance. To the west, however, they saw that clouds were gathering, and although there was no wind, Frank remarked that he was sure a storm was rising.
“I guess we’d better get back before we get caught in any blizzard,” he decided.
Joe had been peering at Cabin Island, an intent expression on his face.
“Do any of you chaps see any one on the island?” he said.
All looked. The island seemed deserted.
“You must be dreaming,” scoffed Chet. “There’s no one there.”
“I can’t see any one now, but I’m sure I saw some one moving against the snow down by the northern end of the island.”
“Perhaps it was some animal,” Biff suggested.
“It looked like a man. Of course, he was so far away that I can’t be sure. I just caught a glimpse of him.”
“Well, we will find out when we get back.”
By the time they reached the boats again, Frank’s prediction of a storm seemed to be in a fair way of being verified. The whole western sky was black and a light breeze sent the snow skimming across the surface of the ice.
“We’ll just about make it. Thank goodness, the wind is in our favor,” said Frank, as he clambered into his boat.
They started off and made a quick run across the intervening stretch of ice. It was already growing dark when they reached the island. The boys could see the snowstorm approaching down the bay, sweeping toward them like a gigantic gray veil. It was beginning to snow and the air was filled with swirling white flakes.
“Just in time!” shouted Chet.
They put their boats in shelter for the night, then scrambled up the path toward the cabin. Frank unlocked the door and they dashed inside.
“We’ll get a fire started and have a feed.”
“Feed!” declared Chet. “We’ll have a banquet. I’m as hungry as a bear. I could eat my own boots, without salt and pepper.”
“You won’t have to. There’s plenty of grub.”
Frank began making up the fire. Chet went out into the kitchen to look over the food supplies with a hungry eye.
A moment later he emerged, his eyes almost popping out of his head.
“It’s gone!” he gasped.
“What’s gone?” demanded Joe.
“The grub!”
“What?”
“Every speck!” Chet was almost tearful. “There isn’t a bit of food in the kitchen.”
“There was plenty there this morning,” said Biff. “What happened to it?”
“Stolen. Come and see for yourselves.”
They all trooped into the kitchen.
Chet had spoken only too truly. All their food supplies had disappeared. The shelves had been swept clear. The lads gazed at the empty kitchen in consternation.
“Well, what do you know about that?” breathed Joe.
“Old Mother Hubbard had nothing on us,” muttered Biff.
Frank’s face was serious.
“I guess you were right, Joe, when you said you saw some one on the island. Some thief has been here while we were away. That’s a mighty mean trick. He hasn’t left us even a loaf of bread.”
“And a fine chance we have of getting any to-night, either,” Biff pointed out. “We can’t get back to town in this storm.”
The boys were disconsolate. The prospect was cheerless. After an entire afternoon in the open their appetites had been whetted to razor edge.
“Take off your boots, Chet,” said Joe, with a feeble attempt at a joke. “You can have your chance at eating them now.”
This effort fell flat. The boys were in no mood for jesting now. The loss of their food supplies was a serious matter.
“I wonder who could have done it,” said Chet.
Frank shrugged.
“Looks like some of Hanleigh’s work.”
“But why would he try to steal our supplies? What good would that do him? Perhaps it was only some sneak thief who chanced in here and saw a chance to make a good haul.”
“Perhaps. But I imagine it was Hanleigh. He knew we were here.”
“Wants to get us off the island,” remarked Joe. “Perhaps he figured that if he stole our food, we’d have to clear out.”
“We’ll show him.”
“But in the meantime,” moaned Chet, “I’m hungry.”
“Looks as if you’ll have to go without eating until morning. We can go down to that little village and buy some more food then.”
Chet patted his empty stomach.
“But I can’t wait until then.”
“You still have your boots,” Joe reminded him again.
Then a thoughtful look crossed Chet’s face.
“Just a minute!” he shouted, and ran out of the room.
“What’s he up to now?” demanded Biff.
They soon found out. Chet returned with one of the packsacks from under his bed.
“I just remembered. When we were unpacking the grub I forgot to take everything out of this packsack. Look!” He delved into it and produced half a loaf of bread, three tins of sardines, a can of salmon and a small quantity of tea in a canister.
The others raised a cheer of delight.
“Hurray!” shouted Biff. “We won’t starve after all.”
“Youforgotto unpack it, did you?” said Frank pointedly. “I’ll bet you didn’t forget. You just cached that grub away in case you might get hungry some time during the night.”
“Now what good would a can of sardines do me in the middle of the night?” asked Chet.
“I know you. Never knew of you taking any chances on running out of food yet,” Frank told him. “Well, this time it worked out all right. We’ll help you get rid of your little supper, Chet.”
“There isn’t very much.”
“Enough to keep us from starving, at any rate.”
Soon, with a blazing fire casting a glow through the cabin, with the lamps lighted and with the table spread, the lads felt more cheerful. The meal was not at all what they had anticipated as a conclusion to their day, but their appetites were too keen to admit of any fault-finding.
“I suppose this means we go without breakfast,” groaned Chet, as soon as he had finished the last sardine.
“That’s right! Start worrying about breakfast the moment you’ve finished your supper,” said Biff. “I never saw such a hungry wolf in all my life.”
“I’m not hungry now, but I’ll be hungry in the morning.”
“Then wait until morning before you start talking about it.” Frank got up and went over to the window. “Another wild night. If it weren’t for this storm we could have made the run to the village and back to-night, with more food.”
“I hope the storm dies down by morning,” muttered Chet gloomily.
“If it doesn’t, you’ll probably die of starvation.”
“Just wait until I lay my hands on the fellow who played this dirty trick on us, that’s all. Just wait!”
“It was Hanleigh, I’m sure of that,” Frank said. “I’d give a lot to know why he’s so anxious to get us away from this island!”
“He won’t freeze us out now. We’ll stay here to the last minute,” said Joe firmly. “And after this, believe me, we’ll keep an eye on the supplies.”
“You bet we will!” declared Chet. “From now on, I appoint myself guard of the food supply—providing we get some more food for me to guard.”
The lads finally went to bed, although Chet had to be silenced on a number of occasions when he persisted in inquiring as to the probability of reaching the village and returning next morning before their usual breakfast time. Before slumber claimed them all, however, Frank expressed the common thought when he observed:
“Just wait until we meet Mr. Hanleigh again!”
CHAPTER XIPostage Stamps
Nextmorning, the snowstorm having abated, the boys went outside in a futile search for footprints. The snow had obliterated any tracks the thief might have made in the immediate vicinity of the cabin, but down by the boathouse, on the side sheltered from the wind, they found several footprints. Frank took measurements of them.
“Might come in useful some day,” he commented. “I should say they were made by a fairly big man.”
“How about food?” asked Chet, who had gone without breakfast.
“Right away. Joe and I will take our ice-boat and go down to the village. You and Biff had better stay here.”
“Can’t I go with you? Perhaps I could get something to eat at the village, and I wouldn’t have to wait so long.”
“You’ll eat with the rest of us,” laughed Frank.
“Why do you want Biff and me to stay?”
“I’m thinking the thief may not have taken those supplies away with him. If Hanleigh did it, his purpose would be served by merely hiding the food. You and Biff can spend your time hunting around the island. You may find where the grub has been hidden.”
Chet’s face lighted up at this probability.
“Come on, Biff!”
The Hardy boys got into their ice-boat and started off, leaving their two chums hopefully searching for the lost supplies.
The wind was favorable, and the Hardy boys reached the little village down on the mainland in a short time. It was a summer resort, and at this season of the year most of the houses were closed and boarded up, but a few permanent residents stayed on the year round, among them being the general storekeeper. His name, as it appeared from a weatherbeaten sign hanging above the store, was Amos Grice.
The boys left their boat by a little wharf which was almost covered with snow and made their way toward the store.
An elderly man with chin whiskers peered at them through his glasses as they entered. He was sitting behind the stove, reading a newspaper and munching at an apple, and he was evidently surprised to see any customers so early in the morning, particularly strangers.
“How do, boys! Where you from?” he asked.
“We’re camping on an island farther up the bay,” Frank explained. “We came here in our ice-boat.”
“Camping, hey? Well, it ain’t many that camps in the winter time. As fer me, I think I’d rather set behind the stove when the colder weather comes on. It’s more comfortable. What can I do for you?”
“Some one raided our cabin last night and stole all our food. We want to get some more supplies.”
“Stole all your food!” exclaimed Amos Grice, clucking sympathetically. “Well, now, that’s too bad. Fust time I ever heard of any thievin’ in these parts. Was it a tramp, do you think?”
“We don’t know who it was, but we have an idea. I don’t think it was a tramp. Just somebody trying to do us a bad turn.”
“A mean thing to do,” commented Mr. Grice, wagging his head. “Well, I guess I can fix you up all right. What do you want to buy?”
The boys spent some time giving the storekeeper an order, and when the goods had been wrapped up, Amos Grice invited them to sit down beside the cracker barrel and “chat for a while.”
“It ain’t often I see strangers in the winter time,” he explained.
Frank and Joe told him that they could not stay very long, because their chums were back at the island, awaiting their return with the supplies.
“Back at the island, hey? What island?” insisted Amos Grice.
“Cabin Island, it’s called.”
“Cabin Island, hey? Why, ain’t that Elroy Jefferson’s place? Little island with a big log cabin on it?”
“That’s the place.”
“Why, I know Elroy Jefferson very well. When he was living on the island in the summer months he used to come down here for his supplies.” Mr. Grice cackled with delight at having found a common topic of conversation. “Yes, I know Elroy Jefferson real well. He’s a fine fellow, too, but very queer.”
“He’s a bit eccentric,” agreed Frank.
“Yes, he’s a queer old chap, but a better man never wore shoe leather. How was he when you was last talkin’ to him?”
The boys decided to humor the lonely old storekeeper. Frank reflected that possibly they might learn something about Hanleigh.
“He was quite well. He let us have the cabin for our outing.”
“Yes, that’s just like Mr. Jefferson. Got a heart of gold, specially where boys is concerned. But queer—mighty queer in some ways,” said Amos Grice, again wagging his head. “Do you know”—and he leaned forward very confidentially—“I really think he married Mary Bender because of her postage stamp collection.”
This amazing announcement left the Hardy boys rather at a loss for words.
“He married his wife because of her postage stamp collection!” exclaimed Joe.
“That’s what I said. You’ve heard of the Bender stamp collection, haven’t you?” he demanded.
The boys shook their heads.
“Well, I ain’t a stamp collector andI’veheard of it. The Bender collection is supposed to be one of the greatest collections of postage stamps in the world. Why, I’ve heard tell that it’s worth thousands and thousands of dollars.”
“And Mrs. Jefferson owned it?”
“Yep. Her name was Mary Bender then, and she inherited it from her father. I got parts of the story from people who knew Mr. Jefferson well. It seems he has always been a collector of antiques and old coins and stamps and things, but one thing he had set his heart on was the Bender stamp collection. But he couldn’t buy it. Either Mr. Bender wouldn’t sell or Elroy Jefferson couldn’t raise the money—but somehow he could never buy them stamps he had set his heart on.”
“So he married Mary Bender?”
“Well, now—maybe he didn’t marry herentirelyon account of the stamps. You see, he used to call at the Bender house quite often, trying to get Mr. Bender to sell the stamps, so in that way he met Mary Bender. I’ve no doubt he fell in love with her, but, anyway, they got married, and after Mr. Bender died his daughter got the stamps. So, of course, then Mr. Jefferson got ’em. His wife turned ’em over to him as soon as she inherited them.”
“And then what?” asked Joe, interested.
“Then,” said Amos Grice, with great effect, “the stamps disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
“They went.”
“Stolen?”
“Nobody knows. They just went.”
“Haven’t they been found?”
“Never been found from that day to this. Not hide nor hair of them stamps has been seen since.”
“Didn’t they have any clues?” asked Frank. “Were the stamps simply lost?”
“They disappeared,” insisted Amos Grice. “And not only the stamps disappeared. There was one of the Jefferson servants dropped out of sight at the same time.”
“He probably stole the stamps and cleared out,” Frank suggested.
“If he stole ’em, why didn’t he sell ’em? The stamps have never been heard of since they left the Jefferson home. This servant—his name was John Sparewell—could have raised a lot of money by sellin’ the stamps, but the stamps would have turned up sooner or later, because only other stamp collectors would have bought ’em. But of all the rare stamps in that collection, not one has ever been found.”
“That’s a strange yarn,” said Frank.
“You bet it’s a strange yarn. The stamps were all kept on sheets, in a rosewood box. The day John Sparewell walked out of the Jefferson home, the rosewood box disappeared from the safe it was always kept in.”
“Has no one ever heard of Sparewell? Didn’t Mr. Jefferson get the police to look for him?”
“Certainly. But the police never found him. They sent descriptions of this man Sparewell all over the world, but he never turned up. Queerest story I ever did hear. Mary Bender died just a short time after. And ever since the stamps were lost, Elroy Jefferson ain’t been the same.”
Amos Grice wagged his head sadly.
“How many years ago did this happen?” Frank asked.
“Oh, it must be nigh on fifteen or twenty years ago. Guess that explains why you lads never heard of the Bender stamp case, because there was a lot about it in the newspapers at the time. It was a mighty famous case, I can tell you. It seemed to break Elroy Jefferson all up, because that collection was the pride of his heart, and when it disappeared so strangely, he just didn’t seem to take any more interest in anything. WhatI’vealways said was that if the police could only find this man John Sparewell, they’d find what happened to the stamps.”
“That seems reasonable.”
“Yep. That’s the way I figgered it out. The only trouble was, they never were able to find Sparewell.”
“I wonder why he stole the stamps if he never sold them,” said Joe.
“I guess he was up against it when he tried to sell ’em. He knew that nobody but stamp collectors would buy the collection, and any stamp collector would recognize the Bender collection right away and tell the police. So perhaps he’s never been able to sell them and is waitin’ until Elroy Jefferson dies before he tries to make any money out of it.”
Frank and Joe got up.
“Perhaps that’s what happened,” Frank agreed. “Well, Mr. Grice, we’ve been very much interested in the story, but we must be getting back to the cabin or our chums will think something has happened to us.”
The boys paid for their supplies and then left the store, after saying good-bye to the garrulous old man.
“Come again!” he called after them. “Drop in and have a chat any time you want.”
The Hardy boys went down to their ice-boat, packed away the supplies of food they had purchased, and headed back toward the island.
“So that’s the mystery in Elroy Jefferson’s life,” mused Joe.
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could find the Bender stamp collection for him?” returned Frank.
CHAPTER XIIThe Notebook
Whenthe Hardy boys returned to Cabin Island they found Chet and Biff awaiting them hungrily.
“We thought you would never come!” moaned Chet. “Quick—where’s the grub? We have a fire all ready. Now for some breakfast!”
“You didn’t find the stolen supplies, then,” said Frank, bringing in a side of bacon they had bought from Amos Grice.
“No sign of the food at all,” admitted Biff ruefully. “No, I think the chap who stole that food took it away with him.”
“And ate it,” growled Chet, as he poured some ground coffee into the pot.
“We hunted every place we could think of—down in the boathouse, under the trees, all around the cabin—but we didn’t find the grub.”
“All I can say is that he must have been a mighty strong man to pack all that stuff away with him in one trip,” remarked Joe.
“That’s right, too,” agreed Biff. “I never thought of that. Perhaps the suppliesarearound this island yet. We’ll take another look this afternoon.”
For the present, however, their immediate interest was the long-delayed breakfast which Chet was enthusiastically preparing. He soon had bacon and eggs, bread, coffee and jam on the table, and the lads attacked the meal with gusto. Eventually their hearty appetites were appeased.
“What now?” asked Joe.
“I think we ought to spend the rest of the day exploring the island,” Frank suggested. “We haven’t really looked the place over yet and we might just chance to run across those supplies.”
The others agreed that his plan was good, so they donned their coats and caps and set about a systematic search of the island.
Frank, in charge of the hunt, outlined a plan of procedure.
“We’ll figure it this way,” he said. “Suppose we were coming to this cabin to steal those supplies, with the idea of hiding them. Where could we go? There are only certain directions we could go without ending up at a cliff or without finding ourselves in the deep snow at the top of the island. We’ll try to put ourselves in the thief’s place.”
“If it were I,” said Joe, “I’d make right for that clump of trees over to the left. Those supplies were heavy. The thief wouldn’t want to carry them very far, yet he would want a good hiding place.”
“That’s right,” agreed the others.
“Well, let’s tackle the trees, then.”
The boys made their way across the snow-covered rocks until they reached the clump of bushes Joe had pointed out, and there they searched carefully, kicking away the snow at the base of the trees, in the hope of uncovering the missing supplies.
But their efforts met with no success. They hunted through the entire grove and the only result of their search was that Chet stubbed his toe when he dealt a vicious kick at a rock hidden beneath the snow.
“We’re out of luck here,” said Frank finally. “Has any one else any good suggestions?”
“Well,” said Biff, “if I stole those supplies I’d hide them down by the shore some place, among the rocks.”
“We’ll give it a try. What’s the nearest way to the shore from the cabin?”
“Down that little path at the back.”
“Away we go, then!”
They left the clump of trees and ploughed through the snow toward the defile that led down from the rear of the cabin to the rocks along the ice-bound shore. The rocks were covered with snow, but their round masses rose irregularly against the background of the ice.
“We have a job ahead of us if we start moving all these rocks,” objected Chet, with misgivings.
“We’re not going to move ’em,” said Frank, “That would take us about five years of steady work. We’re just going to kick the snow loose.”
They attacked the heaps of rocks, prowling about, kicking gingerly at the snow, dislodging it from the hollows. For some time their efforts met with no success. But at last Biff, who had edged a considerable distance away from his companions, gave a sharp cry.
“I believe there’s something here, fellows!”
The others went running over to him.
“What have you found?”
Biff held up an object he had picked up from the snow.
“My foot bumped against this,” he explained. “It looks like a can of coffee from our supplies.”
“It’s the same brand!” declared Chet excitedly.
“We’ll hunt carefully all around here,” Frank decided. “Perhaps the thief just happened to drop that can of coffee as he was going toward the ice, but perhaps he didn’t. It’s worth making a good search.”
With this clue to guide them, the boys plunged into the search with feverish activity. The snow flew in clouds as they rolled away the rocks. After a while, Frank and Joe, dislodging a particularly large boulder, gave a yell of triumph.
“We’ve found it!”
The large rock had been placed carefully on top of two others, protecting a big hollow underneath. And in this hollow the boys found the two boxes containing all of the missing supplies. They had been well sheltered from the snow, and were dry and unharmed.
Chet gave a howl of relief.
“Hidden treasure!” he gloated. “So that’s where the supplies went! Come on, fellows! Back to the cabin with them!”
As the lads loaded themselves with boxes, cans, and packages, Frank nodded his head with satisfaction.
“I didn’t think they had really been stolen. I guess this pretty well proves that some one hid them here just to get rid of us.”
“A mighty mean trick!” snorted Biff.
“If that can of coffee hadn’t rolled out, we’d never have found the supplies,” observed Joe. “I’d have thought twice before I’d have tackled that big rock.”
“Well, we’ve found the grub, and that’s all that matters,” came from Chet.
Joe was emptying one of the boxes when he came across an object that he knew had not been among the supplies originally.
“I wonder what this is,” he remarked, picking it up.
The object was a small notebook. He glanced through its pages and found that most of them were blank, although there was a certain amount of writing on the opening sheets.
“What’s this you’ve found?” asked his brother, coming over.
Joe handed him the notebook.
“I’m sure none of us had a notebook like this.”
“It isn’t mine,” said Biff.
“Nor mine,” added Chet.
Frank’s expression brightened.
“Say, I wonder if it belongs to the chap who stole our supplies. Perhaps it dropped out of his pocket into the box as he was bending over.”
“Perhaps the fellow’s name is in it,” suggested Biff. “Look through it and see.”
Frank skimmed the pages.
“Here’s where we get the goods on Hanleigh, I’ll bet. If this is his notebook, we have positive proof that he stole our supplies.”
On the fly leaf of the notebook he came across an inscription. It was a man’s name.
But the name was not that of their enemy, Hanleigh.
Written across the page, in a bold, flowing script, they saw the name, “J. Sparewell.”
“Well, can you beat that!” exclaimed Chet. “It wasn’t Hanleigh, after all.”
“Sparewell,” mused Frank. “Where have I heard that name before?”
“Nobody around Bayport by the name, that I know of,” remarked Biff.
“Nor I,” added Chet.
They looked at one another, puzzled. Then Joe made a suggestion.
“Perhaps Sparewell and Hanleigh are the same man.”
“Perhaps you’ve hit it,” said Frank. “Sparewell—I’msureI’ve heard that name before. Oh, now I know! Don’t you remember, Joe? Remember what Amos Grice was telling us this very morning? Remember the story he told us about the missing postage stamp collection? Sparewell was the man who disappeared from Elroy Jefferson’s home the day the collection was stolen.”
“John Sparewell! That was the name. I remember now!” Joe exclaimed. “The very same!”
“What are you fellows talking about?” demanded Chet. “I don’t get this at all.”
Biff was equally in the dark.
“Who is Amos Grice? What did he tell you? What’s all this about postage stamps?”
“The Bender collection! John Sparewell’s disappearance!” exclaimed Joe excitedly.
“Hey! Talk sense!” admonished Biff.
“Come on back up to the cabin,” said Frank. “We’ll tell you all about it. This is sure strange!”
CHAPTER XIIIThe Cipher
Backat the cabin, with the precious supplies again safely stored away in the kitchen, the Hardy boys and their chums settled down before the fire while Frank and Joe told Chet and Biff about the conversation with Amos Grice. They told the tale of Elroy Jefferson’s missing postage stamp collection and about the strange disappearance of the servant, John Sparewell, who had never been heard of since.
“And now we find his notebook among our supplies!” exclaimed Chet. “That’s the strangest thing I ever heard of.”
“There’s an explanation somewhere,” said Frank, puzzled.
“How about my idea?” remarked Joe. “Perhaps Hanleigh and Sparewell are the same man.”
But Frank shook his head.
“You forget,” he said, “that Sparewell was a servant in Elroy Jefferson’s home for many years. If Jefferson saw him again he would certainly recognize him, don’t you think?”
“That’s right. And he has seen Hanleigh. The man was at his house the day we visited Mr. Jefferson.”
“Then how did Hanleigh get the notebook?” asked Biff.
“We’re not sure that Hanleigh was the man who stole our supplies,” replied Joe. “We think so, but we’re not sure.”
“It couldn’t be any one else,” scoffed Chet.
“I don’t know,” observed Frank. “For all we’re aware, there may be more than Hanleigh interested in this island. Perhaps we have a bigger fight on our hands than we imagine.”
“It’s certainly a mighty deep mystery,” Joe said.
“Well, we may find out more about it if we examine the notebook.”
Frank began going over the pages.
First of all, were several sheets of accounts, evidently notes of receipts and expenditures. On one page was listed: “Suit, $35. Necktie, $1. Shirts, $6. Postage, 40 cents.” A long list of items indicating that the owner of the notebook was a careful and methodical man who kept track of every cent he spent. At the top of the page was written: “October, 1917.”
“Why, that’s eleven years ago!” Frank exclaimed.
“And Sparewell disappeared fifteen years ago.”
“It shows that he was alive for at least four years after he left the Jefferson place, at any rate.”
On the opposite page was a record of receipts, showing money Sparewell had received from various people. These sums were small, showing that Sparewell had not been enjoying a luxurious existence by any means.
On the page following the boys came across a puzzling item.
“Appointment with Jordan on Saturday. My condition is worse. Doubt if I will be able to last out the year. Would appeal to J. but am afraid.”
“Wonder what he meant by that,” said Chet.
“Perhaps it means he was going to die,” Joe suggested.
The boys puzzled over the item for some time, then went on to the next page. It had a number of items concerning the stock market, of little interest. Other pages were filled with equally ambiguous and uninteresting notes. Then another page was filled with a crude drawing in the shape of an irregular oval, with a cross marked at one side.
“Looks like a warped egg,” commented Chet.
“Looks to me like a map of some kind,” Frank said. “Well, perhaps we’ll learn some more about it.” He turned the page.
There he found a number of other entries with dates.
“Nov. 3—hire of boat—$3.”
“Nov. 4—hire of boat—$3.”
“Nov. 6—boat—$5.”
“Finished, Nov. 6.”
The boys looked at one another, unable to understand.
“He was certainly doing a lot of boating that week,” said Frank. Then on the next page he found two words.
“Cabin Island.”
“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. ‘Cabin Island.’ Sparewell had something to do with this place.”
“Perhaps that’s why he was making so many boat trips,” Joe suggested. “He may have been coming here.”
On a sudden inspiration, Frank flipped back the pages until he found the mysterious map.
“This much is clear, at any rate. Take a look at that map, fellows. What does it remind you of?”
“Cabin Island!” they shouted.
They had not noticed the resemblance before. Now, it was perfectly clear. Cabin Island was oval-shaped, and in general contour it resembled the crude drawing in the notebook.
“Well, we know now that this man Sparewell was alive for at least four years after his disappearance from the Jefferson place, and that he was interested in Cabin Island for some reason, and that he probably made several trips here by boat.”
“Next page!” said Chet, eagerly.
But the next page puzzled them more than ever. There were several lines written, but, so far as the boys could see, they were simply gibberish.
This was what Sparewell had written:
XZYRM. RHOZMW. XSRNMVB. OVUG.UILMG. MRMV. UVVG. SRTS.
XZYRM. RHOZMW. XSRNMVB. OVUG.
UILMG. MRMV. UVVG. SRTS.
And that was all.
“A cipher message!” Joe exclaimed.
Chet sniffed.
“A lot of good that does us. We can’t make any sense out of that!”
“I’d give my shirt to know what that message means,” remarked Biff. “I’ll bet it is something mighty important.”
“He wouldn’t have put it in cipher if it wasn’t important,” Frank agreed. “Well, this is certainly pretty deep. I wonder if Sparewell really was the man who came here and hid our supplies. The more I think of it, the more it seems to me that he did come here. There’s absolutely nothing in this book to connect it with Hanleigh. His name isn’t mentioned from beginning to end.” Frank had flipped over the rest of the pages and found that they were blank.
“Why should Sparewell pop up here at this time?” pondered Joe. “Do you think he and Hanleigh may be working together?”
“Perhaps. And still, if Sparewell is still alive, I can’t see why this notebook ends where it does. Eleven years have passed since he made these entries.”
“He may have kept other notebooks,” Joe suggested. “Perhaps he merely kept this one because of the cipher. There was some secret he didn’t want others to know, and he kept that notebook in his possession at all times, for fear some one might find it and solve the cipher.”
“That sounds reasonable. But I’m afraid we can’t do much more unless we can learn the secret of that message.”
“It’s a tough one,” Chet commented.
“Ciphers have been solved before this. Have you ever read Edgar Allan Poe’s story called ‘The Gold Bug?’ In that yarn, he had a cipher to solve and he went on the idea that the letter ‘e’ was the letter most frequently used in the English language,” said Frank. “Suppose we apply it to this case. Looking it over, the letter most often used in the cipher is the letter ‘m.’ If we take ‘m’ to mean ‘e’——”
“You’ve got it!” shouted Chet. “I’ll bet we’ll solve this riddle yet.”
Frank marked down the letter “e” above each place in the cipher where the letter “m” occurred. But he was no farther ahead than he was before. Presuming that “m” should really be “e” he found that it occurred once in the first word—for he took it for granted that each dot in the message represented a division between two words—once in the second word, once in the third, once in the fifth and twice in the sixth. This simply rendered the cipher more confusing than ever, for there was no clue as to what the other letters might be.
“If there was a three-letter word in the message,” he said, “we might get somewhere. That’s how the fellow in the story worked it. He found a lot of three-letter words, each of the same combination of letters, so he gathered that they would mean ‘the’ because the letter he thought meant ‘e’ was at the end of each. That gave him two more letters, ‘t’ and ‘h,’ to work on, and from there he found the cipher easy.”
“Mr. Sparewell was too smart for us,” said Joe. “He didn’t use ‘the’ in this message at all, from the looks of things.”
“I guess that scheme isn’t so good. Well, we have the notebook, and whoever lost it is sure to miss it and come back for it. I think it wouldn’t be a bad idea if we kept an eye on that place where the stores were hidden.”
“Catch him in the act!” said Biff.
“If the man is Sparewell, I guess Mr. Jefferson will be mighty glad to know where he is. The police have been searching for the man for fifteen years now. If it isn’t Sparewell, he’ll have a lot of explaining to do concerning this little book and how it came into his hands.”
“From now on, then, we keep a weather eye on those rocks,” Chet declared. “We ought to stand guard.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” said Frank. “It would only frighten him away. The best plan is to watch the place from here. We can easily see any one approaching the island and we can watch to see where he goes. If he heads for those rocks, we’ll know we have our man.”
“That means that some one has to stay on the island all the time.”
“I think it would be best. We can take turns at that, so it shouldn’t spoil our outing. Somehow, I don’t think we’ll have very long to wait. The moment that man finds his notebook is gone, he’ll hurry back for it.”
The other boys agreed that Frank’s plan was about the best that could be devised toward laying the mysterious thief by the heels. They were tingling with excitement because their outing on Cabin Island had plunged them into the depths of a first-rate mystery.
That afternoon they remained on the island. The next day was Christmas and they were preparing to celebrate it accordingly.
But the intruder did not return that day.