The Notebook
When the 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
supplies _are_ around 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’m _sure_ I’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!”