The Letter
“Just like a clam, that fellow Hanleigh!” exclaimed Biff Hooper.
“He sure doesn’t want to talk,” Frank Hardy agreed. “I thought we could
scare him, but I guess there’s nothing doing.”
“He didn’t come back here to make friends with us. He was making another
try at that notebook, that’s what he was doing. It must be mighty
important to him.” Joe was eyeing the coat Hanleigh had folded so
carefully and put under his head. “Wonder why he wouldn’t take a pillow.
He wasn’t taking any chances on letting that coat get away from him.”
The boys looked at one another significantly.
“Perhaps he has some important papers in the pocket,” whispered Chet.
“Fine chance we have of getting at them.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Frank. “Where there’s a will, there’s a
way. Let him sleep a little longer and we’ll see if we can’t get at
them.”
The storm raged fiercely outside the cabin. The blizzard had grown in
fury. The trees, bowed before the bitter wind. The boys idled about,
waiting for the moment when they could attempt to secure the coat from
beneath the head of their sleeping enemy.
At last Frank nodded.
Hanleigh was snoring. Frank went over to the wall and took down his own
coat. He folded it carefully, then beckoned to Joe.
Together, the boys tiptoed over to the head of the bed.
While Joe held Frank’s coat, Frank gently grasped the coat under
Hanleigh’s head and began to withdraw it.
The man stirred uneasily. His snoring ceased.
The boys stepped back.
Hanleigh turned over on his side. The coat was almost entirely free. The
boys waited a few moments, then went toward the man again.
With a quick movement, Frank drew the coat from beneath his head, while
at the same instant Joe slipped the other in its place. They stepped
back.
Hanleigh groaned in his sleep, stirred again. His groping hand reached
for the coat and he drew it closer to him. In a few moments his snoring
again resounded through the cabin.
The boys retreated to the kitchen.
“I don’t like the idea of going through a man’s private papers,” said
Frank reluctantly; “but in this case I think there is some excuse.
Hanleigh is up to some crooked business here and it’s our duty to find
out what it is.”
“That’s right,” agreed the others.
Frank felt the inside pocket of the coat. He encountered a bulky sheaf
of papers and these he removed. Most of them were letters, but one in
particular appeared to be a legal document.
He unfolded this document and brought it over to the window. The others
crowded about him.
“Better keep an eye on Hanleigh, in case he awakes,” Frank suggested.
“Watch him, will you, Biff?”
Biff went over to the door.
“He’s still asleep,” he whispered.
“Good.”
Frank read the document over to himself. Then he gave a low whistle of
amazement.
“This clears up a lot of things,” he said.
“Read it,” whispered Joe anxiously.
Frank read the document. It was a letter addressed to Hanleigh and was
from a lawyer in New York City. It was as follows:
“Dear Sir:
“This is to advise you that your late uncle, John Sparewell,
named you as sole heir in his will, which has just been
probated. Under the provisions of the will you will benefit to
the extent of all Mr. Sparewell’s property, consisting of two
lots of ground on the outskirts of Bayport, cash in the bank
amounting to three hundred and fifty dollars, and all personal
papers and belongings. In his will, Mr. Sparewell made
particular mention of a notebook which was to be given into your
hands after his death, stressing its importance as containing
information of great value. He also gave these instructions:
“‘My nephew is to take this notebook, with the accompanying key
to the cipher which I shall leave in a sealed envelope, and when
he has made himself aware of the contents of the message I wish
him to go to the place mentioned and procure the object referred
to. This is to be returned to its rightful owner. In return for
this favor, I name my nephew, George Hanleigh, as my sole heir.’
“We hereby take pleasure in forwarding to you the notebook and
the sealed envelope mentioned by our deceased client and trust
you will carry out his instructions to the letter.
Yours very truly,
Flint and Flint, Attorneys at Law.”
When Frank had concluded the reading of this document there were
expressions of amazement from the other boys.
“So that’s how he came to get the notebook!” said Chet. “John Sparewell
was Hanleigh’s uncle!”
“And Sparewell,” observed Frank, “is dead.”
“Well, that clears up so much of the mystery,” said Joe. “But it looks
as if Hanleigh is up against it just as much as we were. We know the
secret of the cipher message and it didn’t do us any good.”
“Perhaps he knows something else. Sparewell may have given him further
instructions in that sealed envelope.”
Frank looked through the other papers he had taken from Hanleigh’s
pocket. He was interrupted by a sudden whisper from Biff.
“Be careful!”
“What’s the matter?”
“He’s waking up.”
Frank thrust the papers back into the coat pocket. There would be
trouble when Hanleigh learned how he had been tricked. Then Biff sighed
with relief.
“False alarm. He turned over again. He’s still asleep.”
Frank went back to the papers, relieved. He searched through them
carefully. But he did not find what he sought. There were no further
references to the cipher, to the sealed envelope, or to John Sparewell.
“Nothing else here,” he reported finally.
“We’d better put the coat back under his head,” Joe suggested.
Frank returned the papers to the pocket in which he had found them.
“We’re liable to wake him up if we try to put the coat back now,” he
said. “I think we ought to wait until he has had his sleep. Then the
rest of you can keep him occupied while I slip the coat back where it
belongs.”
“And we’ll ask him what he knows about Sparewell,” said Chet.
“Oh, we’ll have questions to ask him, never fear. He won’t want us to go
to Elroy Jefferson with the news about Sparewell.”
Outside, the storm was at its height. They heard a distant crash.
One of the trees at the edge of the cliff had fallen before the force of
the gale. The wind was sweeping across the island at terrific speed.
“If this keeps up, we’d better watch ourselves!” remarked Biff. “There
are a couple of big trees right near the place. If they blow over,
they’re liable to wreck the cabin.”
“Certainly is a wicked wind!” Frank agreed. “And it doesn’t seem to be
dying down, either.”
Hardly were the words out of his mouth than there was a rending,
crackling sound immediately above the cabin. Then, with a rush and a
roar, something went sweeping past the window. At the same instant there
came a grinding noise, followed by a thud and a crash on the roof.
“One of the trees blew down!” shouted Biff, in alarm.
“The chimney is going!” warned Joe.
Crash!
Another impact on the roof. There was a shower of mortar and fragments
of stone in the fireplace.
“Back to the kitchen, fellows!” yelled Frank. “The chimney is falling
in!”