Looking for Clues
The news that Giles Ducroy had a proven alibi to clear himself of
suspicion in the affair of the stolen mail sacks disconcerted the Hardy
boys for a time.
When their father told them about the robbery their first thought was
that Ducroy and his two companions were the guilty parties, for the
theft seemed to be linked up in some manner with the conversation the
lads had overheard in the cabin at Beach Grove. However, there now
remained the fact that Ducroy had an alibi, and also the fact that the
mail sacks were by no means worth the amount the former pilot had
mentioned to his companions.
“Just the same,” declared Frank that afternoon, “I’m convinced that
Ducroy had something to do with the affair, alibi or no alibi.”
“Perhaps the mail sacks weren’t stolen by Ducroy,” suggested Joe.
“Perhaps he went to Philadelphia, so he would be able to prove an alibi,
and left Newt Pipps and Ollie Jacobs to commit the actual robbery.”
“It could have been worked that way. I’ll tell you what we’ll do, Joe.
Let’s take the roadster and drive back down to Beach Grove. I’d like to
take another look at that cabin. Perhaps we’ll find a few clues there
that may help us.”
Joe was impressed by this suggestion, and in a short time the Hardy boys
were speeding down the Shore Road in their car. When they reached the
grove they left the roadster and made their way through the woods down
the path toward the little cabin.
“We didn’t have the opportunity to look through the place when we were
here before,” Frank pointed out. “They may have left something behind, a
few notes or plans for instance, that will give us a better idea of what
they were talking about.”
“It’s a mighty suspicious thing that a robbery should occur at the
airport so soon after Giles Ducroy and his friends were talking about
some crooked scheme.”
“That’s the way I feel about it.”
The boys entered the cabin. The door was unlocked and the place was
deserted. It was sparsely furnished with only a small wooden table, two
broken chairs and a few boxes.
“Nothing much here,” Frank remarked. “Still, it won’t do any harm to
look around carefully.”
Joe came upon an empty bottle over in a corner, perhaps the bottle from
which the men had been drinking on the afternoon of the picnic. Frank’s
attention was attracted by a number of cigarette stubs on the table.
“Sometimes a little thing like a cigarette turns out to be a mighty
valuable clue,” he observed, examining the stubs. Most of them were very
short, but on one, a trifle longer than the rest, he found the letters
“RE.” The rest of the word had been obliterated with the burning of the
cigarette.
“I wonder what make of cigarettes they were smoking,” he said. He
searched the cabin thoroughly and at last he found what he was looking
for. Beneath one of the boxes he saw a crumpled paper package. He picked
this up, unfolded it, and examined it carefully.
The package had once held cigarettes, and across the front he saw the
name, “Red Ribbon Cigarettes.”
“Not much of a clue there,” laughed Joe. “All gone up in smoke.”
“You never can tell,” returned his brother, pocketing the package.
“Better be careful. If mother finds that package in your pocket she’ll
think you’ve been smoking.”
“Mother knows us well enough to know we don’t smoke,” Frank said. “I
have a hunch that this little package may come in handy some day.”
Although the boys searched the bare little cabin high and low, they
found nothing else that might help them. Their search for clues appeared
to have been a failure.
“Ducroy and his friends were too wise to leave any notes that might
incriminate them,” Joe said, as they went away. “I guess we’ll have to
tackle the case from another angle.”
“Dad’s handling it to the best of his ability, and I guess he will be in
a position to get information that we’ll never run across. All we can do
is to keep our ears open and, if we hear anything, let him know.”
The boys returned to Bayport, somewhat disappointed; but when they were
near their home they dismissed the mail bag mystery from their minds,
for they met Chet Morton and Biff Hooper.
“Just who we were looking for!” exclaimed Chet. “We called at the house,
but your mother said you had gone out.”
“What’s up?” asked Joe.
“Why, Biff and I thought it would be a fine afternoon to take a little
boat trip. I thought we could go down to Cabin Island and see that
everything is in shape. We can find out what we need to take down there
for our outing. I know we left some kitchen dishes and other things
there last winter, but they may be gone by now. We can look the place
over and make a list of what we’ll have to bring along.”
“You’re going on the trip, aren’t you?” asked Biff.
“Sure, we’re going. I guess it isn’t too late in the day to go down to
the island, Chet. Come on with us and we’ll take the car back to the
garage.”
The Hardy boys drove back to the house with the other lads, told their
mother that they were going down to Cabin Island in the boat, and
started off for the boathouse. The lads did not take any food with them,
for the Hardy boys’ motorboat, _The Sleuth_, was a speedy craft and was
quite capable of taking them to Cabin Island and back by evening.
It was a warm, sultry afternoon, and the lads were glad to be out on the
cool bay, away from the sweltering heat of the city. It had been an
unusually close day, and there had been occasional rumbles of distant
thunder.
“We’re going to have a thunderstorm to-night, I’ll bet,” said Biff, as
the boat nosed down the bay.
“I don’t think it’ll break before we get back,” said Frank. “It’s a long
way off yet.”
_The Sleuth_ drummed along smoothly, and Joe lolled at the wheel. Once
they left the narrow end of the bay upon which the city nestled in the
glaring sunlight, there was a stiff breeze, vigorous and refreshing.
“Oh, boy!” gloated Chet. “This is the life!”
“It sure is!” the others agreed.
By the time they came within sight of Cabin Island, leaving Bayport far
behind, they could see rolling black clouds in the east, and the murmur
of thunder had become more continuous.
“We shan’t be able to stay long, I’m afraid,” remarked Frank. “That
storm is coming up more quickly than I thought it would.”
“Oh, it’s hours away yet,” scoffed Chet. “You’ll see.”
“Let’s hope so. Anyway, we won’t lose time. We’ll just go up to the
cabin and take a quick look around. I don’t want to get caught out in a
bad storm. _The Sleuth_ is a good little boat, but the waves run mighty
high in the open bay around here.”
Those who followed the adventures of the Hardy boys in “The Mystery of
Cabin Island,” are aware that the island, which was owned by Elroy
Jefferson, a wealthy antique dealer of Bayport, lay far down Barmet Bay
in a little cove. There was a large cabin, built by Mr. Jefferson, fully
equipped and furnished, but not occupied by the owner because it had
been built for the use of his wife and son. They had died, and the
associations of the island had been so painful to him that he had never
gone near the place again. However, grateful to the Hardy boys because
they had recovered his stolen automobile and because they had solved the
mystery of a valuable stamp collection that had been purloined from him,
he had turned over the key of the cabin to them with full permission to
make use of the place on any of their outings.
They ran the motorboat into the little boathouse and made it secure,
then clambered up the familiar path toward the cabin. They had last been
on the island in the winter time, when everything was blanketed with
snow. Now it was doubly beautiful with its grassy, wooded slopes and its
tall trees, among which the cabin stood.
“Make it snappy,” cautioned Frank. “That storm looks worse every
minute.”
He opened the cabin door and they stepped inside. The chimney, which had
been damaged during a storm the previous winter, had been repaired by
some workmen whom Elroy Jefferson had sent to the island, and the place
had been thoroughly cleaned. Some new furniture had been installed and
on going to the kitchen the boys found a full supply of dishes, kettles,
frying pans, cutlery—everything they could possibly need except
provisions.
“He must have expected us to come here during the summer!” exclaimed
Joe, in delight. “He certainly hasn’t overlooked anything.”
“Mighty good of him, I’ll say!” Chet declared, and his sentiment was
echoed by the others. “We have nothing to worry about in the way of
kitchen equipment, at any rate. We’ll need only blankets and grub.”
“I think we’ll have a fine outing here.” Frank looked out the window.
“Well, we’ve found that we don’t have to worry about the kitchen end of
it. Now let’s be going. The storm is right overhead.”
When the boys stepped outside again, all saw that Frank’s desire for
haste was well-founded. There were white caps rolling on the bay and the
sky was growing black. Even as they started down the path there was a
flash of lightning and an ear-splitting crash of thunder. Then followed
a gusty shower of rain. The trees were bending before the rising wind.
“We’ll never make it!” shouted Frank. “No use trying to get back to
Bayport now.”
“What’ll we do?” asked Chet.
“I guess we’d better go back to the cabin.”
“We haven’t any food, no blankets, no oil in the lights. We’ll probably
be stranded here all night.”
“This is a fine lookout,” grumbled Biff. “I wish I hadn’t come.”
As the boys looked out over the bay they could see a sweeping wall of
rain approaching above the stormy waters. His companions realized that
Frank Hardy was right. They could not hope to brave the perils of that
storm by venturing a return to Bayport that night. On the other hand,
the prospect of being stranded on the island without food was far from
pleasing.
Rain was pouring now. Another lightning flash zigzagged its way through
the clouds. Another thunderclap crashed forth.
“Do you think we can reach the village?” shouted Joe.
Frank had almost forgotten about the little village on the mainland not
far away which they had visited several times during the winter. Amos
Grice, the storekeeper, was a good friend of theirs and his hospitality
was preferable to spending a night in a dark cabin, without food or
blankets.
“We’ll try it, anyway. If we get into the shelter of the shore I think
we can make it all right. Come on fellows!”
The others followed Frank down the steep path to the boathouse, where
all clambered into _The Sleuth_. The engine roared as the boat sped out
into the rolling waves, this time Frank taking the wheel.
Smash!
A great wave broke over the bow, drenching the boys to the skin. The
full force of the wind caught them as they rounded the point of the
island. They were plunging out into a raging waste of waters.
“We’ll never make it!” groaned Chet.