Free The Mystery of Cabin Island by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

in.
    â€œWell, fellows,” Chet began sheepishly, “I—er—forgot about this until now, but—er—we can have a snack.”
    The others stared at the rotund youth, who reddened as he explained. “When I made sandwiches for lunch, I put some away—in case of emergency!”
    â€œWhere are they?” asked Joe. “We searched all over this place!”
    Chet went into the bedroom he and Biff shared and returned with five thick sandwiches in a large plastic bag.
    â€œCome on! Where’d you hide them?” Biff asked.
    â€œIn the bottom of my sleeping bag.”
    â€œYou weren’t thinking of an emergency!” Joe scoffed. “This was to be your midnight snack!”
    â€œAren’t you glad!” Chet countered.
    â€œYou win,” Frank said, and they devoured the sandwiches.
    Early the next morning Frank and Joe felt insistent fingers tapping them awake. “Get up!” Chet implored. “You have to go after groceries.”
    The Hardys dressed hurriedly. Frank told Biff and Chet, “While we’re away, you might search the island for our stolen grub. Chances are that Hanleigh hid it all in one place not far from the cabin.”
    Frank and Joe glided off in the iceboat, steered out of the cove, and soon were tying up at a nearby coastal summer resort named Surfside. The boys walked to the deserted main street. “Place is really hopping, isn’t it?” Frank chuckled, surveying the tiny, weatherworn houses, many of them boarded up.
    â€œAnyway, here’s a phone.” Joe pointed to an outside booth. He stood by and listened while his brother dialed Ike Nash’s number.
    â€œNo answer,” Frank reported. “I’ll try Tad.”
    The Carson boy was home, but his responses to Frank’s queries were rude and uncooperative.
    â€œI don’t know anything,” Tad insisted. “Hanleigh told us to scram and not to snoop around. So we left.”
    â€œHow about a man wearing a white robe? Did you taxi him to Cabin Island too?”
    â€œWhite robe? You’re nuts!” Tad guffawed and hung up abruptly.
    â€œThat didn’t accomplish much,” Frank said wryly as he and Joe walked away from the booth. “Let’s see if we can find a place to buy food.”
    Presently the boys stopped at a small frame building. A sign above the door proclaimed:
    GENERAL STORE, AMOS GRICE, PROP.
    As the boys entered, a short, elderly man with a bald crown and skinny wattled neck eyed them intently from his chair beside a black potbellied stove.
    â€œAnd what might you lads be after?” he chirped.
    â€œHello,” said Frank. “We’re here for some groceries. Are you Mr. Grice?”
    â€œYep. Odd to see strange faces around these parts here this time o’ year,” the storekeeper remarked.
    â€œWe’re roughing it near here,” Joe told the man.
    Amos Grice clucked. “Most folks prefer sittin’ by a fire when winter comes on. Well, you’re out early this mornin‘!”
    â€œNecessity,” Joe replied. “Somebody stole our supplies.”
    â€œI declare!” The old man looked startled. “Don’t tell me there’s more folks trekkin’ about in all this cold and snow!”
    â€œSeems that way.” Joe grinned as he and Frank began to pick out canned goods and other food items.
    â€œWhere’d you boys say you’re stayin‘?” the storekeeper asked when the Hardys brought their purchases to the counter.
    â€œOn Cabin Island,” Joe replied.
    â€œCabin Island!” Mr. Grice repeated in surprise. “Has Elroy Jefferson sold the place?”
    â€œNo,” Frank told him. “Mr. Jefferson is letting us use his cabin during our Christmas vacation.”
    Frank paid the storekeeper, who then commented, “Elroy Jefferson’s a fine sort. Haven’t seen him in a while. What’s he