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

doin’?”
    â€œHe seems to keep busy traveling and collecting antiques,” Joe replied.
    Mr. Grice propped his elbows on the counter and said thoughtfully, “Elroy Jefferson used to come in here every Tuesday for supplies, and the little fellow with him. He loved Johnny like his own son. And where’s the youngster nowadays?”
    â€œWe don’t know, Mr. Grice,” Frank answered, not wishing to reveal anything about their case to the friendly but gossipy proprietor.
    â€œMr. Jefferson was always crazy about antiques,” the storekeeper went on. “I recall how upset he was when his medal collection disappeared.”
    â€œHave you any idea what happened to it?” Joe asked.
    â€œNope. All I know is the medals disappeared and so did John Sparewell.”
    â€œDo people believe he stole the medals?” Frank asked.
    â€œNot that I’ve heard. But it was odd he van ished at the same time.”
    The Hardys exchanged glances but did not comment, and Grice went on:
    â€œYou know, boys, just about a week ago a fellow was in here askin’ about Jefferson’s medals. I hadn’t thought of ‘em in years, before this fellow came by. Somehow I didn’t feel right to tell him a thing, so I didn’t.”
    â€œWho was this man?” Frank asked.
    â€œDon’t know. Never seen him before. He was a scary sort—dressed up like Halloween. He had somethin’ wrapped around his head.”
    The Hardys’ thoughts flew to the “ghost.” Joe asked, “Do you remember anything else about the person? Did he tell you why he was interested in the medals?”
    Amos Grice wrinkled his brow. “I got rid of that spooky fellow soon’s I could.”
    After a few more minutes of conversation, the boys said good-by and left. They walked quickly toward the Sea Gull.
    â€œWhat do you think of Mr. Grice’s ‘scary’ visitor?” Joe asked his brother.
    Frank replied, “I’m sure it was the man in the turban and the white robe. And he’s apparently interested in the medals, too.”
    â€œSay!” Joe exclaimed. “Maybe he is in league with Hanleigh. I’ll bet they’re both after the collection and think there’s some clue to it on the island.”
    The boys climbed into the Sea Gull with their bags of groceries. “I’ll concentrate on your hunch while you take a turn at the tiller,” Frank told Joe.
    â€œSwell with me!” Joe grinned.
    Out on the bay, the Sea Gull swerved and dipped like a live thing. “The wind’s picked up!” Joe called out.
    â€œI’ll say!”
    Joe deftly guided the iceboat toward the narrow inlet, the wind pushing them faster every moment. But suddenly it changed direction sharply. A wild gust whacked the Sea Gull‘ s sail. The craft hiked crazily and streaked straight for the rocky shore !
    â€œLean!” Joe shouted. The boys shifted their weight, and Joe threw all his strength against the tiller while Frank trimmed the sail. The boat began to turn, but the jagged rocks loomed close.
    â€œWe’re going to hit!” yelled Joe, bracing himself for the splintering crash.
    But the iceboat skimmed past—safe by no more than two inches.
    â€œWhew!” Frank said with a big sigh of relief.
    Joe looked grim. “We’re not out of trouble yet. This wind is tricky!”
    Strong gusts continued to buffet the craft, but the boys were able to control it. At last the wind moderated and Joe steered the iceboat through the narrow inlet to the island.
    When the Sea Gull was safe inside the boathouse, Chet and Biff came bounding through the snow to meet the Hardys.
    â€œThat was great sailing!” Biff exclaimed. “We were watching you.”
    â€œIt was rough,” Joe admitted, handing the groceries to Chet, who reached out eagerly for the bags. “I’m afraid the eggs are scrambled!”
    â€œIf they