“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!”
XIII
The Cipher
Back at the cabin, with the precious supplies again safely stored away in the kitchen, the Hardy boys and their chums settled down before the fire while Frank and Joe told Chet and Biff about the conversation with Amos Grice. They told the tale of Elroy Jefferson’s missing postage stamp collection and about the strange disappearance of the servant, John Sparewell, who had never been heard of since.
“And now we find his notebook among our supplies!” exclaimed Chet. “That’s the strangest thing I ever heard of.”
“There’s an explanation somewhere,” said Frank, puzzled.
“How about my idea?” remarked Joe. “Perhaps Hanleigh and Sparewell are the same man.”
But Frank shook his head.
“You forget,” he said, “that Sparewell was a servant in Elroy Jefferson’s home for many years. If Jefferson saw him again he would certainly recognize him, don’t you think?”
“That’s right. And he has seen Hanleigh. The man was at his house the day we visited Mr. Jefferson.”
“Then how did Hanleigh get the notebook?” asked Biff.
“We’re not sure that Hanleigh was the man who stole our supplies,” replied Joe. “We think so, but we’re not sure.”
“It couldn’t be anyone else,” scoffed Chet.
“I don’t know,” observed Frank. “For all we’re aware, there may be more than Hanleigh interested in this island. Perhaps we have a bigger fight on our hands than we imagine.”
“It’s certainly a mighty deep mystery,” Joe said.
“Well, we may find out more about it if we examine the notebook.”
Frank began going over the pages.
First of all, were several sheets of accounts, evidently notes of receipts and expenditures. On one page was listed:
“Suit, $35. Necktie, $1. Shirts, $6. Postage, 40 cents.”
A long list of items indicating that the owner of the notebook was a careful and methodical man who kept track of every cent he spent. At the top of the page was written:
“October, 1917.”
“Why, that’s eleven years ago!” Frank exclaimed.
“And Sparewell disappeared fifteen years ago.”
“It shows that he was alive for at least four years after he left the Jefferson place, at any rate.”
On the opposite page was a record of receipts, showing money Sparewell had received from various people. These sums were small, showing that Sparewell had not been enjoying a luxurious existence by any means.
On the page following the boys came across a puzzling item.
“Appointment with Jordan on Saturday. My condition is worse. Doubt if I will be able to last out the year. Would appeal to J. but am afraid.”
“Wonder what he meant by that,” said Chet.
“Perhaps it means he was going to die,” Joe suggested.
The boys puzzled over the item for some time, then went on to the next page. It had a number of items concerning the stock market, of little interest. Other pages were filled with equally ambiguous and uninteresting notes. Then another page was filled with a crude drawing in the shape of an irregular oval, with a cross marked at one side.
“Looks like a warped egg,” commented Chet.
“Looks to me like a map of some kind,” Frank said. “Well, perhaps we’ll learn some more about it.” He turned the page.
There he found a number of other entries with dates.
“Nov. 3—hire of boat—$3.”
“Nov. 4—hire of boat—$3.”
“Nov. 6—boat—$5.”
“Finished, Nov. 6.”
The boys looked at one another, unable to understand.
“He was certainly doing a lot of boating that week,” said Frank. Then on the next page he found two words.
“Cabin Island.”
“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. ‘Cabin Island.’ Sparewell had something to do with this place.”
“Perhaps that’s why he was making so many boat trips,” Joe suggested. “He may have been coming here.”
On a sudden inspiration, Frank flipped back the pages until he found the mysterious map.
“This much is clear, at any rate. Take a look at that map, fellows. What does it remind you of?”
“Cabin Island!” they shouted.
They had not noticed the resemblance before. Now, it was perfectly clear. Cabin Island was oval-shaped, and in general contour it resembled the crude drawing in the notebook.
“Well, we know now that this man Sparewell was alive for at least four years after his disappearance from the Jefferson place, and that he was interested in Cabin Island for some reason, and that he probably made several trips here by boat.”
“Next page!” said Chet, eagerly.
But the next page puzzled them more than ever. There were several lines written, but, so far as the boys could see, they were simply gibberish.
This was what Sparewell had written:
Xzyrm. Rhozmw. Xsrnmvb. Ovug. Uilmg. Mrmv. Uvvg. Srts.
And that was all.
“A cipher message!” Joe exclaimed.
Chet sniffed.
“A lot of good that does us. We can’t make any sense out of that!”
“I’d give my shirt to know what that message means,” remarked Biff. “I’ll bet it is something mighty important.”
“He wouldn’t have put it in cipher if it wasn’t important,” Frank agreed. “Well, this is certainly pretty deep. I wonder if Sparewell really was the man who came here and hid our supplies. The more I think of it, the more it seems to me
