“He found the foxes,” explained Frank gravely.
“One of them nipped his nose,” added Joe.
“And why are you lads back so soon? Can’t catch foxes by just goin’ out for half an hour or so,” declared Amos, wagging his head. “It’s an all-day job, often.”
“Come on outside,” invited Chet proudly, as though he had been personally responsible for the success of the hunt.
Amos Grice went outside and when he saw the two foxes lying in the snow, he rubbed his spectacles, as though he thought his eyes were playing him false.
“I wouldn’t have believed it!” he said, at last. “I wouldn’t have believed it! And yet I can see ’em lyin’ there, with my own eyes. If this don’t beat the Dutch!”
“We were just lucky enough to catch them at home,” explained Frank.
“And smart enough to shoot ’em on the run,” declared Amos Grice. “It takes some shootin’ to get a fox, lads, for they’re mighty tricky rascals. Well, now I can sleep in peace at night and I’ll know that my chickens are safe. I can sure breathe easier now that I know them two thieves are through with chicken stealing.”
He took the boys back to the store and, by way of showing his gratitude, insisted on filling their pockets with crackers and apples.
“You’re welcome at my store any time, lads,” he told them. “If ever you need any more supplies, come right to me and—and I’ll sell ’em to you at wholesale price.”
Seeing that this, to Amos Grice, was the height of generosity, the boys thanked him warmly.
“We’ve had a rare good morning,” declared Frank, “and we’re much obliged to you, Mr. Grice, for telling us about the foxes. We wouldn’t have missed that chase for anything.”
“I’m more’n obliged to you,” said the old man.
“I guess we’d better be getting back to the island. It’s lunch time now,” said Chet.
Before they left, the boys cut the brushes from the two foxes and when they returned to Cabin Island that afternoon they placed the prizes in a place of honor above the fireplace.
XVI
The Chimney
In spite of Joe Hardy’s predictions that the marauder would be back for his notebook, that afternoon and the next day passed uneventfully on Cabin Island. No one had appeared in the vicinity of the rocks, for the boys examined the place carefully in search of footprints and the snow was still unbroken.
The mystery surrounding Hanleigh, John Sparewell, and the Bender postage stamp collection was gradually receding into the background. But to the Hardy boys it still remained a matter of great concern, especially to Frank. Each evening he sat down and puzzled over the strange cipher, vainly trying to solve the mystery it presented.
“Can’t you figure it out?” asked Joe.
“It beats me,” said Frank, flinging down his pencil. “Once in a while I think I’m on the right track, then something always happens and I find I’m farther away than ever.”
“Let the cipher look after itself. Something will turn up, I’m sure,” put in Chet.
“But if we could only find the message of the cipher, we wouldn’t have to wait for something to turn up.”
Chet looked at the message again. He shook his head.
“It’s too much for me. Don’t let it spoil your holiday, Frank.”
“You know what I’m like when there’s a mystery in the wind. And this is one of the most mysterious puzzles we’ve ever tackled.”
“We’ll get to the bottom of it yet. I’m sure of that. Just wait. Something will turn up,” said Joe.
The next day, the boys were outdoors from morning until night, skimming over the surface of the bay in their iceboats, skating on an improvised rink down by the shore, and enjoying themselves on the ski slide. Frank, for the time being, seemed to have dismissed the mystery of the notebook from his mind. That evening, as the boys sat in front of the fireplace, the Sparewell case was not even mentioned. It was a windy, stormy night and the cabin creaked in the gale.
“Must be a good, strong chimney to hold up in a wind like that,” remarked Chet.
“Why shouldn’t it?” said Biff. “It’s made of solid stone.”
“I know; but the wind gets a terrific sweep when it hits this island. That chimney isn’t so new, either.”
“Stone chimneys will last a hundred years,” scoffed Joe.
Chet pointed to the big fireplace.
“This one won’t. Look. You can see where it is cracked already.”
The boys inspected the chimney. They saw that Chet had noticed something that none of them had observed before. There was a distinct crack across the surface of the stone near the ceiling.
“It doesn’t look any too secure at that,” remarked Frank. “A crack like that might easily cause a fire.”
“It sure could!” exclaimed Biff.
“I don’t worry about fire so much as the danger that the chimney might come tumbling down in a high wind,” Chet said. “If there is one crack like that, there may be others, higher up. And if the chimney ever gave way—wow!”
“We would certainly have a nice little shower of stone,” Biff said. “Well, why go looking for trouble? Wait until it happens.”
Chet insisted that he was not looking for trouble, but that he was merely pointing out what might happen. Just then there was a particularly violent gust of wind. The cabin shook. The chimney was staunch.
“I think it’s good for a few years yet,” Joe said. “Why worry?”
Their conversation about the chimney, however, was to be recalled to the boys very forcibly later on.
The next day it was Joe’s turn to remain at the cabin as “chief cook and bottle-washer.” The others went out in one of the iceboats and made a trip as far as the village. They did not stop at the little place, being in no
