“He’s a crab!” declared Chet. “Who is he, anyway?”
“I think his name is Jefferson,” said Joe. “Elroy Jefferson. I’ve heard that he owns Cabin Island.”
“Jefferson,” said Frank reflectively. “I’ve heard that name before.”
“Of course you have. He’s an antique dealer. Sort of queer old codger, from all accounts. We saved his automobile for him, don’t you remember?”
“Oh, now I know where I heard his name!” exclaimed Frank. “You’re right. He lives in a big house up the Shore Road.”
“Sure. His car was one of those stolen when the auto thieves were busy on the Shore Road. We found it in the cave when we rounded up the gang.”
The incident to which Joe referred was the climax of one of the numerous mysteries solved by the Hardy boys. The brothers, who were introduced to our readers in the first volume of this series, entitled: “The Hardy Boys: The Tower Treasure,” were the sons of a celebrated American detective, Fenton Hardy by name, and had already won considerable fame for themselves in and about their home city of Bayport by reason of their success in solving a number of mysteries that had baffled the local police.
Frank and Joe, although still in high school, were anxious to follow in their father’s footsteps. Fenton Hardy was a hero to them. For many years he had been connected with the detective bureau of the New York police department, where he had earned such distinction that he was able to resign and move to Bayport, there to accept cases as a private investigator. Internationally famous, he was frequently called in to solve mysteries that had been given up by the police in all parts of the country, as well as accepting other assignments in which police action was not desired.
Already the two boys showed that they had inherited much of their father’s ability. They were sharp, observant and intelligent enough to draw shrewd deductions from small clues.
In the volume immediately preceding the present story, “The Hardy Boys: The Secret of the Caves,” the lads tackled a mystery that even Fenton Hardy had not been able to solve, the disappearance of an aged college professor, and had eventually found the old man after a series of thrilling adventures on a lonely part of the Atlantic coast.
“So that’s Elroy Jefferson, is it?” said Frank. “Pleasant sort of customer, isn’t he? He didn’t treat us very well, considering we saved his automobile for him.”
“Perhaps he doesn’t know you,” suggested Chet.
“That’s possible. I remember now. He was in Europe at the time of the car-stealing affair.”
“Perhaps this chap isn’t Mr. Jefferson at all,” put in Joe. “He may have sold the island.”
“Well, whoever he is, I don’t think much of him. What did he think we were going to do? Burn down his cabin?”
Chet laughed. “I guess he doesn’t want his nice, pretty island all tracked up. Well, I suppose there’s nothing for us but to go home. It’s getting late, anyway.”
The boys scrambled into the iceboat. Before they started off, however, Frank looked back up against the lonely cabin, silhouetted at the top of the cliff against the dreary winter sky. The man who had driven them away was nowhere in sight.
“I can’t get it out of my head that there’s something strange about this business,” he said. “I’d like to know why he was so anxious to chase us away.”
“Aw, you see a mystery in everything,” scoffed Chet. “He’s just a cranky old chap who likes to show his authority. I’ll bet he even tries to boss the rabbits and the snowbirds on the island. Let’s go!”
The iceboat moved slowly away from Cabin Island and the boys soon forgot their disappointment in the exhilaration of swift flight across the ice.
They swept out of the cove, around the rocky point, out into the bay. Far ahead of them lay Bayport, its towers and spires shining in the sunset. It was getting colder, and the wind stung their faces to a rosy glow.
“If we go camping in the holidays!” shouted Frank, “I guess Cabin Island is off our list, at any rate.”
“It would be a mighty fine place to camp,” said Joe regretfully. “It’s too bad Mr. Jefferson is such a crank. A good-hearted chap would let us live in his old cabin during the holidays.”
“Well,” remarked Chet, “this particular chap isn’t at all good-hearted, so I suppose we’ll just have to hunt up another camping spot.”
The boys were silent. Cabin Island would have been an ideal place for their outing. It would be difficult to find another cabin as well constructed and so near Bayport.
Suddenly, Chet pointed ahead.
“Look at that iceboat!” he exclaimed. “Must be a crazy man steering it.”
Away in the distance they could see a large craft, twisting and turning in an erratic fashion. It would speed in a straight course for a hundred yards or so, then it would commence to zigzag crazily, at times veering over until the sail was almost level with the ice.
“He’ll break his mast or his rudder,” opined Frank. “Then he won’t be so smart, when he finds himself stranded about three miles from town. A chap who will handle a boat like that doesn’t deserve to have one.”
However, the other craft seemed to be standing up under the senseless strain being imposed on it. It was a larger boat than that of the Hardy boys, and it was able to withstand mishandling that would have wrecked a smaller craft.
The boys did not alter their course, for they were some distance to leeward and under ordinary circumstances would not pass within shouting distance of the big boat. However, as they sped on, Frank saw that the other craft had ceased zigzagging and was now bearing toward them. Its huge sail was full and it was gathering speed.
“That big boat can certainly travel!” exclaimed
