In a short time, the lads were back at Bayport, and, having placed the iceboat in its berth, they walked up the snow-covered street toward the Hardy home. This was a fine brick residence on High Street, with a garage where the boys kept their motorcycles and the decrepit auto they had bought with their savings and which had been of so much value in solving the Shore Road mystery of the stolen automobiles, as recounted in the volume of that title. At the rear was a barn, which had been fitted up as a gymnasium, where the Hardy boys and their chums spent many happy hours on rainy and stormy Saturdays.
When the Hardy boys said goodbye to Chet Morton and entered the house they were greeted by Aunt Gertrude, a peppery, dictatorial lady of certain temper and uncertain years, who was again with the Hardys for a visit of indeterminate length. Aunt Gertrude could never reconcile herself to the idea that the boys were growing up and persisted in treating them as though they were still infants, or, as Joe expressed it, “as if we were half-witted.”
“Go back and stamp the snow off your shoes!” she ordered, as they tramped into the hall. “It’s a disgrace, the way you two boys track up this house just as soon as I’ve got everything all cleaned up.”
There was very little snow on the boys’ boots, and Aunt Gertrude never, under any circumstances, assisted in the house cleaning, but it was her nature to give orders. The boys knew better than to disobey, so they meekly returned to the vestibule and stamped their shoes, then came back into the hall.
“That’s better,” said their aunt grudgingly. “Now go into the library. Your father is waiting for you. You should have been home hours ago. I declare I don’t know where you spend your time. Just gallivanting around when you should be at home doing your studies.”
The boys went on into the library. The door was open and when they entered they found their father, Fenton Hardy, the noted detective, perusing an imposing grist of legal documents at his desk. He glanced up and smiled at them.
“Hello, sons! Been out on the bay?”
“Yes, sir,” returned Frank. “Out in the iceboat.”
“Good, healthy sport. Have a good time?”
“Oh, yes. We went away down as far as Cabin Island.”
“Cabin Island, eh? That’s strange. I’ve had Cabin Island in my mind for the past hour or more. There has been a message here, waiting for you.”
“A message?”
Mr. Hardy reached into his desk and produced an envelope.
“A man called here this afternoon and left this message for you boys.”
“But why should it remind you of Cabin Island, Dad?” asked Joe.
“Because the man who left the message here was Elroy Jefferson’s chauffeur.”
“Elroy Jefferson!” exclaimed Frank. “Why, he is the man who owns Cabin Island.”
“So I believe. Well, there’s the note, at any rate. Better read it and find out what he has to say.”
Frank tore open the envelope and removed a folded slip of paper. There were a few typewritten words. He and Joe read them with growing amazement.
“Well, what do you know about that?” exclaimed Frank finally.
“I wonder what’s the idea?” said his brother.
Frank handed the note over to their father.
“What do you make of it, Dad?”
Fenton Hardy read the note. He looked puzzled. Then he handed it back to the boys.
“I can’t say, I’m sure,” he said. “It’s a strange note. Still, I suppose you had better do as he asks, and then you’ll know more about it later.”
“We certainly will!” said Frank.
Then he read the note over again.
IV
Holiday Plans
The note which puzzled the Hardy boys was as follows:
Messrs. Frank and Joseph Hardy,
Bayport.Dear Sirs:
“If it is convenient for you to call upon me at my residence tomorrow I should like to talk to you about a matter that has been in my mind since my return from Europe. If you will be good enough to call early tomorrow afternoon I will explain further.
“A matter that has been in his mind ever since his return from Europe,” said Frank. “I wonder what it can be.”
“Well, we recovered his automobile for him from the Shore Road thieves,” ventured Joe.
“What has that to do with it?” asked Fenton Hardy, smiling.
“Mr. Jefferson wasn’t in Bayport at the time. You remember, we got a big reward for clearing up that case and the owners of the stolen cars contributed to it. But as Mr. Jefferson was away, he wasn’t in on that. Perhaps he wants to add to it,” said Joe hopefully.
Fenton Hardy shook his head in amusement.
“I thought you did very well. Surely you aren’t looking for more money.”
“Oh, we’re not looking for more. Still, if Mr. Jefferson feels hurt because he couldn’t show his appreciation, why, we wouldn’t turn down any offer,” and Joe grinned.
“I don’t know Mr. Jefferson,” said Frank. “What’s he like, Dad?”
“He is an antique dealer,” returned Mr. Hardy. “He is quite well known in his own field. He travels in Europe a great deal, buying antiques. Of late years he has kept very much to himself. I believe he has made a great deal of money, and in his time he was one of the leading experts in antique furniture in the country.”
“Isn’t he still an expert?”
“Oh, yes. But he isn’t as prominent as he once was. Something happened to him a few years ago that made the old fellow very queer. I don’t remember exactly what it was; but since that time he has been something of a character.”
“Sounds interesting,” commented Joe. “Well, I guess we’d better go and see him tomorrow, hadn’t we, Frank?”
“Sure thing. We can ask him why he keeps such a tough-looking watchman on Cabin Island.”
“A watchman?” exclaimed Fenton Hardy.
“Yes. We landed
