The Hardy boys drove back to the house with the other lads, told their mother that they were going down to Cabin Island in the boat, and started off for the boathouse. The lads did not take any food with them, for the Hardy boys’ motorboat, The Sleuth, was a speedy craft and was quite capable of taking them to Cabin Island and back by evening.
It was a warm, sultry afternoon, and the lads were glad to be out on the cool bay, away from the sweltering heat of the city. It had been an unusually close day, and there had been occasional rumbles of distant thunder.
“We’re going to have a thunderstorm tonight, I’ll bet,” said Biff, as the boat nosed down the bay.
“I don’t think it’ll break before we get back,” said Frank. “It’s a long way off yet.”
The Sleuth drummed along smoothly, and Joe lolled at the wheel. Once they left the narrow end of the bay upon which the city nestled in the glaring sunlight, there was a stiff breeze, vigorous and refreshing.
“Oh, boy!” gloated Chet. “This is the life!”
“It sure is!” the others agreed.
By the time they came within sight of Cabin Island, leaving Bayport far behind, they could see rolling black clouds in the east, and the murmur of thunder had become more continuous.
“We shan’t be able to stay long, I’m afraid,” remarked Frank. “That storm is coming up more quickly than I thought it would.”
“Oh, it’s hours away yet,” scoffed Chet. “You’ll see.”
“Let’s hope so. Anyway, we won’t lose time. We’ll just go up to the cabin and take a quick look around. I don’t want to get caught out in a bad storm. The Sleuth is a good little boat, but the waves run mighty high in the open bay around here.”
Those who followed the adventures of the Hardy boys in The Mystery of Cabin Island, are aware that the island, which was owned by Elroy Jefferson, a wealthy antique dealer of Bayport, lay far down Barmet Bay in a little cove. There was a large cabin, built by Mr. Jefferson, fully equipped and furnished, but not occupied by the owner because it had been built for the use of his wife and son. They had died, and the associations of the island had been so painful to him that he had never gone near the place again. However, grateful to the Hardy boys because they had recovered his stolen automobile and because they had solved the mystery of a valuable stamp collection that had been purloined from him, he had turned over the key of the cabin to them with full permission to make use of the place on any of their outings.
They ran the motorboat into the little boathouse and made it secure, then clambered up the familiar path toward the cabin. They had last been on the island in the winter time, when everything was blanketed with snow. Now it was doubly beautiful with its grassy, wooded slopes and its tall trees, among which the cabin stood.
“Make it snappy,” cautioned Frank. “That storm looks worse every minute.”
He opened the cabin door and they stepped inside. The chimney, which had been damaged during a storm the previous winter, had been repaired by some workmen whom Elroy Jefferson had sent to the island, and the place had been thoroughly cleaned. Some new furniture had been installed and on going to the kitchen the boys found a full supply of dishes, kettles, frying pans, cutlery—everything they could possibly need except provisions.
“He must have expected us to come here during the summer!” exclaimed Joe, in delight. “He certainly hasn’t overlooked anything.”
“Mighty good of him, I’ll say!” Chet declared, and his sentiment was echoed by the others. “We have nothing to worry about in the way of kitchen equipment, at any rate. We’ll need only blankets and grub.”
“I think we’ll have a fine outing here.” Frank looked out the window. “Well, we’ve found that we don’t have to worry about the kitchen end of it. Now let’s be going. The storm is right overhead.”
When the boys stepped outside again, all saw that Frank’s desire for haste was well-founded. There were white caps rolling on the bay and the sky was growing black. Even as they started down the path there was a flash of lightning and an earsplitting crash of thunder. Then followed a gusty shower of rain. The trees were bending before the rising wind.
“We’ll never make it!” shouted Frank. “No use trying to get back to Bayport now.”
“What’ll we do?” asked Chet.
“I guess we’d better go back to the cabin.”
“We haven’t any food, no blankets, no oil in the lights. We’ll probably be stranded here all night.”
“This is a fine lookout,” grumbled Biff. “I wish I hadn’t come.”
As the boys looked out over the bay they could see a sweeping wall of rain approaching above the stormy waters. His companions realized that Frank Hardy was right. They could not hope to brave the perils of that storm by venturing a return to Bayport that night. On the other hand, the prospect of being stranded on the island without food was far from pleasing.
Rain was pouring now. Another lightning flash zigzagged its way through the clouds. Another thunderclap crashed forth.
“Do you think we can reach the village?” shouted Joe.
Frank had almost forgotten about the little village on the mainland not far away which they had visited several times during the winter. Amos Grice, the storekeeper, was a good friend of theirs and his hospitality was preferable to spending a night in a dark cabin, without food or blankets.
“We’ll try it, anyway. If we get into the shelter of the shore I think we can make it all right. Come on fellows!”
The others followed Frank down the steep path to the boathouse, where all clambered into The Sleuth. The engine roared as
