Frank and Joe entered the camp cautiously. It was noontime and pale smoke rose from a few
cooking fires near the water. The village was nearly deserted and the boys judged that Sutton's shack was empty.
The door was padlocked.
As Frank and Joe wandered among the huts, they noticed that each one had a trash heap of its
own in the rear. Suddenly Joe darted to a pile in which something glinted in the sunlight.
'What did you find?' Frank called, and ran forward to look.
'Pop bottles!' Joe exulted, holding one aloft. 'Fizzle soda!'
CHAPTER XII
The Desolate Island
JOE picked up another bottle from the rubbish heap. 'It's exactly like the one we pieced
together last night,' he declared. 'These prove the bank robbers are linked up with
Shantytown!'
'It looks that way,' Frank conceded. 'But-Fizzle soda may be sold around Bayport. As you said, we
don't know for certain that the robbers used the Sleuth. Somebody may just have 'borrowed' it
for a joy ride.'
'Well, the bottles make it likely that the robbers are connected to this place,' Joe amended.
'But let's scout around some more.'
The two boys, hands in pockets, strolled casually among the shacks. Although they looked
closely at the few squatters hanging around, they saw no one they recognized. Disappointed,
the brothers circled back to the trash heap.
'We're getting nowhere,' said Joe, disheartened.
Suddenly Frank's body tensed. 'Sh! Listen! Hear that?'
'All I hear is the ocean.'
'Someone is groaning!'
Still listening intently, Frank turned and looked all around him. The nearest building was a gray, windowless shack with a closed door. Abruptly he strode toward it, Joe behind him.
Reaching the handleless door, Frank gave a tentative push and it swung open. Warily he
stepped inside and blinked for a moment in the darkness.
'Joe! Quick!'
A man lay huddled on a cot. His face and the blanket he clutched were smeared with dried
blood, and he moaned and heaved for breath.
'The man's unconscious,' said Frank as he took the limp wrist for a pulse. 'Find water, Joe.
Maybe there's some in the jug on the table.'
Joe looked into the container. 'We're in luck!' He soaked his handkerchief and bathed the injured man's face. As the blood and dirt came away, the boy gave a gasp of surprise.
Hank Sutton!
'He's badly hurt,' Frank observed. 'Cuts and bruises on the head, and shock. Might be fractures, too,'
'I'll call the police ambulance,' Joe volunteered. 'We passed a house about a mile down the road. They must have a phone.'
'Hurry!' Frank urged. 'I'll stay here.'
Joe sprinted for his motorcycle. While he was gone, Frank searched the dim hut for clues to an assailant, but found nothing.
Soon an ambulance, its red lights blinking, was speeding toward Shantytown. A police car
followed.
When they passed the house where Joe had telephoned, he zoomed after them.
At Shantytown he led an intern and two stretcher-bearers across the sand to the hut where
Frank waited with the injured Sutton.
'How is he?' asked the doctor quickly on entering. 'Is he conscious yet?'
'No, he's delirious,' Frank said. 'He keeps mumbling something over and over-a man's name.'
'Whose?' asked Joe eagerly. He had appeared in the doorway, with Chief Collig behind him.
Frank looked up at them with a frown. 'Alf Lundborg's, I'm afraid.'
'So he took his revenge on Sutton,' the chief concluded. 'That's bad.'
The intern hustled everyone out of the way. Expertly the injured man was transferred to the
stretcher and borne across the sand to the waiting ambulance.
Chief Collig and the boys trailed along. 'We'll have to pick up Alf,' the chief remarked. 'He had the perfect motive for assaulting Sutton.'
'Just the same I don't believe he did it,' Joe declared stoutly.
'Sorry, fellows,' the chief said regretfully as they reached the road, 'but regardless of the suspicions against Sutton, I have no choice.'
Frank and Joe walked sadly back to the pine grove, mounted their motorcycles, and rode home.
They ate lunch quietly, puzzling over the case.
'What now?' Joe asked glumly. 'All we did this morning was to get Alf in trouble.'
'Great detectives we are!' said Frank, disgusted. 'How about walking downtown? I have another idea.'
'About what?'
'The Fizzle soda. Since the person who had a bottle of it was in our boat-the bald fellow or someone else-he was in Bayport. Maybe he did buy some here.'
The two set off and strode briskly along the sidewalk. At the first grocery store they turned in.
'Do you carry Fizzle soda?' Frank asked.
'No, I don't.'
The young detectives went into all the drugstores, markets, and lunch counters along their way.
Always they asked the same question, and received the same answer. Nobody sold Fizzle soda.
At last they entered a downtown sweetshop which was a meeting place for many of their
friends. 'Hi!'
called Tony Prito from a booth where he was seated with Jerry Gilroy.
'Hello, fellows,' Frank greeted them. 'We'll be over in a minute.'
Meanwhile, he asked the soda clerk about Fizzle, but received a negative answer. 'Only place I've ever seen it anywhere around these parts is Northport. I live near there.'
Northport again!
Frank and Joe walked over to their friends.
'Any news of Chet and Biff?' Tony asked.
'Nothing but a postcard,' Frank answered.
'What do you think really happened to them?' Jerry asked worriedly. 'Did they go off on a mission of
their own? Or were they kidnaped?'
'We don't know,' Frank confessed. 'But there haven't been any ransom notes.'
'It's dull around here without the fellows.' Tony sighed. 'We were going on a nice camping trip.'
'Chet and Biff told us about it,' said Joe. 'Frank and I have an idea maybe they're being hidden on one of the coast islands.'
'Could be,' Tony said. 'I remember Biff mentioned Hermit Island-the one owned by a queer old recluse who lives on it.'
'He mentioned that to us, too,' Joe recalled. 'I wonder if that old man has seen any sign of Chet and Biff?'
'Say!' Tony's face suddenly lighted up. 'Why don't we get your boat and go out for a look at Hermit Island? It's early enough yet. How about it?'
'Good idea!' Jerry exclaimed. 'Right!' Frank said enthusiastically. Joe was already on his feet.
'Come on! Let's go!' To Frank he said, 'The mystery of Mr. French's mix-up last night can wait.'
Jerry and Tony paid for their ice cream, and the four hurried out to Jerry's car. A short drive brought them to the Hardy boathouse.
