Part 11 (1/2)
”It was stuck tight,” Joe said. ”Someone must have torn the tape trying to pull it loose.”
”But why measure the inside of the chimney?” Chet asked.
”Maybe the person thinks the loose stone is in the chimney lining,” Mr Jefferson suggested.
”You mean there are two layers?” Biff asked, surprised.
”Yes. My stone mason insisted on a lined chimney as a safety measure.” Then he added, ”What makes you so sure there is something hidden in the chimney?”
”We're not certain,” Frank confessed. ”We suspect it because of Hanleigh's interest in the fireplace. But for all we know, he may be on the wrong track.”
”We must crack the code,” Joe declared. ”That will probably give us the answer.”
”Not before breakfast,” Chet said firmly. ”I'm about to make the pancakes.” He hurried to the kitchen and a short time later served stacks of golden-brown cakes, with a pitcher of hot maple syrup and a platter of spicy sausages.
”Chet, you've redeemed yourself!” Joe exclaimed, between mouthfuls. ”This. .h.i.ts the spot after our early morning exercise!”
Mr Jefferson was quiet during most of the meal. Finally he said, ”Do you know? It has just occurred to me that Sparewell mentioned a relative named Hanleigh.”
Frank asked eagerly, ”What did he say about him?” ”It was so long ago - I can't remember,” Mr Jefferson replied.
”That may be an important clue!” Joe exclaimed. ”Perhaps Johnny stumbled onto the connection somehow and decided to start trailing Hanleigh.”
”Yes,” Frank went on, ”if Johnny was determined to solve the puzzle of your missing medals, he may have dug up information about Sparewell's past and learned the names of relatives. Then, when Hanleigh showed up at your home, Johnny had his chance to follow him.”
”It's all supposition,” Mr Jefferson said with a sigh. ”What we need are facts.”
”Well, speaking of facts,” said Joe, ”are there hot springs on this island, Mr Jefferson?”
The man looked at him in amazement. ”Hot springs! Certainly not! My goodness, Joe, whatever made you ask that?”
”Oh,” Joe mumbled vaguely, ”nothing just an idea.” But his eyes met Frank's and the older boy bit back a grin.
”Nothing, my foot!” he said to himself. ”Joe's found a clue!”
CHAPTER XV.
The Shah's Prize ”WHAT can Joe's lead be?” Frank wondered. He knew his brother was not ready to talk about it in front of the others.
Frank turned to Mr Jefferson, who seemed sunk in despair. ”Don't give up hope,” the boy said kindly.
”We'll keep trying to find Johnny and your medals, too.”
”If anyone can locate 'em, the Hardys can,” Chet put in.
”I know that. You're all fine lads, and will do your best,” Mr Jefferson said, brightening somewhat. ”I think I'd better return home now.”
”Are you sure you feel strong enough, sir?” Biff asked anxiously.
”Yes, indeed,” the man a.s.sured him. ”I'm warm now, too. And if you don't mind, I'll take along this carved model. It will give me rea.s.surance that Johnny will come home.”
”Certainly, Mr Jefferson,” Frank said, taking the yacht from the mantle.
”And Sparewell's notebook,” Mr Jefferson added suddenly. ”It may contain clues for my detectives.”
Frank spoke up. ”We'd like to keep the notebook a little longer. Joe and I want to study it carefully and crack that code.”
Mr Jefferson nodded. ”Of course. You've certainly earned the right to examine it first. But please be careful, boys. Possession of the notebook may be dangerous, if someone else wants it badly enough.”
Joe offered to stand guard on the island while the others accompanied Mr Jefferson to the mainland.
A short time later the Seagull went whizzing out of the cove, with Frank at the tiller. They made a quick trip to the Hardys' boathouse, then drove to the Jefferson home.
As Frank parked the convertible, Chet suddenly gave a gasp of disbelief. He pointed a quivering finger at the wide front porch and cried out, ”It's-it's the ghost!”
Frank leaped from the car, with Chet and Biff close behind him and Mr Jefferson following slowly.
The white-robed, turbaned figure darted away from the door as the boys dashed up the front path. He jumped off the far end of the porch and disappeared around the side of the house. The three youths sprinted in pursuit, but soon stopped short, scanning the landscape. Their eyes roved over the snowcovered walks and flower beds, the birdbaths capped with ice, and the bare bushes and trees. The ”ghost” could not be seen.
”That white robe is great camouflage against the snow,” Biff commented glumly.
”Let's split up and search!” Frank directed quickly.
The boys hunted while Mr Jefferson stood and watched in tense silence. Suddenly Frank noticed a blur of whiteness moving behind a hedge of low junipers.
The young sleuth stepped backwards, took a running start, and vaulted the shrubs. A loud cry split the air as he landed on top of a crouching figure. The two rolled over, struggling.
”Hold 'im, Frank!” yelled Biff. He and Chet sprinted up and yanked the slender, white-robed man to his feet. The boys gasped as they got a clear look at the prisoner's dark-skinned, frightened face. No doubt about it, he was the man in the photo!
”Okay, Mister Ghost - what's your story?” Biff blurted angrily. ”You have a lot of explaining to do.”
”Take it easy,” Frank told his friend. ”Let's get him inside first.”
Panting, the captive was led into the house.
”Now then,” said Mr Jefferson when they had all gathered in the living room, ”who are you? And why have you been prowling on my property?”
The swarthy man replied in a soft, slightly accented voice, ”I apologize for my seeming intrusions. I ran because I was startled, and also these young men have pursued me previously. The last time one of them was carrying a firearm.”
The Hardys grinned and Frank said, ”My brother Joe was holding a camera with a telescopic lens. From a distance it does resemble a rifle.”
”Ah,” said the man, ”I see.” He smiled faintly. ”I am seeking Mr Elroy Jefferson.”
”I am he,” said Mr Jefferson. ”Just what is it you want?”