Part 14 (1/2)
”You think Hanleigh deciphered the code?” Chet asked.
”No,” Frank replied. ”Otherwise he wouldn't have been so eager to recover the notebook.”
”I'd still like to know how he got his hands on it,” said Biff. ”Did he steal it from John Sparewell?”
”I don't know,” Joe replied, ”but I vote we zero in on the medals p.r.o.nto.”
The boys' discussion was broken off by a signal for silence from Frank, who pointed to the door.
From the other side came the sound of creaking of floorboards. Swiftly the Hardys scooped up the notebook and the papers and hid them in a cupboard. Then Frank and Joe went over and pushed open the door a crack.
They peered out and saw Hanleigh limping to the fireplace. He pulled aside the guard from the fire, now burning low, took a poker and thrust it up inside the chimney.
”Bet he was eavesdropping,” Joe muttered.
”Well, the code directions won't do him much good without tools,” said Frank, and stepped into the living room.
”Looking for something, Mr Hanleigh? Glad to see your leg is better.”
The big blond man wheeled, his face purple with rage. ”I'm sick of being hounded by you pests. I'll fix you-”
Hanleigh lunged forward, brandis.h.i.+ng the poker, but tripped on a rug and went sprawling. The poker flew from his hands. Quickly Frank retrieved it.
”I wouldn't try that again,” Joe said in warning tones as Chet and Biff rushed in.
Scowling, Hanleigh dragged himself over to the sofa and sank down heavily. ”All right, all right. I was just going to stir up the fire,” he mumbled. ”It's cold as an iceberg in here.”
The boys had to agree, because the wind had risen to great velocity and gusts shook the cabin. Icy draughts seeped beneath the outside door and the windows were half covered by driving snow.
”Maybe I'd better stoke the fire,” Chet said.
Joe nudged him. ”Later. We have something to do first.”
Chet grinned. ”That's right. Well, I can turn out a snack, anyway. That'll warm us.”
The stout boy headed for the kitchen, but the next instant stopped in his tracks as a shrieking blast of wind struck the front window full force.
With a loud crash the entire pane shattered inwards. The freezing wind roared inside, knocking over all the oil lamps. Fire flared along the spilled fuel and Joe leaped forward, flailing at the flames with his parka.
Hanleigh rolled off the couch as his terror-stricken voice shrilled through the darkness. ”Get me out of here! The whole place is going to collapse. I'll be killed!”
CHAPTER XIX.
A Frightened Thief ”QUICK! Into the kitchen!” Frank ordered. ”Grab the parkas!” Hanleigh limped out hastily and the others followed. Having smothered the flames, Joe entered last and locked the door.
Their prisoner sprawled onto a chair and listened apprehensively to the roaring wind. ”I never heard anything so bad before. What're we going to do?”
”Stick it out,” Frank replied coolly. He eyed the rattling window over the sink. ”We'd better board that up,” he said, ”and the ones in the bedrooms, too. Come on! We can rip up some of this flooring.”
Chet brought two hammers, some nails, and a crowbar from the toolbox. For half an hour the sound of ripping boards and hammering could be heard through the noise of the storm.
As the four boys worked, they saw that the snow had drifted almost to the tops of the windows. Their thoughts went again to Johnny Jefferson.
Frank visualized the boy lying injured behind a crag on the icy cliff. ”Joe,” he said quietly, ”as soon as the wind lets up we must go looking for him again.”
His brother nodded. ”I know.”
When everyone gathered in the kitchen once more, Chet said, ”I think we'd better fill the wood box and bring in some extra logs. If the drifts get any higher, we won't be able to open the back door.”
He put on his parka, took a flashlight, and plunged outside.
Suddenly there was loud pounding on the door. Joe looked surprised. ”What's he doing back so soon?”
Biff opened the door and Chet fairly fell inside.
”The ghost!” he gasped. ”In the woodshed!” The boys stared at their trembling chum in amazement.
”I guess he's not kidding,” said Frank. ”There's something out there. Come on, Joe!”
The Hardys stepped out and trudged through Chet's tracks to the woodshed.
Frank pulled the door open and flashed his light inside. Cowering in the corner was a white turbaned figure!
”Yussef!” Joe exclaimed.
But a moment later he saw that he was mistaken, as Frank pulled the white-robed figure of a young boy to his feet. Johnny Jefferson!
The Hardys knew him instantly from the photograph Mr Jefferson had given them. But he was more st.u.r.dy and better looking than they had imagined.
”Good grief!” Joe exclaimed. ”What are you doing here?”
”Quick, into the cabin!” Frank commanded.
Wordlessly, the boy stumbled ahead of them towards the kitchen. Biff, Chet, and Hanleigh looked up in astonishment as the trio entered.
”Here's your ghost, Chet,” said Joe. ”Johnny Jefferson. That's right, isn't it?” Johnny nodded, a frightened look on his face.
Chet found his voice. ”You must be frozen, Johnny. Get some soup.”
”Thanks.” The boy removed the turban and the white robe. Underneath he wore a heavy jacket, ski pants, and climbing boots.
”Who are you?” he asked the boys, then nodded toward Hanleigh, ”Friends of his?”
”Certainly not,” said Frank. He introduced everyone and explained why they were on the island.
Johnny looked at them anxiously for a moment, then said, ”Okay. I'll buy that.”