At nine o’clock, the three Cubs and their leader were picked up by launch, according to an arrangement made with a member of the yacht club. Once on shore, they purchased a few small items. Thereafter, they presented themselves at Mr. Manheim’s office and were elated to learn that the island owner was in.
“He’ll see you at once,” a secretary told them. “First door to your left.”
The room which Mr. Hatfield and the Cubs entered through a frosted door was padded with rich, soft carpet.
A heavy-set man with steel-blue eyes sat in a swivel chair behind a desk at the window. Recognizing the Cub leader, he smiled in welcome.
“Hello, Sam! What brings you here so bright and early? Another proposition to buy that camp site on Skeleton Island?”
“Not exactly, Mr. Manheim. We’re not so sure it’s a safe place.”
“Skeleton Island not safe?” Mr. Manheim demanded. “What gave you that idea? Sit down and tell me all about it.” He waved everyone into chairs.
Mr. Hatfield introduced the three Cubs and then went directly to the point. He related how a stone had been tossed at Dan and showed Mr. Manheim the warning note.
“Why, someone is playing a joke on you,” the island owner said after reading the message. “Don’t tell me you take this seriously?”
“We did and do, Mr. Manheim.”
“I see nothing to cause alarm. Probably some boys from a rival troop are having a little fun at your expense.”
“The stone was hurled by a man,” Dan interposed. “I saw his face quite plainly.”
“It’s possible that tramps have taken up quarters in the underbrush,” Mr. Manheim said reluctantly. “Jabowski’s orders are to keep hoodlums away from the island. I’ll jack him up a bit if he’s been remiss in his duty.”
“Jabowski is your caretaker at Skeleton Island?” Mr. Hatfield inquired.
“Yes, he lives there with his nephew.”
“We saw neither of them. In fact, the old hotel building seemed to be locked up.”
“Jabowski has orders not to leave the island without notifying me,” Mr. Manheim said, frowning. “He must be there.”
To Mr. Hatfield and the Cubs it became obvious that the information they had brought was displeasing to the island owner. Apparently to end the interview, he arose and said:
“Now don’t worry about a thing. I’ll get in touch with Jabowski and have him ascertain that the island is free of trespassers.”
“Thank you, Mr. Manheim. We wouldn’t have troubled you only—”
“No trouble at all,” Mr. Manheim interrupted the Cub leader. “I always like to help out the Cubs or Scouts. Fact is, I’ve been thinking for several weeks I’d like to give ’em a bang-up time—a regular jamboree.”
“Jamboree?” Mr. Hatfield repeated, rather mystified.
The island owner ignored the Cub leader, turning to Brad, Dan and Chips.
“How would you boys like a beach barbecue? A really big affair?”
“Swell!” Chips agreed.
“We’ll invite all the Cubs in Webster City. Make it a bang-up affair. Tonight, shall we say?”
“You’re moving a bit fast for me,” said Mr. Hatfield. “How can you plan such an affair on short notice?”
“Leave that to me,” said Mr. Manheim, pressing the desk buzzer. “We’ll call in a caterer, a friend of mine who will take care of every detail. Your job, Mr. Hatfield, will be to have the Cubs there on the island.”
“I don’t doubt the boys will jump at the chance for a barbecue even on short notice,” Mr. Hatfield replied. “But what about transportation?”
“My motorboat will be available. And Jabowski can take the overflow on a motor raft he has at the island.”
“Well—” Mr. Hatfield gazed dubiously at the Cubs. “I hardly know what to say. It’s such short notice—”
“The trouble with you, Sam, is that you’re not in the habit of making quick decisions,” the other said jovially. “You have your boys at the dock at seven o’clock. I’ll take care of everything else.”
“All right,” Mr. Hatfield agreed. “I’ll get in touch with the Cub leader of Den 1. I only hope you aren’t biting off more than you can chew.”
“Never have yet,” the island owner said, escorting the party to the door. “See you tonight. We’ll have a jamboree that will give those Cubs the thrill of their young lives!”
“But what about that man we saw at the spring?” Dan half-protested. “If he should be hanging around—”
“Leave that to Jabowski,” Mr. Manheim dismissed the subject. “Don’t give the matter another thought.”
The island owner bowed the Cubs out. When the door had closed firmly behind them, they eyed each other a trifle askance.
“Well, that was fast work if you ask me,” Brad said, sucking in his breath. “Mr. Manheim takes care of everything!”
“In typical Manheim style,” added the Cub leader unhappily. “Unfortunately, I’ve learned from past experience that his plans don’t always pan out right.”
“Then you’re afraid the barbecue won’t come off tonight?” Chips asked as the four started down the hallway.
“Oh, it will be held after a fashion,” Mr. Hatfield replied. “But Mr. Manheim is apt to leave too many details unplanned. Another thing—”
“That man at the spring?” Dan supplied as the Cub leader hesitated.
“Yes, I’m not entirely satisfied that Jabowski will attend to him. For that matter, where is Jabowski?”
“No one has seen him since we landed on the island,” Brad replied.
“It all adds up to an uncertain picture,” Mr. Hatfield said soberly. “Everything may go well tonight. I hope so. But between you and me and the gate-post, I’m wondering if Mr. Manheim’s barbecue may not be a mistake!”
Despite Mr. Hatfield’s misgivings, the jamboree came off that night according to schedule.
At the appointed hour, the island owner’s motorboat and the power raft were at the Webster City Yacht Club docks to pick up members of Den 1.
Mr. Manheim personally took command of the speedboat, while his man Jabowski carried the overflow of boys across the river on the open raft.
In an ugly mood, the caretaker complained that the barbecue was “a lot of stupid nonsense.”
Actually, he smarted from a lecture delivered by his employer. For three hours that afternoon the island owner had tried to find Jabowski. Finally tracing him to a waterfront tavern, he had warned the man that unless he paid attention to his duties, he would be discharged.
Jabowski blamed the Cubs for the reprimand, and so did his utmost to make them feel uncomfortable.
“Sit still!” he ordered Ross Langdon, who shifted his weight as the raft chugged across the river. “You want to upset us?”
“Aw, I hardly moved,” Ross growled. “Anyway, if this raft isn’t safe, you shouldn’t be taking kids across the river in it.”
“The raft’s safe enough, if you behave yourselves.”
“We are behaving,” Ross retorted. “For crying out loud, what’s eating you anyhow? You’ve done nothing but crab since we left the dock.”
“You’d crab too if your boss gave orders to have a barbecue on eight hours notice! But that’s Manheim for you. Always doing things in the grand manner—only someone else has to do the work!”
Not much impressed by the caretaker’s complaints, the Cubs eagerly turned their faces toward Skeleton Island. Huge fires burned on the beach and they could hear the music of an eight-piece band.
“Say, this is going to be a shing-ding!” Ross said, pleased. “We should have a swell time tonight. Good grub, Mr. Jabowski?”
“Baked clams and lobster and roasted ox! That ought to be enough to satisfy you kids and your parents.”
“Say! Mr. Manheim’s doing all right by us,” Ross said, impressed. “We’ll have a swell time tonight.”
Although the caretaker could have landed the raft at the beach, he proceeded up-island to a dock which extended out into much deeper water.
“Hey, what’s the idea, bringing us clear up here?” Ross protested, eager to join the other boys on the island.
“Give your gums a rest, will you?” Jabowski demanded rudely. “I’m handling this raft.”
At last after taking his time in fastening the craft to a dock post, he allowed the boys to disembark. Quickly they joined the Cubs from Den 2.
Nearly thirty Cubs and their parents already had arrived at the island. Mr. Manheim went here and there, shaking hands with the grownups and joking with the boys. The music was excellent, the food plentiful. Yet despite the efforts of everyone to have a good time, the party soon began to go a trifle flat.
At that point Mr. Hatfield and Midge’s father took a hand, introducing various games. The fun revived. However, everyone appeared relieved when the gathering began to break up at nine-thirty.
Mr. Manheim took two boatloads of Cubs and their parents to shore and returned for the third. Meanwhile, Jabowski had made one trip in the much slower raft.
“One more trip will wind it up,” the island owner estimated, counting the Cubs who were to remain overnight at their camp. “I can take five, and the others all can get on the raft.”
“Seven on the raft?” Mr. Hatfield interposed in disapproval. “Isn’t that loading it rather heavily?”
“Not at all,” Mr. Manheim returned, annoyed to have his judgment questioned. “The raft was built to carry a much heavier load.”
“It seems sturdy enough, but there are no rails—”
“Jabowski will keep his eye on the boys.”
Dismissing the matter, the island owner filled his speedboat to capacity and pulled away. Following orders, Jabowski herded the remaining Cubs aboard the raft.
When all were seated who were to leave the island, not a spare inch of space remained.
Mr. Hatfield, who had been watching the loading with troubled gaze, stepped to the edge of the dock to speak to Jabowski.
“Why not make another trip?” he suggested. “The raft is overloaded.”
“Mr. Manheim’s orders were to take ’em all in one load,” Jabowski said stubbornly. “I do as he tells me.”
He started the motor and the raft slowly pulled away.
“Hey, wait!” Ross Langdon shouted. “I forgot my cap!”
Before anyone could stop him, he leaped to his feet. The over-weighted raft tilted sharply to the left.
“Sit down!” Jabowski yelled.
The warning came much too late. Other Cubs, their feet under water, were scrambling frantically for safety.
As the raft became even more off-balance, it tilted to a sharper angle, sliding all the Cubs except one into the river. Jabowski, clinging to the motor box, managed to hold on.
The water into which the Cubs had fallen was well over their heads. Weighted down by shoes and clothing, they churned the surface in a frantic effort to keep up.
Ross, an expert swimmer, seized one of the Cubs and towed him ashore.
Mr. Hatfield and Midge’s father both plunged in to assist others to safety.
Two of the Cubs grasped the side of the raft and were pulled aboard by the frightened Jabowski.
Meanwhile, on shore, Dan had kicked off his shoes, ready to help.
“Where’s Tim Tyler?” he shouted.
Tim was the youngest and smallest member of Den 1. Also, as all the boys knew, he was the only Cub who had never learned to swim a stroke.
In the darkness there now was no glimpse of the boy. He was neither on the raft nor anywhere visible in the water.
“He was aboard when the raft upset,” Dan cried. “I saw him just before it went over. Maybe he’s pinned underneath!”
Without waiting for others to act, the boy made a clean dive from the end of the dock. With the speed of a bullet he shot beneath the raft.
To his confusion, it was not flat underneath as he had expected. Instead, the craft was laced with four large metal tanks.
At the moment, Dan had no time to think of their significance or to wonder why they were there. Holding his breath, he groped about in the dark waters of the cool river.
He felt rather than saw the body which was wedged between the tanks in the very centermost portion of the raft.
Seizing Tim by an arm, Dan attempted to swim out with him. His head and shoulders came hard against the metal tanks and he could make no progress.
Dan’s breath now was growing short and he knew he must work fast. Treading water, he used both arms to try to free the imprisoned Cub.
At first he could not move the boy an inch. Then Dan’s hand encountered a jagged nail, and he realized that Tim’s clothing had speared on it.
With a hard jerk, he ripped the garment free. Then, with the limp form of the boy on his left hip, he swam and pulled them both toward the outer edge of the raft.
His heart began to pound and his lungs to feel as if they would explode. Could he keep going? He had to, Dan told himself. To abandon Tim never entered his thoughts. Only a stroke or two more—
When it seemed to Dan that he had reached the very end, a strong hand grasped his clothing. Both he and Tim, to whom he clung desperately, were hauled up onto the raft.
“Good work, Dan!” Mr. Hatfield’s praise rang in his ears. “You saved Tim.”
All the Cubs were taken ashore to dry out by the fire. Mr. Holloway and the Cub leader stretched Tim out on the dock, wrapping him in blankets. It was unnecessary to apply artificial respiration, for he soon opened his eyes and began to breathe normally.
“We’ll look after Tim,” Mr. Hatfield advised Dan as the shivering boy hovered near. “Hike to the tent and change your clothes.”
“Mr. Hatfield, there’s something I want to tell you—”
“Later, Dan.”
Brad threw a blanket over the boy’s shoulders and led him away.
“The Den is proud of you, Dan,” he declared as he waited while the other changed into dry clothing. “You earned yourself a medal tonight.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Dan replied. “Or rather, anyone would have done the same.”
“You thought and acted in a split-second. That was what counted, Dan. If Mr. Manheim hadn’t been so bull-headed about taking too many Cubs on the raft, the accident wouldn’t have occurred.”
“It was badly balanced from the start, Brad. I can’t understand those tanks—”
“What tanks, Dan?”
“Why there were four of them on the underside of the raft.”
“Tanks? You’re sure?”
“I certainly am. They were long and flat and made of metal. Tim was wedged between them, his trousers snagged on a nail.”
“Maybe they were gasoline tanks.”
“They looked like it. But why would the raft need so many? These tanks would hold fifteen or twenty gallons each.”
“Another thing, the gas tank that feeds the motor is on the top side of the raft,” Brad said thoughtfully. “It does seem queer. You told Mr. Hatfield?”
“I aim to. He was too busy working on Tim.”
Dan finished dressing and the two boys sought the warmth of the fire. Tim, wrapped in blankets, was brought there.
The other drenched Cubs were lent clothing by the more fortunate boys of Den 2.
Presently Mr. Manheim returned from across the river. Informed by Jabowski as to what had occurred, he was profuse in his apologies for the mishap.
“I can’t understand how it happened,” he said to Mr. Hatfield. “Why, we’ve transported lumber and very heavy objects on that raft. We never had an accident before.”
“There’s always a first time,” the Cub leader replied. “Fortunately, no serious harm has been done. But it was a miracle the raft upset at the dock and not in mid-stream.”
After Mr. Manheim had taken the Den 1 Cubs ashore in the motorboat, the Skeleton Island camp settled down for the night.
Not until then did Dan have opportunity to tell Mr. Hatfield of seeing the gasoline tanks beneath the raft.
“I think that’s what made it upset,” he declared. “When the load shifted, all the fuel ran to the same side.”
“Fuel tanks on the underside of a raft,” Sam Hatfield mused. “That seems odd. Why would a raft need such large carrying capacity?”
“Maybe to supply another boat.”
“But Mr. Manheim’s motorcraft has a large tank. It doesn’t make sense to me.”
“I figure Jabowski’s been supplying that motorboat Brad and I saw signal from across the river,” Dan said.
“He may be selling Mr. Manheim’s gasoline and picking up a little extra money for himself, Dan. I wouldn’t put it past him. That, I suppose, would explain those tanks underneath the raft.”
“I’m wondering too if Jabowski may not be mixed up with the river pirates.”
Mr. Hatfield gazed at the boy in amazement.
“Hold on, Dan!” he exclaimed. “You’re going too fast for me.”
“No one likes Jabowski,” Dan argued. “He has no friends. I know because I’ve inquired.”
“The man isn’t very likeable, I’ll grant, but to accuse him of being a crook is something I wouldn’t venture to do.”
“I’m not accusing him, Mr. Hatfield. I’m only wondering. You recall, on the night the furs were stolen, a motorboat almost like Mr. Manheim’s tore into Mr. Holloway’s sailboat.”
“I remember, Dan.”
“Since then, police have watched the waterfront for that boat. Especially gasoline outlets.”
“I’ve read so in the papers, Dan.”
“According to the stories, police have been puzzled as to where the boat owners put in for fuel.”
“I see you’re well informed on the subject, Dan,” Mr. Hatfield said, smiling.
“I’ve read every word, because I’m interested. Maybe those river thieves have moved out of here, but I have a hunch they’re just biding their time before pulling another job.”
“Be that as it may, Dan, the Cubs can’t afford to mix themselves in any such business. As I said before, if I thought Skeleton Island had become a hideout for the river thieves, I’d never recommend that this camp site be bought.”
“But if we don’t investigate, how can you know if the camp’s really safe?” Dan argued.
“So that’s where this conversation has been pointing,” Mr. Hatfield chuckled. “You’re proposing that the Cubs do a little sleuthing before we leave here?”
“Couldn’t we?”
“What could we learn, Dan?”
“I’d like to find out more about Jabowski and his habits. I have an idea, Mr. Hatfield, if you’d hear of it.”
“What is this idea, Dan?”
“You know that game we sometimes play of ‘Follow the Trail.’ One Cub goes ahead and lays out a trail which the others tried to follow.”
Mr. Hatfield nodded. “It’s excellent training in observation for the Cubs.”
“Well, I thought, if you’re willing, we might lay the trail across the island and around Jabowski’s place. The Cubs could be instructed to notice anything unusual and report.”
“Spy out the old hotel, you mean?”
“That’s right. Maybe it wouldn’t net anything. Then again, we might pick up considerable information about Jabowski.”
Mr. Hatfield thought the matter over for a moment.
“We’ll be here only one day longer,” he said. “If we tried out your idea, it would have to be early in the morning.”
“Then we may do it?”
“I’ll think it over,” Mr. Hatfield replied in a tone which was a half-promise. “Get to sleep now, Dan. We’ll talk further of this tomorrow.”
Excitement swept the camp the next morning when Mr. Hatfield told the Cubs they were to play the trail game Dan had proposed.
Taking the boys partially into his confidence, the Cub leader explained that he wished to obtain as much information as possible about Jabowski or any other occupants of the island.
“What sort of information?” Mack asked, puzzled.
“It’s a request that can’t be explained,” Mr. Hatfield replied. “Just keep your eyes open. If you notice anything unusual report it after the hunt is over. Dan will lay the trail.”
“I’ll need twenty minutes start of the gang,” Dan announced, already making his plans.
Mr. Hatfield told the Cubs that he might be absent from camp upon their return. He had arranged for a yacht club boat to pick him up, as he wished to visit Tim Tyler to make certain the boy had suffered no ill effects from his previous night’s ducking.
“I shan’t be gone long,” he told the Cubs. “During my absence, Brad will be in charge.”
“And that means you all must do just as I say,” Brad instructed the younger boys. “I’ll lead the clue hunt, and I want you to stick close to me. No stragglers!”
The Cubs allowed Dan a full twenty minutes start and then set out in pursuit.
Midge found the first clue, a bit of bush broken off and weighted down with stones.
Farther on, Red spied a forked stick which pointed the direction. The trail avoided the marsh, skirting the shore much of the way. Finally it wound through a brushy hollow and came out within view of the old hotel where Jabowski lived.
“What’s the idea of all this?” Red demanded, sinking down on a rock to rest. “Dan brought us to this old hotel on purpose, didn’t he?”
“That’s right,” Brad agreed. “And here’s a note from him.” His keen eyes had sighted a slip of paper speared on a nearby tree branch.
Obtaining it, he read aloud: “Watch the windows of the hotel.”
“The windows?” Red repeated. “What does he mean by that?”
“Don’t know,” Brad shrugged. “Just keep your eyes peeled for anything unusual.”
“Such as what?” Midge demanded.
“I can’t tell you that. I don’t know myself. If you see Jabowski or anyone around, keep tab on ’em. Pick up any information you can, no matter how trivial it may seem.”
“But why are we doing this?” Mack complained. “I don’t get it.”
“Mr. Hatfield will explain later.”
“You and Dan seem to be on the inside,” Chips grumbled.
“If you don’t want to play the game, you can trot back to camp. And that goes for all of you!”
“Oh, don’t get tough,” Chips retorted. “We’re willing to spy out the enemy camp, but it would be more to the point if you’d do a little explaining.”
“All in good time, all in good time,” Brad rejoined, restored to good humor.
Following the trail Dan had marked, the Cubs slowly circled the hotel building.
“I don’t believe Jabowski lives there,” Midge declared. “The place is deserted.”
“No, it isn’t,” corrected Red. “I see smoke coming from the chimney at the rear.”
Brad praised the boy for his observation and urged the others to be on the lookout for other signs.
A little farther on, the Den Chief paused to study the grimy windows of the ancient building.
“Jabowski doesn’t hurt himself keeping the place clean or tidy,” he remarked. “Look at those windows! And the weeds in the yard!”
“And the shutters,” contributed Fred. “They’re banging around at every angle.”
Brad suddenly froze into alert attention. His gaze had focused hard upon one of the upstairs hotel windows. The glare of the sun was upon it, and for a moment the others could not see what had attracted his interest.
“Fellows, there’s someone standing at the window!” he exclaimed. “Not Jabowski either!”
“It looks like a boy,” Chips declared, shifting his position so that the reflected sunlight would not blind him.
Huddled together, the Cubs all fastened their gaze upon the window. Plainly they could see a youth standing there, his face pressed close against the dirty pane.
“Jeepers!” Chips whispered in stunned recognition. “It’s Jacques!”
Almost at the same instant, Brad and the other Cubs had made a similar observation. The boy who stood at the window was the same one who had vanished from the Cave only a few days earlier.
As the boys watched, a hand appeared from nowhere to jerk Jacques back from the window. They waited several minutes, but the boy did not reappear.
“You know what I think!” Midge cried, recovering from stunned surprise. “Jacques is being held a prisoner in there!”
“Either Jabowski or someone else saw him trying to signal us, and pulled him back out of sight!” Fred added excitedly. “I say we ought to break in and rescue him!”
“Not so fast,” Brad cautioned as the other Cubs were ready to back up the proposal. “Our orders were to report back to camp. Remember?”
“But this is an emergency,” Chips argued. “If Jacques is being held a prisoner, we ought to get him out!”
“And maybe get ourselves into a peck of trouble. Nope! Dan must have seen that boy too or he wouldn’t have left the note. We’re hiking back to camp. It’s up to Mr. Hatfield to decide what to do.”
Turning deaf ears upon all protests, Brad led the Cubs back the way they had come. Suddenly, a figure loomed up ahead of the boys. It was Jabowski who confronted them. From where he had come or how long he had been secreted in the bushes, they could not guess.
The caretaker’s voice was hard and unfriendly as he demanded:
“What d’you think you’re doing here?”
“Why, we’re playing ‘follow the trail’,” Brad said as the other Cubs were too abashed to reply.
“You were spying on the house!”
“Spying?” Brad asked innocently. “Why, what is there to see?”
“Nothing. Not a thing,” Jabowski retorted, made uncomfortable by the manner in which the boy had turned the accusation. “I just don’t like kids swarming over the place. See?”
“Mr. Manheim gave us permission to camp on the island.”
“But not to run wild over it. This here place is mine and I don’t want snoopers. Now get back to your own end of the island and stay there!”
“Sure, sure,” Brad said, signaling the Cubs to make no resistance. “We were leaving anyhow.”
“I don’t aim to be mean,” Jabowski said, mollified by the boy’s willingness to obey. “But a guy has to have some privacy. That raft upsetting last night set my nerves on edge. You the boy that dived under it?”
“No, that was Dan Carter.”
“Which one is he?” Jabowski’s keen gaze swept the group.
“Dan isn’t here,” Midge informed the caretaker.
“Well, no matter,” Jabowski said. “Git along now, and mind what I said. You keep to your end of the island and there’ll be no hard feelings. By the way, when you leaving?”
“For good you mean?” Brad asked. “Why, late this afternoon, I guess.”
“Then you won’t be camping here another night.” Unmistakable relief was stamped on the caretaker’s face. “Good-bye, boys.”
“Oh, you may see us again,” Brad said with mischievous intent. “Oh, say! Have you run into that tramp who annoyed us the first day we camped here?”
“Tramp? The one who threw the stone?” Jabowski’s expression became guarded. “No, I searched the island after Mr. Manheim complained to me. No one around. If anyone scared you, he’s gone now.”
“Let’s hope so, at least,” replied Brad evenly. “Well, so long, Mr. Jabowski. Sorry to have bothered you.”
The Cubs tramped off, and because they knew the caretaker was watching, did not look back until they were a long distance from the old hotel.
Once out of sight and hearing, the boys discussed the important discovery they had made.
“There’s no question that it was Jacques we saw at the window,” Brad declared. “But what’s he doing here? And was it Jabowski who pulled him away from the window, or someone else?”
“He’s a prisoner, for sure,” Midge insisted. “We know someone spirited him away from the Cave. He’s probably been held here ever since.”
“Come on, let’s find Mr. Hatfield,” Brad urged, starting along the trail again.
At the camp a few minutes later, the Cubs were surprised to find the site entirely deserted. Dan was nowhere around. Nor was Mr. Hatfield or Midge’s father to be found.
Belatedly, Brad recalled that the Cub leader and Mr. Holloway had expected to make a brief trip that morning to the mainland.
“That’s probably where they are,” he remarked, his gaze anxiously sweeping the river. “But where’s Dan?”
“Maybe he went along,” Fred suggested.
“Maybe,” Brad agreed doubtfully. “But he couldn’t have returned to camp very long ago.”
While the other boys aired their bedding and attended to camp tasks, the older boy wandered along the shore.
On the west beach he noticed where a boat had been pulled up on the wet sand. The area was splattered with footprints, both large and small.
“A boat landed after the Cubs went trail hunting,” Brad reconstructed the scene. “Dan must have come down here to meet the folks, whoever they were. Maybe he went away with them, or was taken away!”
As far as Brad could see, the river was deserted of small craft. However, the dense bushes lining both sides of the wide stream provided ample protection for any boat which might seek to keep out of view.
Recalling the motorcraft which apparently had been serviced by the island raft, Brad became increasingly uneasy.
“It isn’t like Dan to go away without leaving word,” he told himself. “Something’s happened to him!”
Just then his roving gaze fastened upon a pile of three stones placed conspicuously on the beach. Plainly they had been left there to attract attention.
Brad kicked aside the stones. Folded beneath the lowermost one was a note from Dan.
“Called to Police Station,” it read. “No chance to see Mr. Hatfield. See you soon—I hope.”
Brad read the message twice, trying to figure it out.
“Now why would Dan be called to the police station?” he speculated. “It must be something important to bring the cops here after him.”
Brad was certain that his chum had committed no crime. But why otherwise would he be sought by police?
“See you soon—I hope,” he reread the final words of the note. “That sounds as if he thinks he may run into trouble. I wonder if Jabowski or someone who dislikes having the Cubs on Skeleton Island turned in a false complaint?”
Decidedly worried, the Den Chief pocketed the note and walked slowly back toward camp.
Without a motorboat, he knew he could do nothing until Mr. Hatfield and Midge’s father returned from the mainland.
“A nice kettle of fish,” he muttered. “Dan at the police station, and Jacques apparently a prisoner in the old hotel. No telling what may happen next! And me with all the responsibility!”
After laying the trail for the other Cubs to follow, Dan had spent some minutes watching the old hotel at the far end of the island. He too had observed Jacques standing at the window. Greatly excited by the discovery, he left a note for the Cubs and then hastened back to camp to report.
However, neither Mr. Hatfield nor Midge’s father was there, having crossed the river a few minutes earlier.
Dan nervously paced the camp, wondering what he should do. Far across the island, he could hear an occasional shout from the Cubs as they noisily followed the trail he had marked.
After awhile, the boy became aware of the approach of a high-powered speedboat. Turning to look, he was astonished to see that a Webster City police patrol boat was beaching on the island.
As he went down to the water’s edge, a sergeant and plainclothesman stepped out of the boat.
“Is this the Cub camp?” the sergeant inquired.
“Yes, sir, it is,” Dan replied. He wondered what had brought police to the island at such an early hour, or for that matter, at any hour.
“We’re looking for a Mr. Hatfield.”
“He isn’t here just now. But I expect him back in a half hour or so.”
“Mr. Holloway?”
“They’re together.”
“We came to take one of the boys back to the station with us,” the sergeant explained. “A kid by the name of Dan Carter. Is he around?”
Dan drew in his breath, and answered uneasily: “I’m Dan Carter. Why do you want me? What have I done now?”
“Why, nothing—not a thing,” the police officer reassured him. “Weren’t you one of the youngsters who saw the operator of a motorboat that struck Mr. Holloway’s sailboat?”
“That’s right. But how did you know?”
“Oh, we check up,” the sergeant replied with a friendly grin. “Remember the blindman?”
“I did tell him about the crash,” Dan recalled. “He passed the information on to you?”
“Right. You saw the men in that boat?”
“Yes, but not plainly. The boat was running without lights.”
“Think you could identify any of the men if you saw ’em again?”
“One of them, I might.”
“Describe him.”
“Well, he was short and muscular—heavily built. His jaw was sort of square and his face puffy. I couldn’t see the color of his hair, but would say he was on the dark side.”
“That’s a pretty fair description, Dan,” the sergeant praised. “You’re observing.”
“Actually, I think I saw him twice,” Dan replied. “Once in the boat and then again on shore talking to a little fellow with a paper bag. ‘Paper Bag Eddie’, they called him.”
The police sergeant and plainclothesman exchanged a quick glance.
“Kid, you’re the one we need to help us,” the latter said. “Now this is the set-up. We’ve picked up a man we think may have been mixed up in the fur robbery. Also, he may be the one that rammed Mr. Holloway’s boat. We want you to identify him.”
“I don’t know if I can,” Dan said doubtfully. “I’ll be glad to try.”
Excited at the prospect before him, Dan scribbled a note for Mr. Hatfield and the Cubs. This he placed under a pile of stones on the beach where he was certain it would be seen. He then boarded the police boat and was ferried across the river.
At the police station, Dan was told to wait in an ante-room. He sat down, thumbing through the pages of a magazine. Policemen went in and out, but save for an occasional glance at the boy, no one paid any attention to him.
Dan began to wonder if he had been entirely forgotten.
After awhile, he arose and wandered out into the first floor corridor. As he stood there watching men and women pass through from James St. to Whitehill Ave., he suddenly stiffened.
Through the revolving doors came Paper Bag Eddie. The man was alone. His hat had been pulled low over his eyes, and his coat collar was high, but he carried the familiar paper sack.
A policeman, recognizing the man, stopped him for a moment.
“Hello, Eddie,” he said, eyeing him guardedly. “What brings you here?”
“The measles,” Eddie retorted, his thin lips curling into a sneer. “You got nothing on me, copper. It’s a free corridor, ain’t it?”
“Just keep moving, Eddie.”
“I’m here to pay a traffic fine,” the man replied. “Any law against it?”
“Go ahead,” the policeman said. “Just make it snappy and get out. We don’t want you loitering around here.”
Eddie eyed the police officer insolently, but made no reply. Passing Dan, he entered a door which bore a sign: “Pay Traffic Fines Here.”
However, he did not remain three minutes inside the room. No sooner had the policeman stepped into one of the court rooms, than Eddie emerged into the corridor again.
His fox-like eyes darted back and forth, noting that no other policemen were anywhere in sight.
This ascertained, he sidled over to Dan.
“You’re here to identify a man you’re supposed to have seen in a motorboat,” his purring voice said. “Get this! You never saw the guy before.”
Taken by surprise, Dan stared at Eddie and made no reply.
“Have some popcorn?” the man invited.