When the Hardy boys and their chums awakened that morning they found that the storm of the night before had increased in fury to such an extent that the mainland was no longer visible.

The island was completely isolated. As far as the eye could reach, the boys could see nothing but swirling sheets of snow.

“Looks as if we’ll have to stay indoors to-day,” said Frank, as he lit the fire.

“A nuisance!” Chet grumbled. “I thought we could go out in the ice-boat this morning.”

“We’d probably get lost out in that storm. It certainly is blowing up a fine blizzard!” Biff remarked.

Joe looked out the window.

“I wonder how our boats are faring,” he said. “With a wind like that, they’re liable to be damaged.”

“I was thinking of that,” Frank replied. “After breakfast we had better go down and see that they’re all right.”

The meal over, the boys donned their outdoor clothes and set out from the cabin. The snow had drifted over the path and they were obliged to break a new trail down the slope toward the little cove in which the ice-boats were left.

“What a dirty day!” exclaimed Chet. “I think we’re just as well off indoors in weather like this.”

“I should say so,” agreed the others.

They found that the ice-boats were weathering the gale well. No damage had been done, but the boys took all possible precautions in making the boats secure. While they were doing this, Joe gazed out into the storm.

“I must be dreaming,” he said at last.

“Why?” asked Frank.

“It hardly seems possible, but I’m sure I saw an ice-boat go speeding past, out in the bay. It was just a shadow in the snow.”

“What would an ice-boat be doing out here on a day like this?” scoffed Chet. “You certainly must have been dreaming.”

The boys gazed out into the blinding wall of snow. They saw nothing, and they were just about to turn away, branding Joe’s statement as a false alarm, when they heard a loud crash.

“What’s that?”

The noise came from somewhere out in the storm, but it was so loud that the lads knew it had been caused by something not far from shore.

“There is something out there!” cried Joe.

“If it was an ice-boat it must have been wrecked,” Frank declared. “I guess we had better investigate.”

They went on down the shore a short distance, still gazing out into the driving snow, but there was no solution to the mystery. They could see nothing, and they heard nothing but the howl of the wind. Frank turned up his coat collar.

“I don’t care to venture very far away from the island,” he said doubtfully. “It would be mighty easy to get lost out there.”

“I wonder what caused that crash!”

They were just about to give up the search when they heard a faint cry.

“Help! Help!”

It was a man’s voice.

“That settles it,” declared Frank. “There has been an accident out there and some one is hurt. He’ll freeze to death if we leave him out there.”

“We’ll get him. Listen again, fellows, and see where the sound is coming from.”

The cry was repeated. They judged that the man, whoever he was, was out in the blizzard, almost immediately in front of the place where they were now standing.

“Let’s go,” said Frank.

He took the lead, left the island, and plunged out into the snowy waste. The others followed. Once beyond shelter of the island they caught the full force of the wind. It came howling down on them, flinging snow about them in clouds. They could scarcely see one another, so furious was the blizzard.

“Help!”

“We’re coming!” shouted Frank.

In a few moments they could see a dark mass ahead.

“Ice-boat,” grunted Joe. “I told you so. All smashed up.”

The ice-boat lay on its side, its mast broken in two, its sails torn to ribbons, its understructure smashed. It had evidently been going at a good rate of speed and had overturned when it swung too far over in the wind. They could see the figure of a man pinned beneath the wreckage.

Hastily, the boys knelt down to extricate the victim. When Frank saw who the man was, he gave a shout of surprise.

“Hanleigh!”

“Get me out of here,” snarled Hanleigh. “My leg is broken.”

The lads wasted no time in dragging their enemy from beneath the wreckage of the ice-boat. He was groaning with pain.

“I can’t walk!” he moaned. “You’ll have to carry me. My leg is broken.”

The boys raised Hanleigh on their shoulders. There was no use trying to save the ice-boat. It was wrecked beyond all chance of repair.

“How did you come to be out here on a day like this?” demanded Frank, as they started the journey back to Cabin Island.

Hanleigh made no reply. He was moaning with pain. His right leg hung limply, but Frank’s practiced eye saw at a glance that it was not broken.

“Sprained his ankle, most likely,” he said to Joe.

“Lucky I wasn’t killed,” groaned Hanleigh. “I was going at terrific speed, and I couldn’t get the boat stopped. I tried to lower sail and the wind turned the whole boat over on top of me.”

“Anybody who goes ice-boating in a storm like this deserves whatever happens to him,” observed Chet unsympathetically.

Hanleigh was a heavy man, and by the time the boys reached the island they were forced to stop and rest. Then, puffing from their labors, they raised the injured man to their shoulders again and began to climb up the slope.

“I’m glad you heard me shouting,” muttered Hanleigh. “I would have frozen to death out there.”

“A lucky chance for you that we heard you at all,” Joe said. “If we had been up in the cabin we would never have heard a whisper.”

Frank nudged his brother.

“Lucky for us, too,” he said. “Now we’ll be able to make him talk.”

At last they reached the cabin. They put Hanleigh on one of the beds, and then Frank examined the injured leg. As he had suspected, it was not broken, although the ankle was badly sprained. Having bathed it and put liniment and a bandage on the injured limb, Frank looked down at Hanleigh.

“You’re all right. Don’t make such a fuss. It’s only a sprain.”

“Lucky it wasn’t worse. My, I’m glad you boys heard me calling.”

“Pretty nice to have friends near at hand, isn’t it?” said Frank. “Now that you’re here, Hanleigh, I think you’d better tell us why you were snooping around the island in the first place.”

“I wasn’t coming to the island,” returned Hanleigh lamely.

“As if we’ll believe that!”

“Now, boys,” said Hanleigh placatingly, “let’s forget all our little differences and let bygones be bygones. You have saved my life and I’m very grateful to you. I didn’t mean you any harm.”

“Why were you coming here to-day?” insisted Frank.

“I’ll tell you. After what happened the other day, I worried a lot. I was afraid you lads might think I was up to something crooked, and I wanted to make things square with you. So I decided to come here and make friends with you. And then I was going to look for that pocketbook I lost.”

“Was that the only reason?”

“Absolutely the only reason.”

“What interests you here so much?” asked Joe.

“I’m interested in the island because I want to buy it. There is no other reason beyond that.”

“Why did you steal our supplies, then?”

“Now, boys,” said Hanleigh, “what’s the use of going into all that? I didn’t take your supplies. I had nothing to do with it. I don’t see why you should accuse me of a thing like that.”

“Bluff!” said Frank. “Nothing but bluff! Your pocketbook story is a fairy tale. Well, Mr. Hanleigh, you’re in a bad fix, you know. You won’t be able to get back to town unless we take you there, and I’m warning you that unless you tell us the reason for your visits here, we intend to bring you in and turn you over to the police on a charge of trespass.”

Hanleigh’s eyes narrowed.

“You wouldn’t do that?”

“Wouldn’t we? You’d better tell us what you know.”

“I don’t know anything. You’re just persecuting me. I merely came out here to make friends with you this morning and you won’t give me a chance.”

“We know you too well. What’s it to be, Mr. Hanleigh—are you going to talk or are you going to jail?”

The victim groaned miserably.

“I don’t see why you try to make everything so unpleasant for me,” he complained. “You have me at your mercy and you’re just taking an unfair advantage.” He rubbed his sprained ankle tenderly. “I’m tired. I want to go to sleep.”

“Perhaps after you’ve had a sleep, you’ll think better of it.”

Hanleigh shrugged. He removed his coat, folded it very carefully and placed it under his head.

“Do you want a pillow?” asked Chet.

“Hang your coat up on the wall,” Frank suggested.

“No. No. I’m quite all right,” returned Hanleigh hastily. “I’m quite comfortable as I am. I wish you boys would leave me alone. I want to sleep.”

He placed his head on the folded coat.

The boys moved away.

“We can’t pump him,” whispered Frank. “Better leave him alone for a while.”

With a great deal of groaning and muttering, Hanleigh composed himself for slumber. In a short while his heavy breathing told the boys that he was asleep.

“Just like a clam, that fellow Hanleigh!” exclaimed Biff Hooper.

“He sure doesn’t want to talk,” Frank Hardy agreed. “I thought we could scare him, but I guess there’s nothing doing.”

“He didn’t come back here to make friends with us. He was making another try at that notebook, that’s what he was doing. It must be mighty important to him.” Joe was eyeing the coat Hanleigh had folded so carefully and put under his head. “Wonder why he wouldn’t take a pillow. He wasn’t taking any chances on letting that coat get away from him.”

The boys looked at one another significantly.

“Perhaps he has some important papers in the pocket,” whispered Chet.

“Fine chance we have of getting at them.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Frank. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Let him sleep a little longer and we’ll see if we can’t get at them.”

The storm raged fiercely outside the cabin. The blizzard had grown in fury. The trees, bowed before the bitter wind. The boys idled about, waiting for the moment when they could attempt to secure the coat from beneath the head of their sleeping enemy.

At last Frank nodded.

Hanleigh was snoring. Frank went over to the wall and took down his own coat. He folded it carefully, then beckoned to Joe.

Together, the boys tiptoed over to the head of the bed.

While Joe held Frank’s coat, Frank gently grasped the coat under Hanleigh’s head and began to withdraw it.

The man stirred uneasily. His snoring ceased.

The boys stepped back.

Hanleigh turned over on his side. The coat was almost entirely free. The boys waited a few moments, then went toward the man again.

With a quick movement, Frank drew the coat from beneath his head, while at the same instant Joe slipped the other in its place. They stepped back.

Hanleigh groaned in his sleep, stirred again. His groping hand reached for the coat and he drew it closer to him. In a few moments his snoring again resounded through the cabin.

The boys retreated to the kitchen.

“I don’t like the idea of going through a man’s private papers,” said Frank reluctantly; “but in this case I think there is some excuse. Hanleigh is up to some crooked business here and it’s our duty to find out what it is.”

“That’s right,” agreed the others.

Frank felt the inside pocket of the coat. He encountered a bulky sheaf of papers and these he removed. Most of them were letters, but one in particular appeared to be a legal document.

He unfolded this document and brought it over to the window. The others crowded about him.

“Better keep an eye on Hanleigh, in case he awakes,” Frank suggested. “Watch him, will you, Biff?”

Biff went over to the door.

“He’s still asleep,” he whispered.

“Good.”

Frank read the document over to himself. Then he gave a low whistle of amazement.

“This clears up a lot of things,” he said.

“Read it,” whispered Joe anxiously.

Frank read the document. It was a letter addressed to Hanleigh and was from a lawyer in New York City. It was as follows:

When Frank had concluded the reading of this document there were expressions of amazement from the other boys.

“So that’s how he came to get the notebook!” said Chet. “John Sparewell was Hanleigh’s uncle!”

“And Sparewell,” observed Frank, “is dead.”

“Well, that clears up so much of the mystery,” said Joe. “But it looks as if Hanleigh is up against it just as much as we were. We know the secret of the cipher message and it didn’t do us any good.”

“Perhaps he knows something else. Sparewell may have given him further instructions in that sealed envelope.”

Frank looked through the other papers he had taken from Hanleigh’s pocket. He was interrupted by a sudden whisper from Biff.

“Be careful!”

“What’s the matter?”

“He’s waking up.”

Frank thrust the papers back into the coat pocket. There would be trouble when Hanleigh learned how he had been tricked. Then Biff sighed with relief.

“False alarm. He turned over again. He’s still asleep.”

Frank went back to the papers, relieved. He searched through them carefully. But he did not find what he sought. There were no further references to the cipher, to the sealed envelope, or to John Sparewell.

“Nothing else here,” he reported finally.

“We’d better put the coat back under his head,” Joe suggested.

Frank returned the papers to the pocket in which he had found them.

“We’re liable to wake him up if we try to put the coat back now,” he said. “I think we ought to wait until he has had his sleep. Then the rest of you can keep him occupied while I slip the coat back where it belongs.”

“And we’ll ask him what he knows about Sparewell,” said Chet.

“Oh, we’ll have questions to ask him, never fear. He won’t want us to go to Elroy Jefferson with the news about Sparewell.”

Outside, the storm was at its height. They heard a distant crash.

One of the trees at the edge of the cliff had fallen before the force of the gale. The wind was sweeping across the island at terrific speed.

“If this keeps up, we’d better watch ourselves!” remarked Biff. “There are a couple of big trees right near the place. If they blow over, they’re liable to wreck the cabin.”

“Certainly is a wicked wind!” Frank agreed. “And it doesn’t seem to be dying down, either.”

Hardly were the words out of his mouth than there was a rending, crackling sound immediately above the cabin. Then, with a rush and a roar, something went sweeping past the window. At the same instant there came a grinding noise, followed by a thud and a crash on the roof.

“One of the trees blew down!” shouted Biff, in alarm.

“The chimney is going!” warned Joe.

Crash!

Another impact on the roof. There was a shower of mortar and fragments of stone in the fireplace.

“Back to the kitchen, fellows!” yelled Frank. “The chimney is falling in!”

Frank Hardy ran over to the bed where Hanleigh was sleeping. The uproar on the roof had already aroused the man somewhat and he was stirring restlessly. Frank shook him.

“Get up!” he shouted. “The chimney is caving in!”

Hanleigh sat up quickly.

“What?” he demanded, rubbing his eyes.

“Get up! It’s dangerous here. The storm blew down one of the trees and it struck the chimney!”

There was another crash. Stones and rocks went bumping and rolling down the roof, and more débris came tumbling into the fireplace.

Hanleigh needed no second urging. He sprang out of bed, then halted with a groan of pain.

“My ankle!” he said.

“I’ll help you.” Frank seized him by the arm, and Hanleigh hobbled out into the kitchen, where the others were gathered. The cabin was creaking and swaying in the violent wind. Every little while they could hear an additional fragment of the chimney come crashing down onto the roof.

“Is the chimney coming down?” demanded Hanleigh eagerly.

They looked at him in surprise. Instead of being frightened, the man actually appeared glad of the mishap.

“If that other tree blows over and hits it, the chimney will be wrecked,” said Frank sharply. “I can’t see anything to look forward to in that.”

Hanleigh was silent, but there was a look of undisguised elation in his swarthy face.

The wind was a hurricane by now.

Wilder and wilder it blew. The snow was so heavy that the boys could not see more than a few feet beyond the window. The chimney was no longer breaking up and the steady thump and clatter of rocks on the roof had ceased. The fireplace was half full of mortar and bits of stone.

“We’d better stay where we are,” said Frank. “We’re safe enough in the kitchen. If that chimney collapses it will mean trouble for any one in the outer room.”

Hanleigh limped over to a chair and sat down.

“Might as well be comfortable,” he muttered.

“Certainly,” agreed Frank. He swung around to face the man. Then, quite calmly, he said: “When did John Sparewell die?”

Hanleigh was taken completely off his guard by the sudden question.

“About eighteen months ago—” he began. Then he halted. “What do you know about John Sparewell?” he demanded.

“We know he was your uncle. And we know he disappeared from Elroy Jefferson’s home with the rosewood box fifteen years ago. We know a lot more than you think, Hanleigh.”

“You found that notebook!” shouted the man.

“Of course.”

“You had no right to read it. The notebook was mine. I’ll have the law on you for reading it.”

“The law will be interested in that notebook, Hanleigh. You’re none too anxious to let the police see it, or Mr. Jefferson either.”

The shot told. Hanleigh’s lips curved in a snarl.

“What if Jefferson does see the notebook? What do I care if you turn it over to him or to the police? It won’t do any of you any good. The only important thing in the whole book is written in cipher, and I defy you to solve it!”

He sat back, triumphantly.

“We have solved it,” Joe told him.

“What?”

Hanleigh started forward, his eyes staring.

“We solved the cipher.”

Consternation was written on Hanleigh’s face. He groaned.

“You didn’t—you haven’t found it?” he gasped.

“Found what?”

The man’s eyes became cunning.

“Don’t you know?”

Frank shook his head.

“We have found nothing, so far. I think you’d better tell us what you were looking for. What should we have found?”

Hanleigh sat back, sighing with relief.

“There is nothing,” he said. “Not now.”

“Why—have you found it already?”

He nodded.

“Yes. I found it several days ago. There is nothing for you boys to gain by looking further.”

“Then why,” asked Joe, “did you come back here to-day?”

Hanleigh licked his lips, and was silent.

“You’re bluffing again, Hanleigh,” said Frank. “If you had found what you were looking for, you wouldn’t have kept coming back to the cabin. You found yourself up against the same problem that we did. We searched that chimney, high and low—and found nothing. Neither did you.”

Hanleigh shrugged.

“I’ve talked too much. You won’t get any more out of me. I wish I had kept my mouth shut.”

“Just as you wish, Hanleigh,” remarked Frank casually. “I think we’re all in the same fix. You don’t know any more than we do. But I warn you that we will keep an eye on you. If you do learn the secret of the chimney, you won’t keep it.”

Hanleigh laughed sneeringly.

“Then you’ll wait a long time——”

He was interrupted by a startling sound.

The shrieking wind had proved too much for the second of the tall trees that towered above the cabin. It gave way before the gale. With an ominous crackling, with branches snapping like pistol shots, it began to fall. The boys could hear the gathering roar as the great tree plunged down toward the roof of the cabin.

Hanleigh leaped to his feet in fright, then sagged helplessly against the wall as his injured ankle refused to support his weight.

“We’re done for!” he shouted, in terror. “The cabin is falling in!”

Crash!

The tree had struck the chimney. There was a deluge of stones on the roof. The boys cowered in the kitchen. If the roof gave, they might be seriously injured. Hanleigh, a picture of abject fright, crouched in the corner.

With a hideous roar, the chimney collapsed.

At the same time, the great tree went sweeping down past the side of the cabin. When it struck the chimney its downward course had been diverted.

The falling stones broke great holes in the roof of the cabin and came crashing down into the living room. A cloud of dust rose from the fireplace. A stone crashed to the floor, rebounded and smashed a pane of glass. It seemed as though the din would never end.

“Let’s get out of here!” Hanleigh was babbling, white with fear. “Let’s get out. We’ll be killed! The whole place is coming down about our ears.”

“We’re all right!” snapped Frank. “Be quiet!”

Had any of them been in the living room they would probably have been seriously injured. The weight of the fallen chimney had broken in the roof and stones were still crashing through to the floor below. The fireplace was wrecked.

At last the uproar died away. Snow was sifting through the hole in the roof, and when Frank peeped through the doorway he could see the jagged fragments of the chimney rising above the gap.

“I guess it’s all over now,” he said calmly.

Chet restrained him.

“You’re not going in there?” he said. “Frank, don’t be foolish! You’ll be killed!”

“There won’t be any more falling stones. The rest of the chimney is pretty firm. I’m anxious to investigate. Where’s that flashlight?”

“I’m coming, too,” declared Joe, realizing Frank’s motive. “This may be a lucky thing for all of us.”

“Lucky?” groaned Biff. “Do you call it lucky to have the chimney fall in and wreck the place?”

“We’ll see.”

Frank picked up the flashlight. He looked out into the living room again. It was a scene of desolation. Great stones, and quantities of débris, dust, and mortar lay all about. Then, followed by Joe, he left the kitchen and picked his way among the rubbish over to the fireplace.

“Do you think we’ll find it, Frank?” asked Joe Hardy.

“I shouldn’t be surprised. If there is anything hidden in that chimney, the banging-up it got just now should reveal it.”

They peered into the fireplace. It was choked with rubbish.

“Better clear some of this away.”

They began moving away the stones and rocks that blocked the entrance. Chet and Biff, after watching the Hardy boys for a few moments from the kitchen, came over to help. They forgot their fears in the eagerness of the search.

Once, while moving away a large stone, Frank dislodged some others that came down with a rush. He jumped back just in time.

“This business isn’t safe yet,” muttered Chet dubiously.

However, the boys went on with the work, and soon cleared out the fireplace, with no further mishap. Frank entered the opening and peered up.

“Clear daylight ahead!” he called.

The tall chimney having collapsed, he could see the white snow swirling just a few yards above. He switched on his flashlight and examined the interior.

Then he gave an exclamation of satisfaction.

“It’s all cracked and broken,” he reported. “I’m going up.”

“Be careful,” advised Biff nervously.

But Frank was already scrambling up into the fireplace. The others waited. They jumped apprehensively when his struggling feet kicked loose some more stones that came plunging down into the rest of the débris.

For a while, there was silence.

Suddenly, there was a muffled shout from the chimney.

“I have it!” yelled Frank, in excitement. “It’s here!”

The others heard him struggling for a moment; then came a further shower of stones and mortar.

“Got it!” shouted Frank triumphantly.

Then he came scrambling down into the fireplace again. His hands and face were black with soot, his clothes were ruined, but he bore in his hands an object that brought shouts of delight from the boys.

“The rosewood box!” declared Joe.

Frank nodded.

“Elroy Jefferson’s stamp collection!”

The others crowded around him. Frank held the box up. It was a beautiful object, and although it had been hidden in the chimney for many years, its rosewood surface was almost as lustrous as on the day it was first concealed. Great excitement prevailed. The mystery of the chimney had been solved. The boys all talked at once. All clamored that the box be opened.

Frank undid the catch. They looked inside.

There, neatly arranged on sheets, were the rare stamps that had been Elroy Jefferson’s pride—the stamps that were worth a fortune!

“Hurrah!” shouted Biff. Chet and Joe did a dance of joy. Frank closed the lid of the rosewood box.

“I found it right at the place mentioned in the cipher,” he said. “We didn’t discover it before, because the box had been hidden in a hollow right in the middle of one of the stones, and it had been mortared up when they were building the chimney. The shaking-up the chimney got a little while ago had broken the mortar and dislodged the stone. When I turned the flashlight on it I could plainly see the hollow and I knew something was hidden there. I dusted away the mortar, pried the stone up a little—and there was the box!”

A harsh voice interrupted him.

“What’s that? You found it? Give it here! That box is mine!”

Hanleigh was standing in the kitchen doorway. His face was livid with rage.

“It belongs to Elroy Jefferson,” returned Frank, “and we are going to return it to him.”

Hanleigh tried to hobble over toward them, but his ankle gave him such pain that he abandoned the attempt and clung to the wall for support.

“I tell you, it’s mine!” he screamed. “You have no right to take it! My uncle left that box to me in his will.”

“He left it to you on condition that you return it to Mr. Jefferson, from whom he stole it,” snapped Frank. “You haven’t a chance to claim it, Hanleigh. We have the box and we intend to give it back to its owner.”

Hanleigh glared at them. Then he shrugged.

“If only this ankle of mine was better, I’d show you!” he rasped. “It’s downright robbery, that’s what it is. I’ll take this matter into the courts and make you give it up to me.”

Frank laughed.

“You won’t go into any court over this affair, Hanleigh. You know it would be the worse for you. We saw the letter you got from the lawyers, telling you that the box must be returned to Mr. Jefferson. Wait until we tell our story. You’ll be lucky if you aren’t arrested. You never intended to live up to those instructions at all.”

This threat frightened Hanleigh. His face was pale.

“I did,” he whined. “I meant to give it back to Mr. Jefferson. Let me have the box, boys, and I’ll see that he gets it.”

“No chance! The box is a lot safer with us than it is with you. We found it and we’re going to give it back. You’d better sit down, Hanleigh, and tell us all about it.”

Hanleigh hesitated. Then he hobbled over to one of the beds and sat down.

“I guess the game is up,” he admitted heavily.

“Tell us what you know about this affair, and we’ll let the whole business drop, as far as you are concerned,” Frank promised. “If you don’t tell us we’ll simply let the police take action—and you know what that will mean,” he added significantly.

“Well,” said Hanleigh, at last, “I suppose there is nothing else for me to do. With any luck at all, I might have had that box, and I would have been miles away by this time.”

“How did it get here, in the first place?”

Hanleigh began his story.

“My uncle, John Sparewell,” he said, “was a servant in the home of Elroy Jefferson for many years. He was in financial difficulties at one time and when he learned about the valuable stamp collection he thought that if he stole it and sold it he might be able to realize enough money to pay off his debts. He knew that the collection was kept in a small safe in the house, so he watched his chance. He was highly trusted by Mr. Jefferson, so it was not long before he had the opportunity he was waiting for. The safe was left unlocked one afternoon, so my uncle slipped into the study, took the box, put on his hat and coat and left the house.”

“And never went back,” said Joe.

“He never returned. He had laid his plans very carefully, and he knew he might have to wait until the hue and cry died down before he would be able to dispose of the stamps, so he fled to a little village down on the sea-coast, and he stayed in hiding there for several months. He learned that the police were looking for him and then he found that a full description of the stamps had been circulated and that he would certainly be arrested if he ever tried to get rid of them to any recognized dealer. As a matter of fact, when he left the village where he had been hiding and went to New York, he narrowly escaped being arrested merely because he went to one of the dealers in that city and asked him what the stamps would be worth. The dealer became suspicious and notified the police, but my uncle saw his danger in time and cleared out.”

“And he never sold the stamps.”

“He couldn’t. It was too dangerous. He made up his mind to return them to Elroy Jefferson. So he took the rosewood box and came back to Bayport.”

“Why didn’t he return them?” asked Frank, in surprise.

“Mr. Jefferson was away. He had gone to Europe on one of his periodical collecting trips. Then my uncle was afraid he might be recognized around Bayport and he knew that if he were arrested and the stamps found on him, no one would believe that he had meant to give them back. So he determined to hide them until he would have a chance to see Mr. Jefferson. At this time, Cabin Island had been purchased, and the cabin was being built. One day, my uncle was prowling about the Jefferson place, wondering if he could steal into the house and return the box without being seen, when Mrs. Jefferson saw him. He did not know if he had been recognized, but he went away. A little while later, he saw her leave the house with the gardener, and he saw them looking for him. He became frightened, and he hired a boat and went out into the bay. But evidently they traced him, for in a little while Mrs. Jefferson and the gardener set out in their own boat.”

Hanleigh looked gloomily at the floor.

“My uncle was afraid that they would turn him over to the police if they caught him with the rosewood box. He wanted to talk to Elroy Jefferson and have the charge against him withdrawn. So he decided to flee, but the only place he could think of just then was Cabin Island. So he went there in the boat. The cabin was just being built at this time, as I said, and the fireplace and chimney had not been finished. The masons had the chimney just about half completed. As it was a Sunday, the island was deserted that day. Fearing that he might be trapped on the island, with the box in his possession, he hid it in a hollow of one of the stones and covered it over with mortar, intending to come back for it later. Then he got away from the island before Mrs. Jefferson overtook him.”

“Didn’t he go back later?” asked Chet.

Hanleigh nodded. “He went back next day. But the masons were back at work, completing the chimney. He did not have a chance to get near the place. He remained hidden on the island all day until they went home that night. Then he went up to the cabin to recover the box. He found that more stones had been placed over the stone where he had hidden the box. They had been securely mortared. The box was sealed up. In spite of all he could do, he could not get the box again. He came back to the island several times that week but he had no success. Every day, the masons did more work on the chimney, and every day his chances grew less. So he left Bayport and went to a little village in Maine, where he lived for a number of years. He did not try to get in touch with Elroy Jefferson again. Then, about five years ago, he determined to make another effort to recover the box and he came back, making several trips to the island, but although he tried to get at the box from inside the chimney, he failed. When he died, the box had not been recovered, although my uncle had repented bitterly of his foolish crime. In his will, he left his property to me and he also left a sealed letter containing the confession I have just told you.”

“And he asked you to recover the box.”

“Yes. But I wanted it for myself. I had become acquainted with a man who said he could dispose of it for me. He offered me fifty thousand dollars for the collection.”

“Fifty thousand dollars!” exclaimed the boys.

“It is worth even more than that, for many of the stamps have increased in value since the year they disappeared. I don’t suppose Elroy Jefferson would sell it at any price. My uncle was dead, I was the only person who knew where the stamps were hidden, so I made up my mind to get them for myself. I came to the island, but I soon saw that the only way I could get at the box would be to wreck the chimney. I went to Elroy Jefferson and made him an offer for the cabin. I did not have the eight thousand dollars I offered him, but I thought that if he accepted, I could give him a small cash payment, occupy the island long enough to get possession of the stamps, and then I would clear out. But he wouldn’t sell. So then I determined to get the stamps by hook or by crook——”

“Mostly crook!” interrupted Chet.

Hanleigh flashed him a glance of hatred.

“You boys spoiled my game!”

“We were almost ready to give up,” Frank told him. “If you hadn’t been so persistent we might have left the island and you might have got the stamps after all.”

“I was afraid you would find them first,” said Hanleigh. “When I lost that notebook, I was afraid you would solve the cipher and get the box before I had a chance. Well, I took a long chance, and I lost. That’s the whole story. Now what are you going to do?”

He glared at them defiantly.

“First of all,” Frank decided. “We are going to wait until this storm dies down. Then we are going to take you back to Bayport.”

“Not to the police!” shouted Hanleigh, in terror.

“No—not to the police. I imagine Mr. Jefferson will be content with getting the stamps back. We promised not to turn you over to the police if you confessed, and we’ll keep our promise. But you must get out of Bayport.”

“I never want to see the place again,” groaned Hanleigh.

“We are going to explain the whole affair to Mr. Jefferson and return the stamps to him. It will be a return for his kindness in letting us have the island for our outing.”

“I guess our outing is finished,” remarked Chet regretfully, with a glance at the ruined roof.

“We didn’t have many more days to stay, anyway,” consoled Frank. “And I’d rather get to the bottom of a mystery like this than have all the outings in the world.”

“That’s right,” agreed his brother.