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.
"Let's take both our boats," Tony proposed. "We might need them-if we find Chet and Biff."
They piled into the Sleuth and Frank steered the craft down to the dock where Tony kept the
Napoli. Just as the two boats were ready to cast off, Callie Shaw and Iola Morton walked out
onto Tony's dock.
"Oh, are you boys going for a ride?" Callie asked. "May we come along?"
"Gosh, Callie," Frank said doubtfully, "this isn't exactly a pleasure cruise. We're bound for Hermit Island to look for Chet and Biff."
"Oh, then you have to take us," pleaded Iola. "After all, Chet's my brother." Her eyes filled with tears.
"Please, Frank."
"Iola's right," Joe agreed. "The girls want to find Chet and Biff as much as we do."
"Okay," said Frank. "Pile in, then!" Iola cheered up at once and the Hardys helped the girls into the stern of the Sleuth.
The boats moved swiftly out the harbor, with Frank leading the way in the slightly faster Sleuth.
Before long, the shore islands came into sight, with their white, drifted sand, scrubby
vegetation, and huge, barren rocks.
Hermit Island, a big craggy pile, loomed out of the water higher than all the others. It was
attractive but wild looking.
"Too rough on this side to land," Frank called over to the Napoli. "Good beach on the lee shore, though, I believe. Follow me!"
The search party rounded the island. After the girls had stepped onto firm sand, the four boys tied their mooring ropes to trees at the edge of the beach. All went ashore and gazed at the
lonely spot.
"This is a spooky place," commented Iola, looking around her uneasily.
"It does give one the creeps," Callie agreed.
The boys laughed but felt they should proceed carefully. With Frank and Joe in the lead, they
set off on a faint path that wound along the shore at the base of the steep, rocky hill which
formed the heart of the island. Above the searchers loomed jagged cliffs, cut here and there by deep ravines, thick with pines and coarse grass.
At times Joe cupped his hands and shouted, "Hallooo . . . Bi-iff . . . Che-e-t!"
There was no answer. "Looks hopeless," Joe commented.
At last the path began to rise steeply. The four boys moved upward much faster than Iola and
Callie.
Finally the girls dropped behind. The boys continued on, clambering and puffing, forgetful of
everything but the tough terrain they were fighting.
Suddenly a sharp scream rang out from below. "Callie!" cried Frank, whirling.
CHAPTER XIII
The Threatening Figure
TUMBLING and sliding, the four boys rushed pell-mell down the steep path to Iola and Callie.