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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

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“No, he's delirious,” Frank said. “He keeps mumbling something over and overâa 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 Lundborgâs, 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 boatâthe bald fellow or someone elseâhe 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 Islandâthe 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 themâif 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. The girls clung together in fright.

“What is it, Callie?” cried Frank.

Speechless, the girl pointed upward. From the top of the bluff a wild-looking old man with a long, dirty white beard was pointing a shotgun at them.

His clothes were torn, and he wore a battered felt hat. The weird figure stood motionless, silhouetted against the blue sky. The afternoon sunlight gleamed on the barrels of his weapon.

“He must be the hermit,” muttered Joe.

“Git off my island!” came the strong, deep voice of the old man. The shotgun jerked threateningly. “Git, I say!”

“We'd better do as he says,” Frank advised.

He took Callie's arm. Joe grabbed Iola's. The six young people scooted for the beach.

As they followed the path, the Hardys and their friends could see the strange man darting from rock to rock along the top of the bluff above them. He did not let them out of his sight. When they reached the boats, Frank and Joe quickly helped the girls safely aboard the
Sleuth.

Joe took the wheel while Frank cast off. The Sleuth and the
Napoli
were run just out of shotgun range, then throttled down while their passengers took another look at their adversary. The old man stood in the same threatening attitude on the hilltop.

“You know,” Frank noted, “for an old fellow he has a powerful voice.”

“He's plenty spry, too,” Joe added. “Did you see how he jumped across those rocks? He's nimble as a goat!”

“And did you notice his shotgun?” Frank asked. “It was very well cared for; not like his beard and clothes!”

“There was no nonsense about that gun,” Joe agreed. “I'd like to know what the man's trying to keep us away from!”

“Maybe he just wants to be left alone,” Callie suggested.

“After all, he is a hermit,” added Iola.

“Whatever he is,” declared Joe, “I'd like to get a closer look at him sometime.”

Joe put on power and the
Sleuth
shot forward over the water. The
Napoli
trailed close behind.

As the island dropped astern, Frank remarked, “I can still make out the hermit. He's standing motionless on that hilltop.”

The two speedboats crossed the wide expanse of Bayport harbor and came to rest at Tony's dock.

“Say, you fellows don't have any transportation down here,” Jerry recalled. “Shall I pick you up at your boathouse?”

“No, thanks,” Frank replied. “Joe and I came out to do some sleuthing. We'll walk. We have a few stops to make.”

“Okay, we'll give Iola and Callie a lift, then.” They helped the girls ashore and Frank and Joe waved good-by.

After locking the
Sleuth
in her berth, Frank and Joe walked to the center of town. “Let's stop at headquarters,” Frank suggested as they approached the familiar stone building. “Maybe there's some new word on Sutton.”

The boys found Chief Collig in conference with Lieutenant Daley.

“It's all right. Come in, fellows,” the chief invited. “Daley's been over at the hospital. Sutton has regained consciousness.”

“What did he say?” Frank inquired eagerly.

“He claims he doesn't know who beat him up,” replied Lieutenant Daley. “Says he was hit from behind and never saw his attacker.”

“But that can't be true!” Frank protested. “The bruises I saw were mostly on his face.”

“Oh, he knows who did it, all right,” Lieutenant Daley agreed. “Only he's covering up for somebody. Why should he try to protect that big fellow he tried to frame last night?”

“How about Alf?” Joe broke in. “What's his story?”

“We have Lundborg in a cell,” Lieutenant Daley answered. “Of course he denies any part in the beating.”

“We can't hold him much longer,” put in Chief Collig. “There's no evidence against him.”

“Of course not! Alf wouldn't beat up a fellow half his size,” Joe declared.

“Then why did Sutton mumble Lundborg's name in his delirium?” the chief countered.

“Sutton had a grudge against Alf. It must have been on his mind,” Frank suggested.

“That could be,” Chief Collig conceded. “How have you two boys been making out? Any new dues on Chet or Biff? We have none.”

“No, we haven't,” Frank answered. “We went out to Hermit Island on a hunch this afternoon, but had no luck there, either.”

“Do you know anything about that hermit, Chief?” Joe inquired.

“A little,” the chief returned. “Remember him, Daley? Queer old bird. Somebody left him the whole island in a will. He said it was just the place he wanted, to get away from the crazy world!”

“Yes.” The tall lieutenant chuckled. “He moved out there for good some years ago. Never let anybody land on his island.”

“We found that out. He chased us off pretty fast this afternoon,” Joe said.

“Wha-a-t?” drawled the lieutenant, turning for a good look at the boy.

“Who are you kidding?” Chief Collig grinned.

“What's so funny?” Joe asked. “He threatened us with a shotgun.”

“That's impossible,” Chief Collig said flatly. “He's dead!”