XXII
The Letter
“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:
Dear Sir:
“This is to advise you that your late uncle, John Sparewell, named you as sole heir in his will, which has just been probated. Under the provisions of the will you will benefit to the extent of all Mr. Sparewell’s property, consisting of two lots of ground on the outskirts of Bayport, cash in the bank amounting to three hundred and fifty dollars, and all personal papers and belongings. In his will, Mr. Sparewell made particular mention of a notebook which was to be given into your hands after his death, stressing its importance as containing information of great value. He also gave these instructions:
“ ‘My nephew is to take this notebook, with the accompanying key to the cipher which I shall leave in a sealed envelope, and when he has made himself aware of the contents of the message I wish him to go to the place mentioned and procure the object referred to. This is to be returned to its rightful owner. In return for this favor, I name my nephew, George Hanleigh, as my sole heir.’
“We hereby take pleasure in forwarding to you the notebook and the sealed envelope mentioned by our deceased client and trust you will carry out his instructions to the letter.
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!”