The Mystery on Cobbett's Island (4 page)

Celia met them at the door and suggested they take the injured man into the library until the doctor arrived. She had built a cheery fire in the big stone fireplace, and although it was June, the warmth was very welcome after the soaking they had all received. She soon brought two steaming cups of coffee for El and Miss Trask and told Honey hot chocolate would be ready for the Bob-Whites as soon as they had changed their clothes.

“Yippee! Hot chocolate!” cried Mart as he dashed upstairs to put on dry clothes for the second time that day.

When they had all returned to the library, they found the doctor had already arrived and was examining El's leg. Dr. Holmes was a big man with graying bushy hair and shaggy brows. As he worked, he made gruff noises and said, “Hmmm, hmmm.” He straightened up
and scowled over the top of the horn-rimmed glasses which he wore halfway down his nose. “And who is responsible for this contraption?” he asked.

“I am, sir,” said Brian, in an unnaturally quiet voice. He had suddenly realized, when he saw the doctor's face, that he might have done everything wrong. Could it be he had done more harm than good?

“Well, you're to be commended, young man. You have not only remembered to avoid shock by keeping your patient warm and as dry as is physically possible in this abominable weather, but you have put on a very passable splint. If all the accident cases I get were cared for as sensibly as this, my job would be a lot less complicated.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Brian earnestly, “but the others did as much as I did.”

“Well, it was good work,” growled the doctor. “Now don't just stand around. Go get some of that cocoa I smell, or you'll all have pneumonia. And you might bring me a cup, too. I love chocolate.” His eyes twinkled merrily.

Trixie, who had been apprehensive about Brian, realized that Dr. Holmes's gruff manner covered a kindly, good-humored personality, and she hurried out to ask Celia to bring him an extra large cup of cocoa.

By the time he had finished drinking it, the Fire Company ambulance was at the door, and two men, whom the doctor introduced and said were volunteer drivers, put the patient inside and drove off to Dr. Holmes's office where an X ray could be taken. El managed a weak grin and a little wave of the hand as he was driven away. The doctor followed in a car which Brian estimated to be at least ten years old, and as he roared out of the driveway, unmindful of the huge puddles, Brian shook his head and remarked, “How can he ever get that much steam out of such an old crate? He's sure got it trained!”

After a late lunch they gathered in the library again, and spent the afternoon playing every kind of card game they could think of. They even tried throwing cards into an upturned hat, and declared Jim the world's champion when he succeeded in getting in all but two cards.

Then Mart took the cards and, with much elaborate nonsense, told everyone's fortune. “Aha! I see by these two black queens that two of us are destined to become famous detectives.” He turned another few cards and added, “Yes, and they are both blondes.”

“What's in the cards for
me?
” Jim asked.

“Very odd, very odd,” said Mart, wrinkling his
brows and studying the cards in front of him. “This shows a highly unorthodox situation. I see you are destined to be head of a school for orphaned children, but it's going to be more like a camp than a school.”

“You're marvelous, Ali Ben Bolt!” Trixie giggled as she stretched out in front of the fire. “What a day this has been! I wonder how much longer the storm is going to keep up?”

“All night, by the looks of things,” said Di, peering out the window. “It doesn't show any signs of letting up. The water is almost over the bulkhead across the road, and the wind is blowing harder than ever.”

“Great start for a seashore vacation,” said Honey despondently, for, as hostess, she somehow felt personally responsible for the weather. “Can't you think of something to do, Trixie, or shall we go to bed and bury our heads in our pillows for three days?”

“And not eat?” cried Mart. “Never! For goodness' sake think of something, somebody, and quick!” Looking around the room with a mock air of desperation, he noticed a television in one corner. “Even this is better than nothing,” he wailed dramatically as he went over and turned the dial. Nothing happened; the screen remained dark, and there was dead silence. “The aerial has probably blown down,” he said. “Anyone else have
any brilliant suggestions for whiling away the tedium during our incarceration?”

Before anyone could answer, Celia came in carrying a platter on which reposed a huge steak. “The electricity is off,” she announced cheerfully, “so if you want to eat, you'll have to broil your steak in the fireplace.”

“Wonderful!” cried Trixie. “We'll pretend we're cavemen roasting our prime dinosaur steaks.”

“And I'll be the prehistoric genius who discovers catsup.” Jim laughed as he took the platter from Celia. “Food will while away Mart's tedium, or I miss my guess.”

“Some genius had better discover some light around here,” said Brian. “It's getting darker by the minute, and it's not even six o'clock.”

“I noticed some old lamps in the barn when I was looking for a stretcher,” said Jim. “Perhaps they'll work.”

When he had brought two of them into the library, they found that although the lamps were old, they were well filled with kerosene, the wicks had been trimmed neatly, and the chimneys were bright and clean.

“Someone must have been through this kind of weather before,” said Trixie as she touched a match to the wick and watched the flame brighten. They got the other lamps from the barn and took a pair to the back of
the house. Another pair they kept to use at bedtime.

The fire had burned down to a bright bed of coals. Jim arranged the andirons to accommodate the grill which Tom had brought in, and Honey, using a long-handled fork, laid the steak on it. While it was broiling, they set places around the fire with the plates and silver Celia gave them.

“I think eight minutes on a side will be enough,” said Honey, enjoying her role as cook. “That's what your father said when we had that cookout at your house, Trixie.”

“Don't ask
me
, Honey,” said Trixie, giggling. “You know how much I don't know about cooking.”

“You can say that again,” chimed in Mart, always ready to needle his sister whom he really admired. “Her recipe for toast is to let it cook until it smokes and then scrape off the black!”

“Maybe she's not the best cook in the world, but you can't say she's not tops when it comes to solving really tough cases,” said Jim, looking fondly at Trixie who, for her part, was awfully glad the heat of the fire gave an excuse for what she knew was a very red face.

“Can we trust you to take a piece of steak out for Miss Trask and the others?” Honey laughed as she divided the meat and handed a plate to Mart.

“Are you, perchance, casting aspersions on my honesty?” asked Mart, sniffing the steak and rolling his eyes in anticipation.

“No, we're just testing your willpower,” Di answered.

“On my honor as a Bob-White, I won't touch it, but you've got to promise not to start partaking of this sumptuous repast until I get back.”

“It's a deal,” they chorused, “but hurry, we're all starved!”

After eating her fill of steak, rolls, salad, and cookies, and drinking glass after glass of milk, Trixie, who had resumed her position in front of the fire, said, “I'll tell you what might be fun. Let's see if we can find a good book, and we'll take turns reading it aloud. There must be something here that will be interesting, although I must say most of those tomes look awfully dull, if you can judge by their bindings.” She got up and started to browse through the shelves, pulling out first one book and then another. “How would you like to have me regale you with
A History of English Criticism?
Or maybe you'd prefer this fascinating volume on how to grow wine grapes.”

“Here's a possibility,” said Jim who had joined her. “It's Dana's
Two Years Before the Mast
. I know it's a true sea story and it might be just the thing for a night like
this,” he added as he took the book over to the table to get better light.

As he riffled through the pages, an envelope dropped out. Trixie picked it up. “Jeepers,” she said, “it looks like a letter, Jim.” As the other Bob-Whites quickly gathered around the table, Trixie added, “Do you think we should read it? It's really not right.”

“Oh, this is so old it won't matter,” said Brian. “Look how yellow the envelope is. Go on, Trixie, start reading it, and if it turns out to be a gooshy love letter or something like that, we can put it back.”

“All right, but I feel kind of funny about it,” she said.

She pulled the letter out of the envelope and started to read it aloud.

Dear Mr. C
,

Tomorrow I leave again on the Bunker boat. I don't know how long I'll be gone this time, but it really doesn't matter. The more menhaden, the more money, you know. As I told you, I'm worried! I know you said, when we talked last week, that I was being foolish, but I can't seem to help it. You've known me all my life, and you know the two big fears I've always fought against. I never could get the hang of swimming—guess I started too late—and the other thing is, I just can't bring myself to trust banks since Dad lost his savings back in '29. So if anything ever happens to me and I shouldn't come back, I've taken some precautions to hold on to that $1,000 Grandma left me. I want my boy to have it. You know where we always sit and talk? Well, halfway from there to the Golden Chain tree is where I've hidden a chart that will show where the money is. Several times I've thought about giving it to you to keep for me, but I shied away from facing the problem directly. Besides I knew you would get some fun out of figuring out another one of my charts. You'll
know how to read it even if no one else can because of all the practice we've had the last couple of years
.

If anything should happen to me, “start sailing,” and when you find the money, please see that young Ed gets it
.

Always your devoted friend
,
Ed

“Well, for goodness' sake,” cried Trixie, looking around at the other Bob-Whites. “What's it all about? Is it a joke or was there really an Ed?” Already she was anticipating another mystery.

“When was it written?” asked Brian, leaning over to get a better look at the letter.

“There's no date or address on it, and the envelope just says, ‘To Mr. C.' That's no help,” moaned Trixie.

“Read it again, and see if it makes any more sense, Trix,” suggested Honey.

When Trixie came to the words
Bunker boat
, Jim interrupted to ask if anyone knew what kind of boat that was.

“Never heard of one,” said Brian. “Let's look it up in the dictionary. There must be one around here somewhere,” and he started looking among the large volumes on the bottom shelf.

“Here's one, right under our noses,” cried Honey, pointing to a large book on a stand in the corner of the room. “Bring the lamp over so we can see what it says.”

“Jim, you hold the lamp,” said Trixie, “and be careful not to tip it. We don't want any fires around here. Remember how awful it was when Ten Acres burned!”

“I'll look it up,” said Brian, opening the dictionary. Reading half to himself, he skipped over some of the definitions which didn't seem to apply until he came to
Bunker, n. (From MOSSBUNKER). The Mossbunker. See Menhaden
.

“Well, that's a big help! Anyone know what a menhaden is?” inquired Trixie. No one did, so Brian turned to the dictionary again.

“Here it is,” he said. “Um. Let's see now. It says the word is of Algonquin origin. ‘A marine fish of the family
Clupeidae
, having a large head, a compressed body, toothless jaws, bluish silvery scales, and attaining a length of twelve to sixteen inches. On the Atlantic coast of the United States it is by far the most abundant of fishes, where scores of millions are taken annually and used for bait or converted into oil or fertilizer. Called also mossbunker or bonyfish.' ”

“That's it all right,” said Trixie, looking over her brother's shoulder. “Bunker's short for mossbunker, and
Ed apparently worked on a boat that went out to get the fish.”

“That explains
that
, Sherlock Holmes,” said Mart, “but it doesn't help much in figuring out who Mr. C or Ed really are.”

“Or
were
,” added Trixie, disregarding her brother's sarcasm.

“Well, personally, I'm too tired to even think straight right now,” said Diana. “Let's all go to bed, and tomorrow we may have an inspiration.”