The Mystery on Cobbett's Island

Quick!”
    He put the money for the food on the table, and they left. They raced back to the car.
    “Did you find them?” asked Brian, impatient for news, as they all were.
    “No,” gasped Trixie, trying to get her breath, “but I have some really good leads—at least, I think I have,” she declared, remembering this time to be a little more cautious.
    “Hurry up and tell us,” said Jim. “Even I don’t know what Trixie found out in there.”
    “Well, before we went in, I looked through the window and spotted some boys who looked kind of suspicious. So we went in and sat in the booth right back of them,” Trixie began.
    “Oh, step on it, Trix. Skip the details and tell us what you found out,” Mart urged her impatiently.
    “Anyway, I caught the words ‘flashing buoy,’ so I pressed my ear right up against the back of the booth and heard most of the conversation. One of them was boasting that some guy in Greenpoint had asked him to go out and shoot out the buoy lights. He said it was Slim something-or-other who had thought up that little caper. It sounded like a foreign name. I couldn’t hear it clearly. Anyway, it seems Slim was sore about being turned down by the Coast Guard and swore he was going to keep them hopping.”
    “Good work, Trix. At least you got part of his name and where he’s from. Were you scared?” asked Honey.
    Trixie looked at Jim and conceded that she was glad he had been with her. “That’s quite a joint!” she said. “But now we should get this information to Abe, don’t you think?”
    “We can telephone him as soon as we get back,” Brian suggested. “I hope he doesn’t think this is another wild-goose chase.”
    “You can bet he won’t. Not after what Captain Price must have told him tonight!” Trixie exclaimed.

    It was later than usual by the time they all got to bed, and everyone was glad of being able to sleep a little later the next morning. Once the excitement let up, they realized they were more tired than they had thought.
    Trixie tossed and turned in her bed, unable to go to sleep, with visions of Jimmy’s Place, the chart, the coming clambake, and the open sea going round and round in her head.
    Diana, realizing how restless Trixie was, got out of bed and very quietly, so as not to disturb Honey, went into the bathroom, returning with a washcloth that she had wrung out in cold water. She sat on the edge of Trixie’s bed and put the folded cloth on her forehead, patting her arm gently until she felt the tension ease. Before long, Trixie yawned sleepily and mumbled, “Thanks, Di. Good night.” It was only a few minutes, then, before they were both asleep.

The Captain’s Tales ● 11

    THE BOB-WHITES were just finishing breakfast the next morning when they heard the familiar beep-beep of the Icebox. Honey ran out to tell Peter they would be ready in a minute. “We always have to wait for Mart to finish the last bite of toast or pancake or whatever we’re having,” she said. “I think his legs are hollow.” The others came out almost immediately, and Peter smiled when he saw Mart with a half-eaten bun in his hand. “I bet we’ll fill you up tonight, Mart Belden,” he said as they were getting into the car. “You’ve never seen so much food in your life as they have at one of these clambakes.”
    “Who’s giving it?” Trixie asked as they were driving off.
    “It’s the yacht club’s opening party,” Peter answered. “Some of us pitch in and help set it up, but it’s really supervised by old Captain Clark. He’s the island clambake expert. He’s a real character.”
    Pirate’s Cove was on the other side of the island from The Moorings. It was approached by a dirt road that twisted and turned through woods of scrub oak, locust, and wild cherry trees. Peter told them the whole area was a game sanctuary, and as he drove slowly along, they saw a doe looking at them warily from the trees. Jim, who was a great nature lover, pointed out a fawn, whose dappled baby coat made it almost invisible among the leaves of the underbrush. A cock pheasant sauntered jauntily across the road in front of the car, as if to show off his brilliant plumage and beautiful long tail. A covey of quail rattled up into the air from their hiding place in the leaves.
    “I guess they don’t recognize their bobwhite cousins,” Brian remarked, but when Peter stopped the car and Jim imitated the little crooning noise the birds make when feeding, he was able to