The Missing Chums by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

Joe declared stoutly.
    â€œSorry, 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.
    â€œWhat now?” Joe asked glumly. “All we did this morning was to get Alf in trouble.”
    â€œGreat detectives we are!” said Frank, disgusted. “How about walking downtown? I have another idea.”
    â€œAbout 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.
    â€œNo, 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.
    â€œHello, 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.
    â€œAny news of Chet and Biff?” Tony asked.
    â€œNothing but a postcard,” Frank answered.
    â€œWhat do you think really happened to them?” Jerry asked worriedly. “Did they go off on a mission of their own? Or were they kidnaped?”
    â€œWe don’t know,” Frank confessed. “But there haven’t been any ransom notes.”
    â€œIt’s dull around here without the fellows.” Tony sighed. “We were going on a nice camping trip.”
    â€œChet 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.”
    â€œCould be,” Tony said. “I remember Biff mentioned Hermit Island—the one owned by a queer old recluse who lives on it.”
    â€œHe mentioned that to us, too,” Joe recalled. “I wonder if that old man has seen any sign of Chet and Biff?”
    â€œSay!” 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?”
    â€œGood idea!” Jerry exclaimed.
    â€œRight!” 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.
    â€œLet’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.
    â€œOh, are you boys going for a ride?” Callie asked. “May we come along?”
    â€œGosh, Callie,” Frank said doubtfully, “this isn’t exactly a pleasure cruise. We’re bound for Hermit Island to look for Chet and Biff.”
    â€œOh, then you have to take us,” pleaded Iola. “After all, Chet’s my brother.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Please, Frank.”
    â€œIola’s right,” Joe agreed. “The girls want to find Chet and Biff as much as we