The Mystery on Cobbett's Island

raft, like the one they use to get across the Connecticut River up near Old Lyme.”
    “I’ll bet this would hold close to fifteen cars,” added Brian, “but it looks as though we were the only rash souls out today.”
    As they drove on board, the ferryman suggested that they stop near the middle of the boat so the salt spray wouldn’t drench the car. When he came back to take the fare, he said, “I reckon this’ll be the last trip we’ll make until after the storm. The tides are gettin’ pretty high, and we won’t be able to get into the slip. You folks are sure lucky you got here when you did. I see from your license plates that you ain’t from around here. Down to the island for the summer?”
    “No, only for a week or so,” answered Miss Trask. “We’re staying at a house called The Moorings. Do you know where it is?”
    “Yes, yes,” he replied as he took a long drag on his pipe, which the wind and rain seemed unable to extinguish. “That’s the old Condon place. No one lives there in the winter, but it’s rented every summer. One of the purtiest spots on the island—that is, on a clear day. Don’t look like we’ll get a clearin’ for some time to come, what with this east wind blowin’ and all.” He looked up into the sky, where the gulls, buffeted about by the winds, were screaming their defiance at the elements. “Jest follow the road from the ferry on through town till you come to the town hall, turn right there, and follow Shore Road for about a quarter mile. The Moorings is a big white house. You’ll see the sign out front.”
    “The sea isn’t always this rough, is it?” Trixie asked him as the ferry, now under way, was repeatedly lifted by the waves and let down with a dull thonk, and the spray beat over the front of the boat.
    “Land sakes, no. Usually the bay’s as calm as a bathtub, with fair winds for sailin’, but every once in a while we get one of these danged nor’easters, and then you’ve got to batten down the hatches and ride it out.” Bent almost double against the wind, he walked away to prepare for the docking.
    The pilot, who sat in a little tower high above the deck, slowed the boat almost to a standstill as it approached the dock, then skillfully let the wind and the tide carry it between the high pilings. As it hit the side of the slip, he stepped up the engine just enough to take the boat close to the ramp, where it was soon secured by heavy lines.
    If anything, the wind was blowing harder than ever, and, as Miss Trask drove off the ferry and up the street, they saw that several trees had been blown down. At one point, heavy wires were trailing over the ground, and a crew of men was working to get them off the road. “I’ll bet we don’t have any lights tonight, by the look of those wires,” remarked Brian.
    “Never bet on a sure thing,” Mart replied. “We’ll be lucky to have a roof over our heads. Wow, I’ve never seen anything like this in my life!”
    “There’s the town hall, I think,” announced Trixie, who had her nose pressed against the window, “and there’s a street off to the right. I can’t make out the name, but I’m sure it’s the right one, because I can see water from here and the man said it was called Shore Road.”
    “You’re sure right. You can see the water from here,” Jim agreed. “It’s right across the road up ahead! Can we get through?” He leaned closer to the window.
    “I’ll get out and wade in to see how deep it is,” Mart volunteered, taking off his sneakers and rolling up the legs of his jeans as the car came slowly to a stop. It proved to be fairly shallow, but every gust of wind was driving more water over the road, so he hurried back, wet to the skin and breathless from the wind.
    “It’s a good thing you rolled up your jeans,” said Brian with good-natured sarcasm. “You might have gotten them wet otherwise.”
    “The secret of my highly successful life is that I always think ahead.” Mart laughed, shaking the water from his hair and face.
    Miss Trask drove slowly through the water so it wouldn’t splash up into the motor, and presently, ahead, they saw a big white house with two wide wings.
    “That must be The Moorings,” Trixie said. “Yes, I can just make out the sign on the fence,” she added as they came nearer.
    Miss Trask drove gingerly into the driveway and under an old-fashioned porte cochère, which gave them some protection from the storm. A toot on the horn