They went through Lucky Bottom, which was nothing more than a collection of shacks and cabins ranged on either side of a wide street, and struck out up the hill until the street came to an end. There they followed a narrow path through the snow until at length they reached Hank Shale's place.
Their approach had evidently been seen, because the door opened as they neared the cabin and an elderly man with heavy, drooping mustache stood awaiting them.
"You the Hardy lads?" he inquired, in a piping voice.
"Yes. This is Mr. Shale's place, isn't it?" returned Frank.
"Come in. Come in," invited Hank Shale, standing aside to let them enter. "We've been expecting you this last day."
The boys entered a small, two-roomed cabin, a typical bachelor's residence, which, however, was kept scrupulously neat. They had barely time to look around before Hank Shale led the way to the adjoining room.
"Your father's in here," he said. "Come along."
They followed the man into the bedroom, and there they saw Fenton Hardy lying on a small cot. He sat up in bed as they entered, and held out his hand.
"Hello, sons!" he greeted them, with his cheerful smile. "Glad to see you."
When greetings had been exchanged, Hank Shale took the boys' coats and hats and began setting the table for supper. Soon the cabin was redolent with the fragrant odor of coffee. While Hank was busy in the other room, the boys had a chance to talk with their father.