“We’d better put the coat back under his head,” Joe suggested.
Frank returned the papers to the pocket in which he had found them.
“We’re liable to wake him up if we try to put the coat back now,” he said. “I think we ought to wait until he has had his sleep. Then the rest of you can keep him occupied while I slip the coat back where it belongs.”
“And we’ll ask him what he knows about Sparewell,” said Chet.
“Oh, we’ll have questions to ask him, never fear. He won’t want us to go to Elroy Jefferson with the news about Sparewell.”
Outside, the storm was at its height. They heard a distant crash.
One of the trees at the edge of the cliff had fallen before the force of the gale. The wind was sweeping across the island at terrific speed.
“If this keeps up, we’d better watch ourselves!” remarked Biff. “There are a couple of big trees right near the place. If they blow over, they’re liable to wreck the cabin.”
“Certainly is a wicked wind!” Frank agreed. “And it doesn’t seem to be dying down, either.”
Hardly were the words out of his mouth than there was a rending, crackling sound immediately above the cabin. Then, with a rush and a roar, something went sweeping past the window. At the same instant there came a grinding noise, followed by a thud and a crash on the roof.