CHAPTER XIITHE STORM
Rain lashed against the shutters and poured down the side of the house in torrents. Loose shingles slammed and clattered with every twist of the wind and the trees bowing down before its fury moaned piteously, their branches squeaking and crackling like ancient spectral voices in the night.
A zig-zag streak of lightning flashed upon the dirty wall and the clap of thunder that followed seemed to sweep away all rational thought. To Skippy, the world had suddenly gone mad and he did not wonder at it since Devlin, asleep no doubt, had locked within his black heart secrets which challenged even the warring elements.
Carlton Conne had said of Devlin that he was criminal, but not dangerously so. Perhaps that had been true once, but not now. Devlin had contributed something more than just law evasion to the sordid atmosphere of the house. Human laws defied had given the place its dark, furtive character for one sensed it in every nook and corner that made up the tottering structure.
The storm screamed on and through the tiny, hot room a cooling breeze now found its way. Skippy shifted around to the foot of the bed and let the welcome air blow over him. He wished he might call out and hear a cheery answer from Big Joe Tully as in the old river days. Nickie was still undisturbed by the shrieking night and Timmy, though restless and tossing about, was asleep.
Skippy thought of the two Greeks, Shorty and Biff, apparently oblivious of the meaning of it all. Their bland, oily faces reflected pretty accurately the stupid squint which they had on their petty thieving practices; it was the only thing they knew, the only means of living which they could understand. Skippy wondered how they would feel about the dark and seemingly sinister “job” which Devlin or Frost would demand that they carry out as the price for their sympathetic “protection.”
Not for a moment was Skippy deceived as to who was the brains of the Devlin-Frost combination. Frost was a chuckling, subservient thief, but it was in the depths of Dean Devlin’s dubious soul that the plans were carefully laid.
He was making mental note of all these things in anticipation of the day when he should see Carlton Conne and give his report. It made not a bit of difference that this day now seemed remote—it had to come sometime! He would spend all his waking hours preparing for it despite the bars and locked doors that mocked him.
He would escape somehow—some day!
The sound of scurrying rats overhead gave him a brilliant idea. The attic! Was that barred also? He determined to find out somehow, now that Frost had so generously secured for them the run of the house. Well, he would run, certainly, just as soon as the opportunity presented itself.
As he meditated he heard Timmy throw himself from the cot and shriek. Skippy was on his feet and helping him up in a second.
“Dreaming—huh, Timmy?”
Timmy was trembling violently. “It was like as if it was true,” he said in a choking voice. “I’m dreamin’ it’s a night like this an’ I’m out with Devlin in a funny-lookin’ old car.”
“Aw, it’s this storm what made you dream,” Nickie interposed, aroused by the commotion and sitting up rubbing his eyes.
Timmy’s protest was almost a sob. “I’m tellin’ you it was real-like! We’re ridin’ along in the dark an’ it’s lightnin’ an’ I’m gettin’ wet an’ I shiver. All of a sudden it don’t look like Devlin sittin’ beside me no more—it’s like a ghost without no body—just big, starin’ eyes like Devlin’s—then I’m wise he’s a killer—see? But he’s gonna killme!” Timmy crawled up on his cot and sat down, still trembling. “Somehow I don’t remember what happened after that till I feel like I’m runnin’ an’ that Devlin’s chasin’ me. Then when I feel like I’m half dead I look up an’ see it’s this house. Up in the attic I see you an’ Nickie at the little window. I’m hurt an’ tell how Devlin tries to kill me. All of a sudden long arms come reachin’ out from behind a big tree out in front. All I see is Devlin’s starin’ eyes an’ I’m sorta chokin’ to death when I wake up on the floor.”
“Holy Smoke!” Nickie exclaimed. “What a guy! Can’t you pick out nothin’ better to dream about?”
Skippy sat down beside Timmy and patted him sympathetically. Suddenly the door opened and they saw Devlin’s tall form outlined there.
“What’s going on here?” he asked impatiently.
“Timmy,” Skippy ventured; “he’s hadda bad dream an’ it threw him outa bed!”
“Hmph!” the man boomed in his funereal voice. “Dreams don’t come true! Get back to bed and to sleep, you kids!” He shut the door and they heard his bare feet patter across the hall.
Nickie sneered contemptuously at the door. “It’d be too bad for you, Devlin, if that dream did come true!”
“But it won’t,” Skippy said soothingly. “My aunt always says dreams are always opposite.”
Timmy had got hold of himself somewhat, and valiantly tried to forget his dream. “Yep,” he agreed, “I guess that’s right. Mebbe it was the heat an’ my stomach. I never could eat right fore goin’ to bed without dreamin’ terrible things. But I never dreamed nothin’ bad’s that, that’s all.” He laughed nervously. “Aw, I’ll forget it!”
Skippy wondered if he really would. Somehow he had the feeling that he wouldn’t forget it—not ever!