CHAPTER XVIA NOTE
A half hour later, Skippy had decided on one phase of his job. He climbed the dusty stairway and proceeded to the door of a room which no boy had been allowed to enter.
Frost answered his knock but did not ask him in. He had jumped up from a small, battered table upon which he had been writing, and now he stood in the open doorway, his colorless eyes searching Skippy’s face in surprise.
“Can you lend me some paper an’ pencil?” the boy asked briskly.
Frost’s eyes narrowed. “What for?”
“To work out cross-word puzzles,” Skippy answered, his eyes meeting Frost’s gaze unflinchingly. “The kids are playin’ cards an’ I wanna do something.” He laughed. “I work cross-word puzzles—every night!”
“Mm!” Frost seemed to be turning the thought over and over. Finally, he walked to the table and taking a bunch of keys from his pocket, he selected one and opened a little drawer. When he came back to the door he held out a pencil and two sheets of ordinary note-paper. “Here, kid,” he said, chuckling, “cross-word puzzle all night if you feel like it.”
Skippy took the paper smilingly but did not stop for further conversation. He wasn’t taking any chances and he hurried downstairs again before Frost could think it over and perhaps recall him.
For an hour, Skippy scribbled and wrote all over one sheet of the paper. The other piece of paper along with a pencil of his own he carefully concealed under his belt. And, when the game of rummy was broken up around midnight, the boy had torn his scribbling sheet into a hundred bits and scattered it on the table. Then when they went upstairs, he returned the pencil to Frost.
Fifteen minutes later, he saw the rim of light disappear from under the door jamb and he knew that Frost had blown out his lantern and was going to bed. He waited breathlessly then and after some minutes got out of bed and tiptoed to the door where he listened intently.
It was some time before he was rewarded with the sound of Frost’s first labored snore. Then he roused Fallon.
“Don’t make a sound, Nick,” he whispered.
“I won’t, kid!” Nickie murmured sleepily. Then he sat up. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m gonna write a note, Nickie—I’ll tell you why after. What I want you to do is go over to the door an’ listen for Frost’s snore. If he stops, gimme the high sign. I’m gonna light the lantern an’ take it over by the window. The light won’t show into the hall from there.”
“Good dope, kid,” Nickie agreed, stepping out onto the floor. “But what you gonna write with, hah? You gave Frost back the pencil.”
Skippy winked. “I got my own, but I didn’t wanna make him suspicious. I wanted some paper so’s I could write this note tonight when I got the chance. If I didn’t ask for a pencil, then he’d know I had one—get me? I tore up the one sheet I scribbled on—tore it up in a lotta pieces so’s he could see it. He won’t know whether it’s one or two sheets of his paper that I used an’ I’m takin’ a chance he thinks it’s the two sheets. Anyway, I don’t think he’ll give it a thought that I held back the other sheet ’cause I give him back the pencil.”
“Kid, there’s no mud on you,” said Nickie admiringly. “Get the lantern an’ write your note. I’ll listen an’ if I hear a peep outa him, I’ll cough—see?”
Skippy got the lantern down from the hook on the side wall. He took it over to the window and set it down firmly on the sill, then spread out the neatly folded note-paper and began to write:
“After the accident we rode and rode—through woods and every place, I don’t know where. It was eight or nine o’clock when we got here, a terrible lonesome house with swamp and woods all round. It’s got bars all inside on the windows so we can’t get out. A boy named Timmy Brogan went with him tonight so a feller named Frost (his pal) is here with us now. There’s three kids besides me and maybe by the time you get this two will be gone. Anyway, boss, all I can tell you about it, is Frost said this house used to be in a village but the village burned down all round it. So instead of building up the village again the people moved twenty-five miles away near a railroad—that was seventy-five years ago. Frost says it’s the house that people forgot and he says nobody knew about it but a nit-wit hermit that died last year. So this is all I know about where I am. I get headaches kind of from it being so hot in this house with all the shutters closed too, but outside of that, I’m all right. Devlin’s terrible mysterious and queer acting boss and the kid that went tonight saidhewas a worse man than ever you think. Anyway, I hope I can give this to somebody soon so you can find out where we are and help us.... Skip”....
Nickie was still a patient sentinel and he smiled encouragingly. Skippy took heart and folded up the note and wrote outside:
“To Whoever Gets this Will they Please send this to the Manhattan World, New York City ... thanks.... And keep this a secret or else we’ll be taken away and won’t get helped!”
Below it, he added:
“To the Editor of the Personal Column.... An Answer to Boss’ in Friday’s paper, August 19....”
He put down his pencil and folded the note still smaller. Then he got one of his shoes and slipped the paper inside of the loose lining. After that, he nodded to Nickie and putting the light out they crawled into bed.
“Devlin’ll be takin’ one of us to go through that doctor’s examination business soon’s he gets back, Nickie,” Skippy whispered. “Whoever he takes, will take that note ’cause it’ll bring us help if we wait our chance an’ slip it to somebody we think we can trust. We’ll pass somebody going back an’ forth to the doctor’s office an’ it’s better if it’s a lady.”
“Yeah, anoldlady,” Nickie murmured, thinking wistfully of his good aunt. “Them you can trust.”
“For two reasons we shouldn’t give it to the doctor,” Skippy warned. “Devlin might get wise, an’ besides the doctor might be workin’ with Devlin. So we gotta be careful, huh?”
“You tell ’em! Kid, you’re a wonder at dopin’ out things. If it wasn’t for you, I’d be in the dumps—you keep a guy all pepped up.”
“Aw, it ain’t anything. I wanna help myself too, don’t I? But I trust you, Nickie, honest. I wouldn’t let you in on this if I didn’t. Shorty and Biff are out ’cause I don’t feel sure of ’em.”
“Yeah, they’re too dumb. But take it from me—Nickie Fallon’s been your pal from the minute I saw you—see? An’ that means it’s all jake between us. Justa show how much you can trust me, kid, I won’t even read that note if I’m gonna be the one to take it. I’ll keep it in my shoe till Devlin ain’t lookin’ an’ I see that old lady. What you wrote’s your business an’ I ain’t buttin’ in.”
Skippy knew that Fallon was sincere. And though, at first, he was a little fearful that he had not obeyed orders strictly to the letter, he knew that Carlton Conne would understand that hehadto take Nickie into his confidence this little bit. He had purposely refrained from sending the message direct to the great detective or bringing the name of the International Detective Agency into it in any way lest the note should fall into unfriendly hands.
After all, he told himself, no one, not even Nickie, could guess who he was or the part he was playing, from the contents of that note. Certainly, Devlin wouldn’t guess, if he read it, that the man addressed as “Boss” was the man who was determined to track him down—none other than that famous detective, Carlton Conne!
He had done all that he could do now. They had to be patient and wait until one or the other could safely place the note in the hands of some trustworthy person. Thus far they were safe and sound, Skippy assured himself. At least they were tonight.
But what of tomorrow?