THE HOUSE FORGOTTEN
The question pounded in his head more insistently than the pain he was
suffering. Did not this whole unlooked-for episode of Frost and Barker
smack too much of Dean Devlin's tactics? And could it not be possible
that Devlin might change not only his name but his tactics also? After
all, he concluded, it was but a step from Barker to Devlin and from the
Delafield Reformatory to the Juvenile Court. The man Devlin that
Carlton Conne had told him about was certainly clever enough to keep a
step ahead of the police every time.
Skippy felt more hopeless about it all as the minutes sped by. Here
they were going farther and farther away--heaven only knew where; and,
though he was aware that due to the accident, Mr. Conne could not but
think him blameless, he felt that in a measure he had failed. He hadn't
any business, he told himself, to strike his head and fall
unconscious--it was his job to _stay_ conscious!
[Illustration: A DINGY SQUARE ROOFED HOUSE LOOMED UP BEFORE THEM.]
The fact that Dorcas, a trusted and experienced detective, had also
been knocked senseless seemed not to lessen this feeling of guilt.
Skippy was steeped in remorse because an unkind Fate had seen fit to
have Fallon carry him away from Dorcas' side, away from the influence
that was Mr. Conne's and which spelled safety to him.
And yet, at that moment, he was not afraid, notwithstanding the fact
that he felt that Barker and Dean Devlin might be the same person. He
was merely puzzled as to how he should get word to Mr. Conne if it was
going to be as Fallon said, that Barker would keep them under cover for
a month.
He decided that he was feeling too sick to worry about it yet. He
longed only to get in a bed and sleep and let the morrow take care of
itself. And if Barker proved to be Devlin, he could only hope that
Fortune would smile upon him and help him to succeed despite the
mischance that had cut him off from Mr. Conne's help and the
International offices.
A long silence prevailed in the car. Shorty and Biff were sound asleep
on each other's shoulders and emitting soft nasal sounds. Nickie Fallon
was hunched in his corner in a half doze and up in front Frost and
Barker were deep in whispered conversation.
The road was rough but Frost handled the car expertly, driving it as if
he knew the bad spots by experience. He had only his parking lights on
now and they were speeding along with surprisingly little sound from
the engine.
After a time they entered a narrow, wooded lane and Frost seemed to
pick his way more carefully. Skippy was quick to note that the trees,
in places, interlaced and during their entire journey through that
section, one could stretch one's arms at either side and touch the
overhanging branches. For at least an hour, he guessed, they hadn't
passed a house.
"We come up back roads, I betcha," Nickie Fallon whispered suddenly as
if guessing his thoughts. "Looks like we're miles from nowhere. This
guy Barker knows his hide-outs, hah?"
"Mm," said Skippy. "Gee, we wouldn't know howta get back home if we
wanted to, huh?"
"Frost says we can't an' what's more we ain't to try, in case we get
thinkin' we're smarter than him or Barker is. He says kids like us 'ud
run right into the bulls an' that 'ud make it bad for them--see? Him
an' Barker'd do a long stretch if we squealed that they helped us
crash. So Frost says they ain't takin' no chances on lettin' us think
we can get anywheres alone. They're gonna treat us swell s'long as
we're stickin' under cover till they help us go west. So we gotta get
used to stayin' quiet a little while--see?"
"Yeah," Skippy answered, "I think so." He could feel Nickie Fallon
looking at him curiously. Suddenly he felt the boy move closer to him.
"Say, lissen, kid," he whispered, "d'you feel funny 'bout this Frost
an' Baker?"
"Gee," said Skippy, not a little startled, "I--I dunno.... I--whadda
you mean, huh?"
Fallon's lips almost touched Skippy's ear. "Listen kid," he confided,
"I ain't been doin' what I done, an' not learnin' that guys don't do
nothin' for love. How come, they been takin' all this trouble for some
kids they ain't never laid eyes on 'fore today, hah?"
"Whadda you s'pose?" Skippy whispered timidly.
"We ain't tippin' off Shorty or Biff, but between you'n me, kid, I
think these guys got some job for us what they can't do
themselves--see? A little job, mebbe."
"Yeah, an' if they have, it's all right, huh?" Skippy retorted making a
brave effort to measure up as one of Nickie's kind.
"Sure, only if it's bigger'n we can do an' we get grabbed--we're outa
luck. That'd mean double time. Aw, it ain't no use worryin'. If they
let us put the feed bag on regular an' give us bunks, it's worth doin'
'em a favor."
Skippy nodded but did not answer. He was too intent on watching the
number of turns that Frost had made within the past few moments. They
had already made three off the wooded road and now with the fourth one
they were in a dense woods and proceeding very slowly along a road
little wider than a footpath. Then suddenly they rolled into a clearing
and stopped. Frost chuckled and switched on his headlights.
A house, square-roofed and dingy, loomed up before them. Its shingles
were so devoid of paint that it was impossible to say what color they
had originally been painted. Blistered and peeling from long years of
neglect and with its shutters closed like so many pairs of sleeping
eyes the structure presented a picture of abject loneliness.
Unkempt grass and weeds grew up to the high stoop; there was no porch.
Behind the house and a little to the left, Skippy glimpsed a barn that
was also in disrepair. Notwithstanding this, he supposed that Barker
and Frost parked their car in it.
"No bulls'll turn you kids up here," Frost said, as if reading their
thoughts. He turned a leathern-looking face toward Skippy, smiling out
of shrewd eyes. "This house usta be in the center of a village till a
fire burned the town out. Then the railroad decided to run twenty-five
miles away so the folks left it flat. This bein' the only house left
they let the woods grow up 'round it and now, after seventy-five years,
nobody knew about it, 'cept an old nit-wit hermit that put me and
Barker wise. Last year he died so there ain't nobody now'll bother you
kids, much less the bulls."
Barker turned to them and in the half-light his long, grave face and
staring light eyes contrasted strangely with the dark wisps of hair
that straggled from under his hat and down on his forehead. But it was
when he talked that Skippy was startled, for the man's voice was so
solemn and sonorous that it was eerie.
"Now boys," he was saying, "you see how safe you are here. Keep it in
mind and don't get the idea that you can manage your own freedom better
than I can. For one thing, it would get Frost and me into trouble if
you were picked up and if you weren't, you'd get in trouble yourselves,
because this place is almost all surrounded by swamps and you might not
find your way out. When I say the coast is clear to ship you west--all
right. You'll come out of this house then, and not before!"
There was a warning note in his voice that sent a chill up and down
Skippy's spine. He wished his Airedale, Mugs, had lived to be with him
at a time like this. Shorty and Biff exchanged a few words in their
native tongue and suddenly Nickie Fallon's hand stole over and coming
in contact with Skippy's wrist, he grasped it tightly.