A 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 said _he_ was 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, an _old_ lady," 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 he _had_ to 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?