NICKIE REASONS
"You deaf?" came the funereal query. "Who's in there?"
Nickie was gulping audibly, but he could not speak. Skippy was forced
to do something about it though every instinct within him rebelled
against opening that door to Devlin. He pressed Nickie's hand, then
released it and sat up straight.
"Huh? Who--who's there?" he asked, feigning sleepiness.
"Me--Barker! Who'd you think?" was the harsh reply. Then: "What's
holding this door--_open it!_"
Skippy stepped out of the bed on feet of ice. "A m-m-minute," he said,
in a quivering voice. "J-J-just a-a minute."
Nickie seemed urged into action too. He jumped out and sprang to
Skippy's side. "No matter what, kid," he gasped quickly, "you'n me are
pals--see? It's him or us n' we'll stick! You do the talkin' an' I'll
watch his mitts. He's a big guy but there's two against one!"
"Yes," breathed Skippy, and together they pulled the bed away from the
panel. As the door flew open, Devlin stood partly in the shadow, his
face black with wrath. His eyes, so light and staring, seemed now to be
on the verge of popping out of his long, narrow head, and his beetle
brows were all but obscured by the straggling wisps of his unkempt hair.
"What's the big idea, eh?" he demanded, glaring at the boys and then at
the bed.
His voice sounded almost like a clap of thunder and all Skippy could do
was to look at the man's enormous feet. He had never noticed them
before and they fascinated him.
"Have you lost your voices, _eh_?" Devlin roared. "_Answer me!_" There
was no mistaking his anger.
"Gee whiz, mister--a--," Skippy stammered, "we was sound asleep n' all
of a sudden we heard you poundin' on the door an'...."
"Shut up and answer my question! What's the idea of the bed against the
door? What's the idea of Frost gone? The lock picked and the room
ransacked?"
"We didn't touch nothin' but the ladder, mister," Skippy answered,
feeling more courage. "We don't know nothin' bout the lock--it was like
that when we come upstairs looking for a ladder. We wanted sump'n to do
so we thought we'd go up in the attic n' look round 'cause it's fun on
a rainy night an'...."
"Where's Frost gone?" It was like the roar of a lion.
Skippy cringed inwardly but he managed to smile in Devlin's face. "He
just went, that's all. He said he left a note explainin' things an' he
said somethin' about losin' his keys an' he was lookin' all round for
'em. Then he went upstairs n' he was up a long time an' then he come
down."
"A lot of good you are!" Devlin rumbled deep in his throat. "What's the
matter with you, Fallon--can't you talk any more, eh?"
"The kid's tellin' what happened, Dev----"
It was out!
Devlin glared. "Who told you to call me that?"
"Timmy told us Frost called you that." Nickie too, was quite calm now.
"He did, did he?" The man's eyes narrowed. "Well, let it pass, it don't
matter now--this is my last month in this house, anyway, and no dick
will hear that I'm Devlin through...." He stopped, as if bewildered,
but only for a moment. Then he asked: "Which one of the Greeks did he
take?"
"Both," Skippy said quietly.
"_Both!_" Devlin was plainly beside himself and he made no further
attempt to conceal it. He stepped back into the hall, waving his long
arms from side to side. "He did, did he! So he took 'em both, eh? Well,
I'll show ... where's the note?"
"How'd we know?" Skippy retorted. "We looked for a ladder, that's all,
n' it wouldn't be where there was a note, would it?"
If Devlin heard that, he gave no sign. He stalked into his room and was
even then in possession of the note. While he read it, he ran his long,
hairy fingers back and forth through his hair.
"His hair's wet, kid--awful wet!" Nickie whispered.
Skippy nodded grimly. "An' his feet, Nick--look at 'em--they're covered
with mud! Looks like he's been walkin' through plenty."
Nickie shivered, but they said no more for Devlin had already read the
note and was tearing it into a hundred pieces. Also, he was looking at
the boys and a hard, cold glitter was in his eyes.
"You boys still haven't told me what you had the bed up against the
door for?" he asked, with a hint of cunning in his suddenly modulated
tones.
Skippy was quick to sense this and he gathered his wits to match
Devlin's. Naïvely, he answered: "Maybe it's sissy-like for guys to get
scared, mister, but we was never so scared as we was tonight when we
was up in that attic. We was lookin' through one of those old trunks
and all of a sudden we heard somebody runnin'."
"Yeah, runnin' like nobuddy's business," Nickie added, with narrowed
eyes upon Devlin. "An' like he told us in his dream, who do we see
standin' down there like a ghost, but Timmy!"
Devlin's face looked almost black, but he said nothing.
"Yeah, we was scared, an' how!" Skippy said excitedly. "It was rainin'
so hard an' the wind was blowin' so we couldn't hear hardly nothin' he
said."
"You couldn't?" Devlin's query was almost too eager.
Nickie sighed with understanding and Skippy went on, "All we heard him
say was somethin' bout somebody bein' hurt. Maybe it was him, I don't
know. Anyway, mister, we told him we couldn't let him in 'cause Frost
was away an' we told him he better run an' go back where he come from.
So he stood there awhile an' said sump'n about a car stoppin' an' all
of a sudden the wind blew our lantern out 'cause we opened the window
an' couldn't shut it again."
"Yeah, an' Timmy musta went away then," Nickie finished. "The kid an'
me we calls n' calls so after I says to the kid, maybe we only imagined
it was Timmy, hah? We been talkin' so much bout the nightmare he had
that night, I says I guess we had it on the brain. It was some spooky
here tonight with the storm an' all, an' a guy can imagine a lot."
"You must have imagined a terrible lot!" Devlin said gravely. "The last
I saw of Timmy Underwood, he was waving to me from the window of a
train bound for Montana."
Skippy stood speechless and Nickie walked helplessly to the bed and sat
down.
"I suppose the whole thing made you a little nervous," Devlin said,
staring down at the dilapidated writing table. He coughed. "This is a
quiet place, specially during a storm. But boys your age being so
nervous as to push the bed...."
"We couldn't find no match to light a lantern," Skippy said, feeling
limp.
"Yeah, an' I didn't want no spooks creepin' in on me," Nickie added.
"Live ones, I ain't afraid of...."
"Nonsense! The best thing you boys can do is to go to bed and forget
it. I'm a little tired myself." After a pause, he added: "I'm taking
you boys, somewhere in the morning so wake up early. Goodnight!"
Skippy couldn't get the door closed quickly enough. He threw himself on
the bed exhausted. "Am I glad that's over!"
"Same here, kid," Nickie agreed in a faint voice. "Our little date with
him tomorra ain't worryin' me like what Frost's gonna say bout that
lock when he gets back."
"Keep your shirt on. From what Devlin's looked an' from what he ain't
said about Frost, makes me think there'll be plenty trouble between
_them_ so the lock won't look big. Anyway, we can deny it, can't we?
Frost's double-crossed Devlin a little, I think, so will Devlin believe
all he says again, huh? Our word's as good as Frost's."
"Kid, I'm a dumb-bell again, ain't I? While you're makin' the old bean
work I'm worryin' bout Devlin's mitts." Suddenly he lowered his voice
still more and whispered close to Skippy's ear, "What's the idea sayin'
we didn' hear nothin' that Timmy said?"
"We gotta outsmart _him_! While he thinks we ain't on to nothin', he
won't be so foxy. Take it from me, Nickie, if we tell him nothin' we
got a chance--not unless."
"What a guy!"
"If he thought we thought there was really sump'n phoney bout him an'
Timmy tonight, we couldn't breathe no more without him knowin' it. He's
gonna be foxy anyhow, but he'd be worse if he knew what we was thinkin'
an' I betcha I'm right."
"You didn't fall for that about him seein' Timmy off on that train for
Montana, hah?"
"We seen Timmy down in the clearin'--we seen him with our own eyes,
didn' we?"
"Devlin looked like a minister when he said he seen Timmy wavin' on
that, train. Could a guy be lyin' an' look like that?"
"That's why they call him Dean," Skippy murmured, thinking of what
Carlton Conne had told him of the man's record. "He fools people 'cause
he looks like a saint. Sure, he can lie--he don't do nothin' else but."
"It's awful, kid, but I can't think what we saw was real--_it couldn't
be_!"
"But the mud on his shoes an' his wet hair...." Skippy argued.
And when day dawned warm and clear, they had come no nearer to the
truth than that.