by John Blaine
“Hey, wait a minute,” Scotty said suddenly. “Look at this.” He held a thick, red-bound volume in his hands.
“What is it?”
“Psychiatry Simplified. It’s the only book that’s not part of a set. I wonder . . .”
Rick took the coded note from his pocket and spread it on the desk. “We’ll soon see. The first number in a series tells the page?”
“That’s right.”
“The page is number two, then.” He turned to the second page. “The next number is six. That means the sixth word, right?”
Scotty nodded. “And look what the word is.”
“It’s ‘dear,’” Rick said excitedly. “The first word in a letter!”
“Go on-go on,” Scotty urged, his voice shaking.
Rick’s eyes flashed from code to book and his hands wrote the words that the code provided. Slowly a look of confusion spread over his face, and when the last word of the letter had been decoded, he dropped his pencil and stared at the translation.
“It—it’s a love letter,” he gasped.
Scotty snatched the deciphered note from his hand. “Well, I’m a ring-tailed coot,” he said. “We’ve run into a double code!”
“You mean the code book led into another code?”
“Sure,” Scotty answered. “This love letter is coded too.”
“Then maybe we can decipher this one from the cryptography book,” Rick said. “Come on.”
The two boys went back to Hartson Brant’s library. Again they took the heavy cryptography volume from the shelf, and for a long while they searched its pages.
“Nope,” Scotty said finally. “This code isn’t in the book either.”
“Boy, this gang is really taking no chances,” Rick remarked.
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“But don’t forget where the code led us,” Scotty reminded him.
“To Weiss’s office—yes. I’d say we had the goods on him.”
“Don’t forget, Zircon looked like the traitor, too,” Scotty cautioned.
“It’s really a mess,” Rick declared. “But this is something concrete. I think we’d better see Weiss right now.”
“Roger,” Scotty said. “Get that coded note. Maybe it’s in his handwriting. That would really be proof.”
Sudden realization flashed into Rick’s eyes. “Holy smokes! I left it back on the desk in his office!”
They scrambled for the door and ran across the big yard. Rick looked frantically around on the desk where he had spread the code note.
It was gone!
“Well, if I don’t take the fur-lined dunce cap,” he moaned. “Our only scrap of real evidence and I handed it right back to the traitor!”
“I think even without the note we’ve got the goods on Weiss,” Scotty declared. “And I think we should go find him.
They walked down the office-lined hall. As they came to Zircon’s door they looked in and saw him sitting at his desk, reading.
“Have you seen Professor Weiss, sir?” Rick asked.
The huge scientist looked up impatiently. “I don’t keep track of the personnel here,” he grumbled.
Rick turned away, taken aback by the man’s gruff manner, and as he did so he stared straight into Scotty’s amazed eyes.
“Look!” Scotty whispered hoarsely. “That book he’s reading.”
Rick spun around and stared at the volume in Hobart Zircon’s big fist. It was a copy of Psychiatry Simplified.
“The code volume,” Rick gasped. “But I just saw it in Weiss’s office.”
“Don’t you get it?” Scotty asked. “He has a copy, too. For all we know, every scientist on the island may have one.”
“No, it can’t be,” Rick said uncertainly. “We couldn’t run into this kind of luck.”
“We’d better investigate,” Scotty suggested. “Come on back to your father’s library.”
They ran from the building and back into the big house. Even before he walked to the main shelf, Rick’s eyes caught a flash of red binding. It was another copy of Psychiatry Simplified.
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Rick sank into a leather chair and dropped his head into his hands. “What luck! Any man on the island could have sent that note. Even my father! But why do you suppose they all have a copy?”
“Well, at least we know how the traitor has been getting his messages off the island,” Scotty consoled.
“And they won’t be able to use it again.”
“But how does this gang get in touch with the traitor?” Rick asked.
“Couldn’t they phone?”
“They wouldn’t dare, knowing Barby is the operator and loves to listen in on every conversation.”
‘Then they’d have to smuggle messages in, just as they smuggled them off. In your plane, maybe.”
Rick shook his head. “No, they wouldn’t take chances like that. It has to be some other way. Wigwag, maybe. Or flashers. But they’d be too easily detected. Maybe signs.”
Both boys froze at the word “sign.”
“The barn!” Rick gasped. “The sign on the barn. Remember how it was changed so oddly?”
“You’re right,” Scotty exulted. “And I’ll bet we could read one of their messages if we had some binoculars!”
“Weiss’s binoculars!” Rick exclaimed, rising. “Let’s go.”
As they entered the little scientist’s office, Rick’s eyes went to the bookstand where he had seen the glasses the day before.
“Not here,” Scotty said.
“I’d say those binoculars are with Weiss,” Rick said. “And I’d say Weiss would be at the tidal flats.
Let’s go find him.”
The path to the tidal flats seemed torturingly long, despite their rapid strides. Then, as they turned off the last twist of the path, Rick jerked to a stop. He pointed silently.
There, on the edge of the cliff, sat a man with his eyes glued to a pair of binoculars pointed straight at the barn, across on the mainland. But it was not Weiss. It was John Stringfellow!
CHAPTER XI
The Adventure in the Old Barn
“And look what he has there beside him,” Scotty whispered.
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Rick saw the leaves of a book fluttering in the breeze, and red binding flashing in the sun. It was a copy of Psychiatry Simplified.
He attempted to move back into the shadow of the trees, but just as he did, his foot slipped and he scattered pebbles over the face of the rock.
John Stringfellow’s head jerked almost imperceptibly, but in a split second he had returned his gaze to the barn across the water.
“Did he see us?” Rick whispered.
“I don’t know,” Scotty answered, “but I don’t see any sense in pussyfooting. Let’s go talk to him.”
They walked out from the shadow of the trees and headed boldly for Stringfellow.
He turned just as they arrived at his side, and smiled up at them. “Out for a stroll, boys?”
“Yes,” Rick replied. “What are you doing to amuse yourself, sir?”
The thin scientist looked out toward the sea and placed the binoculars to his eyes. “I’m making a survey of the bird species around the island,” he said calmly. “Very wide variety in this area.”
“May I take a look?” Rick asked, extending his hand for the binoculars.
The glasses dropped slowly from Stringfellow’s eyes. “I’m afraid Professor Weiss is pretty particular about who handles his glasses,” he said.
“Oh, one look wouldn’t hurt,” Rick insisted.
He was certain now that Stringfellow didn’t want strange eyes looking at the barn across the way. But to his surprise the scientist said, “Well, I suppose one look wouldn’t hurt.” He held the glasses out to Rick.
Scotty watched tensely as Rick fastened the binoculars to his eyes and twisted the adjustment screw.
For a full thirty seconds the boy held the glasses on the barn sign. Finally he handed them back to the scientist.
“Thank you,” he said. “Well, shall we walk awhile longer, Scotty?”
Scotty could hardly wait until they reached the path, out of Stringfellow’s hearing. *.. “What about it?”
he whispered.
“No message,” Rick said flatly.
“But the book on his lap,” Scotty protested. “That’s the finger of guilt if I ever saw one!”
“I agree with you,” Rick answered. “But the finger of guilt has pointed to everyone on the island so far.
This gives us just one more suspect.”
“But what are we going to do?” Scotty asked as they turned up the path. “Are we going to just sit and wait for the traitor’s next move?”
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“Make a suggestion,” Rick said wryly. “I’ve run out of ideas.”
Scotty thought for a minute. “How about the love letter? We should make some attempt to get it decoded,” he suggested.
“That’s right,” Rick said. “Maybe Jerry Webster knows some code expert. He gets around a lot and knows some important people. I’ll call him and ask.”
He reached for the phone and soon was connected with the Morning Record. Jerry Webster answered, and Rick swiftly outlined his problem to the young reporter.
“Yes, a friend of mine, Hume Wallace, is a cryptographer,” Jerry told him. “But it may take a couple of days for him to work it out.”
Rick read the love letter to him and urged him to get it decoded as soon as possible. As he hung up, he said to Scotty, “That’s our biggest lead to the traitor. If we get that letter decoded, there may be a signature on it.”
“You hope!” Scotty said.
“Yes, and I still say that sign on the barn figures in the traitor’s plans. I say we should go take a close look at it.”
“Okay,” Scotty answered. “Let’s go.”
As they left the house, Dismal ran to greet them, barking excitedly. Rick, busy speculating about the meaning of the changing sign, greeted him without the usual enthusiasm. The pup, hurt feelings showing in the dejected slump of his tail, fell in step.
A flight of wooden stairs led down to the cove in which the island boats were tied up. Rick chose the fast fifteen-footer and motioned to Scotty to get in.
Dismal barked excitedly, his sad eyes pleading. “Not today, boy,” Rick said.
The pup barked again, then rolled over and played dead.
Rick couldn’t resist. “Oh, all right. Come on,” he said.
Dismal leaped into the rear seat, panting his excitement as the engine roared into life.
Rick reversed the engine, backed out, then he swung the boat around and gave it throttle. The stern bit into the swells and the bow lifted, pointing toward the mainland. Spray whipped against the windshield as the boat took the swells.
Rick held the boat steady on a course that would bring them to the point nearest the barn. While he let the craft drift into the wooded bank, Scotty leaped out of the cockpit and pulled them up to a convenient tree with the boat hook; then he tied the boat fast.
“About half a mile to go,” Rick said. They trudged through the woods and into the plowed fields, Dismal ranging far ahead, his nose busy with new scents.
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“What do you expect to find?” Scotty asked.
“I don’t know,” Rick confessed. “Maybe nothing. But I won’t be satisfied until I’ve had a look.”
They could see the sign clearly now; then the barn itself. It looked deserted, but they waited at the edge of the field for long minutes.
“Nothing there,” Scotty said. “Not even a cow.”
Rick leaped lightly over the wire fence and led the way to the barn. At the door they stopped again, looking around to be sure they were alone. “It’s all right, I guess,” he said, and they went in.
It was dim inside the barn. Rick looked around, searching for he didn’t know what. He could see at once that the barn was empty. He guessed by the few remnants of moldy hay in the mow that it hadn’t been used for years.
“Nothing here,” Scotty commented.
“Except mice.” Rick pointed to Dismal, who was scrambling across the floor after a tiny mouse. The pup ran head-on into the wall-and it gave out a hollow sound
“Hey! Did you hear that?” Rick exclaimed.
In an instant he was investigating. His probing fingers; found a loose board. He tugged, and it came away, revealing a hidden closet.
Scotty bent and peered into the hole. Getting up, he said in disgust, “Paint! Nothing but a few old cans of paint and some brushes.”
“Let’s see.” Rick sniffed. “Turpentine. These brushes have been used, and not so very long ago.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, the sign has been changed, hasn’t it? Whoever did it used this paint.”
“And what does that tell us?”
“Nothing.” Rick slammed the board back into place, a little more violently than necessary. “Exactly nothing!”
He winced as Scotty’s fingers dug into his arm. “Hey, what-?”
Then he saw what had startled the other boy. Dismal was crouched at the entrance, growling. At that moment, Rick heard the approaching drone of a car engine.
“Someone’s coming,” he gasped. He called Dismal to his side. “Stay with me, boy. We don’t want them to see you.” He joined Scotty in looking for an observation post.
Knotholes provided ports through which they could see across the field nearest the road. Rick put his eye to one, moving his head back and forth as he searched for the car.
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“Scotty, I see it,” he said hoarsely. “It’s the same gray sedan!”
“We’ve got to get out of here, Rick.”
“But how can we? If we start across the field, they’ll see us.”
Scotty’s alert eyes were busy. Suddenly he pointed upward. “The hayloft. We can hide up there.”
Rick didn’t stop to comment. He ran for the ladder that led to the loft. At the bottom he stopped short.
“Diz! Here, boy!” He scooped up the dog and made his way up the ladder as rapidly as he could with one hand. Scotty was right behind him.
The loft was dusty, and rays of sunlight came in through cracks in the roof, but the floor boards were still fairly tightly joined. No one could ,see them from below.
Rick lay flat, moving back and forth until he found a crack in the wall. He looked out at the gray car, parked now, its doors open.
His heart climbed into his throat and stuck there. Four men were getting out-the two men who looked like prize fighters, the bearded man, and a man with a hideously scarred face whom he had never seen before.
“Scotty,” Rick whispered.
Scotty had found a crack of his own. “I see them,” he whispered hoarsely.
The men walked toward the barn and vanished from sight. In a moment Rick heard them enter the big room below. He crouched silently, hardly daring to breathe.
“Kogan,” an authoritative voice commanded, “get the paint.”
That must be the man with the scarred face, Rick thought. He knew it wasn’t the voice of any of the others.
There was a rattle as the board was pulled away from the cupboard, and then a coarse voice said,
“Looks like someone’s been at this stuff.”
“Are you certain?”
That was the bearded man. Rick froze.
“Looks like it, Carlos. The board was partly open. I shut it tight when we left.”
“Probably a chance prowler,” Scarface said. “No matter. He could learn nothing from a little paint.”
From beside Rick came a low, rising rumble. He reached out desperately. Dismal was now convinced that something was wrong. He was going to bark!
Rick clamped his hands over the dog’s muzzle just as the bark rose in his throat. Diz sniffed, and the rumble died.
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Rick wiped sweat from his face. Close!
“Let’s get this job over and get back to the p
lant,” Scarface said. “Get the ladder and climb up, Kogan.
Paste ‘Smoke’ over ‘Drink’ and I’ll read you the numbers.”
So that was it! “Smoke” was changed to “Drink” and back again by just pasting the word on!
Dismal was suffering again. “Quiet, pup!” Rick whispered desperately.
It had been a mistake to clamp down on the pup’s nose. Now his nose was tickling and he wanted to sneeze. Rick stroked the dog’s head, trying to soothe the sneeze away.
Scotty slid across the floor. “What’s up?” he asked almost inaudibly.
Rick fought down a hysterical desire to laugh. “He has to sneeze.”
Scotty patted the pup’s head. “Sh-h-h, boy.” His eyes were anguished as they met Rick’s.
Dismal sniffed a couple of times.
There was the scraping of a ladder, and then the light through the wide cracks in the roof was suddenly blotted out.
Rick grabbed Scotty’s arm. Kogan was right over their heads! He pointed up and Scotty nodded.
Through the cracks they could see the dark blot of Kogan’s body. He was evidently the thug in the sports coat.
Below, Scarface was reading monotonously, “ Twenty-four, seventeen, nineteen, thirty-six, twelve . .
It was the code! Kogan was painting it on the sign, right over their heads!
Dismal sniffed.
Kogan’s foot scraped as he worked on the sign.
Rick and Scotty sat frozen.
Dismal sniffed again.
Then, so suddenly that Rick jumped, Scotty whipped off his jacket and covered Dismal with it. From under the jacket came a sneeze that sounded like a thunderclap!
“Hey, did you scrape that ladder?” Kogan demanded.
The boys weren’t even breathing. Their eyes were on the bulk that blocked the light above them.
“Paint the numbers,” Scarface said. “Don’t worry about the ladder.”
“I heard something,” Kogan insisted.
“ ‘Forty-five,’” Scarface droned.
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Rick relaxed. Scarface was going to ignore Kogan’s sharp ears. They heard the paintbrush scrape against the roof just above them as the man added the number to the sign.
“That’s the last one,” Scarface told him. “Come down.”
They heard steps on the ladder and then a thump as the man’s feet hit the ground. “Listen, I know I heard something,” Kogan said.
