by F. C. Shaw
“This way,” Rollie whispered, turning right down the hall on the second floor.
The dark-paneled walls displayed large paintings of various military commanders from the 1700s. They stood proudly, their hands resting on swords and their noses stuck up in the air. They all wore stern faces with cold eyes and seemed to judge the trespassers as they passed by.
Rollie poked his head into the first empty room but realized its window did not face his—it faced the street. At the end of the hall was a door. He led them there, poked his head in, and smiled. He crossed the room and pulled back the heavy drape. Through the window, he spotted his own bedroom window next door.
Click!
“No electricity,” Eliot mumbled as he flicked the light switch up and down. “But there’s this large lantern.” He turned it on, bathing the room in a bright eerie glow.
“Eliot! Turn that off!” Cecily scolded.
“I thought we could get a better look around with the light on,” Eliot said.
“We don’t want anyone to see us in here!” Rollie stopped when he noticed brushes, trays, white sheets, and cans of paint in the center of the vacant room. “Is the prowler painting in here?” He touched the walls.
No fresh paint yet.
“That’s odd!” Cecily commented. “The prowler’s returned to paint the room?”
In the center of the room, the floorboards creaked and squeaked under their weight.
“We’d better get back home for supper. My mum doesn’t like us to be late,” Rollie said. He paused and sniffed. “What’s that funny smell? It’s not paint . . . ”
The other two shrugged.
“There’s not much to learn here,” said Rollie. “We better head home.”
After turning off the lantern, the sleuths hurriedly made their way back to the basement window where Wesley waited. He helped them exit up through it. Without a word, the group trudged back to the Wilson manor. Inside the entry hall, they pulled off their snow boots and wiggled out of their coats and scarves. They all felt a sense of security being back in the cheery warmth of the house. Rollie mentioned the strange paint supplies to Wesley.
“That is peculiar!” he agreed.
“The walls were not freshly painted though,” Rollie said. “Maybe those supplies are old.”
“No, I’ll bet that’s what we saw the prowler bringing in last night. Hopefully we’ll know more tonight.”
While his friends headed to the dining room for supper, Rollie took a moment to hide the letters he had snatched from the secret library at school. He raced upstairs to his room and stuffed the letters inside his hollow Shakespeare book he had brought home with him from school. In the hollow volume, he found his pen and pipe, both of which had been part of his class schedule back in August. He set those out on his desk to experiment with later.
He paused before going back downstairs.
Those letters puzzled him. On the one hand, he felt comforted knowing Headmaster Yardsly had advocated for Rollie to be his student. On the other hand, he felt alone without Auntie Ei’s support right now. And it seemed he had never had it.
When he joined his family in the dining room, Rollie found them seated and digging into left over Christmas ham with all the trimmings. He avoided looking at Auntie Ei, though he could feel her piercing gaze on him. Due to all the guests staying with the Wilsons, another card table and four chairs had been set up in a corner of the dining room. This was reserved for Rollie and his three friends.
“Fact: We really have a full house now!” Mr. Wilson chuckled, nodding at the new guests. “Are you staying here, too, Cecily?”
Cecily shook her head of auburn curls. “I don’t think there’s room for me.”
“You can stay in our room!” Lucille squealed.
“Yes! Please, Mummy, can she?” Daphne begged.
Mrs. Wilson smiled. “It’s entirely up to Cecily if she wants to room with two chatty little girls.”
Cecily and Rollie exchanged a knowing look.
Cecily shrugged. “I guess that could be fun. My parents are away visiting my Uncle Harry and Aunt Beryl in Manchester, and my brother doesn’t like having to be in charge of me all the time.”
Lucille and Daphne cheered, and proceeded to plan out the slumber party that would include making a tent and painting their toenails. Cecily dreaded the latter part of the plan, for she had never been much of a girly girl.
After dinner, Cecily went home to grab her pajamas and pillow. Eliot borrowed a sleeping bag from Stewart and set up camp next to Wesley on Rollie’s limited floor space. Wesley checked the view into the now exposed room next door.
Rollie found Eliot’s letter and flipped it over to the back. “How do I reveal the invisible ink?” he asked.
Eliot took the pipe and snapped off the mouthpiece. The end that had been attached to the pipe had a tiny brush. Inside the pipe bowl nestled a tiny bottle. He dipped the tiny brush into the tiny bottle, then stroked the brush across the paper. Soon, as if by magic, silvery words materialized.
P.S. Can I stay a few days longer with you?
“That’s it? That’s your secret message?” Rollie turned to Eliot. “Why did you write it in invisible ink?”
“In case bad guys intercepted your mail.” Eliot nodded solemnly. “I didn’t want them to know my plans.” He snapped the mouthpiece back on the pipe bowl. “MUS agents could be anywhere!”
Rollie picked up the ballpoint pen. Underneath Eliot’s postscript, he wrote Yes, stay as long as you like. At first, the ink looked shiny so he could see what he had written. Within a few seconds of exposed air, the ink dried into invisibility.
“Thanks,” said Eliot after he revealed and read Rollie’s response. “My father is busy moving my grandfather in to live with us.”
“Is this the grandfather who gave you the Sherlock Holmes comic books?”
“He’s the one. He’s quite old and his health is failing, so Father thought it would be best if Grandfather lived with us in Edinburgh. I’m glad Father will have someone to keep him company while I’m away at school.”
“Hallo, boys,” Cecily said from the doorway. “Rollie, I got my notes from last summer. Maybe something I observed about Zilch and his secretary then will help us now.” She thumped a worn notebook down on Rollie’s desk. “You’ll be sure to wake me up if anything happens next door, won’t you? I’m not enslaving myself to your sisters for nothing.”
“I’ll wake you,” Rollie promised as she left the room. “Don’t worry.”
The boys decided they were too excited to fall asleep, so they turned out the light and played rounds of Guess That Case. One boy would give clues and the others had to guess which Sherlock Holmes case he was referencing.
Eliot went first. “Dictionary, advertisement, red-hair—”
Wesley guessed first. “The Case of the Red-Headed League!”
“Okay,” Wesley said. “Germans spies, kidnapping, factory—”
“The Adventure of the Engineer’s Thumb!” Rollie and Eliot yelled at the same time.
“I got it first,” Eliot decided.
“No you didn’t! We got it at the same time,” Rollie pointed out.
“I definitely heard my voice.”
“Because you were louder!”
Wesley laughed. “You both got it at the same time. Besides, we’re not keeping points.”
“We’re not?” Eliot gasped. “Then what’s the point of this game?”
Rollie’s bedroom door opened and a lanky figure stood in the doorway.
“Roly-poly, knock it off!” Edward hissed. “Stew and I have to go back to work tomorrow, which means we have to get up early, which means we have to get some sleep, which means you need to shut up!”
“Don’t be such a grump, Ed,” Rollie muttered.
“I’m warning you! Be quiet
, or I’ll make you!”
As Edward closed the door, the three boys buried their faces in their pillows and laughed.
Quietly, they continued playing Guess That Case until around two in the morning. Just when they were about to try another game, a light from outside cast shadows in Rollie’s room. All three of them lunged for the window.
“Get Cecily!” Wesley whispered.
“I’m here!” she answered, joining them without warning. “I decided to check on you guys since I couldn’t sleep.”
They crowded together to peer out the window. The large lantern on the floor lit up the vacant room on the second floor. They could see the paint supplies in the middle of the room.
They waited and watched.
They stiffened when a figure marched into the room. The person was of average height and girth and was dressed all in black. A shock of long, brassy hair streaked from beneath a black knit cap.
“Is that who I think it is?” Rollie whispered.
Cecily squeezed his arm. “I think it’s her!”
The prowler opened a can of white paint and poured a little into a paint tray. She dipped a wide brush into the paint and wiped it over the wall with a small fireplace.
“She’s painting the room!” Wesley exclaimed. “Why?”
“Maybe she’s a realtor fixing up the house to sell,” Eliot suggested with a yawn.
“At two in the morning?” Rollie countered. “Besides, she is not a realtor.”
For about fifteen minutes, they watched her paint the entire wall. She stood back to survey her work and catch her breath. She was about to dip her brush back in the paint tray when she froze.
Outside, a car rumbled by, screeched to a stop, and honked once.
The prowler hurriedly pressed the lid back on the paint can, set the brush in the tray, and turned off the lantern. She bolted out of the room.
“That must be her ride,” Cecily deduced.
“So who is the prowler?” Wesley wanted to know.
Together, Rollie and Cecily said, “Herr Zilch’s secretary!”
The Treasure in the Wall
The next morning the young detectives could barely get through breakfast, for they were too eager to explore Zilch’s mansion. Finally, Mr. Wilson excused them from the table. First Eliot telephoned his father to say he was staying awhile longer with the Wilsons. Then they madly donned their winter garb and bolted outside. They went through Zilch’s garden gate and over to the basement window. Finding it already open, they one by one dropped into the house. “There’s some reason she painted this wall.” Rollie crossed the room to the fireplace. “She must be on an important mission.” When he touched the wall it felt cold and damp.
“And so far, she’s painted only this wall,” added Wesley. “Do you think she’s going to return to paint the rest of the room?”
“What was this room anyway?” Cecily wondered. “A bedroom?”
“It was an office,” Eliot stated plainly. When the others looked at him in surprise, he explained, “It has no closet, only one window, a fireplace, and it’s rather small compared to the other rooms here. I doubt it’s a bedroom. It must have been Herr Zilch’s study.”
“Good deduction,” Wesley said. “His study would be the most important room in the house. His secrets would have been kept here.”
“There must be a secret still here if the secretary’s returned,” Rollie muttered.
“There doesn’t seem to be much more we can learn from this room. Maybe we should explore the rest of the house,” Wesley suggested. He headed back into the hall, the others following.
They avoided eye contact with the militant portraits as they ventured down the hallway. Rollie poked into the first door on the right. He flicked on the light switch, but no light went on. By the gloomy glare from the window, he could tell the room was bare. Eliot said the same about the room across from it.
“I don’t see anything interesting.” Eliot yawned. “I’m bored.”
“Let’s play a good ol’ game of hide-and-seek!” Wesley suggested with a mischievous glimmer in his brown eyes.
“This house is perfect for a hiding game,” Rollie agreed. “Not it!”
“Not it!” Wesley and Cecily yelled.
“That’s not fair!” protested Eliot. “I didn’t know it was time for that. It’s time now—not it!”
“You’re not fair,” Rollie pointed out.
“I’ll be it,” Wesley consented. “This dead end of the hall is safe. I’ll count to fifty. Go!”
The others scattered as Wesley faced the wall, closed his eyes, and started counting.
Rollie knew exactly where to hide. He raced to the largest bedroom, which he guessed was the master suite. The large fireplace still had a black iron heat screen. Scooting the fireguard aside, Rollie crawled into the fireplace and dragged the screen back into place. Having held no fire for months, the fireplace was fairly clean.
He found himself wondering if this room had been where Herr Zilch had slept. Since it was the largest bedroom, it had probably been his sanctuary. He tried to imagine Herr Zilch sleeping in a large bed, opening the drapes each morning, reading the morning paper in front of a roaring fire . . .
But it was hard to imagine the criminal mastermind doing normal things that other people did. Still, being in Zilch’s bedroom did make him a little more human in Rollie’s mind.
“Ready or not, here I come!” Wesley’s voice sounded faintly from down the hallway.
Rollie leaned into the corner.
Scra-a-a-p-e!
Rollie jerked in surprise—the bricks beneath his head budged. He turned around and rested his palm where his head had been leaning against the fireplace. Two bricks were loose. He pulled them out of place. A dark space about a foot wide and a foot high was carved into the fireplace. He was about to stick his hand into the space when he remembered his fellow detectives. Instead he kicked the heat shield aside and scrambled out of his hiding spot. He rushed into the hallway just as Cecily flew by, Wesley close on her heels.
Wesley skidded to a stop to tag Rollie.
“I found something!” Rollie yelled excitedly.
“You’re it!” Wesley grinned. “Cecily and Eliot are safe.”
“Never mind the game—”
“I was just getting into it!” Eliot whined.
“Come see what I found.” Rollie led his friends back into the master bedroom and over to the fireplace. “I think it’s a secret—”
“A secret passage?” Cecily blurted.
“Like at school?” Wesley nodded knowingly.
“There’s a secret passage at school?” Eliot shrieked.
The others grimaced. Eliot was not supposed to know about that.
Rollie pointed out the dark hole in the fireplace.
“Do you think there’s something in there?” Cecily asked, hoping to divert Eliot’s attention.
“There’s a secret passage at school?” Eliot pressed. “How come I didn’t know about it?”
“We’ll explain later,” said Rollie. “There might be something hidden in there.” He reached his hand toward the space when Cecily snatched it aside.
“Don’t stick your hand in there!” she gasped. “There could be anything in there—like spiders or snakes!”
“It could be a trap. This is the enemy’s house. We need a torch.” Wesley straightened up. “Should I go get one from your room, Rollie?”
“I’ll go with you,” Cecily offered.
Wesley and Cecily hurried off, while Rollie and Eliot plopped down on the carpet beside the fireplace to wait.
“Tell me about this secret passage at school,” Eliot demanded.
“I guess I have no choice now.” Reluctantly, Rollie explained there was a secret passage that ran inside the walls of the Academy on all four floors.
There was a secret entrance on each floor and also one to the outside alley. He did not mention the Sherlockian antiques stored on the third floor.
Following this explanation, Eliot peppered Rollie with more questions, mostly about why no one else knew about it and why his friends did know about it. He went on to argue it was unfair that some students knew about this Academy secret while others were in the dark. He thought this gave others an unfair advantage. He begged Rollie to show him where the secret openings were, but Rollie refused without Headmaster’s Yardsly’s permission. Eliot then said he was entitled to the secret passage since he was the Student Government President, no less. He decided to write up a demand to Yardsly for secret passage access.
Rollie told him not to.
Eliot said he would anyway.
Rollie wanted to smack Eliot.
Finally, Wesley and Cecily returned with a flashlight.
Wesley shined the flashlight into the small, dark hole. “There is something in there—it doesn’t look like a spider or a snake.” He elbowed Cecily playfully.
Rollie stuck his hand fearlessly into the cache. His fingers felt something smooth and dusty. He pulled out a leather-bound book of some kind. He blew off the coat of dust and trailing cobwebs from the book.
Cecily sneezed.
“Bless you,” said Wesley.
She blushed. “Thank you.”
Rollie opened the book and read the first page. “Property of F. A. Zilch. This is Herr Zilch’s journal!” He flipped through the worn pages of handwritten notes.
“He kept a journal?” Wesley peered closer at the pages. “Of what? His dastardly deeds as the MUS leader?”
Rollie read the first entry aloud. “24 May 1921: Today marks the one-month anniversary of my sister’s death. It also marks the day I have been granted guardianship of her son. Her daughter, my niece, is of age to be independent; she is attending Oxford. My nephew is a quiet boy but intelligent nonetheless. I never thought I would have a child to look after, but I am obligated to take charge of him. My sister’s death grieves me so, but my nephew’s presence helps to alleviate my grief. I hope he enjoys living in London.”
