Nabbed!: The 1925 Journal of G. Codd Fitzmorgan

by Bill Doyle

  For my eleventh interview, I asked a parlor maid to take a seat. She was still holding a few of the boxes she was moving up to Judge's room.

  “These are engagement presents”. The maid gestured toward the boxes. “I just wonder if there'll be a wedding now that the groom has been kidnapped!”

  I needed to keep rumors to a minimum. “Right now, this is a missing persons case. We are not sure that anyone has been nabbed. There is no ransom note. There is no sign of a struggle. It is as if John Hatherford simply vanished into–“ I stopped midsentence. Through the open double doors, I could see that someone was wandering around the crime scene.

  I jumped up and ran to the doors. “You!” I shouted. Whoever it was could be disturbing valuable evidence. “Get away from that plane!”

  The person turned. I could see that it was a man. He seemed startled by my call, and he began running away from the crime scene and toward the woods in back of the house.

  In my opinion, the only people who run away have something to hide.

  I think I am fairly courageous but no fool. This man was easily three times my size. Charles and the chauffeur were waiting to be interviewed.

  “We have to stop that man! He might be a suspects!” I called to them. The three of us headed out the door. Moments later, Charles and the chauffeur each had one of the man's arms and were escorting him into the Great Hall. The man had dark curly hair and a mischievous look on his face. It was as if he knew a wonderful secret and was just bursting to share it.

  I thought, now we're getting somewhere! A suspect.

  The Scotsman

  I asked him to take a seat in the chair opposite me, and I began the interview.

  “Who are you?” I asked. “John Baird”. It was clear at once from his thick accent that he was Scottish.

  “What were you doing by that airplane?”

  “Is it not the one? Ence mare I lest”, the man said.

  I had no idea what he meant. “I'm sorry”, I said. “But what did you say?”

  “Ence mare I am lest, are ye def, laddy?” The man's Scottish accent was so thick, it was difficult for me to make heads or tails of what he was saying. He continued, “Ded ye and the other kiddies enjoy the poppet shew?”

  Before I could ask about this odd question, I was interrupted by Mang, who was standing within earshot. “Listen to ze funny vay he iz talking!”

  “Please, Mr. Mang, let me complete my interview!” I snapped. I thought I might be getting somewhere with this Scotsman.

  Mang

  Suddenly, lightning flashed and reflected off the Scotsman's crystal lapel pin–and there was a sparkly flash of blue light! The Scotsman must be the figure I saw appear and vanish in the parlor!

  Now I would get some answer!

  And then the lights went out. The Great Hall was plunged into total darkness.

  People screamed in terror. Near me ther was a loud scuffling sound and a muffled cry as if someone was shouting through a piece of cloth—

  “Who is there?” I shouted, but doubted my voice could be heard over the guests as they panicked and tried to find their way out the room.

  Just as I thought the screaming was becoming unbearable, the room exploded with light.

  Men and women around me stopped yelling. I gaped at the empty seat in front of me.

  The Scotsman was gone.

  “Where is he?” I asked the man in the fur coat, who had crawled under a table. He shrugged.

  From the sounds I had heard when the lights were out, I was betting someone had nabbed the Scotsman. And just as I was getting close to some answers! “What is it?” Judge called from the top of the grand staircase. Spotting me, she rushed down the steps. “What is it?” G. Codd? Why were so many people shouting? Have you found John?”

  I quickly told her about the recent events. I started with the Scotsman's appearance by the plane and finished with his mysterious vanishing.

  Judge shook her head in confusion. “A Scotsman? Do you think this man iis somehow connected with John's disappearance?”

  I shrugged. “Honestly, I don't know what to think. It's what I feel”.

  A small smile touched Judge's lips. “Now you sound like your father. A detective's heart is one of his most powerful assets”.

  “How are you holding up, Judge?”

  Judge put a cooling hand to her forehead. “I finally calmed Mr. Hatherford. A nurse is with him, watching over him while he sleeps. But…I need to do something, G. Codd. Otherwise, I'm going to go crazy with worry”. She took a deep breath. “I need to find out what happened to John”.

  If a plan oof action would help Judge get through this, then I was her man. “I think our first step is to find the Scotsman. He was involved in the most recent disappearance. The clues will still be fresh”.

  I asked Charles to join us. Together, we organized a few of the guests remaining in the Great Hall into a search party. Twenty of us fanned out across the room, knocking on the floor, looking for hidden trapdoors, and pounding on walls, searching for signs of secret doors. We scoured the Great Hall looking for any sign of what had happened to the Scotsman.

  But there was nothing.

  The searchers grew bored with a game that offered no immediate reward. They began to scatter. Judge and I met near one of the fireplaces.

  Virgil gazing at Asyla

  ”I'm going to check on Mr. Htherford. I'll be right back”, Judge said. She Was leaving the room when I heard Asyla's sarcastic voice. “This is a great Party, Really swanky!” she was telling Virgil, who gazed at her with dreamy fascination.

  They were lounging on one of the fur-covered couches in front of the dying fire. Asyla was picking up party favors, like hats and noisemakers, and throwing them onto the flames. Lazily, she crumpled up a streamer and tossed it toward the fire. The paper bounced off the high back wall of the fireplace and rolled by my feet.

  “What are you doing?” I asked Asyla. She ignored me and turning to her boyfriend, said,

  “Make him go away, Virgil”.

  Obediently, Virgil made a small gesture that I should shoo. But I didn't need him to tell me. I had had enough of Asyla's games and left on my own.

  Deciding to update my journal, I took a seat on a nearby sofa.

  Now, as I try to stop yawning, a plan of action is taking shape in my head. It might put me in more danger than I've ever encountered.

  It's important that I stay awake to work on the plan.

  I have to stay aw

  Asleep in the Great Hall

  June 13, 1925

  9:05 AM

  I must have fallen asleep!

  I jerked awake. It took me a second or two to remember where I was and what was happening.

  How could I have slept? I guess the events of yesterday must have been too much for me. The scare on the ferry, the séance, the party—John's disappearance!

  Instantly, I felt a sharp pang of guilt. I had let Judge down. I had fallen asleep when I should have been cracking the case.

  Outside, it was so dark it could have been early evening. But according to my pocket watch (a gift from Dad), it was morning. Rain pelted the room's only window, and I could see tree branches swaying back and forth in the violent gusts of wind. The chimneys of the now-cold fireplaces moaned as the wind blew through them, like instruments in a creepy orchestra.

  The Great Hall was nearly deserted. One or two other guests had fallen asleep on couches, and a large man snored loudly in the far corner. The rest of the guests must be in their rooms.

  Someone, probably Judge, had covered me with a blanket.

  I was just getting up to find Judge when she entered the Great Hall. Wearing a simple gray dress with a purple scarf, she came quickly down the stairs to join me. She carried herself with perfect posture, as always. But there were dark circles under her eyes.

  “Judge!” I stood up as she approached and gave me a peck on the cheek. “Good morning, G. Codd,” she said. Reading the look on my face, she ad
ded, “Don't be upset that I didn't wake you earlier. I need your mind fresh and rested. We still have to find John.”

  “So, there's been no sign of him?”

  “No, nothing,” Judge said sadly.

  So it must be foul play, I thought. Even the most skeptical person would have to admit now that this wasn't joke of some kind. John was definitely missing—or kidnapped.

  Gesturing toward the small window, Judge said, “And the storm's grown even worse. There's still no way to get back to the mainland, or for the police to get out here.”

  “Well, that's good in one way, isn't? If John has been nabbed, the kidnappers can't get him off the island.”

  She nodded. “Here, I brought you these from the kitchen.” She handed me a small basketful of bread puffs that oozed a jam filling. “Strawberry jam used to be your mom's favorite.”

  We sat down on the couch and I bit into a puff. Delicious! Just what I needed to get my mind moving.”How is Mr. Hatherford?” I asked.

  Yum!!

  “He's doing better,” she said. He actually managed to sleep for an hour or two. And I've convinced him he won't do John any good by getting up and having a heart attack.”

  “How about you, Judge? How are you dealing with everything?”

  She took a breath before answering. “It just doesn't seem real to me. My fiancé has vanished. There are still eighty guests here, but we've cancelled all the festivities. Weren't we supposed to be having the time of our lives this weekend?”

  I didn't know what to say. We were quiet for a moment. The only sounds were the falling rain and the snores of the sleeping guest in the corner.

  I decided to turn to a topic where I could be useful—the investigation. “Judge, can you think of anyone who would want to kidnap John?”

  Judge looked relieved to sink her teeth into detective work. “I've been trying to come up with a list all night. You met John last summer when we visited your cottage in Michigan. You know what he's like. Everyone wants to be his friend. No one would want to hurt him.”

  I nodded. It was true. John had a way of charming anyone. But maybe his disappearance had nothing to do with his personality. “He has all that money.” I said.

  “The money is mostly his father's,” Judge said. “And if he were kidnapped for money, why hasn't there been a ransom note?”

  I tried a new approach. “So you can't think of anyone he's been fighting with?”

  “Well, yes.” Judge said. “I can think of one person.”

  “Who?” I asked eagerly.

  “Me,” answered Judge, giving me a little smile when she saw the surprise on my face. “It's okay, G. Codd. I love John and how brave he is. But I've been upset about the chances he takes in that airplane of his. Then there's the fact that he doesn't want me to go to law school.”

  “Why wouldn't John want you to be a lawyer?” I asked.

  Something flashed in Judge's green eyes. “Office work is okay in his mind. But John doesn't think law is for women. Of course, I don't let anyone make decisions like that for me. In the end it was my choice. I decided not to go so I could spend more time with him—at the office and after work.”

  She shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. “We need a break in this case. Let's look at the clues we have.”

  Starting with the airplane, we talked about the evidence we had gathered so far. We both agreed the plane seemed to be dead end. Judge had gone back out there this morning and searched for clues.

  “Not that I don't trust your work, G. Codd,” she assured me. “I just had to see the empty plane for myself.”

  “Unfortunately,” I said, “my interviews don't seem to have gotten us anywhere, either.” I handed her my notebook with the witness interviews.

  She flipped through them, reading each one carefully. “You did some terrific detective work here, G. Codd.” She stopped on one page. “You spoke to Asyla?”

  I caught something in her tone. “Do you think Asyla had something to do with John's disappearance?”

  She shook her head. “No, but remember, the most beautiful creatures in nature can sometimes have the strongest venom.”

  That sounded alarming. “What do you mean?”

  “Not to worry,” Judge said.

  “We should keep an eye on her, that's all.”

  She stood up and began pacing.”About the only thing we can conclude with certainty is that yesterday was full of mysteries. If there were just one of them that we could explain…”

  Did Judge suspect Asyla?

  I thought of the plan I had been working on in my head working on in my head. “There just might be one. I think the Scotsman is the figure I saw vanish during the séance. You and I both examined the corner where he disappeared, remember? There are no doors or windows, so he must have used a secret passage to get out. If we find the passage, it could lead us to the Scotsman, and he might be able to answer our questions.”

  After a moment's thought, Judge said, “Sounds good, G. Codd. Let's go check it out.”

  Quickly, we climbed the stairs of the Great Hall. We made our way to the parlor where the séance had been held. We gave the corner of the room another long look, but after ten minutes, we still couldn't find any sign of a secret passage.

  It was time to put the plan that I had been working on into action.

  I looked at Judge, hoping she would continue to trust in me. “I think I have a—“

  “You have a plan,” she interrupted. “But, you're about to say that your plan is kind of unconventional. Am I right?”

  “How did you know?” I asked.

  She gave me a grin. “The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. What do you need?”

  I reminded her about the training Mom had given me, helping me learn to escape from impossible situations.

  “I want you to close me in here and lock the door,” I told Judge. “That will put me in the right state of mind and force my strongest sleuthing skills into action. If there's a way out of this room, I'll find it.”

  She thought it over, and then she said, “All right, but I'm going to add a safety net.”

  Judge went to a shelf and picked up what looked like two vials stacked on top of each other. “See this timer? When I turn it over, the sand will take exactly ten minutes to run from the top to the bottom. That's how long you have to be alone in here. Then I'm coming in—“

  “But I need to feel like I'm trapped.” I protested.

  She wouldn't budge. “Then use your imagination, G. Codd. There could be a kidnapper roaming about the mansion's secret passages, and people are disappearing I don't want you alone in this room for too long. You've got ten minutes.”

  I nodded. “All right,” I said. “I'm ready to do this.”

  Looking at her watch, Judge turned the timer over and placed it on a table where I could see it. She gave me a quick pat on the shoulder. Then she left the room and closed the door behind her.

  With a CLUNK! the lock slid into place.

  Why did the radio have three dials?

  June 13, 1925

  12:35 PM

  My eyes slid over to the corner of the parlor where the Scotsman had first disappeared. I examined the bookshelf, the radio, the thick rug, the tapestry…

  But I kept coming back to the same thing. The timer.

  This wasn't working. This was a stupid idea. I couldn't concentrate. I kept worrying about how much time I had left.

  Who can tell time on a sand timer anyway?

  Focus! I told myself. You've done this type of thing many times before!

  I calmed myself down. With steadier vision I took a new look at the corner.

  A large bookshelf stood against one wall. In many detective stories, the hero simply has to pull on one of the books, and secret door pops open. It was worth a try. But not surprisingly, nothing happened.

  A radio sat against the other wall. I'd seen plenty of these—after all there were about five million on them in the United States. People ever
ywhere turned them on when they wanted news or entertainment. This model looked old-fashioned and had probably belonged to the rumrunner. I tapped the radio and was rewarded with a hollow sound.

  I looked closely at its dials. There were three dials to tune in the correct frequency. What kind of radio used three dials that each did exactly the same thing? That would be like having three steering wheels in your automobile.

  Numbers on each of the dials ran from 1 to 20. I gave one of the dials a twist. I heard the soft clicking of tumblers. The dials had to be part of some kind of combination lock that required the correct sequence of three numbers to open. What it was guarding, I didn't know. I just knew I wanted to crack it open.

  What three numbers would be important to a rumrunner?

  I had to think fast. If I ran out of time and Judge came into the room, I might snap out of this focused mental state. Then we'd be back at square one.

  People often used three numbers to indicate a specific date. The Great War ended on 11/11/18, which stood for November 11, 1918.

  But what about a rumrunner? What date would he use? His birthday? If that were the case, I realized I'd be in trouble. How could I ever guess that?

  And then it hit me.

  I started spinning the dials, getting them to read

  1 16 20

  This was probably one of the most important dates to a rumrunner—January 16, 1920. The date Prohibition went into effect.

  I turned the last dial to read 20—

  Hot socks!

  A narrow rectangle in the wall to the right of the radio popped open. It had been perfectly disguised, by the carved design of the wall. Without thinking about it, I turned my body to the side, so I could fit, and stepped through the doorway.

  It was dark in there after the parlor, and I stretched out my hands in front of me. They found nothing. Only the empty air of a secret passage that stretched ahead of me. But to either side, my fingers touched cold, slightly damp brick.