by Bill Doyle
Glancing back into the parlor I could see the last grains of sand running down the timer. I took another step into the passage. My right thumb ran along a brick that gave slightly. I put more pressure on the brick. With a small of whoosh of air and a click—
The door swung shut behind me.
Suddenly the thing I had been trying so hard to imagine in the parlor was real. Far too real. I was now trapped in a dark, narrow, frightening place.
My heart gave a few lurches like a bootlegger's getaway car kicking into overdrive. I felt like someone had tied thick ropes around my chest and was slowly tightening them. The panic was familiar—this was the start of a claustrophobia attack, like the ones I had suffered as a kid.
I called on all my years of training with my mom to stop the attack before it started. Her words played in my head, a soothing song to calm my heart.
You are a detective. And a detective solves problems. Problems that other people think are impossible. You can find your way out of anything!
Within moments, I regained control. My heart stopped battering my ribs. Ah…that's better, I thought. I took a look at my surroundings.
At least I tried to. With the light from the parlor gone, it was too dark in the small area to find the inside latch of the hidden door. I could only see a dim glow from up ahead. About 30 feet in front of me, a stone spiral staircase slithered its way up an interior tower.
I could wait for Judge to open the door to the parlor and pound on the secret door until she discovered me.
Or I could investigate. John could be tied up somewhere in here. He might need my help this second. Proving that I had really beaten my fears, I walked slowly away from the hidden door and toward the stairs.
I started up the steps, moving very slowly. Any one of them might be a trap, giving way when my foot stepped on it, and I would fall and fall…
Then I reached the top of a tower. Now I could see where the gloomy light was coming from. Two large windows had been built into opposite sides of the tower. The tower, hidden among the chimneys and turrets on the roof, must have been used by the rumrunner to hide—or as a lookout for approaching authorities.
But the windows had now been covered with thick black curtains. One of these had shifted and let in some of the gray afternoon light. I pulled a curtain back to peer outside. The stormy winds continued, but the rain had stopped.
I stepped further into the room, and a string brushed against my face. I gave it a pull. It was connected to an electric bulb, and the room filled with light.
My eyes took a moment to adjust to the brightness. Cables and lighting devices snaked here and there along the heavy stone walls of the tiny room. Surprised by the modern equipment, I turned and found myself staring directly at something even stranger.
A flat piece of wood about five feet by five feet lay on top of two sawhorses. The surface of the wood was covered with miniature trees, fake grass, a tiny airstrip…
And a little toy plane attached to thin wires.
It looked like this:
It was a model of the property right outside the Great Hall.
I took a step closer and touched the puppet of a pilot. About the size of a frankfurter, this mini flyboy was dressed just like John.
‘Ded ye enjoy the poppet shew?’ The Scotsman's words rang out in my head. Had he meant “puppet” when he said “puppet”?
This must be some kind of puppet stage. But who would be able to see it at the top of this secluded, secret tower?
Nothing makes sense, I thought. I looked around the room for answers. Almost immediately, I noticed the huge camera pointed at the stage.
Dad would be drooling right now, I thought. He was really into modern machinery. In fact, I'd read about equipment like this in one of his books. Dad would see this as a window of opportunity to examine technology—
Wait a second!
The words “window of opportunity” rolled around in my head.
Then I got it!
Someone had used the “window” in the Great Hall as a window of opportunity. This person must have put some kind of receiver in the window frame. When we had watched the plane landing through the small window in the Great Hall, we hadn't actually seen outside. We had been looking into something called a “television screen.”
I thought back to JENNY, John's plane out on the airstrip. That airplane was real. I had reached out and touched it. The plane existed. That was a fact.
But the landing of that real plane had been faked!
I was convinced that someone had used this puppet stage and the camera to make us think we had seen John's plane land.
Why? I had no idea. But I couldn't wait to share this discovery with Judge.
I headed toward the stairs. Not wanting to alert anyone that I'd been in the tower, I pulled on the string. Without the electric light, the room was thrown back into darkness. The only illumination came from the small crack in the curtains.
Sliding my hand firmly along the wall to steady myself, I began my descent down the spiral staircase. Now that I knew where I was going, my feet moved more confidently. I reached the bottom quickly.
I took a few steps toward the secret door—
Screep!
It was the sound of the hard sole of a shoe scraping on the rough floor.
Someone else was in the passage with me.
“Judge…?” I whispered. But the darkness seemed to absorb my voice like a sponge.
For what seemed like forever, I stood still and listened. Nothing.
It must have been my imagination—
Slap! Slap! Slap!
Suddenly footsteps were rushing toward me down the dark passageway from the direction of the secret door.
The mystery person was heading straight for me!
Panic exploded in my brain.
I looked back toward the dim gray light that filtered down the stairs, and stepped away from the brick wall. Just then the curtain in the tower shifted—either on its own or by someone's hand—and completely blocked the window. All the light in the passageway disappeared.
I was instantly disoriented, unsure which direction I faced.
Footsteps echoed all around me. Someone was coming straight at me, and I wasn't even sure from which way!
In the pitch dark, I reached out for the wall. I made contact and pressed my body flat against the hard brick. I hoped my pursuer would pass by without noticing me.
To my complete surprise, the wall didn't resist.
Instead, it gave way, and then I was falling through it.
Had I just broken through the wall?
A gentle click let me know this was not the case.
Leading from the passageway to the outside, a door-shaped section of the brick had swung gently open.
Luckily, I had discovered another secret door, this one completely by accident.
Another secret door!
The wet ground sucked hungrily at my shoes as the brick door behind me swung closed again. The shape of the door disappeared into the wall, making it nearly impossible to discover.
A scratching sound brought my attention back to the wall. I listened closely.
Someone was clawing at the secret door, trying to get it to open.
What should I do?
I decided I was better off standing my ground. Turning to the door, I adopted a defensive stance my father had taught me.
Click! I heard the secret door's lock unlatch—
The door was swinging open—I held my breath and braced myself for the worst—
“G. Codd!”
Out of the darkness, a face framed by blond hair came into view. It was Judge! The door closed behind her. She rushed to me and took my hand. “you scared me to death. What would I tell your parents if you'd gone missing, too?”
I couldn't stop grinning in relief. “Judge, you're the cat's pajamas! I was sure I was being followed by the villain.”
Judge leaned in close, her voice turning deadly serious as she
said, “You were, G. Codd. And so was I.”
“What?” I managed to ask.
“I heard footsteps chasing me through the passage,” she whispered. “There is a third person in there, right on my heels.”
We both turned to the secret door and waited for Judge's mysterious pursuer to join us.
With a click, the secret door swung open!
Long, terrifying seconds passed as Judge and I kept our positions.
Who would emerge from the secret passage? Would we be able to subdue him or her? Would the person have a weapon and attack us?
The wind whistled, clouds blew overhead, distant waves crashed against the island's shore. But no one opened the hidden door.
“Whoever it was must have turned back,” Judge said. I didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved. We had no way of opening the door from this side, so we turned our thoughts to the investigation.
The hidden airstrip!
June 13, 1925
2:10 PM
“G. Codd, what did you discover?” Judge asked.
I described the items I had found in the tower's broadcast room. I told her I thought they'd been used to trick the guests into thinking they were watching the plane land.
“You mean John might not even have landed at all? He could be lost at sea or…” Her voice trailed off.
Not knowing what to say, I glanced around. We were somewhere behind the mansion. Tall, dark pine trees loomed over us, their branches whipping in the wind. Suddenly we heard a strange flapping noise coming from the forest.
“What's that?” Judge asked.
I don't know,” I said, “but I think we'd better go and find out.” Cautiously we made our way through the dim light under the trees.
“Look—up ahead—I think there's a clearing,” Judge said softly.
We broke through the trees and found ourselves standing on the edge a long, grassy field. I took in the wind socks flapping in the wind, and the trees that had been cleared to create a long, rectangular space.
“It's a hidden airstrip!” I said. The questions in my mind quadrupled as I looked down toward the end of the runway. I could barely see the outline of a large objects sitting there.
Judge and I went to take a look. A tarp made of camouflage material covered a giant lump underneath. By now it was pretty clear what the lump was.
Together, we pulled at the wet tarp—and found ourselves face to propeller with an aircraft.
“Another plane!” I cried. I noticed it was the same model as JENNY, John's airplane. “Did you know about this?”
“No,” Judge answered. “I've been here many times and I never even knew there was another airstrip. From the looks of those stumps, the trees were just recently cut down to create this landing area.”
“Let's look inside,” I said. The door opened easily, and I peered into the cockpit. The fuel gauge read full. But the inside of this airplane was as empty as the other one. At least that's what I thought until I noticed an object that must have rolled to the back of the storage area.
I lifted the bottle carefully by its lip, not wanting to disturb any existing fingerprints.
“Can I have your handkerchief, G. Codd?”
I fished it out of my pocket with my other hand and gave it to her. She wrapped her right hand in the cloth and carefully took the bottle from me, not wanting to smudge or destroy any evidence.
Judge held the bottle under her nose and winced. “It's Scotch,” she said.
“What?” I had heard her, but I found it hard to believe.
She nodded. “There was a kind of whiskey in this bottle. You can still smell it. If the bottle wasn't empty, It'd be illegal to even be holding it. It would also be extremely valuable on the black market.”
“But it is empty…”
“Thank goodness. For a moment, I thought John might be mixed up in something,” Judge said. “But this isn't even his plane! His plane is outside the Great Hall, so where did this one come from?”
“Is it from the fleet of your air courier business?” I asked. “Maybe it's here to make a delivery?”
Her eyes narrowed as she scrutinized the craft. “I don't recognize it. But I brought the business records and books with me this weekend. I had planned to go over a few things with John's father. The books are in my room. Let's go check and see whether this type of plane is listed there.”
With Judge carrying the bottle, the two of us started back toward the house. Just then a thought struck me, and I stopped.
“What is it?” Judge asked.
“Wait one second,” I told her, turning back to the second airplane. “I have to grab something.”
Back in the Great Hall
June 13, 1925
7:20 PM
The Great Hall was quiet. Several butlers scurried about the room, but there were no guests in sight. They must still have been in their rooms.
Or vanished, I thought to myself.
Judge and I made our way up the grand staircase to the main part of the mansion. She insisted that we stop in the kitchen for something to eat.
Minutes later, after we had wolfed down roast beef sandwiches, we were moving again. To get to Judge's room we had to make our way through a twisting maze of hallways and staircases.
By the time we reached her room, we were both beat. “It will just take a second,” Judge was saying as she pushed open the door. She froze. My mouth dropped open at what I saw inside.
As she had asked, the staff had brought the engagement presents up to Judge's room. At that time, they were all still wrapped. That was no longer the case. Among other things, a silver goblet and a rather ugly teakettle had been liberated from their packaging. Fancy gold paper and expensive ribbons lay in pieces everywhere.
Asyla was opening Judge's presents!
And who was the cause of all this chaos?
None other than Asyla Notabe. Perched on Judge's bed, Asyla was busy trying to open one of the boxes she had just unwrapped. It was the large box I'd seen in the back parlor.
“Asyla!” Judge cried.
For a split second, Asyla had the grace to look embarrassed. Then that strange smile was back on her face. She said sarcastically, “Oh, no, have I been caught in the act?”
“What are you doing?” I asked, astounded.
“I was bored.” Sweeping back her long hair, Asyla glared at Judge. “You invite us here for an entire weekend of events, and then you cancel everything. Opening your presents seemed like a good way to kill time.”
Before Judge or I could reply, Asyla dumped the box on the bed, leaped up, and rushed from the room.
The packages on the bed jostled together as the mattress bounced from her speedy departure. The large box tumbled toward the side of the bed.
“Stop!” I cried, shouting at the box as if it were a dog that could obey commands. The box fell to the hardwood floor with a surprising crash. A sudden powerful odor—like something you might smell in a doctor's office—stopped me in my tracks.
I looked at Judge in shock and said, “That smells like…”
“Scotch.” She finished my sentence for me. “This box contains liquor.”
“Hooch? Booze?” I asked and saw the corners of her mouth twitch in a little smile at my outburst. I couldn't resist trying to get her to smile more. I rambled off a few other slang names for liquor. “Giggle water? Bootleg? Moonshine? Coffin varnish? Firewater? Hair of the dog?”
“Yes, G. Codd, yes.” I could see she was trying hard to smile. “And that means we now have an illegal substance leaking all over my room. Grab some towels from my washbasin, please. We need to get this cleaned up.”
“Who would give you a present like this for your engagement?” I asked, handing her the towels.
“I don't know. There's no card. But whoever gave it to me doesn't know me very well.” And that was true. Judge would never be a part of anything that even hinted of illegality.
“Do you think has something to do with John's disap
pearance?” I asked her.
“I'm not sure, but I hope not.” She was quiet for a bit, soaking up the liquor. I could tell she was thinking things over. Finally, Judge said, “Grab that book from my nightstand, G. Codd. We can check if that second plane is one of ours.”
I turned to pick up the book—and spotted Mang lurking in the doorway of the bedroom.
His eyes shone brightly above his long dark beard. “I knew I detected ze smell of something with ze nose!” he said in his strange accent.
“Yes,” Judge said. “I was just going to see if the waters have calmed. I want to send someone to the mainland to alert the police.”
Judge headed for the door.
In my study of illusions, I have seen magicians perform many acts. But none was as terrifying as the transformation that took place just then. In an instant, Mang's face twisted into a smirk of grim satisfaction, and he drew himself up to his full, powerful height.
In surprise, Judge took a protective step toward me. Like a snake shedding his skin, we watched Mang ze Magnifico, Master of the Séance, drop his disguise. The man he truly was began to emerge.
He moved with deadly confidence now, closing the bedroom door and blocking it with his body. The man crossed his arms over his wide chest. Without a trace of an accent, he said, “No one is going anywhere.”
Mang blocked the door!
Mang was a fraud!
June 13, 1925
10:15 PM
“I knew you weren't for real!” I cried.
“You're a fraud, just as I said!”
Immediately, I realized he must have something to do with John's disappearance. Before Mang could even respond, I shouted, “Who are you? What have you done with John?”
“Keep your voice down, boy” Mang, or Whoever he really was, hissed in a threatening tone. “I'll tell you all about John, more than you might want to know, but only if you take me to the other boxes like this one.” He pointed one long finger at the broken box on the floor by the bed. “I must have what's inside them.”