“A harpy if there ever was one. I could feel the evil in her. D’you know her name, m’lad?”
“They call her Helga,” Jan said. “And that big man with her, that’s Dr. Leopold Zworkin. They’re the ones who had us kidnapped.”
The brothers stared at him. “Zworkin, did you say? Zworkin?”
He nodded. The brothers looked at each other as if they’d just heard that the Evil One had invaded Paradise. They seemed to have forgotten that they were late for breakfast.
“The beastly rotter!” exclaimed Sir Roderick. “It was Zworkin who did for poor Bertie!”
“Burned out his brain!” Sir Reginald muttered sadly. “Used to be the life of the party. Who cared if he was a bit too active at times? But that bloody Zworkin had to go to the policy board and say that Bertie could be helped by a session with Matilda. Poor Bertie!”
“M-Matilda?” Jan stammered. “You—you know about that thing?”
“Indeed we know! But what can we do?” For a moment of bewilderment Sir Reginald’s hands fluttered helplessly, then a sudden look of resolve came over his long horsey face. “By Jove!” he burst out. “The blighter’s on the wrong side of the fence! We’ll fix him! I’ll tell the duchess!”
Just what good it would do to tell the duchess was beyond Jan’s imagining at the moment, but as the brothers leaped to their feet and started across the lane as fast as their aging limbs could carry them, he caught Ginny’s hand again and followed. If his foot still pained him, he was too tired and hungry to know it, and he was lost in a feeling of complete unreality. Hopefully the sprawling stone structure in the trees ahead would offer, at the very least, temporary safety as well as food.
Bicycles—and tricycles—were parked all about the entrance, which was guarded by a pair of aloof stone lions. Just inside, the panting twins paused to regain their composure. Sir Reginald said quickly, “You must be on your toes with her grace. Not only is she quite impossibly rich, but she—”
“Utterly ghastly rich,” muttered Sir Roderick. “Oil, oil, oil, oil …”
“… built Elysium and endowed it, and fought the policy board to a standstill about our rights.… These breakfasts … gives them every month … to keep us from getting rusty … must keep up, y’know.… Ah, Jeeter!”
A small and very bald footman in immaculate purple livery had appeared in the doorway ahead. “I beg pardon, sirs,” Jeeter said smoothly, taking in Jan’s clothes with only a slight widening of the eyes. “I’ve been quite perturbed. You’ve missed the wine, and her grace is already—”
“Announce us!” Sir Reginald ordered. “There are extr’ordinary and extenuating circumstances! This is an emergency!”
Jeeter’s mouth opened and closed; he turned quickly and hurried away. As they followed, Jan whispered to Ginny, “Have you told Otis where we are?”
“I can’t get him!” she said almost tearfully. “I’ve tried and tried, but of course it’s so terribly early …”
He wondered if she knew anything about this curious place, but before he could ask she nodded and managed a tremulous smile, and then Jeeter was announcing them.
“Sir Reginald Weems and Sir Roderick Weems, with, ah, guests,” Jeeter called out, with just the proper tone and flourish. “They offer apologies for their tardiness, but there are, er, ah, extenuating circumstances. An emergency is at hand!”
They had reached, Jan saw, the entrance to a glittering dining room where a great many well-dressed people were seated at a long, long table presided over by a small, white-haired, doll-like woman in black. Scurrying around the table with glasses and dishes were what appeared to be dozens of footmen in purple livery like Jeeter’s. No one seemed to pay any attention to the first part of Jeeter’s announcement, but when he came to the word “emergency” all action stopped. There was a sudden silence, and every eye was turned upon them.
Jan could not help wondering if most of these very elegant people had arrived here on the bicycles and large tricycles parked outside—then he realized they must have.
“Emergency?” repeated the doll-like woman at the head of the table. “I am aware, Reginald, that the outer world is still too much with us at times. Is this emergency fancy or fact? And who are these odd young guests of yours?”
“The emergency is a fact!” Sir Reginald burst out, holding down his excitement with difficulty. “We’ve been invaded, as our guests can tell you! Their names elude me, but they are kidnap victims. They haven’t eaten for days … spent the entire night in the rain digging under the fence … had to give them some of Jeeter’s clothes …”
“Hold it! Who invaded us?”
“That blighter Zworkin!”
“Zworkin is here?” said the doll-like woman, rising slowly. “On this side of the fence?”
“On this side of the fence, your grace!”
“With a van and a station wagon full of his rascals!” added Sir Roderick.
There was a sudden commotion near the foot of the table. A broad-shouldered man with a gray goatee, who looked, Jan thought, the way all famous explorers should look, backed cringing from his chair. “No!” he pleaded. “No! Don’t let him come here! He’ll put me in that—that—that thing!”
“It’s all right, Bertie,” the doll-like duchess assured him softly. “We’ll never, never let him touch you.”
“But—but if he comes here …”
“He’ll be after Ginny and me,” Jan told him quickly. “Anyhow, he can’t hurt anyone with Matilda. I smashed it before we escaped.”
Everyone was suddenly staring at him. “You smashed it?” the duchess said slowly.
“He certainly did!” Ginny said. “I saw him do it. He completely wrecked it.”
“Bravo!” cried Sir Reginald.
“Bravo!” cried everyone else, including the footmen. “He wrecked Matilda!”
“Quiet!” the duchess ordered. “Matilda is disposed of—but Zworkin isn’t. He’s had the audacity to trespass on our side of the fence, in machines that are strictly forbidden here. We must do something! But first we must get to the bottom of this. Young man, who are you, and why did Dr. Zworkin kidnap the two of you?”
“I—I don’t know my—”
“He doesn’t know who he is,” Ginny managed to say. “Matilda did something to his memory. I’m Ginny Rhodes. Jan and I were kidnapped because, well, because of certain abilities we have. Dr. Zworkin was going to blank out our memories and take us abroad, and—and make use of us. We—we’d be on our way now if Jan hadn’t done something to their helicopter. But they’ve got another machine waiting—a truck to hide us in.… As soon as they catch us, they plan—”
“Only they won’t catch you,” the duchess interrupted, smiling sweetly. “We’ll catch them.” She glanced confidently around at the waiting footmen, and called abruptly, “Woolsey, Qualms, Livermore, Tyler, Shuttleworth—man your velocipedes and get to the main gate, fast. See that it and the small gate are locked, and stand by and let no one out. If Dr. Zworkin and his cohorts appear, you are to overpower them and bring them here for trial. And Woolsey—”
“Yes, your grace?” replied a tall footman standing near her.
“They may be desperate to leave, Woolsey, when they head back to the gate. But I trust you are quite capable of carrying out your assignment?”
“Quite, your grace, unless they are armed. May I suggest—”
“Arms are forbidden here, Woolsey, and I doubt if even Zworkin would be so foolish as to resort to them.”
“But this is America, your grace, and kidnapping is a very serious crime. May I suggest that the local sheriff be notified and—”
“You may not. You know very well that we settle our own affairs in Elysium. But if you feel the need of a back-up force, I will grant it.” She looked around quickly, and called, “Downs, Watson, Ethridge, Brooks, Addison—go with Woolsey’s group and help them take Dr. Zworkin. On your way, all of you!”
As the members of the constabulary hurried out, looking
somewhat uneasy, Jan thought, the duchess turned to a portly footman who evidently was the major-domo of the club. “Presterville,” she ordered, “rearrange the table so that these young people may sit on either side of me.”
The table was speedily rearranged, and Jan, feeling by now that he and Ginny had somehow been caught up and carried away in the current of an impossible dream, found himself sitting on the right of the duchess and next to a huge and constantly chattering woman in red, who wore an immense red hat of another age covered with roses. “Constantly repressed,” she was saying. “Constantly. How anyone manages in that terrible world outside …”
Jan hardly heard the woman in red, for Jeeter had placed a delicious-looking omelette before him, and the duchess was urging him to eat.
“My dear,” the duchess said presently to Ginny, “I do not wish to be unduly inquisitive, but are you blind?”
“Um—sort of,” Ginny admitted between bites.
“I thought so! When I heard your name … Therefore, being a Rhodes, you surely must know all about Elysium.”
Ginny nodded and smiled. “But Jan doesn’t. He doesn’t even know where it is.”
“Then I shall enlighten him. Jan, I must tell you that Heron Rhodes and I are old friends. He helped create Elysium. As he himself has said many times, this is the only stronghold of sanity in a mad, mad world. Of course, the world outside, in its utter madness, thinks we are the mad ones.”
She paused, and her silvery laugh tinkled forth. “Just because we insist upon being ourselves, like dear Angelina next to you—she loves red and her grandmother’s styles—that impossible world outside would like nothing better than to force us to conform or take away all our rights. So Heron and I decided that the only intelligent thing to do would be to lock the world away—which we did. Of course,” she added, with a slight lift of one shoulder, “all of us have our little weaknesses. Angelina has hers. I have mine, which I’ll not mention. So of course we make all proper and due allowances …”
Jan could only look at her, his senses reeling. Then he stammered, “B-but where is Elysium?”
They were interrupted by a little cry from Ginny. “I just heard from Otis—Pops is on his way here! He’s been driving around ever since dawn with Otis, waiting for him to wake up. So they must be close!”
The doll-faced duchess clapped her hands. “Oh, I shall be so glad to see him!” she exclaimed, accepting Ginny’s announcement without question, as if it were a perfectly normal and routine matter for girls to pick up messages out of the blue. “Heron and I haven’t had a good chat for months. I’m sure he’ll arrive in time for breakfast. Presterville, set another place at—Presterville! What’s wrong?”
Jan was dumfounded to see the portly major-domo backing across the room with his hands raised. There were quick, sharp commands, and Presterville and the remaining footmen and two cooks from the kitchen were herded against the opposite wall and made to face it, hands above their heads. Now Jan glimpsed a grim and very determined Bolinsky coming from the kitchen area, a stubby pistol in his hand. Behind him, also armed and equally grim and determined, were Harry and the heavy-faced George.
Sick inside, Jan turned and saw Big Doc, unshaven, coldly determined and desperate, approaching the other end of the table. He started to spin out of his chair, but froze to it as he made out the pistol in the doctor’s plump hand. The pistol was quickly thrust against Sir Reginald’s head.
“Do not move, boy, or he will die!” came the soft but entirely merciless voice. “Give us the least bit of trouble, and others will die. That goes for all of you at the table, so keep your seats. Helga—”
Jan sensed movement behind him. He knew what was coming, and fury rose in him, a fury made all the worse because there was nothing whatever he could do without risking the lives of everyone here. As the cloth sack was jerked down over his head, and he felt the pressure of the all-too-familiar thumb against his neck, it flashed through his mind that this breakfast attack was a final move, brought about by complete desperation. It was the only possible move left, and it had to be successful. If it failed, Big Doc and Helga would not dare show their faces abroad. Nor would there be any refuge for them here.
Jan sagged abruptly and let himself go limp, pretending unconsciousness as the thumb dug viciously into his neck. Instantly Helga released the pressure, pulled him from his chair, and dragged him to the other side of the table.
“Put him in the van, Harry,” she ordered, the tightness of fear and fatigue in her voice. “I’ll take the girl—I want her between us in the front seat when we leave. George, help the doctor with the duchess—we’ll all need her to get through the gate. Bolinsky, follow us out and lock the doors! Let’s go!”
As Harry flung him over a shoulder and ran, Jan was aware of a cry of protest from the duchess, followed by the threatening sound of Bolinsky’s voice and the slamming of doors. The cloth sack over his head, which had not been tied, was jolted loose on their passage through the kitchen; with a little help from his hand it fell off as they went through the rear door. No one seemed to notice.
Outside, from his head-down position, he caught a brief glimpse of the van, nearly hidden under the trees, as Harry sped down a curving walk toward it. Following came Helga, forcing Ginny to run by twisting her arm behind her back. Close behind were Big Doc and George with a disheveled and badly frightened duchess between them.
Jan was trying desperately to think of some plan of action when he heard a car approaching somewhere in the distance on one of the lanes. Could it be Heron Rhodes so soon? His sudden feeling of hope died on the instant when he realized that Heron, probably alone save for Otis and unarmed, would have to contend with four determined men with guns who certainly would not hesitate to shoot down anyone who tried to stand between them and freedom.
Helga also heard the car, for he saw her head jerk up in alarm, then she called hoarsely for the others to hurry, and gave Ginny’s arm a sudden twist. Ginny gasped, and stumbled. Helga slapped her viciously, and Ginny cried out in pain and fell.
The agonized sound of Ginny’s cry abruptly propelled Jan to movement. Before the astounded Harry quite knew what was happening, Jan had twisted like an eel from his grasp. He landed on hands and knees and sprang toward Helga with fury in his eye. If he had had the forgotten hatchet in his hand, which he had left at the fence, he might have hesitated. But he had only his empty hand, which he pointed trembling toward her as if it were all the weapon he needed to stop her.
Helga stiffened as if struck by a force beyond imagining. Her mouth fell open and stayed open as a glazed look came over her face. Then her legs gave way and she crumpled to the ground and sat there awkwardly, staring at nothing.
Ginny cried a warning, and Jan whirled in time to escape a swing from Harry’s pistol. He concentrated on the pistol, and the man backed away in fright, and suddenly gasped and dropped the weapon as if it had turned hot in his hand. Jan spun about and saw George gaping in disbelief at the crumpled Helga, his weapon and the duchess forgotten. Behind him a wide-eyed Bolinsky was also staring at Helga as if the world had all at once come to an end. Only Big Doc seemed in full possession of his senses.
“Shoot him, you fools,” the big man ordered, tugging to free the pistol caught in the pocket of his soiled jacket. “Shoot him before he wrecks us all!”
The pistol came free and the plump hand tried to raise it, but abruptly it dropped even as Harry’s had dropped, and a new voice ordered, “Leave him to me, Jan! He’s mine!”
Only now did Jan see the white Rolls, which had shot around the other side of the club building, demolishing a rose garden in its hasty progress. A very grim and haggard Heron Rhodes had leaped from it, and was pointing a retributive finger at Big Doc.
“It’s all over, Zworkin!” Heron snapped.
Big Doc whitened and started backing away, no longer aware of his doll-faced hostage. “No—no—no—” he pleaded, but the last no died as his mouth fell open and stayed open, and the
flabby body began to sag. He fell on his knees and sprawled there, braced by his plump, limp hands, a great empty hulk, alive but uncomprehending.
Even as Zworkin fell, the members of the constabulary were racing toward them through the trees, and Nat Martin and a half dozen agents were pouring from their cars.
It was, indeed, all over. The morning sun, Jan saw, as he helped Ginny to her feet, was now shining brightly above the trees.
“Certainly she’s a real duchess,” Heron Rhodes said one morning at breakfast, when everyone had recovered from the ordeal. “Marie of Bratisburg, or something like that. But all she has left today are the oil fields her husband left her. More than enough, however, to start Pine Ridge Sanitarium, and build and maintain Elysium.”
Jan shook his head. “I—I just couldn’t believe it when I looked back that morning and saw the Pine Ridge sign over the main gate.”
“Well, it jolted me when I discovered where you were,” Heron admitted. “I couldn’t believe it either. You see, that old mansion wasn’t part of the original Pine Ridge estate. I knew nothing about it. Zworkin’s people bought it, fenced it to join the estate, then donated it to Pine Ridge after they got Zworkin established as a specialist for violent cases. Infiltration. That’s what it was. Those dingalated rascals!”
“All those fences—”
“Oh, that place is fenced to glory. The tea house you found, that’s for the lesser members of the staff. The duchess had it fenced off from the inner sanctum for privacy. You should see the tea house for the top members. As for the inner sanctum—Elysium—that’s a world apart. No one enters except by invitation, or in an emergency. If you’re a patient inside, no matter how dotty you are, you’ve got it made. Frankly, if the world gets any crazier, when I get older—”
“Aw, Pops!” Ginny protested.
“Well, why not? When I consider it, Elysium strikes me as an eminently sane place. You must realize, of course, that no one can claim absolute sanity. Everyone is a bit off in one way or another. But pshaw, that’s nothing. You have only to read the daily headlines to realize the whole world’s demented. Absolutely, irrevocably—”
The Case of the Vanishing Boy Page 13