I did. “Now it spells I-N-T-H-E-A-T-T-I-C.”
“Oh, my gosh,” Mila nearly screamed. “IN … THE … ATTIC!”
“Great work, Mila!” I exclaimed. “You’re brilliant!”
“Maybe,” Mila said. “But then how come Ms. Gleason gave me the dunce cap?”
Chapter
6
In the Attic
A girl’s voice answered the phone. “Hello, Armitage residence.”
“Is Reginald home? This is Jigsaw.”
“Oh, the famous detective!” she squealed. “Are you calling about the golden key?”
“Maybe,” I answered. “Is this Hildegard?”
“Call me Hildy,” she replied cheerily. “Only my parents and little brother call me Hildegard. What an awful name!”
I couldn’t argue with that. “I suppose Reginald told you about me.”
She chuckled softly. “Actually, I was the one who told Reginald to call you.”
“How did you know about my detective business?” I wondered. “It’s not like I run commercials on the radio.”
“My friend Shirley Hitchcock mentioned your name,” she replied. “Or maybe it was Barney Fodstock. Or Ben Ewing. To be honest, I’ve met so many people lately it’s hard to remember who said what.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a lot of friends,” I said. “Reginald claims he hasn’t met anyone.”
Hildy was quiet for a moment. “I guess I’m the social butterfly in the family,” she confessed. “Reginald keeps to himself. It isn’t easy for him to meet new people.”
“Yeah, I’ve met ice cubes that were warmer,” I said.
“But you don’t know Reginald!” she protested. “He’s a great kid. It takes Reginald a little while to feel comfortable. You could become friends, Jigsaw. You never know.”
“I suppose,” I replied. “Anyway, is Mr. Armitage the Third home or isn’t he?”
Hildy left to find her brother. A few moments later, Reginald picked up the phone.
I told him about the secret message. “Have you looked in the attic?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t dare set foot up there!” he exclaimed.
“Why not?”
“My parents strictly forbid it.”
“Reggie, Reggie, Reggie,” I murmured. “Your parents forbid you. Did they say anything about me?”
“Of course not!” Reginald responded. “They’ve never even met —”
“So it’s settled, then,” I interrupted. “When can Mila and I come over?”
Reginald’s voice changed. “There’s another problem.”
“There usually is,” I replied.
Reginald explained, “I believe there’s something spooky living in the attic. I’ve heard strange cries, and scratching and clawing sounds.”
“That’s why I get paid the big bucks,” I said. “Just show us where the attic is. We’ll handle any monsters.”
After some hesitation, Reginald gave in. “Oh, all right,” he said. “Tomorrow night, after supper. My parents won’t be home.”
On Tuesday night Mila showed up at my door—wearing a dunce cap. “Where’d you get that thing?” I asked.
“I made it yesterday,” Mila said. “It’s a dunce cap.”
“I know it’s a dunce cap,” I replied. “But why are you wearing it?”
Mila smiled. “Ms. Gleason was right. Dunce caps really are cool.”
She told me all about it. “There was this guy, John Duns Scotus. He lived a real long time ago. And he had all these crazy ideas. He thought that if people wore these cone-shaped hats it would improve their learning. He thought the shape of the cone would help their heads absorb more information.”
“That’s nuts,” I observed.
Mila said that a lot of other people thought so, too. They figured that John Duns Scotus’s ideas were silly and called all his followers dunces. The nickname stuck. After a while, teachers began to make kids wear dunce caps to punish them.
My brother Billy strolled into the room, jingling a set of car keys. “You ready, Worm? Let’s hit the road.” Billy was happy to give us a ride to Reginald’s house. He borrowed my mom’s car any chance he got.
Ten minutes later, Billy eased the car up Reginald’s long driveway. He whistled. “Yowsa, this is some fancy chicken coop.”
“Yeah, Jigsaw,” Mila agreed. “You said it was big. But this house is…”
“Just plain ridiculous,” I chimed in. “We’ll be done in about an hour,” I told Billy. “You can pick us up then.”
“Sure thing, detective,” Billy answered.
Reginald met us at the door, wearing a smile. It looked good on him. Once again, I slipped off my shoes in the hallway. But this time, I wore new socks.
Reginald led us up one flight of stairs, then another. He pulled a cord that hung from the hallway ceiling. It was an attic hatchway. A folding ladder dropped down. Above, it was as dark as night.
Strange noises came from the darkness. Mila looked at me with alarm.
I gritted my teeth and climbed a few steps. “I’ll go first. Ready?”
Mila handed a flashlight up to me and followed.
“I’ll wait here,” Reginald volunteered.
The attic was a huge cluttered room filled with dark shapes. Mila sneezed. “Yuck, it’s so dusty up here,” she complained.
“I guess the maid doesn’t make it up here too often,” I cracked.
Mila sneezed—twice—in reply.
“Jigsaw, point that flashlight over here,” she said. “I think there’s a light.”
Mila pulled on a string that lit a flickering, bare bulb that dangled from a cord. Now shadows swayed around us, falling across our faces. The attic, with so many turns and dark corners, remained mostly in the dark.
“Let’s get this over with,” I urged. “The faster we’re done, the faster we’re out of here.”
There was a jumble of furniture stacked against a wall. Piles of boxes, old rugs, and other junk were scattered everywhere. We tried the key in a desk, then in a dresser. Nothing worked.
“What’s that?” Mila asked, pointing toward the back of the attic.
There was a black shape, about two feet in height, crouching in the corner. I walked slowly toward it. I took a deep breath and felt it with my hand. “Just a tarp,” I said with relief. I lifted the tarp and scanned the area with the flashlight. The attic floor was covered with a thick layer of dust. The tarp concealed an old trunk that had been there for years. “I’ll try the key,” I whispered.
The skeleton key slid smoothly into the lock. I gave it a turn. Click.
Chapter
7
A Secret Staircase
I felt a cold hand on the back of my neck. It was Mila. “Shhh,” she hissed. “Listen.”
Scritch, scritch … yooooowwwww.Mila’s hand tightened on my shoulder. “What’s that?” she asked. Her voice was barely above a whisper.
I turned my head to follow the sound into the far corner of the attic.
Two almond-shaped eyes stared back at me.
Floating in the darkness.
Roaaa-roooow, it cried again.
I aimed the flashlight at the floating eyes.
“Ha!” Mila laughed nervously. “Just a cat. I wonder how it got up here?”
“Never mind the cat,” I complained. “Let’s see what’s inside this trunk.”
It didn’t take us long to find the treasure. Because there was no treasure to find. Just old clothes, a tuxedo wrapped in plastic, a goofy-looking top hat, blankets, scarves, and a woolen overcoat. “Let’s drag this back to the hatch,” I said.
We hauled the heavy chest across the floor.
“Jones?” Reginald called up. “What’s that awful noise? Did you find anything?”
I poked my head through the hatch. “Yeah, we found your cat. And we solved the mystery, too. Only it wasn’t worth solving in the first place.”
Reginald climbed to the top of the ladder. He looked through th
e trunk, sighed, and snapped it shut. “It was nothing after all,” he said. “All that trouble for nothing.”
I was disappointed, too.
But that’s the way it goes with some cases. You win some, you lose some. “Let’s go home,” I said to Mila.
She didn’t answer. I turned to look back.
But Mila was gone.
“Heeeeeere, kitty, kitty,” Mila called from across the attic. “Psssst, psssst. Heeeeeere, kitty, kitty.”
Then there was silence.
Suddenly, Mila’s voice threaded through the gloom. “Jigsaw, Reginald! Come quick. You’ve got to see this!”
When we got to the spot where Mila was standing, well, she wasn’t. Suddenly—“BOO!”—her head popped out from behind a small hidden doorway.
“It’s a secret tunnel!” Mila exclaimed. “I was trying to find the cat. I saw her go into this little hole. I felt around and realized it was a small door. Come on, let’s see where it leads.”
We crawled through the tight, cramped tunnel. Then it suddenly opened up to a space where we could stand. To our left was a staircase leading down. Creak, moan, creak, groan. The old wooden stairs complained with each step. Down, down, down we walked, with only the beam of the flashlight piercing the darkness.
After a long time, Mila suddenly stopped. “Dead end,” she announced. “There’s only a little hole for the cat to crawl through. This must be how she gets up to the attic.”
“Hold on,” Reginald said. “Help me push.”
Together, we leaned against the wall—and it suddenly fell open. Crash! We sprawled onto the floor.
I stood up and bonked my head. Rattling noises followed. “It’s a clothes closet,” I said. I found a knob and opened the door. There we stood: in Hildy’s bedroom!
Chapter
8
Topper
Friday morning at school, everyone brought in their hat posters. We also brought in our hats, either real ones or hats we made at home. Bobby Solofsky came into room 201 shouting, “Yee-haw, git along, little dogies!”
“Hey, Solofsky. What are you supposed to be?” Bigs Maloney asked.
“I’m a South American cowboy!” Bobby shouted. “This is my gaucho hat.”
Oh brother.
Lucy explained that her hat, the chullo, was a folk hat from the Andes. “It keeps my ears nice and toasty,” she said, “though it does nothing for my hair. People who live high in the Andes Mountains knit these colorful hats to stay warm.”
Geetha looked amazing in her beret. Sort of like a movie star. Then Joey walked in, wearing a cardboard stovepipe hat … and a fake beard!
He scratched his face unhappily. “Man, this thing itches,” he griped.
“Why are you wearing a beard?” Helen asked.
“Don’t you recognize me?” Joey asked. “I’m Abraham Lincoln. He wore a hat just like this. In fact, that’s where he kept his most important papers.”
“You look like the Cat in the Hat to me,” quipped Ralphie.
“Well, he wore one, too,” Joey answered. “It’s also called a chimney top or a top hat.”
Ms. Gleason was thrilled with our posters. She had us take turns telling the class about our hats. I said that in the old days, before they used gloves, outfielders used to catch baseballs with their hats. I held up my poster and continued, “The first complete baseball uniforms were worn in 1869, by the first-ever professional team, the Cincinnati Red Stockings.”
I liked Helen’s deerstalker. It made her look like Sherlock Holmes. She said that hunters in Great Britain used to wear them all the time. “Deerstalkers are really warm,” Helen told us. “And if it rains, the water rolls right off the brim!” To prove it, Helen suddenly dumped a cup of water on her head. She was right. The water slid right off onto the floor.
I enjoyed it so much, I wanted to see it again. So I drew a quick picture in my journal.
Ms. Gleason hung up our posters in the hall. Then we had to parade through a bunch of classrooms. Wearing a dunce cap was a little embarrassing for Mila. But I didn’t mind my cap. After all, I looked exactly like myself!
During the parade I noticed Mila pulling on her long black hair, mumbling to herself. I’d seen that look before. It meant her Thinking Machine was working.
“What are you thinking, Mila?” I asked.
Mila gestured toward Joey. “I’ve seen that hat somewhere before,” she said.
“Yeah, on Abraham Lincoln’s head,” I replied.
“No, no, that’s not it. I remember now,” Mila exclaimed, snapping her fingers. “In Reginald’s attic!”
Mila was right. It was exactly like one of the hats in the trunk. “Stovepipe, chimney top, top hat,” she thought aloud. “Topper—that was a name on the birthday list, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, the one with the fake birthday,” I replied.
“This may be crazy, Jigsaw,” Mila said with growing excitement. “But we have to go back to Reginald’s attic. I think we may have missed something.”
Chapter
9
The Pieces Come Together
We raced our bikes to Reginald’s house after school. On the way, Mila sang:
“Who’s afraid of the big bad attic,
the big bad attic, the big bad attic?
Who’s afraid of the big bad attic?
Not Jigsaw—or me!”
Typical Mila. Always changing the words around. Happily, she sang better than the Three Little Pigs.
Yeesh.
Hildy and Reginald were waiting at the front door. We explained everything. “There was a top hat in the old trunk,” Mila said. “If you remember, Topper was a name on the birthday list. The name with the fake birthday. I think it’s another clue, telling us where to look.”
Reginald pushed his glasses back with his right pinkie. “Are you suggesting that Great-uncle Rathgate wanted us to find a hat?”
“Not the hat,” I corrected. “But what may be hidden inside the hat.”
“Oh, like Abraham Lincoln,” Hildy gushed. “He used to hide papers in his hat.”
I eyed her suspiciously.
Hildy added with a shrug, “It was in a biography I read the other day.”
“Can we borrow your flashlight?” Mila asked Reginald.
We followed Reginald into the kitchen. He poked around in a cabinet for a while, moving things around and muttering to himself. “That’s strange,” Reginald stated. “The flashlight is always right here in case the lights go out. Mother’s very strict about that.”
“I know where it is,” I spoke up. “I saw a flashlight in Hildy’s bedroom the other night. It was on your dresser.”
“Oh? Um, yes, you’re right,” Hildy admitted. “I was … um … fooling around with it the other day.”
I didn’t say what I was thinking.
But I was thinking plenty.
Back in the attic, the trunk was right where we’d left it. While Mila, Hildy, and Reginald looked inside, I wandered over to where the trunk used to be. “Jigsaw, don’t you want to see?” Mila called after me.
“In a second,” I said. “First I want to check something.”
It was just as I’d thought. There was a neat rectangle where the trunk used to be. The floor was smooth and clean—without a speck of dust. Yet all around the outline of the trunk, there was a thick layer of dust. Even though a tarp had loosely covered the area around the trunk for years and years.
Supposedly.
Now all the pieces were coming together.
A picture was forming.
Just then, Reginald let out a shout. “I can’t believe my eyes!” he yelped. “It’s a miracle!”
Chapter
10
A Real Friend
“I’ve been looking for this for months!” he exclaimed.
“What is it?” Mila asked.
“A postage stamp,” Reginald said, his voice brimming with excitement. “A very rare, very hard-to-find postage stamp. It was tucked inside the hat
, just like you said, Jigsaw.”
I watched him, scratching my head.
Reginald must have noticed the expression on my face. “I’ve got quite a magnificent stamp collection,” he offered. “You see, I’m a philatelist—a person who collects postage stamps.” He held the stamp tenderly in his fingertips. “It appears to be in excellent condition.”
“Why is one lousy stamp a big deal?” I wondered.
“It was printed in a series,” Reginald told us. “I had every one, except for this one. It hasn’t been easy to track down.”
Reginald kept on shaking his head in wonder. “It’s simply astonishing to find it here,” he declared. “How could Great-uncle Rathgate have known? What an amazing, amazing coincidence. Isn’t it, Hildy?”
Hildy nodded happily, glad to see the smile bursting across her brother’s face. It was true. All the coldness and crusty manners had vanished. Reginald Pinkerton Armitage III was like a new person. Laughing, smiling, bouncing on the tips of his toes.
Mila sneezed. “Let’s get out of this dusty attic,” she complained.
I made sure to be the last one to leave. When no one was looking, I tossed my hat on the attic floor, then shut the hatch behind me.
Downstairs, I clapped my hands together. “Well, that wraps up this case,” I said.
Reginald thanked us a dozen times. “You have no idea what this stamp means to me,” he claimed. “Jones, you’ve made me so happy.”
When we reached the front door, I scratched my hair. “Oh, rats! My hat!” I groaned. “I must have dropped it in the attic. Reginald, would you mind getting it for me?”
“Sure thing, Jones!” Reginald stated. “It’s the least I could do.”
With Reginald gone, I turned to Hildy. “I won’t tell him,” I said. “But your Great-uncle Rathgate didn’t have anything to do with that stamp. I know you’re the one behind this.”
The Case of the Golden Key Page 2