While Dick had been
ringing the doorbell, Frank himself had been sneaking into the house. Normally, it would’ve been difficult, but the
Detwiler residence proved quite easy.
Frank had observed the day before that the trash pipe leading upstairs
was more than wide enough to crawl through.
Would it be messy? Yes, but
getting dirty was a small price to pay for rescuing a friend. Of course, Frank had no idea whether
Stephanie was at the house or not, but he’d at least be able to find out.
As he shinnied up through
the pipe, he saw that most of the residue was from construction materials. Dust flew around the air, and Frank sneezed once
as he scrambled through. He wasn’t a
loud sneezer, though, and the pipe wasn’t for ventilation, so no one heard.
Construction materials
weren’t the only garbage that had gone through, however. Tomato sauce, mustard, soda, and other
familiar food products were scattered up and down the pipe. Once, Frank nearly grabbed a mustard-covered
spot, but he checked himself. His
caution would keep his hands clean, though his pants and shirt would be coated
with the stuff.
He suddenly became aware
that a lot of the stains looked…well, somewhat unnatural. It was all stuff you’d expect to find in a
trash pipe, but the way they were laid out—that was quite weird. The ketchup was spread quite thinly and widely
over the side of the pipe—same with the mustard—almost as if something had
brushed across it on its way down.
Studying it, Frank realized the only thing that would account for the
spreading was something rubbing against the stains themselves. Whatever this had been, it hadn’t stroked the
stains straight down but had spread them out.
Reaching the top, Frank
crawled out of the tube, then dusted himself off. He found himself in the midst of a room that
looked as if it had once been an upstairs study. Maple-varnished bookcases stood against the
far wall, their deep coat contrasting starkly with the unfinished wood paneling
on Frank’s end. The paint and varnish
gradually stopped as it neared the exterior wall, and Frank could tell the room
was in the process of being repainted.
Carefully, he crept
towards the door, then tried the knob.
It was unlocked, and Frank eased it open.
Peering out, he found
himself in the hallway on the left wing of the house. No one was in sight, but voices could be
heard off to the right. The lights were
out, implying that no one was upstairs, so Frank cautiously worked his way
ahead.
He wasn’t sure what they
were going to do with Dick, but his plan was simple. The kidnappers knew full well Dick was
there—they had no idea Frank was. By
creating a distraction, Frank felt certain he could get Dick and himself out of
there safely. First, though, he’d told
Dick to find out as much about the case as possible. What the diversion would be, Frank didn’t
know yet, but he figured he’d come up with something.
There was just one more
door in view on the left side of the hallway.
Beyond it, the hall curved to the left.
The voices were louder now, and Frank realized from the direction of the
sound that they were coming from the floor below. By the time he rounded the corner, he already
knew he’d see a balcony in front of him.
What
he didn’t count on was finding someone else in the hallway!
Quickly, Frank pulled
himself against the wall, but the figure didn’t notice—probably because they had
their back turned to Frank. Staring,
Frank suddenly realized the person was a girl—about his own age! She was crouched on the floor, just out of
sight of the balcony railing, busy taking notes in a little book she had with
her. On the floor next to her was
something that sort of resembled a remote control, but not one for a TV.
The door to the last room
on the hallway was ajar, and Frank slipped in.
Though the lights were on, he’d managed to see that nobody was
around. All that he found was a utility
closet—brooms, mops, cleaning supplies, and a fusebox were all that greeted his
eyes. There weren’t even any
shelves. Pulling himself into a corner,
Frank strained his ears to make out the conversation below.
“The OKCPD?” Hill’s voice wafted up. “I don’t think so, young man. The place that you speak of is too big for
them to find. It’s too big for anyone to
find, except the right people—and you happen to be Mr. Wrong. A couple Miss Wrongs have already found it,
and they ain’t coming back.”
“So you do know where
they are?” That was Dick speaking,
now. “I thought that car outside looked
familiar.”
“Yeah, we ain’t letting
him go, are we?” (Frank recognized that
voice as Dooley’s.) “I say shoot him,
and be done with it—”
“Uh-uh!” That was Vince. “The boss doesn’t want any killing—yet! I’ve talked enough already. Now, it’s your turn. Pick up that phone, call Frank, and tell him
exactly what I tell you to say. If you
don’t, Dooley might get his wish before the night is over…if you understand
what I mean.”
“I think so,” replied
Dick. There was a pause, then— “I’ll be
the one pushing the buttons,” spoke Hill.
There was the sound of dialing.
“Whoever answers, ask for Frank,” Hill said, handing the boy back the
receiver. “And, when he comes on—”
Suddenly, the door to the
closet swung open. Frank watched the
girl for a reaction, but she didn’t see him as she reached for the master
switch on the fusebox. Pulling it, she threw
the house into near-total darkness. Just
before she did, though, she hit a button on the remote control, which she
gripped in her other hand. A creepy
laugh sounded below.
“What?!” screamed
Vince. “Hey, who said that?! Who’s there?”
The girl slipped out of
the closet, then hit a different button.
“This is ‘The Shadow,’” bellowed a voice.
“Where are you?” Vince
called, flicking on a flashlight. He
swung it around. “I can’t see you—”
After adjusting a switch,
the girl hit another button. “No man can
see The Shadow!” The voice seemed to
come from somewhere different this time, and Vince’s flashlight beam swerved to
the new location.
“The weed of crime bears
bitter fruit. Crime does not pay! The Shadow knows!”
This time, the creepy
laugh came from the back of the room, near the stairs.
“Alright, Shadow!” Vince
yelled, firing two shots. “Anyone who
tries to follow me has bullets waiting for them! Come on, Dooley!”
Sneaking over to the edge
of the balcony, the girl saw the trapdoor in the beam of Vince’s
flashlight. The two men slipped inside,
slamming the door behind him. Jumping
up, the girl darted back to the closet and threw the switch again. Only then did she notice Frank. She jumped—slightly—but as she realized he
was hiding in the closet, she decided he wasn’t anyone to be scared of.
“Who are you?” she
whispered.
“I’m Frank Anderson,” he
said, whispering back, “and I can guess who you are—Auburn Reynolds, or should
I say, ‘The Purple Porcupine.’”
The girl looked
shocked—for exactly the reason Frank expected.
“How did you know?” she asked.
“Tell you later,” said Frank. “First, we’d better see where Hill and his
partner ran off to.”
“Huh?” Dick’s voice
wafted up the stairs. “What just
happened?”
“Better go explain to
him,” Frank whispered to Auburn. Then,
he darted forwards. “I can tell you,” he
called.
Dick glanced up—in time
to see Frank, standing on the balcony and staring down into the room below.
Only, he wasn’t alone.
Welcome back!
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