The Case of the Vanishing Boy (6 page)

“It'll prove only that the switch was made somewhere else. Jan is
not
Brice Riggs. To find out who he really is, you may have to trace Brice Riggs and learn if there really was such a person, and what happened to him. And while you are searching, keep tuned to these leads: Jan was being taken to a place the guards called the Center, run by someone they spoke of as Big Doc. Now hurry and take those prints, then get going.”

The fingerprinting was done in short order. When finished, Bill Zorn placed them in his case and started away. But at the door he stopped abruptly.

“There's one thing bugs me. Why would anyone go to the trouble and expense of trying to make one boy pass for another, and tag him as a dangerous criminal?”

Heron Rhodes said, “Quite simple, Bill. Before they took Jan away, you were watching the house and van through your glasses?”

“You bet I was!”

“What time did they take Jan out of the house and drive away with him?”

“About ten after twelve.”

“What time was it when you lost sight of them and gave up the chase?”

“I'd say around twenty to one.”

“Bill, Jan was back here
before
twenty to one. How do you suppose he managed to do that?”

Bill Zorn stiffened. His mouth came open. “But—but—good lord! That's impossible. Unless—”

“Unless what?”

“Unless teleportation is a fact.”

“With Jan it's a fact. And the people who can control Jan, and make him do their bidding, can become very powerful indeed. You see? It's rather frightening to realize what we may be up against.”

Heron shook his head. “On your way, Bill. I want some answers.”

Jan was given the bedroom off the library for his own, and told to remain in it and keep the door locked when the servants were about their morning duties.

“Not that our help can't be trusted,” Hecuba Rhodes told him. “They certainly can. They're all members of Angus McCoy's family. Angus runs the farm, and he's been with us twenty years. But so long as they don't know you are here, they'll act normally and give the right answers if strangers ask questions.”

Then Hecuba added thoughtfully, “Now, tomorrow's Sunday, so only the cook will be here. That's Aggie, Angus' sister. But she'll finish up before ten and leave for the day. So the coast will be clear till Monday morning, when Tillie McCoy vacuums downstairs. I hope Ginny's practicing—”

Ginny said, “I always practice in the library in the morning, and I guess I do make a lot of racket. But if—”

“Don't stop because of me,” Jan said quickly, remembering how she loved her music. “I—well, I sort of like the piano.”

He was rewarded by a grateful smile that vanished on the instant when Hecuba said, “I do think, my dear, that you ought to cancel your lessons in Glendale until we can get Jan out of danger. I never did like the thought of your going over there alone.”

“Oh, no!” Ginny wailed. “We're just getting into Spanish music, and if you only knew how much I—” She stopped abruptly. “I—I'm sorry,” she went on apologetically. “I'm just being selfish. If staying home will help Jan, of course I'll stay! Do—do you really feel I should, Aunt Heck?”

“I honestly don't know how I feel,” Hecuba admitted, with an uncertain shake of her white head. “I wish to heaven I did. I'm very uneasy. I know something's going to happen. In fact, something's bound to happen, for it won't take this Big Doc creature—whoever he is—very long to decide that Jan must have come back here. But what will he do? Somehow I can't put my finger on it.” She shook her head again, and looked at Ginny. “Oh, I suppose you might as well continue with your lessons—but don't go alone. If we can't get guards enough to spare, I'll arrange to have Angus drive you over and bring you back.”

Jan fell asleep wondering what Big Doc was like, and awoke to the sound of the piano being played softly but beautifully. He splashed water on his face in the little bathroom, dressed quickly, and quietly opened the door to the library.

For a few seconds he stood motionless, watching Ginny's small fingers racing over the keys. The song was hauntingly familiar, and unconsciously he began humming the tune.

Suddenly her fingers stopped and she turned toward him. “Morning! You—you know what I was playing?”

He nodded. “
La Golondrina
.” Lightly he sang a few measures:

Sale en abril de la costa africana

La golondrina que de aqui se va
…

Her mouth came open, and for a moment she seemed to be studying him curiously behind her dark glasses. Almost in a whisper she asked, “Jan, who taught you that?”

“My mother.”

“What was she like?”

“She—she—” He closed his eyes and clenched his fists in the effort to recall the vague and momentary vision that had come to him, but it was gone. Helplessly he shook his head.

“I just love the music; but—but what's
golondrina
mean?”

“Swallow. The song tells how in April—”

“Jan! Don't you realize your mother must have been Spanish?”

“Maybe so.” He shrugged. “What of it?”

“What
of
it?” she exclaimed. “My goodness, it's a clue! You're beginning to remember! If you can just—” She stopped abruptly as if listening, and her mouth worked soundlessly.

“W—what's the matter?” he asked.

“I was just talking to Otis. He says the coast is clear and you can come and have breakfast with us.”

“You—you were talking to Otis? But how?”

“Oh, just sort of mentally,” she said lightly. “We've always been able to do it.”

“But great Jupiter, that—that's amazing!”

She giggled. “Not a tenth as amazing as being able to teleport. Oh—Otis says Bill and Mr. Jackson Lane are here.” She hurried and opened the front door just as the chimes rang, admitting a frowning lawyer and a very tired Bill Zorn.

Heron Rhodes met them and ushered them through the house to the big round table in the kitchen. “Bill just got in,” Jackson Lane rumbled. “He didn't learn much. I'm afraid Saturday wasn't the best day to go to Marysville.”

“No day is a good day to go there,” Heron Rhodes said grimly. “Hecuba and I have tried to bring reforms, but when you have to deal with some of these unhallowed politicians …” He shook his head and asked, “What did you pick up, Bill?”

“Nothing about Brice Riggs, sir. Not a thing—and I got my nose into every file there. You'd almost think Brice Riggs never existed.”

“He existed somewhere. Our job is to find out where. Go on, Bill.”

Bill Zorn rubbed his tired eyes, and drank some of the coffee Hecuba poured for him. “Well, I did learn that Marysville is a sort of clearinghouse for unusual cases. Unofficially, that is. I mean, they're so crowded that they're glad to let private institutions, qualified ones who are doing research, borrow patients to study.”

“I know that,” Heron Rhodes told him. “We've ‘borrowed' an occasional patient from them ourselves, every one of which we've helped. Did you get a list of the other borrowers?”

“Sure did.” Bill Zorn produced a small notebook, opened it, and slid it across the table.

The doctor adjusted his glasses and scowled at it. “Hm. I know all these places, and most of the people that run them. The one place I had my doubts about, the Orchard Nursing Home, isn't even on your list. But Pine Ridge Sanitarium is—and that's the most exclusive and expensive private asylum in this part of the country. I can't imagine any hanky-panky going on there. Are you sure there are no other doctors like myself—private doctors, I mean—who could be borrowing patients?”

“I thought of that,” Bill Zorn said, “and I'm having a friend of mine check into it. That's Joe Hinkle, who used to be on my basketball team in high school. I didn't know he was working at Marysville, but I found him over in the bookkeeping department. He's okay. And I told him just enough to get him anxious to help. So if there's anything to be found, Joe'll dig it up.”

“Excuse me,” said Jan, breaking in. “But what about Big Doc and the center? Did—did you happen to—”

“Oh, I told Joe about that,” Bill Zorn replied. “The only Center he could think of is the Geriatric Center next to the Glendale Hospital. But that's for the elderly, and anyway the van was heading away from Glendale when I followed it. As for Big Doc, he's going to keep his ears open.”

Heron Rhodes gave a nod of approval. “Let us pray he hears something soon.” He glanced at the lawyer. “What about those guards, Jackson. Could you find any?”

“Heron, I could locate only two at the moment. They are retired policemen, and they promised to be here by six this evening. Guards—trustworthy ones—are hard to find right now, but I hope to have some more by Wednesday.”

“Oh, you've got to!” Hecuba urged. “I've the most awful feeling about what lies ahead.…”

“Stop worrying, my dear,” the lawyer rumbled. “We'll get this cleared up soon. Yesterday, right after I left here, I went to see Roundtree—”

“That scuttling old turtle!” Heron growled. “Judas would have made a better judge.”

“Probably,” Jackson Lane agreed. “Anyway, I wanted to track down the authority that pressured him into issuing that court order for Jan. He swore it came direct from the superintendent's office at Marysville. Maybe it did, but I told him we'd checked with Marysville, and no one knew anything about an escapee named Brice Riggs, and I further told him that this whole thing was beginning to look like a conspiracy, and that we might have to call in the FBI. That shook him up a bit. Then I went around to have a talk with that Sergeant Bricker.”

“Eh?” Heron Rhodes stared at him. “What in the dingalated tarnation did you go and see
him
about?”

“Sort of thought we could get his help.”

“His
help!
Why, that self-righteous rascal—”

“Easy, Heron.” The lawyer gave a deep chuckle. “We need his help, and I figured he'd be only too glad to give it when I told him a few facts. I soon had him crawling when I pointed out that Marysville knew nothing about Brice Riggs, and that he'd made an illegal entry here yesterday and had aided and abetted a very serious crime. It could cost him his job. So, he's working for us now.”

“Doing what?”

“As acting chief of police,” the lawyer explained, “he's got all the facilities of the police department at his fingertips. He can talk directly to any police department in the country and get any information they happen to have. Since only state residents are admitted to Marysville, it shouldn't take him long to dig up something about Brice Riggs. The same goes for Jan's fingerprints.”

“Well!” said Heron. “I hadn't thought of all that. Maybe we can get somewhere now.” Then his long fingers began to drum upon the tabletop, and he shook his head. “I just wish I could remember why that name, Big Doc, seems to strike a bell. It worries me.”

Big Doc loomed in Jan's tortured dreaming that night as a great dark, hairy ogre, with pudgy fingers and a soft but frightening voice. He awoke trembling, and heard the tall clock in the library ponderously strike four times.

He sat up, his fists knotted in the sheet, knowing that somehow the dream vision of Big Doc must be close to reality. Hate rose in him. Big Doc was a thief who had destroyed whatever he had been and stolen his memory. Hate boiled above his fear and washed away what remained of the night, so that it was almost daylight before he fell asleep again. He was awakened finally by the unaccustomed sound of the vacuum cleaner that Tillie McCoy, the maid, was using in the hall.

Somehow, with the help of books Ginny selected for him in the library, he got through the long day. Tuesday was much the same. If he could have been free to go outside and explore the farm, the waiting would have been easier, but he was practically a prisoner in his room, always forced to flee to it and lock the door to avoid being seen by a chance visitor or one of the servants. As the hours dragged, his uneasiness increased. As Hecuba Rhodes had said, something was bound to happen. But what?

Several times he crouched by his window, peering carefully through the curtains at the courtyard behind the house. On one side was a stone addition that he judged was the research lab, while facing it across the walks and the flower garden was the garage. The buildings at the far end, he decided, had to be guesthouses. Through the trees he could glimpse barns and other stone structures in the distance.

It was not hard to guess who the people were who occasionally crossed the courtyard. The aproned woman who usually appeared in the middle of the afternoon had to be Agnes the cook, Angus McCoy's sister, while the younger one was probably Tillie, his daughter. The short, sturdy bowlegged man, who twice came to talk to Heron Rhodes, was no doubt Angus himself. A second man dressed in workman's clothes, who puttered watchfully about patching the stonework, must be one of the guards who had come Sunday evening. Jan wondered about the extra guards that Jackson Lane had been trying to get. So far they hadn't arrived.

They had not arrived by Wednesday afternoon, when Ginny left for her music lesson.

From his window Jan watched her small, slender figure move lightly across the courtyard beside the sturdy bulk of Angus, who was driving her to Glendale in Hecuba's station wagon. Only her white cane and dark glasses gave indication of her blindness, and again he wondered by what magic she could make out the world, and how strange it must appear to her.

It was when the station wagon was gone that a sudden, deeper uneasiness came over him. Hecuba had been worried about the lack of guards, but having the extra guards didn't really matter. What mattered was something else, something they'd overlooked. What could it be?