Nabbed!: The 1925 Journal of G. Codd Fitzmorgan (8 page)

So it must be foul play, I thought. Even the most skeptical person would have to admit now that this wasn't joke of some kind.
John was definitely missing—or kidnapped.

Gesturing toward the small window, Judge said, “And the storm's grown even worse. There's still no way to get back to the
mainland, or for the police to get out here.”

“Well, that's good in one way, isn't? If John has been nabbed, the kidnappers can't get him off the island.”

She nodded. “Here, I brought you these from the kitchen.” She handed me a small basketful of bread puffs that oozed a jam
filling. “Strawberry jam used to be your mom's favorite.”

We sat down on the couch and I bit into a puff. Delicious! Just what I needed to get my mind moving.”How is Mr. Hatherford?”
I asked.

Yum!!

“He's doing better,” she said. He actually managed to sleep for an hour or two. And I've convinced him he won't do John any
good by getting up and having a heart attack.”

“How about you, Judge? How are you dealing with everything?”

She took a breath before answering. “It just doesn't seem real to me. My fiancé has vanished. There are still eighty guests
here, but we've cancelled all the festivities. Weren't we supposed to be having the time of our lives this weekend?”

I didn't know what to say. We were quiet for a moment. The only sounds were the falling rain and the snores of the sleeping
guest in the corner.

I decided to turn to a topic where I could be useful—the investigation. “Judge, can you think of anyone who would want to
kidnap John?”

Judge looked relieved to sink her teeth into detective work. “I've been trying to come up with a list all night. You met John
last summer when we visited your cottage in Michigan. You know what he's like. Everyone wants to be his friend. No one would
want to hurt him.”

I nodded. It was true. John had a way of charming anyone. But maybe his disappearance had nothing to do with his personality.
“He has all that money.” I said.

“The money is mostly his father's,” Judge said. “And if he were kidnapped for money, why hasn't there been a ransom note?”

I tried a new approach. “So you can't think of anyone he's been fighting with?”

“Well, yes.” Judge said. “I can think of one person.”

“Who?” I asked eagerly.

“Me,” answered Judge, giving me a little smile when she saw the surprise on my face. “It's okay, G. Codd. I love John and
how brave he is. But I've been upset about the chances he takes in that airplane of his. Then there's the fact that he doesn't
want me to go to law school.”

“Why wouldn't John want you to be a lawyer?” I asked.

Something flashed in Judge's green eyes. “Office work is okay in his mind. But John doesn't think law is for women. Of course,
I don't let anyone make decisions like that for me. In the end it was my choice. I decided not to go so I could spend more
time with him—at the office and after work.”

She shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. “We need a break in this case. Let's look at the clues we have.”

Starting with the airplane, we talked about the evidence we had gathered so far. We both agreed the plane seemed to be dead
end. Judge had gone back out there this morning and searched for clues.

“Not that I don't trust your work, G. Codd,” she assured me. “I just had to see the empty plane for myself.”

“Unfortunately,” I said, “my interviews don't seem to have gotten us anywhere, either.” I handed her my notebook with the
witness interviews.

She flipped through them, reading each one carefully. “You did some terrific detective work here, G. Codd.” She stopped on
one page. “You spoke to Asyla?”

I caught something in her tone. “Do you think Asyla had something to do with John's disappearance?”

She shook her head. “No, but remember, the most beautiful creatures in nature can sometimes have the strongest venom.”

That sounded alarming. “What do you mean?”

“Not to worry,” Judge said.

“We should keep an eye on her, that's all.”

She stood up and began pacing.”About the only thing we can conclude with certainty is that yesterday was full of mysteries.
If there were just one of them that we could explain…”

Did Judge suspect Asyla?

I thought of the plan I had been working on in my head working on in my head. “There just might be one. I think the Scotsman
is the figure I saw vanish during the séance. You and I both examined the corner where he disappeared, remember? There are
no doors or windows, so he must have used a secret passage to get out. If we find the passage, it could lead us to the Scotsman,
and he might be able to answer our questions.”

After a moment's thought, Judge said, “Sounds good, G. Codd. Let's go check it out.”

Quickly, we climbed the stairs of the Great Hall. We made our way to the parlor where the séance had been held. We gave the
corner of the room another long look, but after ten minutes, we still couldn't find any sign of a secret passage.

It was time to put the plan that I had been working on into action.

I looked at Judge, hoping she would continue to trust in me. “I think I have a—“

“You have a plan,” she interrupted. “But, you're about to say that your plan is kind of unconventional. Am I right?”

“How did you know?” I asked.

She gave me a grin. “The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. What do you need?”

I reminded her about the training Mom had given me, helping me learn to escape from impossible situations.

“I want you to close me in here and lock the door,” I told Judge. “That will put me in the right state of mind and force my
strongest sleuthing skills into action. If there's a way out of this room, I'll find it.”

She thought it over, and then she said, “All right, but I'm going to add a safety net.”

Judge went to a shelf and picked up what looked like two vials stacked on top of each other. “See this timer? When I turn
it over, the sand will take exactly ten minutes to run from the top to the bottom. That's how long you have to be alone in
here. Then I'm coming in—“

“But I need to feel like I'm trapped.” I protested.

She wouldn't budge. “Then use your imagination, G. Codd. There could be a kidnapper roaming about the mansion's secret passages,
and people are disappearing I don't want you alone in this room for too long. You've got ten minutes.”

I nodded. “All right,” I said. “I'm ready to do this.”

Looking at her watch, Judge turned the timer over and placed it on a table where I could see it. She gave me a quick pat on
the shoulder. Then she left the room and closed the door behind her.

With a CLUNK! the lock slid into place.

Why did the radio have three dials?

My eyes slid over to the corner of
the parlor where the Scotsman had first disappeared. I examined the bookshelf, the radio,
the thick rug, the tapestry…

But I kept coming back to the same thing. The timer.

This wasn't working. This was a stupid idea. I couldn't concentrate. I kept worrying about how much time I had left.

Who can tell time on a sand timer anyway?

Focus! I told myself. You've done this type of thing many times before!

I calmed myself down. With steadier vision I took a new look at the corner.

A large bookshelf stood against one wall. In many detective stories, the hero simply has to pull on one of the books, and
secret door pops open. It was worth a try. But not surprisingly, nothing happened.

A radio sat against the other wall. I'd seen plenty of these—after all there were about five million on them in the United
States. People everywhere turned them on when they wanted news or entertainment. This model looked old-fashioned and had probably
belonged to the rumrunner. I tapped the radio and was rewarded with a hollow sound.

I looked closely at its dials. There were three dials to tune in the correct frequency. What kind of radio used three dials
that each did exactly the same thing? That would be like having three steering wheels in your automobile.

Numbers on each of the dials ran from 1 to 20. I gave one of the dials a twist. I heard the soft clicking of tumblers. The
dials had to be part of some kind of combination lock that required the correct sequence of three numbers to open. What it
was guarding, I didn't know. I just knew I wanted to crack it open.

What three numbers would be important to a rumrunner?

I had to think fast. If I ran out of time and Judge came into the room, I might snap out of this focused mental state. Then
we'd be back at square one.

People often used three numbers to indicate a specific date. The Great War ended on 11/11/18, which stood for November 11,
1918.

But what about a rumrunner? What date would he use? His birthday? If that were the case, I realized I'd be in trouble. How
could I ever guess that?

And then it hit me.

I started spinning the dials, getting them to read

1          16          20

This was probably one of the most important dates to a rumrunner—January 16, 1920. The date Prohibition went into effect.