The Case of the Vanishing Boy (16 page)

“Strictly,” affirmed the first twin, frowning at an old-fashioned gold watch on the end of a chain. “We'd better be taking our constitutional, Roderick. We have only twenty minutes.”

Jan swallowed. “But—but you don't understand! We've got to get to a telephone! We—”

“No, m'lad. Not in Elysium. The telephone has been outlawed as an abomination. Only the duchess—”

“Rank has its privileges,” murmured the other twin. “But hers is strictly for official calls. Now Roderick—”

“Did—did you say Elysium?” Ginny stammered, her hand tightening in Jan's.

“I did. And I must impress upon you that it is a strictly restricted community.”

“Strictly restricted,” affirmed the other twin. “Now, if you will pardon us, we have very little time—”

“Please, won't you help us?” Jan burst out, exasperated. “Can't you see we need help? We were kidnapped! We escaped and we've been in the rain all night, digging under the fence! Please, won't you at least help Ginny? Can't you see how wet and cold she is?”

The two gentlemen looked at each other, bewildered. “Kidnapped?” said one. “All night in the rain? Did you hear that, Roderick?”

“I heard it, Reginald. They escaped. That does form a bond. We are all escapees from an impossible world. We'd better get Jeeter. He'll know what to do.”

“Jeeter isn't here, Roderick. Don't you remember? You sent him over to the club with that beastly dish of bloaters. You
would
eat bloaters for breakfast!”

In their bewilderment their hands fluttered helplessly. It suddenly came to Jan that this elegant but elderly pair, notwithstanding their lizard-bright eyes, were not entirely competent, and that the arrival of Ginny and himself had thrown them completely off their accustomed orbit. Then he heard Ginny, shivering at his side, give a frightened gasp.

“Oh lordy!” she whispered. “There's the white van!”

A quick turn of his head and he glimpsed the white van, far down by the last cottage, just turning into the lane. His hand tightened on Ginny's and on the instant he thrust open the gate and drew her into the yard beside the bewildered twins. He did not even question whether or not it was the same white van that had come to haunt him; he knew by the coldness knotting within him that it was, and that Helga was probably at the wheel.

“If you can't help us,” he cried, “at least you can hide us in the house somewhere! Those people in that van—they're after us!”

Without waiting to see what the reaction of the Englishmen would be, he ran for the steps, pulling Ginny with him. As he burst into the cottage he prayed that the shrubbery crowding the yard had hidden them from anyone down the lane.

Inside with Ginny, he started to close the door, but the twins were already hurrying up the steps. “I say,” said one, entering. “We do want to help, really. Beastly thing being kidnapped, and having to dig in the rain all night.”

“Utterly beastly,” echoed his brother. “So we'll do what we can, time permitting. We'll give up our constitutional to help, but breakfast at the club with the duchess is another matter. We must be there on the dot.”

“On the dot,” said his twin, glancing at his watch. “It takes but two minutes to walk to the club. That leaves us sixteen minutes—”

“Fifteen minutes, Roddy old boy,” corrected the other, glancing at an identical watch. “You always were a bit slow. That's why I inherited the title, being born three minutes ahead of you. Er, ah, permit me to introduce myself,” he added, turning. “I am Sir Reginald Weems, Bart. And this is my brother, Sir Roderick Weems, a mere knight. Er, by the way, how
did
you earn your knighthood, Roddy? It slips my mind.”

“It slips mine too, at the moment,” said Sir Roderick. “But it was something utterly dashing I did. I was always nipping about, doing utterly dashing things in those days. But time is passing. If we would help our young visitors—by the way, you have names?”

“I—I'm Jan, sir—and she's Ginny Rhodes.”

“Only fourteen minutes now,” Sir Reginald reminded them, still holding his watch. “What can we do for you in fourteen minutes, my friends?”

Jan rubbed his eyes and looked from one brother to the other. He had the curious feeling that reality had departed and that he and Ginny were trapped in some netherworld from which there was no hope of escape.

“I—I—before you go,” he stammered, “could you give us something to eat? We—we're pretty beat, and we haven't had a bite since yesterday morning.”

Again that look of helplessness came over the long horsey faces of the Weems brothers. “Dear me,” said Sir Roderick. “If only Jeeter were here …”

“Jeeter isn't here,” Sir Reginald reminded him. “What are we to do?”

There was a moment of pained silence. Then a great light seemed to dawn in Sir Reginald's eyes. His long face lit up, and he smiled.

“I say, Roddy, I have a ripping idea! Perfectly ripping! Why don't we take our friends to breakfast with us? D'you suppose her grace would mind? Really, I think she'll be amused.”

Sir Roderick looked scandalized. “But
look
at them! They are hardly
presentable!
”

“Oh, dash it all, a bit of water and some of Jeeter's uniforms should do the trick.”

“Of course! He is quite small, and those old navy things ought to be just right. I'll get them and you show them the baths.”

“Righto! But we'll have to hurry,” said Sir Reginald, who was still holding his watch. “No time for showers and primping. Just wipe off the worst, and into your togs.”

Jan's feeling of unreality grew as he stripped off his sodden jeans in one of the bathrooms and splashed water on his face. None of this made sense, least of all the impeccable Weems brothers. What strange sort of place was Elysium, where a duchess invited friends to a formal breakfast this early in the morning?

His fresh clothing, a middy blouse and a pair of bell-bottomed trousers of a generation ago, fitted him well enough. He had just finished dressing when there came a tap on the door, and Sir Reginald said, “Time's up, m'lad. Punctuality is the mark of breeding, so we must be on our way.”

Jan hurried into the living room, overcrowded with old furniture and glass cases of butterflies. Ginny, in too-long trousers rolled to her ankles, was already there. As he entered, she put her finger to her lips and pointed to a window.

He peered through the curtains, and his heart contracted.

The white van and Jenna's station wagon, filled with Big Doc's white-coated helpers, were coming to a stop in the lane.

15

BREAKFAST

Big Doc and Helga got out of the van, opened the gate and started grimly up the walk. Bolinsky, Harry and George poured from the station wagon, came swiftly through the gate and fanned across the yard as if heading for the rear of the cottage. Inside, Jan retreated to the turn of the hall with Ginny and stood waiting uneasily for the doorbell to ring.

When it did, Sir Reginald answered it.

“Yes?” he said coldly, as he opened the door.

“We are searching,” came the equally cold tones of Helga, “for two young escapees from the other side of the fence. We have reason to believe they came here.”

“Here? Escapees? You must be out of your mind, woman. Just who are you?”

“I am in charge of the new therapy center over there. I must warn you, these escapees are extremely dangerous—”

“That, my good woman, is your worry, not ours. Now get along with you! You know the agreement: No motored vehicles over here, no wearers of white coats, no intrusions. This is Elysium, and we'll not be intruded upon.” Sir Reginald paused, then exclaimed, “By my word, if you had escapees, you should have gone to our constabulary about them. Why didn't you? Eh? Answer me that! There is something deucedly wrong here. By Jove, I think I'll call the constabulary myself!”

Sir Reginald slammed the door, but instead of leaving he stood behind it waiting, eyes twinkling. He had not long to wait. There were hurried voices outside, the sound of footsteps, then motors taking off. The old man chuckled, but his mirth died as he looked at his watch.

“My word, we are late! Come, come! Out the back way, fast!”

Jan took Ginny's hand and followed the brothers into a flower garden at the rear of the house, then down a narrow path that led past other flower gardens in the rear of other neat cottages. The morning sun was still only a thin gleam through the trees when they reached another lane. Before crossing it, the brothers crouched behind a shrub like overgrown boys playing cops and robbers, and peered with exaggerated caution to right and left.

“I see the blighters!” Sir Roderick suddenly exclaimed in a hoarse whisper. Jan knew it was the younger brother who spoke, only because, a minute before, he had made the rather startling discovery that Sir Roderick wore tennis shoes, in contrast to the other's entirely proper attire.

“Where are they?” growled Sir. Reginald.

“Down below the club, making a turn. We'd better wait till they are out of sight. No use taking chances.”

“Righto! They are rascals, no doubt of it. They know the rules, and they left in a flash when I mentioned the constabulary.”

“You—you really have a police force here?” Jan asked hopefully.

“Oh, no, no. We want nothing to do with the police. Heaven forbid! Our constabulary is quite private, made up of our own men. Our valets and helpers and what-not. Jeeter is a member. When there is a spot of trouble, one merely presses a button, and they come on the run.” Sir Reginald chuckled. “What those blighters didn't know is that the entire staff of the constabulary is at the club, waiting to serve us. Ha!”

“But it isn't funny, old boy,” said the brother in tennis shoes. “There's deviltry afoot! Our young friends are still in danger! That blighted female who professes to be from the therapy center—”

“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.