Secret of the Underground Room Page 2

  The professor eyed his friend skeptically. "Perhaps," he said. "But if I were you, I'd get some doctor to prescribe sleeping pills. You look like you've been dragged around for miles. And I think we should change the subject now and talk about something cheerful. John and I have to be going pretty soon, and we haven't seen you in a long time. It'd be a shame to spend our whole visit jabbering about evil things. The way we're going, we'll be giving John nightmares."

  "I'm not scared," muttered Johnny defiantly. He followed the two men back to the easy chairs, and they chattered pleasantly for a while about baseball, Ted Williams's batting average, and the rickety aerial that the professor had built on his roof so he could listen to the Red Sox games. Finally the professor pulled out his pocket watch and announced that it was time to leave. Father Higgins looked sad, and it was clear that he wanted them to stay longer. But he led his friends to the door and shook their hands vigorously.

  "Thanks for coming, both of you," he said with a warm smile. "It's good to know I'm not alone in the world."

  "You most certainly are not!" said the professor with a mischievous grin. "After all, who else do I know who plays such a bad game of chess? Play the way you did the last time I saw you, and you'll always have at least one friend."

  The two men laughed, and they all said their goodbyes. As they trotted down the walk toward the car, Johnny gave the professor a worried glance.

  "He doesn't look good, does he?" whispered Johnny.

  The professor shook his head sadly. "No. Not good at all. I wish he would try to get the bishop to give him two months off and an airplane ticket to the Bahamas. But Higgy is at least as stubborn as I am, and you know how bad that is. I just hope he knows what he's doing."

  As he got into the car, Johnny looked back toward the house. Father Higgins still stood in the lighted doorway. He raised his hand and waved weakly. Johnny felt a pang of fear for his friend. Would he be all right out here?

  Weeks passed, and as the school year wound down toward its end, Johnny became involved in a lot of activities: He got a part in the Latin Club's play, which was a shortened version of Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. He took piano lessons so he could do well in the June recital, and he played in chess tournaments with schools in nearby towns. But while all this was going on, he kept thinking about Father Higgins.

  One Friday evening early in June, Johnny was sitting in the kitchen with his grandfather. Johnny lived with his grandparents, because his mother was dead and his father was flying a jet in the Air Force. Their home was a big white house across the street from the professor's stucco mansion, and it was full of homey, comfortable, old-fashioned furniture. The kitchen table was round and made of oak, with ball-and-claw feet. Johnny was drinking a Coke and talking about a movie that he and his friend Fergie had seen a few hours earlier. Grampa Dixon, who was standing by the stove warming some milk in a pan, was a tall, stoop-shouldered man with a few gray hairs strung across the freckled dome of his head. The flesh of his face was loose and wrinkly, and his eyes twinkled behind gold-rimmed spectacles.

  "Do you like pirate movies?" asked Grampa as he poured the milk into a glass. "I remember once I saw Doug Fairbanks in... lemme see, what was the name of it? The Sea Hawk, I guess. That was an old silent film, but it was still pretty good. Y'see, in those days—Hey, wouldja look at that!"

  Suddenly Johnny whirled around. Grampa had rushed to the kitchen window, and he was peering anxiously out into the night. After a few seconds he stepped back, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes.

  "I must be seein' things," he mumbled as he put his glasses back on. "Darnedest thing, though. It looked like he was there!"

  Johnny was totally confused and alarmed. "Who, Grampa? Who did you see?"

  Grampa turned to Johnny with a wondering frown on his face. "Well, while I was talkin' to you a minute ago," he began slowly, "I sorta glanced out the window, an' I thought I saw Father Higgins standin' out there under the streetlight, an'... "

  Johnny's mouth dropped open. "Father Higgins? What would he be doing out there?"

  Grampa shrugged. "Search me! It sure looked like it was him, though. Well, by the time I got to the window to have a closer look, he was gone! Can you beat that?"

  Johnny felt queasy inside. His grandfather was not the kind of person who imagined things, and when he was wearing his glasses, his eyesight was pretty good. "I'll run outside and have a look," said Johnny nervously.

  "Yeah, you do that," said Grampa. "If it is him, ask him why he doesn't come in an' see us."

  Fearfully, Johnny opened the screen door and stepped out into the backyard. It was a warm night, and lightning bugs were winking under the chestnut tree that grew at the far end of the yard. Johnny padded across the wet grass, around the side of the house, and out onto the sidewalk. Lights were on in most of the houses on Fillmore Street, but no one was out walking. The old-fashioned streetlamp glowed as Johnny glanced anxiously around. He peered into the dark mass of evergreen bushes that grew in front of the house next door. "F-father?" he said timidly. Then, cupping his hands to his mouth, he called out more loudly. "Father Higgins? Are you there?"

  Dead silence. In the distance a door slammed, but that was all.

  With a troubled expression on his face Johnny walked back to the house. As he stepped into the kitchen, he saw Grampa sitting at the table sipping his warm milk. The old man looked up. "Johnny? Didja find... "

  Johnny shook his head. "Nope. Nobody. And it's kind of hard to believe that Father Higgins is playing hide-and-seek with us."

  Grampa gave Johnny a sheepish look. "Y'mean you think I imagined it?"

  Tears sprang to Johnny's eyes, and he rushed to his grandfather's side. "Oh, no, Grampa! I didn't mean anything like that, honest I didn't! Only it's all just... well, kinda strange."

  Grampa rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Yeah," he said. "It sure is." There was a long pause as the two of them just looked at each other. Then, wearily, the old man shoved his chair back and dragged himself to his feet. "Well, g'night, Johnny," he said as he started for the door. "Sleep tight."

  Johnny stood watching as his grandfather left the room. Cold fear clutched at his heart. He could not explain what his grandfather had seen, and it scared him. With a puzzled look on his face, Johnny turned out the kitchen lights, went upstairs, and began taking off his clothes. After he had changed into his pajamas and brushed his teeth, he sat down on his bed and watched the long linen curtains sway in the night breeze that blew in through the open window. His feeling of uneasiness had not gone away—it had gotten worse. But he was also tired and very much wanted to go to sleep. He looked around at the scarred bureau and tall walnut clothes closet that stood in the corner. It was a nice room to be in, even when you weren't feeling particularly good. Johnny walked over to the door and turned out the overhead light. Then he pulled back the top sheet and climbed into bed.

  Aaah. It felt great to be tucked in between cool, sweet-smelling sheets. Gramma kept cedar nuts in all the bureau drawers, and the wonderful smell of them filled Johnny's nostrils. His nervousness had died, and sleep was stealing over him. But after he had drifted off, he found that he was having a very unpleasant dream. He dreamed he was still asleep in bed, but somehow he was able to see the moonlit room clearly. He heard a sound. A ghostly knocking was coming from the clothes closet. At first it was faint, but gradually it grew louder, and then the paneled doors started to shake, and the curved brass handles moved up and down. Still dreaming, Johnny felt his fear mount until it became blind panic, and at that moment he woke with a start. The peaceful room lay in darkness, except for one long gray slash of moonlight across the carpeted floor. Then Johnny turned to his left, and he saw a tall, hulking, shadowy man sitting in the chair next to his bed. The figure looked like Father Higgins.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Johnny was too scared to scream. He sat bolt upright in bed, rigid with terror. His mouth was open, and his jaw trembled. Many minutes passed before he was able to turn
his head and stare directly at the fearful shape—but it was gone. In its place, on the seat of the cane-bottomed chair, lay something shiny. Quickly Johnny lurched to his right and clicked on the lamp that stood on his bedside table. Then he fumbled for his glasses and put them on. He turned back to the chair. And what was lying there? A teaspoon. The handle was shaped like a bearded man in a long robe, and under the man's feet was a tiny pedestal labeled THOMAS. Tied to an ornamental loop at the top of the spoon was a price tag. But the price on the tag had been crossed out, and instead these groups of letters had been scrawled on the cardboard:

  Sn Cu Sb

  Johnny's head was whirling. He still had not gotten over his fright, and now he had to puzzle over this object that had been left on his chair. What did it all mean? Was Father Higgins dead? Johnny read a lot, and he had heard stories of how ghosts of living people sometimes appeared to their friends, to warn them or to ask for help. To ask for help. Johnny's head was beginning to clear, and this seemed to be the most likely explanation for what he had just seen. The last time he had talked to Father Higgins, the poor man had been up to his ears in trouble. But if he was asking for help, what kind of help did he need?

  Johnny sat on the edge of his bed for a long while, turning the funny little spoon over and over in his hands. Then sleepiness came over him, and he felt his eyelids beginning to flutter. With a sigh he laid the spoon back on the chair, took off his glasses, and snapped off the light. In the morning he would talk to the professor, and together they would figure the mystery out. Johnny laid his head on the pillow and slid off into deep, delicious sleep.

  The next day was Saturday. Usually on Saturdays Johnny had a long leisurely breakfast of pancakes and sausages prepared by Gramma. But today he wanted to skip breakfast altogether and tear over to the professor's house to tell him about the things he had seen last night. Unfortunately, he couldn't do this. Gramma would have been disappointed. So Johnny fought down his impatience and munched pancakes and tried to chat pleasantly with his grandparents. But his mind was definitely someplace else, and he wondered if either of the two old people would notice this. Grampa began telling a long story about the time he had visited Utah back in the Wild West days, when there were still gun-toting killers, tough marshals, and blue-jacketed cavalrymen roaming around. He was just getting to the exciting part when they heard a loud knocking at the front door.

  "My gosh!" exclaimed Grampa as he got up. "I wonder who that is. Sounds like he's tryin' to break down the door!"

  "Whoever it is, he doesn't have the brains to use the doorbell," Gramma said. Calmly she flipped a pancake on the griddle. "You'd think people would notice where the button is," she added.

  Walking slowly because of his arthritis, Grampa went to the door. When he opened it, there stood the professor, looking more disheveled than usual. His glasses were stuck crookedly on his face, and his hair was a mess. He was still wearing his pajama top, which was tucked clumsily into his trousers. His face was red, and he was breathing hard.

  "Henry!" he gasped, stumbling into the front hall. "It's... there's never been a... I mean, how... " After giving Grampa a very wild, confused glance, the professor brushed past him and headed straight for the kitchen. When he got there, he stopped in the middle of the floor and just stood still, breathing heavily and looking from Johnny to Gramma and back to Johnny again. Johnny was alarmed, and he jumped up from his seat.

  "What... what is it, professor?" he exclaimed.

  The professor closed his eyes, and with a struggle he pulled himself together and slumped into a chair, folding his hands on the kitchen table. Staring hard at the sugar bowl, he began to talk in a quiet, matter-of-fact voice.

  "Father Higgins has disappeared," he said. "I just got a call from his housekeeper. He didn't show up to say Mass this morning, so people got worried, and they went over to his house, and it was totally empty. No Father Higgins, no Father Higgins anywhere. Search parties are out looking for him in the woods near Rocks Village and... and... " Here the professor paused and choked back a sob. "... And they are even dragging the river."

  Johnny turned pale and swallowed hard. Had he seen the ghost of the dead Father Higgins? Or had he seen something else? More than ever, he wanted to be in some private place so he could talk with the professor. Gramma and Grampa were nice people, but they didn't believe much in ghosts and specters and things that go bump in the night.

  Gramma clucked and said sympathetic things, and Grampa asked a lot of questions that the professor couldn't answer. Then silence fell. The kitchen clock buzzed, and you could hear children playing at the end of the street.

  "I wish I could think of something to do," said the professor in a dull, despairing voice. "But I can't. We'll just have to wait and see if the poor man shows up. I have a full load of classes and meetings today, but I'll go down to the church and say a prayer for him tonight."

  "Can I go down with you?" said Johnny suddenly.

  The professor turned and stared curiously at his young friend. The two of them knew each other very well, and sometimes one would know what the other was thinking without a word being spoken. Instantly the professor guessed that Johnny had something important to tell him, something that he couldn't talk about in front of his grandparents.

  "Why... why yes, John, of course you may go down to the church with me," said the professor in a stiff, formal voice. "I... hrumph!... don't always believe that lighting candles and praying will solve things, but I don't suppose it'll hurt any. Shall we say eight o'clock?"

  That evening Johnny and the professor were sitting in one of the front pews at St. Michael's church. The smell of incense still hung in the air from an earlier service. As clearly as he could, Johnny told the old man about what he had seen last night. The professor listened intently, and he nodded gravely or shook his head every now and then. When he had finished his tale, Johnny reached into his pocket and pulled out the spoon. Without a word, he handed it to the professor.

  Thoughtfully, the professor turned the shiny object over in his hands. After what seemed like a long time, he spoke.

  "So this is what he left?" he asked.

  Johnny nodded. "Yeah. Professor, what do you think it means?"

  The professor rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well, to begin with," he said, slowly, "this is what they call an apostle spoon. People used to buy them in sets and hang them in wooden racks on their dining room walls. Each of the twelve spoons had a handle that looked like one of the twelve apostles who followed Jesus. This one is Thomas—as it should be, since that is Father Higgins's first name."

  "What about the tag, professor?" asked Johnny. "What do those letters mean?"

  The professor smiled faintly. "You know," he began, "it's funny what you remember from high school chemistry. Those are symbols for three elements: Sn stands for tin, Cu copper, and Sb antimony. They're all metals. Beyond that, I don't have the faintest idea why Higgy would have given you that spoon with that tag on it."

  There was a long silence. Johnny stared at the red sanctuary lamp that cast weird shadows across the church's altar. "Do... do you think he's alive?" he asked in a weak, throaty voice. "Father Higgins, I mean."

  The professor twiddled the spoon back and forth between his fingers. "Yes," he said firmly, "I honestly do. You were right when you said that ghosts of the living sometimes appear to people. And when you think about it, why would Higgy appear to you and leave mysterious messages if he were dead? No one could help him then. So I think we have to believe that he's trying to contact us. But I don't know if there's anything we can do—we just don't have enough to go on. I'm going to call up a friend of mine tonight. He's a chemistry prof at Haggstrum College, and he might know if there's any connection between the three metals that are listed on that tag. And now let's say a few prayers for our friend, shall we?"

  Johnny nodded, and the two of them walked up to the communion rail, knelt down, and prayed for Father Higgins.

  CHAPTER FOUR

 
Two days passed. Then one evening, as Johnny was sitting by the radio in the parlor, the phone rang. Quickly he snapped off the radio and jumped up. He ran into the front hall and picked up the receiver, and he was not terribly surprised to hear the professor's voice at the other end. He had been expecting to hear from him. However, the first thing the professor said absolutely stunned Johnny.

  "Hello, John. How would you like to go to England with me?"

  Johnny could not have been more surprised if the professor had invited him to go to Mars. "England? Professor, what's going on?"

  "If you will stop yelping at me and come over here right away, I'll tell you," said the professor smoothly. "I've just taken a pan of my fudge-covered super brownies out of the oven, and you can have some if you're good."

  A few minutes later Johnny and the professor were sitting at the white-enameled table in the professor's kitchen munching brownies and drinking milk. The professor was wearing a flour-smeared white apron and a puffy white chef's hat, and every now and then Johnny would glance at the old man and see the sly, secretive smile on his face. Finally he decided that he couldn't stand the suspense any longer.

  "All right, professor!" he exclaimed irritably. "You said that you were gonna take me to England. Come on, tell me about it."

  The professor took another bite of his brownie and chewed it thoroughly. Then suddenly he leaned forward, put his elbows on the table, and stared intently at Johnny. "John," he said quietly, "I think I know where Higgy has gone to. You see, I took that spoon to the chemistry professor, and do you know what he told me? He said that it is made out of Britannia metal, an alloy that contains copper, tin, and antimony—the three elements whose symbols were on the tag."

  Johnny stared wonderingly at the professor. "You mean... you think Father Higgins has gone to England?" Johnny knew that Britannia was one of the old names for England—he had read it somewhere.