Prisoners in Devil's Bog

  CHAPTER II

  CRASHING IN

  It was only a matter of seconds when the door of the Internationaloffices opened and the pretty typist stepped into the hall. Her highheels clicked briskly along the tiled floor and she looked neither tothe right nor left, but hurried straight to the elevators.

  Skippy, meanwhile, had backed down farther into the shadow and wasstanding on the landing, his slim body almost rigid against the coolwall. There was a moment's silence in which he stood tense, listening,until at last the metallic clang of the elevator door opening andclosing echoed down to him.

  He relaxed immediately and his face crinkled in a smile. With a weathereye on the landing above and the landing below he hastily removed hiscoat and tore from his new white shirt a goodly strip of the muslin.This had the effect of setting his collar and tie somewhat awry but hehadn't time to worry over that detail. He was too busy improvising apresentable sling in which to rest his left arm. He had a momentaryimpulse to bandage his head also, but he was too true an artist tooverdo the thing.

  Be that as it may, luck was with him, for a moment later, when hepresented himself at the International offices, he found a small groupof men, presumably detectives, talking earnestly in the reception room.One glance at Skippy and two of the men hurried forward to open thedoor just beyond.

  "Here y'are, kid--this way," said one, smilingly. "You'll see a door toyour right marked _Carlton Conne--Private_--that's where you're to go.Mr. Conne wants to see some of you kids."

  Skippy grinned amiably.

  He was not afraid, as he trudged manfully into the holy of holies toconfront the famous head of the world-renowned detective agency, whosepicture he had so many times seen in the newspapers.

  The great detective was not an awe-inspiring spectacle. He sat in hisshirt sleeves, his chair tilted back and his feet resting on the desk.He was a stocky, middle-aged man with a bristly moustache and a crisp,aggressive look. Also he was smoking a long black cigar (Skippy soonlearned that this was a fixed habit with the man) which he dexterouslymoved from one end of his mouth to the other as he talked. When helistened, he had a way of tilting it at an upright angle which gave hima very shrewd and sophisticated air. It was this attitude thatcaptivated Skippy.

  "Well," he said in his gruff, yet kindly manner, "you're one of thekids that got in the way of that stolen car, eh? Your arm's busted, eh?"

  "No sir," Skippy answered promptly with unabashed frankness. "My name'sSkippy Dare an' I just wanted to get in here--kind of--so--so I couldtalk to you. But...."

  Carlton Conne brought his feet down from the desk and stared. "But thesling--what's it for?"

  "That typewriter girl," said Skippy rapidly, "she said I couldn't seeyou about a job--that you didn't need nobody."

  "You mean you talked to Miss Purdy, our reception clerk?" asked thedetective with an enigmatic scowl.

  "Yeah, I guess that's who it was. She was in that first room out therewith the big soft rug an' she was pretty all right, but she was crankyan' wouldn't lissen. I tried to tell her I wanted a job right away an'be a detective an'...."

  Carlton Conne lifted his feet from the floor and set them back again onthe desk. He shifted the cigar about in his mouth three or four times,then interposed: "So you got in here under false pretenses, eh?" BeforeSkippy could answer, he added, "What put the sling idea into your head?"

  "While I was talkin' to the--to Miss Purdy, a feller come out an' saidabout the stolen car an' all an' how you wanted the kids that was rundown so's you could talk to 'em. So right away I thought about thesling an' I sneaked into the hall an' hid on the stairway till she goesout for lunch. Then I fixed the sling from the taila my shirt.... I'llbe good at disguises, Mr. Conne--that's why I know I'd be a gooddetective."

  "Oh, you do, eh?" A mirthful gleam lighted the detective's eyes, buthis face was wrinkled into a scowl. "I suppose your other disguisetoday consists of working papers, eh? You can't be more than fourteen."

  "Gee, how'd you guess!"

  Carlton Conne looked at the boy sharply. "S'pose you've been blowing inall your spending money on cheap detective magazines and going to theserotten mystery thrillers, eh?"

  "Nope, I don't like them magazines, Mr. Conne. An' I don't like mysterythrillers 'cause I ain't so dumb that I don't know those thingscouldn't happen in real life. Gee, I can only go to the movies once ina while an' when I go I like to see somepin' that makes me laugh. Sincemy father died I don't get no spendin' money 'cause my aunt's terriblepoor an' she says I gotta be glad she can even lemme sleep an' eat."

  "And she had to put you out to work?" Carlton Conne tilted his cigarthoughtfully. "And you decided you wanted to be a detective. Why?"

  "I always wanted to be a detective," Skippy answered unabashed, "eversince they railroaded my father. When they let him out I wanted to beone more'n ever an' when he died an' I come back to lookin' for my auntI almost was sent to Reform 'cause I got hungry an' went into arestaurant an' ate a whole lot more'n I had the money to pay for. Soanyway they found my aunt an' she took me from the station house an'promised to take care of me. But all the time since, I been thinkin'how if I was a detective I'd know the difference between a kid that wasbad and a kid that was hungry. Gee, I know crooks like anything, Mr.Conne, so that's another reason I'd make a good detective. A bunch of'em lived 'round me when I was on the barge waitin' for my father toget outa jail. River pirates an' all! They're my special--myspecialty!" he bragged.

  "And 'Reform's' your special fear, eh?" Carlton Conne asked, blinkinghis eyes.

  "Yeah, I was scareda that like anythin'," Skippy admitted with ashudder at the memory. "When my father was on trial I shivered in myboots afraid they'd send me there."

  Carlton Conne brought his feet down onto the softly carpeted floor andpulling up his chair, scrutinized a letter that lay open on his desk.After a moment's silence he glanced up at the boy and swiftly surveyedhim.

  "Suppose I were to tell you that I want you to go to Reform School!" hesaid enigmatically.

  "Huh?" Skippy asked, wide-eyed.

  "Sit down!" Carlton Conne said briskly. "I want to talk to you!"

  Skippy did as he was told.