Dee went to his room and examined his flashlight. The attic where the trunks were stored was electrically lighted, but he was afraid to use so large a light. Zip was always prowling around and some deep sense told him to use all the precautions possible, although he could see no reason why he should not have the letters or anything else belonging to his mother.
He went up to the Wireless Club as usual, and came home at about a quarter before ten. As he went whistling up to his room, his father stepped through the double door of the laboratory and stood in his way.
“I have had my walk,” he said. “I shall work all night possibly. I expect some men here. Lock your door, so they will not enter it by mistake. You know you do not like my honest friends.”
“They are all right, sir, I only thought they might shave,” said Dee. Mr. De Lorme turned away, and Dee closed the door of his room. He wondered why his father had suggested his locking his door. He wondered if it was to keep others out or to keep him in. In either case it looked very mysterious. More than ever he felt the necessity of getting whatever might be in that trunk for him. If his father wanted to keep him in, someone had tampered with the lock so that an alarm would not find Dee tearing out into the hall. Dee determined to find out. He remembered the balcony outside his window. He stepped out and found that the corner just reached the window of the next room—an empty room half full of rubbish. The night was densely dark. Dee tried the window and found it unlocked. It slid up noiselessly and, satisfied, the boy returned to his own room and noisily turned the key in his door. With a sick feeling that the house was full of intrigue Dee dropped his shoes noisily and hopped into bed, thanking his lucky stars for the squeaky springs, off which he instantly rolled on the floor. Creeping across the room to the door, he listened intently and presently made out the sound of breathing on the other side of the panel. Someone was listening. Dee’s own breath was nothing but a light flutter as he strained his ears.
At last there was the sound of unshod feet retreating. Dee crept back to the window, where he waited for the hour of his own adventure.
Dee made no move until the luminous dials of his wrist watch showed the hour to be one; then he cautiously pushed up the screen and stepped through his window. Getting into the next room was the work of a moment. Fortunately the floor did not squeak, and he made his way with the most infinite care to the attic door.
Up there in the dust a dozen trunks and packing boxes stood about, and Dee found his mother’s little trunk without difficulty. Opening it he saw piles of clothing; things that had been hers. He lifted them out carefully. Down at the very bottom was what he sought, three packets of letters tied with pink string. They were thin little packets, and Dee hastily shoved them into his pockets and continued his search. But there was nothing more, nothing of the least value. So he repacked the clothing with hands that trembled a little. When he re-entered his own room, it did not seem as though he had been out of it at all, but the letters pressed his pockets and there was attic dust on his shirt and trousers.
Creeping noiselessly to the door, he turned the knob and smiled to himself in the dark. It was as he had thought; the lock was caught, and he could not get out! He wondered who had been clever enough to fix it so it would stick. He wondered why it had been necessary to keep him prisoner.
Arranging his electric reading lamp under a sort of tent made of his blanket, he settled himself to read the letters.
It seemed a prying thing to open and peruse all the closely written pages that had belonged to his mother. He only hoped they were not love letters.