“What gets me,” came thoughtfully, “is his connection with the cat killer. The man must be a crook, for otherwise he wouldn’t be breaking into people’s houses. But I can’t make myself believe that the boy is a crook.”
“What are we going to do with him?” says I. “Keep him prisoner until we find the treasure?”
“We never could hold him, Jerry.”
I saw what the leader meant. If we made a prisoner of the kid the one-armed man, on his side, would clean up on us in a jiffy. In fact, it was hardly to be doubted that the cat killer already had his eyes on us in evil plans.
“Let’s lock the doors,” I shivered.
I was crazy, of course, to see the hidden passageway that the leader had discovered in the chimney base. But my increased fear of the one-armed cat killer was stronger than my curiosity. Me go down in that hole and run the chance of getting necked, like the church cat? No, thanks! I had had one narrow escape at the tunnel mouth. And that was enough for me.
Mrs. O’Mally told us afterwards that the kid watched the kitchen door like a hawk all the time we were out of his sight. For he knew, of course, that we were talking about him, and that seemed to worry him. But though we tried again to find out who he was, not a single word would he tell us about himself.
Poppy finally came to a plan.
“Say, Jerry,” he drew me aside, “do you know where we can get a rowboat?”
“The kid’s boat is in the creek,” says I.