Escape to Witch Mountain (3 page)

He shook his head. Tia's memory was the queerest thing he'd ever heard of. It was practically perfect up to a point, then it stopped cold. Of course, they were pretty young when they first came to live with Granny, and it was surprising that Tia could recall anything at all of that time. He himself could remember nothing.

“I'm going to keep one of the fives,” he said. “Better hide the rest where you found it.”

He was carefully tucking the bill into a secret compartment of his wallet when something dark appeared on the windowsill and leaped down at Tia's feet. It was a small black cat. Tia seemed to be acquainted with it, for she scooped it up happily and hugged it.

“It's Winkie,” she said. “He's my cat.”

“
Your
cat?”

“Of course he's my cat, aren't you, Winkie?” Winkie gave a meow, and she said, “He's very, very special, and we understand each other perfectly. He slips into the girls' dorm every night and sleeps on my cot.”

“You'd better not let Mrs. Grindley find out about it. She hates cats.”

The words were hardly spoken when his ears detected, above the countless other sounds in the building and the street outside, the familiar thud of Mrs. Grindley's low-heeled shoes approaching in
the hall. Tia, whose hearing was equally acute, gave a little gasp and said, “Run, Winkie! Run!”

Winkie, reluctant to leave, had scampered only as far as the corner of the windowsill when the door was thrust open and Mrs. Grindley entered.

The matron saw the black cat on the instant. “Scat!” she cried, and seized the first book in reach and hurled it. It curved curiously and struck the wall, and Winkie vanished outside.

“Who let that animal in here?” Mrs. Grindley asked.

“It just came in,” Tony replied.

“And who opened the window?”

“I did, ma'am. It's hot in here.”

“I'm not concerned with the heat. Close that window this instant, and lock it.”

Tony did as he was told.

“Now, young man,” she began, “suppose you tell me what you two are up to, and how you managed to get in.”

“B-but it's a library, isn't it?” Tony said defensively. “We always come in here to get books to read.”

“Through a locked door?” The matron's voice was icy.

“It wasn't locked when I came here,” Tony insisted.

“Don't lie to me. I locked the door last night, and I haven't unlocked it since. You must be using a skeleton key to get in. Where is it?”

“We don't have one, ma'am. Honest!”

“I know better.” She began to search them.

The search was thorough, and there were tense moments when Tony held his breath, fearful that the matron would discover the five dollars hidden in his billfold, or worse, the bulk of the money in the star box. The discovery would have been disastrous, for he
knew she would never accept the truth. As for entering the library, he hadn't lied, for the door
had
been open. Only, Tia had opened it before he arrived. That was another thing he knew better than to try to explain to anyone.

If it was
right
to open a door, Tia could always manage it. All she had to do was turn the knob, and any lock would yield. But she'd learned very early that if it was
wrong
to open it, then the door wouldn't budge. Of course, the police hadn't agreed that it was right, that time they'd caught Tia way in the back of a grocery where she'd gone to take the kitten out of a trap. In the first place, they hadn't believed it possible for anyone to hear a kitten crying that far away, through a closed door. On top of it, the store had already been robbed a couple times. They'd made it rough for Tia, but it hadn't changed how she felt. She'd do anything for animals.

Mrs. Grindley, intent upon her search for a key, overlooked the money. Failing to find any object even resembling a key, she stepped back and surveyed them. Tony could sense her baffled anger.

“I don't know what it is,” she said, “but there's something about you two I don't understand. I'll be glad when I can get rid of you. In the meantime, I'm locking this place up and I never want to catch either of you in here again. Now get out.”

There were tears in Tia's eyes as Tony followed her out to the playground. The library, he knew, was the only thing that made Hackett House bearable for her. As for himself, it didn't matter too much. The world was a tough place. You had to see it for what it was, and keep fighting it, or it would beat you down.

At the moment, his main worry was how he was going to get in touch with Father O'Day. The only telephone in Hackett House was in Mrs. Grindley's office, and inmates were not allowed to use it except in an emergency. The nearest public telephone was in a
pharmacy two blocks away. He had hoped to get permission to go there, but the matron would never give him permission now. He would have to sneak out tonight.

He sat down unhappily in the shade of the building and took out his harmonica. For a while, sure there was no one around to notice him, he passed the time by making pebbles bounce across the playground like rubber balls. Then he saw that Tia was watching a taxi that had stopped by the sidewalk on the other side of the fence. All Tia's attention was on the passenger that had stepped out and was now paying the driver. She was staring at the man as if she were seeing a ghost.

“What's the matter?” he asked.

Tia did not answer. She moved closer to the fence, one hand pressed to her mouth. Her eyes were frightened.

Tony hurried over beside her and peered through the fence. The taxi was pulling away, and the man had turned and was lighting a cigarette while he looked up at the Hackett House entrance. He was slender and dark, and a little too old for Tony to make much of a guess at his age. Down on South Water Street they would have called him a sharp dresser, for he was wearing an expensive brown silk suit, with a pale brown shirt and matching tie. Tony ruled out Italian, and decided he was either a Greek or an Armenian.

“Tia!” he whispered. “What's the matter?”

“I—I know him, Tony.”

He shook his head. “He's a stranger. I never saw him before.”

“Yes, you have. You just don't remember him.”

“Then who is he?”

She closed her eyes and said in her tiny voice, “He—
he's the man
who left us with Granny Malone.
”

Tony's mouth fell open with shock. He turned his head, staring, but the man had already climbed the steps and disappeared into the Hackett House vestibule.

He swallowed, and managed to say, “How can you be sure? You never said anything about him before.”

“I didn't remember him till I saw his face. Then it came back. I—I almost know his name. If I don't try too hard…”

“Where did he bring us from?”

“I—I don't know, Tony. It seems as if I should know, but I just can't remember anything else.”

Tony thrust his hands deep into his jeans and worriedly scuffed the gravel with the toe of one shoe. “I don't get it, Tia. What's he doing here?”

Tia looked frightened. “I don't know. I—I'm afraid he's found out we're here, and has come to get us.”

“After all these years? That doesn't make sense. But what if he
has
come for us? I'd rather go with him any time than stay here—I mean, if we
had
to stay here.”

“No!” she said fiercely. “No! Never! It would be better to run away and go hungry.
Much
better. I—I'd rather be dead than go with him.”

Tony didn't argue with her. Tia could feel things he couldn't, and he'd learned it always paid to follow her instincts. “I don't suppose,” he muttered, “that he could be the same guy who wrote to Sister Amelia. I hope not.”

“Oh, no! The names are different. The man in the mountains had a name like Garroway or Hideaway. But this man…it's Der—Der—” She paused, then said, “It's Deranian! His first name is Lucas.”

Lucas Deranian. It sounded Armenian, Tony thought. And what was Lucas Deranian up to?

They waited uneasily. Minutes passed. After a long while a boy ran out into the playground and told them they were wanted in the office.

Mrs. Grindley was seated behind her desk when they entered. She looked at them stolidly, saying nothing, but at her nod the man in the brown suit rose from his chair, tucking away a silk handkerchief with which he had been lightly mopping his brow. He smiled. The smile softened the hard lines of his lean sharp face and made it quite pleasant. Still smiling, he stepped forward, extending both hands.

“Well!” he said smoothly, grasping Tia with one hand and Tony with the other. “Well! It's hard to believe I've finally found you—and after all this time. Tony and Tia! You're both taller than I expected, but of course I forget that young people have a way of growing. I'll bet you can't guess who I am!”

On South Water Street, Tony had learned to classify people by many small signs. It was easy to spot the cheap gamblers, the racketeers, and the little promoters and confidence men. But the few on top belonged to a different breed, and their eyes showed it. Behind the smile, this man's eyes were cold and knowing, with a steely glint that could cut like a drill.

Tony said, “I don't know who you really are, sir. But isn't your name Deranian?”

The man in brown did not change expression. He merely blinked—but it was enough to tell Tony that he had received a shock. Even so, the smile broadened.

“How did you ever guess?” he exclaimed. “Of course my name is Deranian—and so is yours! I'm your Uncle Lucas.”

Tony felt Tia's fingers dig into his arm, and he heard her silent whisper of denial.

“My name isn't Deranian,” he said stubbornly. “And you're not my uncle.”

“Oh, come now, my boy. Don't talk that way. I know this is a surprise—but I am your poor father's brother, and I've had men searching for you for six solid years. I can't imagine how you ever guessed my name when you didn't know your own, though you may have seen a photograph I once sent your father—”

“We weren't guessing!” Tony protested. “Tia knew you right away. You're the man who left us with Granny Malone when we were little.”

There were two blinks now, evidence of a really bad shock. Then Mr. Deranian shook his head, looking baffled.

“Son,” he said, “you must have me mixed up with your father. But that shouldn't surprise me, considering how much alike we were. It had to be your father who left you with the old lady.”

Mrs. Grindley was looking puzzled. “I don't quite understand. The children were so young when it happened—and it's been ten years or more. Do you think either of them would have remembered? It seems impossible. Yet, Tony knew your name.”

“Oh, young people,” said Mr. Deranian, shrugging and spreading his hands. “Who knows how they know things? In my case maybe it's the family resemblance. Maybe, seeing me, something clicks in his mind.” Mr. Deranian snapped his fingers. “Like that. And he remembers. Or maybe he remembers the photograph I sent his father, and the name that goes with it.”

He smiled again. “Even though the boy is a bit confused, I think it's wonderful that he remembers what he does. It's further proof of his identity. As for my brother,” he went on, “he'd lost his wife, and evidently he'd been employing Mrs. Malone to look after the children. From what we've been able to piece together, it seems that
he left them with her when he had to go away on a sudden trip, and that he died before he could get back. One of those tragedies of life.”

Mrs. Grindley nodded. “You say you were in Europe at the time?”

“Yes. And you know how it is with brothers. They seldom bother to write, and when they travel a lot it's easy to lose track of each other. I lost track of Paulus, and had no idea he was dead till I returned to America and looked him up. Then I tried to find my niece and nephew. The time I had! It was like hunting for two little needles in a very big haystack. Fortunately I'm not a poor man, or it would have been impossible for me to trace them.”

Mr. Deranian produced his silk handkerchief again and wiped his eyes. He smiled at Tia and patted Tony on the shoulder.

“How about it, you two? Would you like to go abroad and live in France for a while with your Uncle Lucas? I've a nice house in southern France; you'd love it there. We can fly over as soon as we get your passports, but they shouldn't take long.”

Tony had been listening with astonishment to the man's easy and convincing flow of words. What an operator ! he thought. What a smooth-talking, fast-thinking operator ! But what's he up to?

He realized suddenly that he and Tia were in a very bad predicament, and that they might need help to get out of it. I'd better call Father O'Day, he thought. Right now, before it's too late.

Mrs. Grindley was saying, “Your niece and nephew don't seem to appreciate what you're doing for them. We'll give them a few days, and maybe they'll wake up. Anyway, it may take longer than you think to get legal custody of them. In a case like this the court would require—”

“Oh, that's all settled,” Mr. Deranian hastened to say. “I've been promised custody by tomorrow. You see, my lawyers have been
working on this for quite a while. They finally located the children through the welfare office. I was in Rome when they called me about it, and I told them to take it up with the proper authorities immediately. I flew over from Paris yesterday, and got here this morning from New York. So…” He paused, and touched Tony on the shoulder again.

“I don't blame you, young fellow, for being a little balky about accepting me. Fact is, if I were in your place, I expect I would be flabbergasted to discover I had a relative who was going to take me abroad to live with him.”

Tony was indeed flabbergasted. Legal custody by tomorrow! He glanced at Tia, and saw the growing fright in her eyes.

“No!” she whispered soundlessly. “I've remembered more about him. We
can't
let him take us!”