Part 22 (1/2)
”Splendid!” exclaimed Arden. ”Terry, your mother should be in entire charge of this mystery investigation.”
”Oh, no, my dear. None of that for me, if you please,” Mrs. Landry laughed.
”But you're helping us so!” murmured Sim.
”This may be no help at all, as it turns out. But I'll go on to the end as far as I can. We'll decide on Ninth Street. That, as you know, is at least partly in what is, or was, the Greenwich Village section of New York.
”I think it safe to say there are Russians there. You know there are artists and writers living there and all sorts of odd tearooms, some undoubtedly of Russian character.”
”Oh, we are coming on!” cried Arden. ”What next, Mrs. Landry?”
”Well, I should say, from looking at this, that no house number was ever put in front of the street. Whoever wrote this must have known that the letter would go to its destination without a house number on it. The writer must have sent other letters in the same way, trusting to the mail man knowing where to leave it.”
”Some mail man!” commented Terry admiringly.
”But then Ninth Street may be a short one,” said Mrs. Landry. ”I can't just recollect about that, though I have been on it. At any rate, I think, in such a desperate case as this,” and here she smiled slightly, ”you would be justified in sending the telegram to the name you have selected, with just Ninth Street, New York, as its destination. Those telegraph messenger boys are clever. One may know just where to take it or he may inquire of some Russian in the Village. The Russians are clannish, like all foreigners, and this person may be well known.”
”Oh, I'm sure it's going to succeed now!” declared Arden.
”Of course!” murmured her chums, Sim adding:
”You write the telegram out now, Ard.”
Arden wrote and read:
_”'Serg Uzlov. Ninth Street, New York City. Can you give us any information concerning Dimitri Uzlov? Very important. Anxious to get in touch with him. Telegraph my expense.'”_
”That's a lot more than ten words,” remarked Sim.
”Who cares?” laughed Terry. ”This may mean a lot. But you'll have to sign some name to it, won't you?”
”Could we use yours, Mrs. Landry?” asked Arden.
”Yes, I think so,” Terry's mother answered after a moment of thought. ”It will do no harm.”
”Then we'll do it,” decided Arden.
”I can hardly wait!” Sim cried excitedly. ”Of course we couldn't go to town tonight?” she looked beseechingly at Mrs. Landry.
”Of course not, my dear young Watson,” Terry's mother smiled as she replied. ”You sleuths have done quite enough for one day. Besides, think how silly you'll feel if you find out nothing has happened at all.”
”I suppose so,” Terry reluctantly admitted. ”But somehow, Mother, I think there's something in this.”
”You may be right,” her mother agreed. ”Nevertheless, your commanding officer orders you all to bed.”
Somewhat petulantly they kissed the jovial lady good-night and went upstairs, but not to sleep till some time later, when, unable to stay awake any longer, they at last succ.u.mbed to the call of Morpheus.
But sleeping though they were, it was a fitful rest. Filled with dreams of gold boxes, strange dark women, and telegrams. Once Arden cried out, ”Tania! Tania!” and Sim gave her a sleepy nudge to wake her from her dream.