Mark Tidd, Editor Part 17

"Where was you b-born?"

"I don't know?"

"What was your f-f-father's first name?"

"I don't know."

"What was your m-mother's name before she was married?"

"I don't know."

"Who brought you to Mr. Wigglesworth's?"

"A man by the name of Pekoe."

"_What?_" says Mark.

"Pekoe," says Rock, and then I remembered that the Man With the Black Gloves had mentioned this Pekoe on the bridge.

"Who is Pekoe?"

"I don't know," says Rock.

"How did he happen to f-fetch you here?"

"He came to the school where I was and said my father had told him to come after me the first chance he got and take me to Henry Wigglesworth in Wicksville, Michigan, but he says that was several years ago, and this was the first time he'd been in my part of the United States since then. He said my father was dead, and that he died down in South America."

"Oh," says Mark. "I guess your mother must 'a' died a long time ago"

"When I was a baby," says Rock.

"And t-t-that's all you know about yourself?"

"Every single word."

"Don't know why you was to be f-f-fetched to Mr. Wigglesworth?"

"No."

"What did Mr. Wigglesworth say when you came?"

"Nothin'. Pekoe he left me outside and went to the house. He was gone half an hour and came back and said I was to go in. Pekoe went on out of the gate and I went in. Jethro met me and fixed up a room for me. I didn't see Mr. Wigglesworth for a couple of days. He never came out of his room. Guess he was perty sick then. One night when he thought I was asleep he came into my room with a light turned down, and looked at me.

I pretended I was asleep, but I managed to get a look at him just the same. He didn't say a word, but just looked funny-queer. He shook his head and then nodded as much as to say that something was so. After that he went out. I never saw him again."

"What did you do with the p-p-puzzle he wrote for you the night before he d-died?"

Rock looked sort of surprised that Mark knew about it, but didn't ask any questions. "I got it in my pocket," says he. "It don't mean anythin'. I guess he must have been out of his head."

"Maybe," says Mark. "Can't tell. Mind lettin' me see it?"

Rock pulled it out and handed it over.

"Huh!" says he. "This d-d-don't make _much_ sense."

"I can't see it makes any," says Rock.

"If it's what it _may_ be," says Mark, "it would take work to f-figger sense out of it. Can I keep it?"

"Yes," says Rock. "Do you think it really is anything?"

"Lemme study it first. Let's see, it says, 'Where p.u.s.s.y looks she walks.

Thirty and twenty and ten and forty-six. Stop ninety degrees in the shade. In. Down. Across. What color is a brick? Investigate. Believe what tells the truth.' Some muddle, hain't it?"

"Clean out of his head when he wrote it," says I.

"Suppose," says Mark, "you knew you was d-dyin', and there was a m-message you wanted to l-leave, and you knew the only man around was ag'in' you, and you da.s.sent trust him, and you was sick and a leetle queer. Suppose you just _had_ to leave a m-message that n.o.body could see sense to, but that had sense in it if it was studied out. Then what? Eh?

Maybe," says Mark, waggling his head-"maybe you'd think up a p-p-puzzle like this."

"Do you think it's a-what d'you call 'em-a cryptogram?"

"I think," says Mark, "that there's a chance of it."

"What's a cryptogram?" says I.

"A cipher message," says Mark.

"Oh," says I. "Like havin' each letter in the alphabet a number or some kind of a mark?"

"Yes," says Mark, "only this hain't that kind-if it is one."

"What kind is it?"

"It's one where the words and letters mean just what they are, but where you have to study out what they tell you to do."

"Clear as mud," says I.

"'Tain't what you'd call plain as p-p-print," says Mark, "but I'll study over it." He shoved it into his inside pocket. "We better be gettin'

along, Rock. We'll come as often to see you as we can. You come here every day, and maybe we'll be here or leave a m-message. We'll l-leave it under that stone. If you have any word for us, why, you leave a note under the stone. Eh?"

"All right," says Rock. "I hope you'll come often."

"We will," says Mark, "and we'll keep you posted. You open your ears and eyes and don't miss anythin'."

"You bet," says Rock. "Somehow you got me irit'rested, and sort of lookin' ahead. I haven't ever had anything to look ahead to before."

"Maybe you haven't now," says Mark, "so don't get your heart set on it too much."

"Good-by," says Rock. "_Look out_," he whispered, sudden. "_I see Jethro comin'_."