ALFRED HITCHCOCK SPEAKING: I feel it is my I solemn duty to warn you that there are a few long words in this story. I make this statement in the public interest, for the benefit of those who would rather go around the block than meet a long word face to face. For the others, there are also a small, plump spy, a large, ugly spy, a pair of twins who like riddles, a house where all the furniture is built halfsize, and four pigeons... But my sixty seconds are up. Without more ado, then, let us plunge into...

The Mystery of the Four Quarters

The old house brooded among the trees at the crest of the hill like a witch thinking dark thoughts. It was a tall, thin house, crowned by a round room at the very top. This room had a round, peaked roof exactly like a witch's hat, and the two windows beneath it could have been her eyes.

Bettye Layton saw the resemblance as she and her twin brother, Nick, pushed their bicycles up the steep driveway. But when she mentioned it, Nick snorted.

"Girls!" he said. "To me it looks like a house, not a witch. I suppose you expect it to fly away on a broomstick."

Bettye would have been delighted if it had. But she snifTed even more scornfully than Nick.

"Boys! No imagination!"

"Girls!" Nick repeated, then added, "If you could ride a horse, we could have borrowed two from Uncle Jack and ridden here, instead of having to come on bikes. My legs are tired."

Bettye's legs were tired too. But she would not ad- mit it.

"Is it my fault I have an allergy to horses?" she asked. "And break out in great big hives when I get near one? Anyway, if you want to rest I'll wait for you."

Nick's answer was to race the rest of the way to the house. He leaned his bicycle against the steps, ran up to the front door, and whipped out a big brass key.

Darting inside, he slammed the door in her face.

"That's not fair!" Outraged, Bettye pounded on the door. "I would have caught you, but your legs are longer than mine."

Actually Nick was only an inch and a half taller.

They looked very much alike, except that his light brown hair was cropped short and hers fell to her shoulders. Their blue eyes were very similar, shining with the same mixture of mischief, humor, and intel-ligence.

"What time is it if a clock strikes thirteen?" he called through the door. "If you can't answer you can't come in."

"It's time to have the clock repaired," Bettye called back, and Nick opened the door.

"I didn't think you knew that one," he said, grinning.

"It was easy," Bettye told him. "Actually I thought of two answers. The answer I like best is, 'It's midnight. Pacific Ghost Time.' "

"That's pretty good," Nick conceded. He closed the door. They looked around at the dimly lit interior—for all the shades were drawn—smelling the peculiar mixture of mustiness, dampness, and dust which belongs exclusively to old, shut-up houses.

"I wonder how Peter Perkins knew about this house, way up here in Massachusetts," Nick said

aloud. He took from his pocket a crumpled telegram and read it for the tenth time.

Nicholas Layton

Bettye Layton

c/o Mr. J. H. Joseph

Forest Lake, Mass.

Dear Young Friends:

I have just learned that the old Blackwell mansion in Gorset, near you, has a fine collection of old books of puzzles and riddles. Perhaps you can get to see them and make a list of them for me. I would like to buy them for my collection.

Peter Perkins*

It had been sent from Atlantic Beach, where Peter Perkins was joke and puzzle editor of the Sunday paper. They had met Mr. Perkins two years earlier when spending the summer at Atlantic Beach, and found they shared a common fondness for puzzles and riddles. Nick and Bettye sent Peter any new ones they learned. They corresponded quite regularly. The thing that puzzled Nick was how Peter Perkins had ever heard of the curious old Blackwell mansion.

Well, perhaps it was more famous than he realized, he decided, shoving the telegram back into his pocket.

Anyway, Luke Babbit, the real estate agent, had been glad to give them the key. Luke had muttered something about it being "purty peculiar" that two parties wanted to see the old mansion in the same month when years went by with nobody interested.

But Nick hadn't paid any attention. If he had, he might have had some misgivings about their expedition.

• I'm sure you will recall that we met Peter Perkins in "The Mystery of the Seven Wrong Clocks." — A.H.

"Look, Nick!" Bettye ran into the parlor and plopped herself down on a very small sofa, sending up a cloud of dust. "All the furniture is built about half-size!"

"I know," Nick said, following her. He looked up at the ceiling, splotched with time and dampness. It was close enough to touch, and made him feel as if it were slowly going to settle down and crush him. "Mr. Amos Blackwell was a dwarf. And he was very rich, so a hundred years ago he had this house built with everything scaled to his size. Then he could walk around inside the house and feel as big as anybody."

"No wonder Mr. Babbit said no one will ever buy the house," Bettye remarked. She got up and dusted herself. "Goodness, it's dusty. We'd better go right up and look at the books. These low ceilings give me a funny feeling—as if I was Alice in Wonderland, when she started to grow big."

They started up the stairs. On the second floor were bedrooms with undersized beds and bureaus. They found the library in the round room on the third floor. This room had an extra-high ceiling, with bookshelves on all the wall space. There were books scattered everywhere, though most were still on the shelves.

"Look at all these dusty old books," Nick said.

"Some of them are in Greek and Latin."

"And French and German," Bettye added. "Mr. Blackwell must have been a terrific scholar. But here's an old book of riddles, puzzles, and conun- drums. Printed in England, it says here in the front of the book."

Bettye liked riddles best because a vivid imagina-tion—which she certainly had—was a great help in solving riddles.

Bettye took the book from the shelf and blew the dust off it. She carried it over to the window, through which the sunlight streamed, and opened it at ran-dom.

"Here's a riddle," she called. "Why is a room packed with married people like an empty room?"

Nick shook his head. "What's the answer?"

"Because there's not a single person in it."

They both dissolved in laughter. And at that pre-cise moment they heard the strangely unexpected, and somehow frightening, sound of the front doorbell downstairs.

They were instantly quiet. Brrrring! Brrrring! The bell clamored for attention. But who would be ring-ing the doorbell of a long-deserted old house in the woods, two miles from its nearest neighbor?

Of one accord they pressed close to the window. It gave them a fine view over the trees, across the valley and the river, as far as their aunt and uncle's summer hotel and farm, where they were spending the sum-mer. But they couldn't see anyone down in the driveway below.

Again the doorbell rang, with a harsh sound that seemed to say, Answer me! It was an old-fashioned doorbell, not electric, with a handle outside the door. The unexpected caller was spinning this handle harder and harder, and the bell was ringing increas-ingly louder.

"I guess we'd better go see who it is," Bettye said, and Nick nodded. He led the way down the stairs. The bell was silent now, but to Nick the house seemed to be full of little echoes of it, coming from every corner. He shook himself impatiently. Now he was getting as imaginative as Bettye!

He strode to the front door and jerked it open. A short, fat man stood there, beaming at them. He had a large mustache and very big spectacles, and he was wearing blue trousers and a blue coat with brass but-tons. On his head sat a cap—much too small for him— which said estern union.

"Telegram," the fat man said, holding out a yellow envelope to Nick. "For Mr. and Miss Layton, collec."

"Collect?" Nick asked, puzzled.

"No, no." The man spoke English very well, but as if he were a foreigner who had studied it in England rather than in the United States. "Collec. That means collectively. For both of them together."

"He looks and talks like something out of Alice in Wonderland," Bettye whispered. She and Nick had de-veloped an ability to whisper to each other without moving their lips, and in such a low voice that they couldn't be heard from even a few feet away.

"How did he know we'd be here?" Nick whispered back.

"Curiouser and curiouser," Bettye whispered.

"Open it and see what it says."

Nick opened the envelope and took out a sheet of yellow telegram paper. It said in a typed message:

Mr. Nicholas Layton

Miss Bettye Layton

The Old Blackwell Mansion

Gorset, Mass.

Dear Young Friends:

Read me this riddle. I did not send you a tele-gram and yet I signed my name.

Peter Perkins

"Nick!" Bettye exclaimed. "This isn't a real tele-gram. It's just typed on a blank form someone got from a telegraph office!"

"That's right," Nick said. "And it says Peter Perkins didn't send us any telegram. That means..."

He looked at the small, fat man, who was still smiling. But now his smile had a curiously sinister quality, and the ridiculous messenger cap perched on his head made him seem oddly menacing.

"This isn't a telegram," Nick said to him boldly. "And that other telegram, the one signed by Peter Perkins, wasn't from him at all, was it? And you aren't a telegraph messenger."

The fat man swept off his too-small cap and made a bow.

"Precisely," he said. "Exactly. Completely correct.

On the nose. Please observe my command of the English language. I am happy to find you are both as alert and intelligent as I have heard. Accordingly you will realize that resistance is useless and might be dangerous."

"What is he talking about?" Bettye whispered.

"He must be crazy."

"But he isn't," Nick whispered back. "He's looking at something in back of us. Turn around slowly, and don't scream or act scared.'-'

"Do I ever?" In spite of the fact that the words were whispered, Bettye's tone was icily indignant. Nick was tempted to remind her of the time she found a garter snake in her bed, but this wasn't the right moment.

They both turned around slowly to discover an ugly man with broad shoulders and long arms standing in the low-ceilinged hall. His head was bent because of his height, but he seemed about ten feet tall.

Actually he was only about six feet six, but he was big enough to fill the passage completely.

Bettye gave a small gasp. Nick spoke quickly from the side of his mouth.

"When I count to three," he said, "start running—backward! That will surprise them. We'll get past the fat man, grab our bikes, and go down the hill as we can. Now get ready. One—two—three!"

At the word three he ran backward with great force. Bettye ran, too, but unfortunately she got confused and ran forward. She plunged against the big man, who simply grabbed her. Nick, running backward, hit the fat man's stomach alone. The short, stout stranger almost went over like a bowling pin. But he steadied himself and threw his arms around Nick. They were both caught as neatly as two butterflies pinned to a board.

"Goodness gracious!" The fat man puffed for breath. "They are quick! We mustn't give them another chance, Fritz."

"Twist their legs," the big man grunted in some foreign accent Nick could not place. "Slow them down plenty."

"Now, Fritz, gentleness, kindness, that is our password. Or is it watchword? No matter. Let us take them to the truck."

He deftly shifted his grip so that he had Nick's wrist twisted behind Nick's back. It wasn't painful, but even a slight pressure could result in a broken wrist, and Nick knew it.

Bettye was staring at him, rigid in Fritz's grasp.

"Nick!" she said. "Do something!"

"There's nothing to do," Nick answered. "They're stronger than we are."

"A wise boy!" the fat man cried. "Bring the young lady, Fritz. But treat her as if you were escorting her to the opera."

He turned Nick around and directed him down the steps and along the driveway. Around the corner of the house was parked an old, enclosed truck on which was lettered, in new paint:


SAM WRIGHT
GENERAL REPAIR WORK

Behind him, Nick heard Bettye shout.

"Help! Somebody, help! We—"

The words were cut off so abruptly that Nick could visualize Fritz's large hand clamped over Bettye's mouth.

"Fritz!" Nick's captor said. "That is not nice. Take your hand away."

"She yell. She call help."

"Let her." The fat man turned Nick around so he could see Bettye's furious face. "Let them both yell. Come, shout for help. Both together. One—two—three—"

"Help!" Bettye yelled again. "Somebody, help!"

Seeing that Nick remained silent, she stopped.

"Why aren't you yelling?" she demanded.

"It isn't any use," Nick said. "Nobody can possibly hear us. They wouldn't let us yell if there was any chance of being heard."

"There you go," Bettye said bitterly, "being logical. Boys disgust me, always trying to be logical."

"A very interesting colloquy, meaning an informal conference or conversation," the small, fat man observed. "See, I know more English words than most Americans. I study it very hard. I know twelve languages, but English is the hardest. But get in. We have a large distance to go."

He took away Nick's wristwatch, his penknife with the compass set into the handle, his loose change, and the screwdriver he always carried because a screw-driver often comes in handy. The little man also took Bettye's small purse, but let her keep her silver bracelet with the lucky silver charm the size of a dime dangling from it.

Then the two bundled Nick and Bettye into the closed truck, thrust their bicycles in after them, and locked the door at the back. Soon the truck drove away. There was a strong, solid partition between them and the driver's seat, so they were very effectively imprisoned.

At first Nick tried to guess in what direction they were going, and for how long, by noting the turns they made and then counting his pulse to get the time they traveled before the next turn. But after a dozen turns he was completely confused and gave up.

"Where do you think they're taking us?" Bettye asked.

"We can't possibly guess," Nick said in a logical tone that infuriated her. "Let's explore the truck and see if we can get out."

Together they examined every square inch of the truck's interior. All they discovered was a small crack near the bottom of the rear door. Nick, lying on his side and peering with one eye, could see a very narrow strip of the roadside. He watched, hoping to see some direction signs, but none were placed low enough.

Time passed and they got hungry, so they ate the lunches that were strapped into the baskets of their bicycles. Then, since they couldn't do anything else, they straightened out some burlap sacks on the floor of the truck and fell asleep.

How long they slept they had no idea, but they were awakened by a bump.

"Railroad tracks," Nick said as they bumped again. He put his eye to the crack. He could just see the lower portions of many houses close together.

"We're in some sort of large town or small city, I'd say," he reported. "Now we're going over a bridge.

There's a little river and I think I can see part of a brick factory building like they have in lots of old New England towns."

A moment later they turned into a narrow street, and then into a driveway. Nick's view was shut off as they entered a dark garage. The truck stopped, and

Nick got to his knees.

"Keep calm," he told Bettye. "We have to find out what this is all about before we can make any plans."

It was the kind of advice Bettye considered entirely unnecessary, but which boys frequently gave to girls because they seemed to think girls were constantly in need of their superior wisdom. But she refrained from saying anything sarcastic.

A moment later the truck door opened. Fritz and the fat man stood there. Behind them the garage door was shut and locked.

"We have arrived," the fat man said brightly, "Welcome to my small domicile, meaning home or habitation. We will have some good talks and you will help me improve my English. I think I speak it too good, don't you? Not slangy enough, like real Americans."

As Bettye and Nick climbed out, he and Fritz took them by the arm and led them through a door. They went down the stairs, then through another door. Fritz clicked a switch, and they found themselves in a basement room which, if not exactly luxurious, was tolerable enough.

It was a fairly large room, painted green, with a cement floor. Apparently it had been fitted up as a recreation room, because two somewhat saggy studio couches were placed against opposite walls and in the middle of the floor was a Ping-Pong table with paddles and balls. A bookcase held a few old books.

There was no window. Ventilation came from a small grilled opening high up in one wall.

"Make yourselves at home," the fat man said.

"You shall have food and can play table tennis and later we will converse, chat, talk, confer—what words would an American use?"



"Shoot the breeze," Bettye suggested.

"Yak it up," Nick said at the same moment.

"Shoot the breeze—yak it up." The man looked distressed. "Oh, American English is a very hard language. Well, come, Fritz, we have much to do."

They went out and the door was bolted on the outside.

"Now let's look the place over," Nick said.

That didn't take long. A tiny but adequate bath was attached to the recreation room, but there was nothing to be used for a tool and no apparent way to get out. They discovered that a standing, three-bulb lamp by the bookcase gave a more cheerful light than the overhead bulb, but aside from that, nothing at all suggested itself.

"I wish the switchbox we saw in the hall was in here," Nick muttered, but did not explain what he would have done with it if it had been. Bettye didn't ask, because Nick didn't like to tell his ideas in advance. Some boys did, she had observed, but others liked to keep their ideas secret until the right moment came to use them. Nick was one of the latter.

"Now what do we do?" Bettye asked.

"Start crying," Nick told her.

"Crying?" She looked at him in amazement. "You know I only cry when I feel sad."

"Then feel sad," Nick ordered. "I hear someone coming down the steps, and by the sound it's Fritz."

Bettye was about to refuse, but Nick threw himself on a couch and buried his face in his hands. Bettye flopped down on the other couch and thought of the time her pet kitten had wandered away and had never come back. By the time the door opened and Fritz stamped in, bearing a tray of sandwiches and two glasses of milk, real tears were streaming down her cheeks.

Fritz put the tray on the Ping-Pong table.

"You two," he growled.

They sat up, Bettye weeping, Nick looking unhappy but not actually being able to cry. Somehow, Bettye realized, the sight of her tears made the big man feel better.

"Good," he said.

"You act good. No smart tricks. Or—

" He gestured with his two hands as if wringing a neck, and made an ugly sound like bones breaking.

Then he stalked out and bolted the door again. In-stantly Bettye stopped crying.

"Well?" she asked her brother.

"Fritz doesn't trust us," Nick said with a shade of satisfaction. "He's afraid we might be too clever for him. Seeing you cry reassured him. But the other one, the boss, is so proud of his own cleverness he's not worried about us."

"Well, if he isn't, I am," Bettye announced. "I want to get out of here."

"There are sheets on these couches, and I have an idea," Nick said. "But we have to wait until we find out what they're up to. Let's eat and see how much we can tell about them."

They helped themselves to sandwiches. By their appetites, they judged it must be late afternoon or early evening.

"They're foreigners," Bettye said. " I don't know. what country, though. The fat one learned English well, but he studied a dictionary too much instead of living where English is spoken.

"And they went to a lot of trouble to catch us. The fact they know Peter Perkins is our friend indicates they've either watched us a long time, or have been reading our mail this summer."

"I'd say they've been reading our mail," Nick put in. "Uncle Jack and Aunt Ellen do run a summer hotel, and several of the guests seemed pretty foreign to me. One of them could easily have been spying on us and reading our mail."

"Which indicates a large organization," Bettye continued. "The way they found out we like puzzles, and then learned there were puzzle books in the old Blackwell house, and then had a false telegram sent to us from Atlantic Beach with Peter Perkins's name on it, all means that at least four or five people are working together. A foreign spy ring!" she finished, looking at Nick with large, round eyes.

"Catching us at the old Blackwell house with no one else around was very clever," Nick said. "They've gone to a lot of trouble. That means they want something big. But what? Dad isn't rich, and his chemical company certainly doesn't make anything awfully important, like rocket fuel or anything."

"Then what on earth can it be?" Bettye wrinkled her brows.

"We don't have to guess. They'll tell us pretty soon. The way the fat man acts, I don't think we have to worry about anything as long as they get what they want."

"Well, I'm pretty mad at them!" Bettye said. "I'd like to show them they can't go around playing tricks on us and get away with it!"

"So would I," Nick agreed. "We'll just have to wait and see what happens. Now how about some Ping-Pong?"

They played Ping-Pong with great verve for an hour. Nick was the steadier player, but Bettye was more agile and could return shots that looked impossible. The score was even when the door opened and the little fat man came in. He had removed his false mustache and large glasses and funny clothes and now looked like a businessman, or perhaps a teacher. No one who had seen him in his disguise would have an easy time recognizing him now, Nick thought.

"Oh, hello, Mr.—uh, is your name really Wright?"

Nick asked.

"It's the name on my truck, but it isn't my real name," the man chuckled. "Wright is wrong. See? I can make jokes in English too. Call me Mr. Nemo. I have come to visit with you."

"Would you like to play Ping-Pong, Mr. Nemo?" Bettye asked politely.

"Oh, no thank you very muchly—I mean, very much." Mr. Nemo patted his plump stomach. "I only exercise my mind. Let us try something else. Tell me a riddle. Let me test my large knowledge of your language."

"Here's an easy one," Bettye told him. "Why does everybody put on the right shoe first?"

"The right shoe first?" Mr. Nemo looked down at his feet. "Yes, indeed so, I do put on the right shoe first. But I don't know why. What is the answer?"

"Because it would be silly to put on the wrong shoe first," Bettye told him.

"You should have guessed that one because we were just talking about right and wrong," Nick said.

"Oh, indeed I should," Mr. Nemo agreed. "One more, please."

"Here's one I made up," Nick said. "Why is a foolish man like a bunch of artificial flowers and a counterfeit dollar?"

Mr. Nemo looked very blank. Even Bettye scowled as she pondered.

"I know!" she cried at last.

Mr. Nemo shook his head. "But I do not. You will have to tell me."

"Because none of them have any sense," Bettye told him. Still he looked bewildered.

"Please?"

"A foolish man doesn't have any s-e-n-s-e." Nick spelled it out. "Artificial flowers don't have any s-c-e-n-t-s. And a counterfeit dollar is worthless so it doesn't have any c-e-n-t-s."

"Sense—scents—cents," Mr. Nemo murmured. "Dear me, English is very difficult. I think I know enough already, so let us get down to business. It is really most simple. Your father has something I want. I tried to steal it from him. I failed. Now I will make him a trade for it. I will trade him you."

He beamed at them as if he had just done them a great favor. Nick and Bettye exchanged an I-told-you-so glance.

"I'm sure there will be no trouble," Mr. Nemo said.

"I have planned so very well. Please read this letter."

He took a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and gave it to Nick. Bettye crowded close to read it too. It was addressed to their father.

Dear Mr. Layton:

Recently you have invented a new and very effective rust remover and preventer. I would much like to have the formula. I am desirous of bringing the benefits of your wonderful inven- tion to my own country.

You will write out the formula and photograph it very small on microfilm. I will send you four messengers and you will give one copy to each. Within twenty-four hours after they return, Nicholas and Bettye will be telling you all about their adventure. But only if you follow exactly the instructions that will accompany messengers and do not call the authorities in any way. I am a kind man but I am firm. Your children's fingerprints you will find below as evidence they are with me and in good health.

Yours truly and sincerely,

Mr. Nemo

Nick looked at Mr. Nemo, puzzled.

"I don't understand," he said. "Rust remover? I mean if Dad had invented a new rocket fuel or something Hke that—"

"Rocket fuels!" Mr. Nemo said, waggling his head.

"I am not interested in rocket fuels, my boy. I am a businessman. Stop to think! How many millions of pounds of iron and steel rust every year! How many men spend all their time painting great bridges and oiling machines so they won't rust! How many millions of machines of all kinds get rusty and are worthless each year!"

Nick looked impressed. "That's right," he said to Bettye. "Remember when the garage leaked one winter, and our power mower got rusty and had to be thrown away? That's when Dad started working on his rust preventative. And do you realize our bikes haven't shown a speck of rust since we rubbed on that stuff he gave us last fall?"

"The war against rust costs millions of dollars!"

Mr. Nemo said. "In my country we have many expensive machines that get rusty because the farmers leave them out in the fields. Soon they are worthless. Your father's new rust preventer will save them for us."

"Then why don't you just buy it from him, instead of stealing the formula?" Nick asked.

"Wouldn't that be a lot simpler?" Bettye inquired.

"Yes," Mr. Nemo agreed. "But much more expensive. We will probably use several million dollars' worth of the formula in just one year."

"Wow!" Nick exclaimed to Bettye. "Millions of dollars! No wonder they've gone to so much trouble. You're a spy, aren't you?" he asked Mr. Nemo.

"Now, please." Mr. Nemo took an ink pad from his pocket. "Touch this and put your fingerprints on the letter. I am not spy—at least not official spy. Most unofficial. That is better way."

Nick put his hands in his pockets. Bettye put hers behind her back.

"You don't think that would convince Dad, do you?" asked Nick.

"Dad is a scientist. He needs proof of everything," Bettye added.

"And two fingerprints won't prove that we are really all right," Nick said darkly.

"Please!" Mr. Nemo looked distressed. "My plan is so perfect, and you are in no danger. No one can possibly trace us here. And later, even though you describe us, we will be ten thousand miles away and it will not matter."

"They might follow your messengers," Nick said.

"That's the weak point in every scheme like this."

"Sit down," said Mr. Nemo. He turned and opened the door. "Fritz! Bring me Dancer, Prancer, Donder, and Blitzen!"

Nick and Bettye sat on a couch. In a moment Fritz appeared, carrying a wicker basket. Mr. Nemo took it and dismissed him. Then from the basket he drew out a sleek gray pigeon, which he cradled carefully in his hands.

"This is Dancer," he said. "Is he not handsome? Prancer, Donder, and Blitzen are his brothers."

"Homing pigeons!" Nick exclaimed, his face lighting up with interest. "You're going to have four

homing pigeons bring you the copies of the formula on microfilm! That's pretty clever."

"I think so," Mr. Nemo said. "They have been carefully trained. They will be delivered by express, and your father will be instructed to release them exactly an hour and a half before sunset tomorrow.

They will then bring me lovely present. That is why I gave them name of your Santa Claus's reindeers.

"You are thinking your father might try to follow them, but that is impossible. They will fly at a speed close to sixty miles an hour, and at that time of day great flocks of birds, pigeons and starlings, are in the sky, returning to the cities from the country where they have been feeding. My four pretty pigeons will be quickly lost among them all. The only danger is from a hawk, perhaps. But all four cannot be lost."

He smoothed the bird's feathers.

"You see? Even if one or two of my birds are lost, the rest will return. No one will pay attention. Many men in this town raise and train pigeons for a hobby, and we have been here for months, so everyone is used to us. There is nothing to attract attention, nothing. Dancer and Prancer, and perhaps Bonder and BHtzen, will return with the formula. Fritz and Mr. Nemo leave in the old truck, transfer to a car, go to an airport, and fly away like birds themselves..

"Soon after, you and your father are reunited. A friendly business transaction has been completed with a minimum of fuss and bother. And I am not really taking anything away from him. He still has his formula for his business. I am simply sharing it with him."

"It looks like he's thought of everything," Nick said grudgingly to Bettye. "I guess we'll have to cooperate."

"I guess so. But Mr. Nemo, you'd better let us write something to Daddy in our own handwriting. Then he'll know we're fine and won't hesitate about send-ing the formula."

"Very good," Mr. Nemo said. "But you must write fast and not try any foolish tricks. Mr. Nemo is not a man to be truffled with."

"Trifled with," Bettye corrected him. "Certainly not."

Mr. Nemo put the letter on the Ping-Pong table and handed Bettye a pen.

"Write fast," he warned. "If you stop I will think you are trying a trick. I know you are clever. Do not be too clever."

"My goodness, how clever can we be?" Bettye grumbled. "If we were really clever we wouldn't be here at all."

And she wrote swiftly at the bottom of the letter:

Dear Daddy:

Please do exactly what Mr. Nemo says and I know we'll be All Right! He's a nice man and has treated us fine. If you get time, telephone Mabel Jones and ask her about Lovey-Dove, the pony she promised to sell me. She telephoned two nights ago and said it was lame and seemed to have strained a muscle in her forequarters. Maybe you could get a doctor to observe Lovey- Dove's forequarters and make sure she is All Right.

Also be sure my tropical fish have their water changed, and go to the kennels and tell Rex I miss him. May I have a budgie? Auntie has a budgie and they are awfully cute. We miss you.

Your loving daughter,

Bettye

Mr. Nemo read the letter slowly, out loud. Then he nodded.

"Very good," he said. "I am glad you did not try any clever tricks. Now, my boy, it is your turn."

"All right," Nick said. He wrote as fast as he could move the pen.

Dear Dad,

Girls are certainly silly! Imagine worrying about animals at a time like this! And who ever heard of naming a pony Lovey-Dove? Even for a girl that's pretty icky. Tell her she has to let the name stay Peggy. Peggy's as good a name for a girl pony as any. Anyway, though, she's right when she says we are all right. Mr. Nemo's a right guy, and if you follow the directions I know you will find us waiting for you.

Love,

Nick

Mr. Nemo now read Nick's letter out loud, and at a certain phrase he turned to scowl at him.

"This 'right guy,' " he said. "I don't like the sound of it."

"It means you're an okay Joe," Bettye told him.

"A jolly good fellow," Nick put in, selecting a very old-fashioned term Mr. Nemo might have heard of

"Oh, a jolly good fellow!" Mr. Nemo's face brightened. "I understand. But 'right guy,' and 'okay

Joe.' " He shook his head. "I do not think English is a sensible language. Well, never mind. Your father will have this in the morning. And I do hope he follows directions exactly. Then we will all be well and happy."

With a big smile he went out, bolting the door. As soon as he was gone Bettye plumped herself down beside Nick.

"Your message to Daddy was very good," she whispered. "Of course, I was counting on you to help make mine clearer. I could only say so much. Still, mine was rather good, too, don't you think?"

"It was all right," Nick said without enthusiasm.

"What do you mean, all right?" Bettye demanded.

"It was very good! Don't you think Daddy will catch it?"

"I expect he will," Nick agreed. "Only I'm not sure it was a good idea to begin with. If you hadn't put a secret message in your letter, I wasn't going to. But you did, so I had to help make it clearer. But I had other ideas."

"What other ideas?" Bettye asked curiously.

But Nick wouldn't tell her. All he would say was, "Tonight we'd better go to bed early. We have a lot to do tomorrow."

I

Good evening. Perhaps you thought I had business elsewhere this time. But I assure you I have been following events with great interest. It seems obvious that the apparently innocent messages Nick and Bettye wrote say a great deal more than they seem to. I don't blame Mr. Nemofor not catching on. After all, there are one or two things he doesn't know. For instance, go back and read paragraph eight at the very beginning of our story. This should remind you of something which will aid you in unraveling Bettye's message. For another clue—what else has four quarters. {Never mind how it is spelled.) A dollar, yes. But what else? Thefour quarters of the globe, of course. And the four quarters ofa—?

As for Nick's hidden message, read aloud quickly the words, "Peggy's as good a name as any. " What word do you get from the combination of the first two words there, and what does it suggest to you? Particularly when he adds, 'follow the directions. " But if I say any more, I'll be spilling the works, to use the quaint argot of the underworld. So on with the story

/

After that the time went quickly. Fritz brought them supper on plastic plates with plastic cutlery. After supper Bettye teased Nick to tell her about his idea, but Nick was stubbornly silent. They played Ping-Pong until Nick abruptly decided it was time for bed.


They washed in cold water in the tiny bath and tumbled into bed with most of their clothes on. The two studio couches were made up with clean sheets under the green couch covers. Both fell asleep swiftly.

Because it was dark in the basement room, with no window, they slept late. They woke when Fritz unlocked the door to bring in breakfast. Nick switched on the three-bulb standing lamp and they sat up yawning. Mr. Nemo came in as Fritz put down the tray of bacon and eggs and milk.

"Dancer and Prancer and Donder and Blitzen have been delivered," Mr. Nemo announced, rubbing his smooth, soft hands together. "I hope, I do hope your father follows directions and releases my four messengers from his factory roof all together just an hour and a half before sunset today."

Nick and Bettye gave each other a look of dismay. They hadn't known the pigeons were supposed to be released all together, at the same spot. In fact, their messages to their father had definitely suggested he release the pigeons from four different spots far apart!

"I have a colleague—English word meaning associ-ate or ally—in your father's factory watching to see if any monkey tricks are tried," Mr. Nemo informed them. "Oh, I do hope not so."

"The word is monkeyshines," Bettye told him.

"And I'm sure Daddy will do exactly as you said."

"We will see," Mr. Nemo said. As soon as he and

Fritz went out, the twins held a whispered conference.

"Suppose someone telephones Mr. Nemo and tells him that Daddy isn't following the directions?"

Bettye asked.

"We can count on Dad. But just the same we're going to try my plan too."

"Well, what is it?"

"You'll see. As soon as we've eaten and Fritz has taken these plastic plates away."

Nick would say no more, but as soon as Fritz had removed the breakfast things he sprang into action. In the small bath was a mirror. He broke it with his heel and carefully picked out a large, sharp sliver of glass. Next he took the sheets off both couches and smoothed the covers so they looked made.

Now began the long, difficult job of using the sharp glass to cut the sheets into strips of cotton cloth several inches wide. When he had all the strips he could get, he told Bettye, "Now we're going to weave ropes. You do it better, so it's your job. I'll play Ping- Pong. They'll hear the ball and won't suspect anything."

After a first protest, Bettye settled down to weaving four ropes, six feet long, from the torn strips. Nick batted the Ping-Pong ball from the table to the cement wall, where it bounced back again, giving quite a convincing imitation of two players.

When they heard Fritz bringing lunch, they hid the strips of cloth and partly woven ropes under a couch, pretending to be tired from a morning of exercise. Fritz only looked at them and grunted, apparently unsuspicious.

As soon as Fritz had cleared away the lunch dishes, they started again.

"You're going too slowly," Nick criticized. "I'll have to help."

"It was your idea," Bettye reminded him.

Between them, they managed to weave four fairly tight ropes, six feet long. Then Nick put a running noose in the end of each one. Bettye thought they looked fine, but Nick scowled with dissatisfaction.

"It's no good," he said. "It won't work."

"What won't work?" Bettye asked. Nick had still not explained his plan.

"We aren't strong enough to overcome two grown men with these," Nick said. "Anyway, they're too short."

"Well, what can we do?" Bettye found she had been counting heavily on Nick's idea, whatever it

might be.

Nick scowled harder. Then he grinned.

"I have it!" he exclaimed. "I've just invented a brand-new weapon. The first important new way to use a rope since the lariat was invented."

Bettye thought this was a rather big boast, but she didn't say so. Nick took two of the ropes and tied the free ends together. Then he tied the other two together. Now he had two ropes, each about twelve feet long, and each with two nooses—one at either end.

"The double-noosed lariat!" he said. "I wish I could patent it!"

"If we're not strong enough to handle Fritz and Mr. Nemo with four ropes," Bettye said, "I don't see how we can do it with two."

"You will," Nick promised. "Uh-oh, here comes Mr. Nemo. Quick, hide the ropes."

They got the ropes under the couch just in time.

Mr. Nemo came in looking severe.

"I have had a phone call from my friend in your father's factory," he told them. Nick and Bettye waited,

their hearts beating fast.

"He tells me"—Mr. Nemo paused—"that your father has just released Dancer and Prancer and Bonder and Blitzen from the roof of his factory, and they are on the way. They should be here in less than an hour."

"I told you Daddy would cooperate," Bettye said.

"Supper will be delayed. I will be very busy. As soon as my messengers arrive, we must leave."

"Leave?" Nick asked. "Where?"

"To another place where I have a little laboratory. Naturally I must test the formula. Oh, I do hope it is the right one." And clucking his tongue, Mr. Nemo went out.

"Daddy will send the right formula, won't he?"

Bettye asked.

Nick nodded. "Of course. But just the same, we must be ready. Now, to get us to the truck will take both of them, and when they come in the room this is what we have to do."

He whispered his plan, and Bettye's eyes grew wider and wider. Part of it involved sacrificing the silver lucky charm on her bracelet, but she let him pull it loose without a protest.

Nick unscrewed one bulb in the three-bulb standing lamp and carefully put the silver charm down inside the socket. Then he screwed the bulb back in, but only partway.

Next he got out the two double-noosed ropes and straightened them out, then slid them under the couch at their feet, so he and Bettye could pull them out fast. After that they waited, with growing rest-lessness, until they heard a tiny bell ring somewhere above them. A moment later it rang again.

"That's a signal," Nick whispered. "Two pigeons have entered the pigeon cote that must be up on the roof. Any minute now Fritz and Mr. Nemo will be coming."

In less than five minutes, the door opened and the two men stepped in.

"Come along, children," Mr. Nemo said. "Dancer and Blitzen are back. We have two microfilm copies of your father's wonderful formula. Now we are leaving."

"We aren't going," Nick said.

"We'd rather stay here," Bettye added in a small voice.

"See?" Fritz grunted. "I tell you they make trouble. But I handle them."

"Gently, Fritz," Mr. Nemo said as the two men strode toward the couch where Nick and Bettye sat.

"Take the boy. I'll get the girl to the truck."

"Come, boy!" Fritz stood in front of Nick and reached out long arms. But Nick wasn't there. He ducked down and grabbed an end of one rope from beneath the couch. Jumping up close to the surprised man, he threw the ready noose over Fritz's head, then pulled it tight.

"Quick, Bettye!" he called, diving for the second rope.

Bettye was cooperating as smoothly as if they had had hours of practice. She had the other end of the same double-noosed rope in her hand. As Mr. Nemo looked in amazement at Nick and Fritz, she jumped up and slipped her noose over Mr. Nemo's head, then pulled it tight.

Now—though the two men did not yet realize it—they were tied together by a rope with two nooses that would tighten harder the more they struggled to pull apart.

Fritz was not bothered at first. He yelled with anger and tried again to grab Nick. But Nick was down on his knee, holding the second rope. As Fritz lifted a big foot, Nick slid the noose over it and pulled it tight around the ankle. Fritz, grunting savagely, turned around. As he did so he naturally pulled on the rope which bound him and Mr. Nemo together, neck to neck.

Mr. Nemo, squealing like a frightened piglet, fell down at the sudden jerk on his neck. Bettye got the other noose over one of his legs. And while Fritz pulled at the rope around his throat, jerking Mr. Nemo with every pull and making the little fat man screech louder than ever, Nick jumped up.

He ran to the lamp and screwed the loose light bulb tightly down on top of the silver charm which was in the socket.

There was a hiss, and suddenly all the light in the basement and first floor of the house turned to darkness as the short circuit in the lamp blew out the fuse in the main switchbox. The basement room was now pitch dark.

"Bettye—the door!" Nick shouted.

They had both memorized where the door was, and they headed for it blindly. There was a great

crash as Fritz, thrashing around wildly in the darkness, fell over Mr. Nemo. Nick fell over them both, but evaded grasping hands and crawled the rest of the way to the door, where he bumped into Bettye's legs.

He stood up. Behind them the two men were rolling and struggling to get loose from the ropes, not realizing, in the darkness, that each was anchored to the other so that every move one made hindered the other's efforts to get loose.

Nick and Bettye groped their way out the door, then closed and bolted it. Outside they listened for a moment to the thuds and bumps and cries from the two men tied together inside.

"Nick, it's a wonderful invention!" Bettye whispered. "It's positively stupendous."

"We couldn't handle them," Nick answered. "But by making them fight each other, we didn't have to. Now let's find the stairs."

In the darkness they felt their way to the stairs and up. On the first floor there was still enough daylight coming in the windows to enable them to see where they were going. They dashed toward the front door and an instant later were standing on the street, looking around at rows of small brick houses and the unfamiliar skyline of a strange city.

As they stood there, a crowded sedan came speeding up the street and stopped. Uncertain whether it might be friend or foe, Nick and Bettye were all set to run when a tall, familiar form leaped out.

"Nick!" he called. "Bettye!"

"Dad!... Daddy!" They raced joyfully to him.

As soon as they had gotten over their astonishment and relief, the twins told their father about Fritz and Mr. Nemo in the basement. Immediately the other men in the car took their flashlights and went down to capture the two.

"And be careful," Bettye said. "I'm afraid Fritz is rather cross by now."

"I just hope," Nick said in a thoughtful tone, "that he hasn't broken Mr, Nemo's neck trying to get

loose."

***

I

The story is so nearly finished that it seems quite un-necessary to interrupt and ask you how Mr. Layton happened to arrive so opportunely at exactly the right spot. Surely by now you have managed to decipher the true meaning of those odd-sounding messages. If not, it's a good thing you weren't responsible for Nick and Bettye's rescue. In any event, for those—like Mr. Nemo— who insist on having everything spelled out, kindly turn to page 234, where the mystery is explained simply enough for even an adult to under- stand.

CONCLUSION

"But I do not understand." Mr. Nemo's large brown eyes were sorrowful and puzzled. Adhesive bandages adorned his forehead and chin, and there was a ban-dage around his throat, which he touched gingerly from time to time. He sat stiffly on a chair in the hotel room Mr. Layton had engaged, facing Nick and Bettye and their father. A large, neatly dressed man stood guard at the door.

"My plan was so clever," Mr. Nemo said. "Everything went just right. You released my pigeons from your factory just as I directed. Yet you were outside my door almost as soon as the pigeons arrived back."

He looked at Nick and Bettye.

"I understand how you tied Fritz and me together," he said. "It was clever... but it was unkind. Truly I was not going to hurt you."

"Oh, we trusted you, Mr. Nemo," Nick said. "But we didn't trust Fritz. And anyway, we couldn't let you steal Dad's formula, could we? So we told Dad how to get your pigeons to lead him and the FBI right to you."

"But that cannot be," Mr. Nemo protested. "Four pigeons—no one could keep them in sight for fifty miles, among thousands of other birds, even from an airplane."

"We didn't try to," Mr. Layton told him.

"When your lookout—for

I'm sure you had one—phoned to tell you he had seen me release four pigeons from the roof of my factory, he didn't realize he had really seen someone else made up to look like me. The pigeons were different too. You see, as soon as the pigeons and your instructions arrived, together with the messages from my children, the authorities and I got very active.

"We found someone who looked like me and smuggled him into the factory with a basket of pigeons to release at the right time. When that was taken care of, we made other plans for the real pigeons.

"We got the FBI on the job and arranged to have each of the four pigeons released separately from places many miles apart. As soon as they were released, they circled around, got their direction, and headed straight for home.

"When they did that, men with telescopes and compasses marked the exact direction of their flight. They all flew northwest, but at different angles because they were starting from different spots. Their flight paths were phoned to me and the FBI agents at the Boston airport. We plotted the four directions in pencil on a large map. Now naturally, since all four pigeons were heading for this city, the four lines came together here."

"Yes, I understand that," Mr. Nemo said. "Elementary matter of direction finding. But I do not know how you thought of it, or how in this entire city you came straight to my house."

Mr, Layton chuckled.

"As soon as we had the destination spotted," he said, "the FBI agents and I took off in a plane for here. Another FBI agent got the local chief of police on the phone and asked him to fmd out anything he could about a man, probably a foreigner and probably using the name of Wright, who might have moved to this city recently and who engaged in training pigeons for a hobby. By the time we got here, the police had your name and address for us. Sam Wright, General Repairs."

"That was I," Mr. Nemo said. "Or should I say, that was me? English still confuses me."

"It was you, either way," Mr. Layton told him.

"We drove straight to your house just in time to see Nick and Bettye coming out."

"And just in time to save me from being strangled by Fritz," Mr. Nemo said. "But I still cannot understand how your children sent you any information. I read their letters myself. They were quite simple, childish letters."

"You should read them again," Mr. Layton said.

"I have rather smart children, I'm happy to say." He winked at Nick and Bettye. "Anyway, you'll have quite a number of years to figure out the messages, so I'll see you get copies of their letters when you are finally settled in your new residence.

I'll give you one clue—my daughter is allergic to horses, so when she started talking about buying a horse, I naturally un-derstood she meant me to disregard what she seemed to be saying and to look for some other information she was trying to give me."

Mr. Nemo stood up.

"Thank you," he said. "Anyway, I will have chance to study American English better."

"I have a new riddle for you before you go, Mr. Nemo," Bettye said. "What has two heads and four eyes and four legs and can't see or walk?"

"I can guess answer," Nemo said sadly. "Fritz and me tied together in a dark cellar by clever twins."

He heaved a deep sigh and walked out the door the FBI agent held open for him.

"Poor fellow," Mr. Layton said. "I'm afraid you made him feel pretty riddle-iculous, the way you turned his pigeons into stool pigeons."

Nick and Bettye groaned loudly. But there was nothing they could do about it. Nick liked puzzles and Bettye liked riddles. But their father's hobby was puns.

ALFRED HITCHCOCK SPEAKING: It looks very much as if Nick and Bettye and their father have left me the task of explaining the messages the twins slipped into their letters. Of course, most ofyou have already deciphered them and can skip this part, but I shall not shirk my duty. For the benefit of those who came in late, I will explain all. First, however, go back and read again the letters Nick and Bettye wrote, to refresh your memory. While you are doing that, I will take the opportunity to note that in due time the other members of Mr. Nemo's little organization were caught and properly dealt with.

Now as to the messages. As Mr. Layton pointed out, Bettye is allergic to horses. So when she speaks of buying a horse named Lovey-Dove, and asks herfather to have its forequarters carefully observed, it is plain enough she is talking about something else. Lovey-Dove sounds, at first, merely like a sentimental name. But when there are pigeons in the case, as there are here, anyone who thinks for a moment will realize that a pigeon is a form of dove and Bettye must be talking about the pigeons.

Pigeons, though, do not have forequarters, and it is the pigeons we are interested in. What does Bettye really mean? The word forequarters suggests to almost anyone except a foreigner, like Mr. Nemo, who has learned his English from books, the words four quarters. What has four quarters? A dollar—but that doesn't fit. The globe has four quarters. And a compass has four quarters. Mr. Layton sees that Bettye wants him to connect the pigeons somehow with the four quar- ters of the compass. A little thought gives him her idea—release the pigeons each from a different quarter of the compass, or at least a good distance from each other, and observe the direction in which they fly to get back home. Which is what he did.

Bettye also twice used the words All Right, capitalized. This seemed to have some meaning. When in Nick's letter Mr. Layton came across the phrase "Mr. Nemo's a right guy," he knew it was no accident. He deduced the twins were telling him their captor used the name of Wright. And as Mr. Nemo's letter was obviously written by a foreigner, Mr. Layton, as soon as he knew what city the pigeons were heading for, could have someone phone ahead to ask the police for information about a foreigner using the name of Wright, and training pigeons.

Just to be more helpful, Nick also drew his father's attention to the words ''Peggy 's as good a name as any. " But the first two words in that sentence, spoken swiftly, sound like "Pegasus. " And Pegasus of course was the flying horse ofmythology. Today's flying horse, I think you will agree, is the airplane. When Nick added, ''if you follow the directions I know you will find us waiting for you, " it was rather clear that he was suggesting his father use a plane to follow the direction given him by the homing pigeons and rescue them. Of course, Mr. Layton could undoubtedly have figured out the best way to reach them for himself, but Nick didn't believe in taking any chances.

am sure the foregoing explanation will make everything clear to you. Ifyou have any questions, please reread the story and I am certain all will be crystal clear. It wouldn't be any use in asking Nick or Bettye. Nick is experimenting with a three-noosed lariat, and Bettye is making up a book of original riddles. I don't believe it will catch on, however—some of them have triple meanings.

But now that we have concluded "The Mystery of the Four Quarters" I must say good night. I hope you have enjoyed our little excursion into suspense and detection as much as I have.

And I sincerely trust you will guard with tightly locked lips the answers to the mysteries we have recounted. As I suggested in our Introduction, let your friends find out the answers the hard way —make them read the book!

^ALFRED HITCHCOCK

Calling all amateur detectives!

Alfred Hitchcock is out to stump you with five exciting new mysteries. You'll meet a talking skeleton, a kidnapped snake, and a man who evaporates from a locked room.

You'll read about a house where all the furniture is built half-size, and a clock that tells yesterday's time instead of today's.

It's up to you to investigate these mysterious eve^its, hunt down the hidden clues, and solve each case. The solutions appear at the end of each story—but no fair peeking!

The aii4ime favorit'* ' '^ed Hitchcock story collection—-' ^^.^ •S-A' po-a

-N-:Q-3S^

:HC0C:

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