The Case of the Vanishing Boy by Alexander Key

“You’d better go first. I have no depth perception, and they left my cane behind.”
    He remembered she’d mentioned something about depth perception on the train, though he was still vague about what it meant. Firmly holding her hand, he started carefully downward to an even greater surprise. The stairs ended in a small recess in the corner of a great spacious hallway that he realized was the second floor of an old mansion. Paneled in dark wood, it was vaguely lighted by an Oriental lamp on a table between two ornate chairs. Facing it, a broad stairway spiraled down to what must be the main floor.
    Jan hesitated, studying the hall while he listened. He wondered how much time they had till daylight, and was rewarded by Ginny whispering, “I heard a clock somewhere below us strike three just before I found your room.”
    He hadn’t heard the clock with his door closed. In fact, in a closed place without windows he hadn’t heard much of anything but the soft flow of air from a ceiling vent. If it was only a little after three, he couldn’t have been unconscious quite as long as he’d thought.
    The house was quiet save for a faint snore coming from the other side of the nearest door on their right. There probably was a back stairway somewhere, and he wondered whether to risk hunting for it or to go straight on down and out the front way. The thought of the front entrance made him uneasy, but he decided on it anyway. It would be the quickest route to the street and safety—if there was a street.
    The thick carpeting of the hall deadened their footsteps. The great stairway, however, presented an unexpected problem. It squeaked.
    It made no difference how carefully and cautiously they proceeded downward, the heavily padded steps squeaked anyway. Then, within a few feet of the broad foyer, lighted by a single wall sconce, a telephone rang in the open reception room diagonally across from them.
    From where they crouched Jan could just see past the high arched doorway into the room’s interior. Someone must have been sitting by the phone, waiting for the call, for it was answered immediately. The voice was the same one that had phoned instructions to Heron Rhodes four and a half hours ago, and later given him orders at Midway Plaza. Only now the voice spoke in a foreign language that sounded like German.
    The person was still talking when a door opened suddenly on the right of the stairway and the bulky, white-jacketed figure of Big Doc strode with a sort of deliberate slowness across the foyer to the arched opening. Jan’s heart leaped violently at this unexpected turn, and he could feel Ginny’s fingers digging sharply into his arm. Big Doc had only to turn his head and glance in their direction, and they could hardly escape being seen. Yet to attempt flight back up the squeaky stairs would surely attract immediate attention.
    The speaker finished talking over the phone. Big Doc grunted and said softly, “Well, Helga?”
    â€œWe are to leave,” came the voice of Helga. “We must pack immediately.”
    â€œBut that is stupid, my dear! I warned you about calling them. I knew they would panic.”
    â€œIt is not panic, Leopold. It is common sense. The boy alone was no worry until he escaped. No one knew about him. But the girl is a complication. Remember, we had not planned to take her till later; then she was to be flown directly to Kiev by way of Havana. But now we have the two together, and we must not endanger the project by remaining here an hour longer than necessary.”
    â€œOh, nonsense!” the doctor protested, shaking his head. “I see little cause for alarm. We know the boy was unable to give the Rhodes bunch any information—Matilda took care of that. So how can they trace the girl? This is the perfect place for my work, and your people are completely upsetting it! They have no conception of the preparatory procedures and the