Who left the note on the table?
Who sent off the wire to Dad and had the key and receipt brought to me?
But why did you do it?
How do you know who I am?"
At this he came across to her, took her hand and said:
"You'd better stay here with us now.
Sit down and listen, and then you'll understand everything."
The boys settled themselves on the sack-covered straw around Timur, who had spread out in front of him the map of the estate.
A lookout was stationed on a rope swing suspended in front of a hole in the wall above the window.
From his neck dangled a pair of dented opera glasses.
Jenny sat not far from Timur and gave all her attention to the proceedings of the conference of this top-secret headquarters.
Timur was speaking:
"At daybreak tomorrow, while everybody is still asleep, Kolokolchikov and I will repair the lines she (he pointed to Jenny) broke."
"He'll oversleep," gloomily interjected the bullet-headed Geika, who was wearing a striped sailor's jersey. "He only wakes up for breakfast and lunch."
"That's a l-lie!" Nick jumped up and stuttered. "I g-get up with the first r-ray of the sun."
"Well, I don't know which is the sun's first ray and which the second, but I do know he'll oversleep," Geika retorted stubbornly.
At this juncture the lookout on the swing whistled.
The boys sprang to their feet.
A mounted artillery battalion was galloping down the road in a cloud of dust.
The powerful horses, in heavy harness of leather and metal, were pulling along their green ammunition wagons and tarpaulin-covered cannon at a spanking pace.
The sun-tanned, weather-beaten postilions took the bend in dashing style without swaying in their saddles, and, one after another, the batteries disappeared into the woods.
Soon, the entire unit was out of sight.
"They're headed for the station to board a train," Nick explained importantly. "I can tell by their uniforms. 1 can tell when they're out on drill, on parade, or on anything else."
"You just keep your eyes open and your mouth shut!" Geika stopped him. "We've got eyes too.
You know, boys, this windbag wants to run away to the Red Army!"
"You can't do that," Timur intervened. "It won't wash."
"Why not?" asked Nick, flushing. "How come boys always used to run away to the front?"
"That was before!
And now the officers and other bosses have strict orders to kick out all the kids."
"How do you mean, kick 'em out?" cried Nick, turning a deeper red. "You mean—their own side?"
"That's right!" Timur heaved a sigh. "Their own side.
And now, fellows, let's get down to business."
The boys resumed their places.
"Unidentified boys have been stealing apples from the garden of No. 34, Crooked Lane," Nick announced sullenly. "They broke two branches and trampled all over a flower bed."
"Whose house is that?" Timur glanced at his notebook. "It's Kryukov the soldier's.
Now, which of you is an ex-specialist on other people's gardens and apple trees?"
"Me," muttered an embarrassed voice.
"Who could have done this job?"
"Kvakin and his assistant, the chap they call Figure.
They picked out a Michurin tree; it grows Golden Sap apples."
"That Kvakin again!" Timur reflected a moment. "Geika!
Did you talk to him?"
"I did."
"Well?"
"Got him on the jaw twice."
"What'd he do?"
"Well, he got me once or twice, too."
"All you can say is 'I got him and he got me.' And a fat lot of good it does!
We'll make Kvakin a special case.
Next?"