The Mystery on Cobbett's Island

enough to know I ain’t foolin’, and the rest of you better get wise, too.” He spun the revolver around on his index finger a couple of times, then deftly brought it back into shooting position.
    “Now, like I was sayin’,” he continued, striding up and down in front of them, “I seen you steal that box from the stall. I was up in the loft and had a good view right through that there hole in the ceiling where they pitch the hay down for the horses. Looks like there’s quite a nice little bundle here”—he took the money out of the box with his left hand—“and, man, that’s what I need. I’m gonna make a deal with you!” His eyes narrowed, and he looked from one to the other. “What d’ya say, chums?”
    “Let’s hear your offer, pal,” Trixie quickly answered, tossing her head and trying to look tough.
    “I ain’t gonna spill nothin’ unless I know your bud-dies here’ll go along,” he snarled.
    Jim took a swaggering half step forward and hitched his thumbs in his belt. In a voice that he desperately hoped sounded as tough as the other boy’s, he cracked, “We’ll go along with anything Trix says. She’s the boss of this pack.”
    “Yeah, I thought that phony Bob-White stuff was just a cover-up for your gang. Real high-class, ain’t you? Livin’ rich and tryin’ to steal a lousy grand from a poor widow,” he sneered.
    “Cut the moralizing,” Trixie snarled at him, “and get on with your big deal.”
    “Okay, sister. It happens I need dough real bad. So count out half of that loot for me and half for you, and we’ll both forget all about our little treasure hunt. I won’t squeal on you for stealin’ the dough or breakin’ the buoy lights, and you won’t squeal on me. Ain’t that fair enough?”
    “Breaking the buoy lights!” Trixie cried. “What do you mean?”
    “Oh, knock off the innocent act, sister. Don’t think I ain’t heard about you and the Coast Guard. You can take the rap for that as well as me. I got plenty of pals who’d swear they saw you bustin’ them lights. See?”
    “Yeah, I see what you mean,” Trixie said slowly, smiling beguilingly at him. “Okay, let’s count the dough. Here, sit down on the floor so we can divvy it up easier,” she suggested as she plopped down right in front of Jim and Brian. “You count it first, and then I'll check it. Not that I don’t trust you, you understand,” she said. “And now that we’re all such good pals, and you seem to know us, how about telling us who you are?”
    “Why not? What harm’ll it do?” he said with a trace of a smile. “I'll be halfway across the country this time tomorrow, and maybe by then I'll have a new name. Who knows? Around here they call me Slim—Slim Novarski.”
    As he talked, he knelt down near Trixie, ready to count the money. As she had hoped, he found that holding the revolver was something of a handicap in untying the bundle, so he laid it down close beside him. As he bent over the pile of bills, Trixie glanced up at Jim and imperceptibly shook her head as she sensed his plan to grab the gun.
    “You know, Slim, you and I’d make a good team,” Trixie said in a confidingly low voice. “You’re smart. How’d you get onto what we were doing?”
    “Sure, I’m smart,” Slim said, his face beginning to light up, “but most folks don’t think so. Like that Coast Guard outfit.” He looked ugly again and after a short pause continued. “I could teach you a thing or two, Trix. You don’t go around leavin’ letters and charts where every Tom, Dick, and Harry can see ’em. Not when it means big money, you don’t.”
    “Like when?” asked Trixie, pretending deep interest. “Like when you and your pals had that fancy breakfast at Pete’s place and left the letter lying out there on the table,” he answered with a smug smile.
    “How come you saw it? What were you doing around there?” Trixie asked, her eyes narrowing.
    “Just checkin’ up on you and your fancy friends. I got caught over here in the storm and couldn’t get back to Greenpoint, so me and my pal slept over at the toolshed. When I couldn’t get my outboard started, I decided to stick around and case this joint, just in case,” he said with a harsh laugh. “My pal got chicken and went home on the ferry next mornin’, the bum!”
    “You mean you slept in the shed for two nights?” Trixie asked.
    “Yeah, all I had on me was a soggy sandwich—and no dough—so when I smelled that