Through the Hidden Door Read Free Page A

Pennimen,” said Finney, pointing to an uncomfortable straight-backed chair, from which he promptly removed both his feet. The feet dropped with a thud. One leg was said to be wooden.
    I tried to shut off the trembling in my hands by exchanging glances with an Indian mask with a horsehair moustache. If the mask was real, I priced it at about five hundred bucks.
    “Talked to your father, Pennimen,” said Finney, emptying a dollop of black gook out of his pipe and stuffing it with long shreds of tobacco. “He hopes we can straighten this out.” Finney’s gentle blue eyes lit on mine like lasers. What awful things had he told my dad?
    “So now,” Finney said, “exactly what happened yesterday afternoon, Pennimen? Think hard. One lie and you will not only be scratched from Hotchkiss next year, you’ll be out of Winchester tomorrow. Back to where the deer and the antelope play.”
    I began to cry.
    “Stop that!” shouted Silks. “Immediately!”
    “Leave him alone, Martin,” said Finney, striking a kitchen match on the sole of his shoe. “Cry away, Pennimen. It’s emetic.”
    “What’s emetic?” I managed to sob out.
    “If you were to swallow a cigar butt,” he explained, “I would give you syrup of swills. Then you would be good and sick. The cigar butt would be thrown from your system, and you’d feel much, much better. Syrup of swills is an emetic. So is crying. Now. Tell me what happened without shilly-shallying around. Who threw the first stone at my dog?”
    “I did. I was the only one who did,” I answered as grittily as I could, tears beginning to run down my cheeks and snot dripping from my nose.
    “Come on, Pennimen. I’ll only kick you out for a good lie.” He pulled heartily on his pipe and blew out four perfect smoke rings. They would have been bull’s-eyes around my nose if we’d been playing horseshoes. “We’ve spoken to Clarence Cobb, Pennimen. His vision isn’t particularly good, and his glasses busted before he could see who the boys were, but he did tell us one thing. There were five or six boys. One of them was trying to stop the others apparently.”
    Clarence, I thought distractedly. So that’s what his real name was. “How could he tell if he had no glasses?” I asked in a sudden tenor voice. “Snowy’s as blind as a bat.”
    “So he is. He is legally blind without his glasses, as a matter of fact. But his hearing’s awfully good. He told us one boy was jumping up and down yelling at the others, ‘Thtop! Thtop or we’ll get Thaturday detention!’ This boy was not throwing any stones at all. He had some good intentions. This boy could only be you, Pennimen. Who were the other boys?”
    “I don’t know who they were,” I droned like a microwaved Nathan Hale.
    “Pennimen, what did I say about lies?”
    I wondered if he and Silks could smell me. “One lie and I’m out of here, sir.”
    “That’s right. This is your last chance. Give me your right hand.”
    “My hand?”
    “Your hand. Put it right flat on mine. That’s it. Now look at me. That’s right. Now we’ll start off slowly. Okay?”
    My God, I thought. The man’s a human lie detector. But my eyes didn’t dare waver from his.
    “Your name is Barney Pennimen?”
    “Yes.”
    “How old are you?”
    “Thirteen and one month, sir.”
    “Who are your friends here?”
    My hand discharged a pint of sweat into his. “Rudy, I guess. Danny Damascus. Matt, Shawn, Brett MacRea.”
    “Good. Keep your hand there on the table.” Finney wiped his palm on his pants and slapped it back under mine. “Is it true, Pennimen, that two years ago you poured a quart of vodka into your housemaster Mr. Greeves’s vaporizer while he was asleep?”
    I breathed very deeply and shut my eyes. “Yes, Mr. Finney.”
    “I thought so. Was that your idea?”
    I wondered if the statute of limitations had run out. My hand felt like a freshly caught mackerel. “No,” I answered.
    “I see. Was it true, Pennimen, that a year