bup-de-bup , bup-de-bup , bup-de-bup noise as it bounced along the wooden floorboards. Bup-de-bup , bup-de-bup . Then, boing .
Boing ? The last bounce sounded completely different. Like it was on a different surface. And it sounded like there was nothing underneath that surface.
I went and picked up the brick and dropped it again on the spot. Boing . Weird. It sounded like the brick was hitting metal.
I picked it up again and dropped it half a metre to the left and it went bup-de-bup . Wood.
I brushed away the dirt on the floor just in front of me. Underneath was a trapdoor. I tapped it and it was definitely made of metal. It looked like it had only just been put there. It was about the size that a man could go through. I guess that’s why they call them manholes.
I wanted to try and open it but there was no way I was going to do it on my own. I ran up and got Wrigs.
‘So what?’ he said when I showed him the trapdoor. ‘It’s probably always been there.’
‘Look, it’s metal. It’s brand-new. The rest of the floor is old floorboards,’ I said. ‘And whoever put it here didn’t want anyone to find it. They’d covered it with dirt so it looks like the rest of the floor. They’ve even painted it brown like the wood.’
‘Mr Black?’
‘S’pose,’ I said. I bent down and looked to see if there was any way to open the trapdoor. There weren’t any handles on it, or anything.
‘I can’t open it,’ I said.
‘There’s something under there and we’re not meant to know about it,’ he said. ‘Let’s go to the cops.’
I found a little flap, about the size of a twenty-cent piece, which slid sideways. Under it was a lock.
Wrigs looked at me for a second. Then he said, ‘ Graa-aa-ee-agh! ’ and ran out of the kitchen, down the corridor and out of the house. What a sook. I spread the dirt back across the trapdoor so Mr Black wouldn’t know we found it, and then chased after Wrigs.
Wrigs was waiting for me at the top of View Street. We started walking to the police station, which should have taken us about ten minutes, but we walked so quickly it took us about four.
The police station is an old brick house in Queen Street. We were about to walk through the front door when I said, ‘What are we going to tell them?’
‘We’ll tell them what we’ve seen.’
‘What, that there’s a trapdoor in a deserted house?’
‘Yeah, and about Mr Black,’ he said.
‘So we’ll say that we’ve seen a guy hanging around who looks like he stepped out of an old black-and-white gangster film?’
‘Yeah,’ said Wrigs.
‘They’ll think we’re idiots.’
‘Well, I’m going to tell them anyway.’
‘They’re going to say we’re wasting their time.’
Wrigs looked at me for a moment. He knew I was right. We turned to leave.
Just then I noticed a garden bed next to the police station door. Someone at the station must have really liked cactus plants. There were loads of them, all different shapes and sizes.
But, better than the plants, were the quartz pebbles covering the bottom of the garden bed. They were exactly the right size and shape for skimming.
I picked up a couple and put them in my pocket.
CHAPTER 16
DAY 15: Saturday
My skims: 0
Wriggler’s skims: 0
Training for world record stopped. For a while, at least.
Money made for tinnie: $0 ($725 to go.)
We’ve got a plan, it’s not perfect but that’s its only problem.
Wriggler reckons Mr Black is keeping someone he has kidnapped under the kitchen. I reckon it’s where he hides stuff he steals from people’s houses. Whatever it is we have to find out. Then an idea hit me like a rolled up newspaper swatting a mosquito.
When Wrigs came around I said, ‘What we need is a sensor camera. Y’know, a camera that takes photos when it senses movement.’
‘Why?’
‘There’s no way Mr Black would risk opening the manhole during the day when people might see him, so I reckon he must only go into that cellar at night.’
I
Boing ? The last bounce sounded completely different. Like it was on a different surface. And it sounded like there was nothing underneath that surface.
I went and picked up the brick and dropped it again on the spot. Boing . Weird. It sounded like the brick was hitting metal.
I picked it up again and dropped it half a metre to the left and it went bup-de-bup . Wood.
I brushed away the dirt on the floor just in front of me. Underneath was a trapdoor. I tapped it and it was definitely made of metal. It looked like it had only just been put there. It was about the size that a man could go through. I guess that’s why they call them manholes.
I wanted to try and open it but there was no way I was going to do it on my own. I ran up and got Wrigs.
‘So what?’ he said when I showed him the trapdoor. ‘It’s probably always been there.’
‘Look, it’s metal. It’s brand-new. The rest of the floor is old floorboards,’ I said. ‘And whoever put it here didn’t want anyone to find it. They’d covered it with dirt so it looks like the rest of the floor. They’ve even painted it brown like the wood.’
‘Mr Black?’
‘S’pose,’ I said. I bent down and looked to see if there was any way to open the trapdoor. There weren’t any handles on it, or anything.
‘I can’t open it,’ I said.
‘There’s something under there and we’re not meant to know about it,’ he said. ‘Let’s go to the cops.’
I found a little flap, about the size of a twenty-cent piece, which slid sideways. Under it was a lock.
Wrigs looked at me for a second. Then he said, ‘ Graa-aa-ee-agh! ’ and ran out of the kitchen, down the corridor and out of the house. What a sook. I spread the dirt back across the trapdoor so Mr Black wouldn’t know we found it, and then chased after Wrigs.
Wrigs was waiting for me at the top of View Street. We started walking to the police station, which should have taken us about ten minutes, but we walked so quickly it took us about four.
The police station is an old brick house in Queen Street. We were about to walk through the front door when I said, ‘What are we going to tell them?’
‘We’ll tell them what we’ve seen.’
‘What, that there’s a trapdoor in a deserted house?’
‘Yeah, and about Mr Black,’ he said.
‘So we’ll say that we’ve seen a guy hanging around who looks like he stepped out of an old black-and-white gangster film?’
‘Yeah,’ said Wrigs.
‘They’ll think we’re idiots.’
‘Well, I’m going to tell them anyway.’
‘They’re going to say we’re wasting their time.’
Wrigs looked at me for a moment. He knew I was right. We turned to leave.
Just then I noticed a garden bed next to the police station door. Someone at the station must have really liked cactus plants. There were loads of them, all different shapes and sizes.
But, better than the plants, were the quartz pebbles covering the bottom of the garden bed. They were exactly the right size and shape for skimming.
I picked up a couple and put them in my pocket.
CHAPTER 16
DAY 15: Saturday
My skims: 0
Wriggler’s skims: 0
Training for world record stopped. For a while, at least.
Money made for tinnie: $0 ($725 to go.)
We’ve got a plan, it’s not perfect but that’s its only problem.
Wriggler reckons Mr Black is keeping someone he has kidnapped under the kitchen. I reckon it’s where he hides stuff he steals from people’s houses. Whatever it is we have to find out. Then an idea hit me like a rolled up newspaper swatting a mosquito.
When Wrigs came around I said, ‘What we need is a sensor camera. Y’know, a camera that takes photos when it senses movement.’
‘Why?’
‘There’s no way Mr Black would risk opening the manhole during the day when people might see him, so I reckon he must only go into that cellar at night.’
I
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