Free Mystery of the Sassafras Chair by Alexander Key Page B

Wiley.”
    â€œJust what is the truth?” the colonel demanded. “Out with it!”
    â€œYou—you wouldn’t believe me if—if I told you,” Timor stammered.
    â€œIt isn’t a question of what I believe! I know what I heard. Now I want the facts from you!”
    Timor closed his eyes and gave a silent prayer. Then he drew a deep breath and straightened. “The other night I thought I heard Wiley trying to call me, but I couldn’t see, or even hear him plainly till he sat in the chair. There’s something special about that chair, because when Wiley sat in it he became as plain as day. He’s trying to find Mr. Battle’s box, and—and he wanted me to help him. So that’s what I’ve been doing.”
    Colonel Hamilton stared at him in stark silence for long seconds. Then a strangling sound came from his throat. Suddenly he rasped, “Of all the crazy nonsense! This is positively ridiculous! It’s the most utterly and completely ridiculous yarn I’ve ever heard! Tim, I thought you had a good head on your shoulders, but something’s either wrong with it, or you’ve turned into a liar. I prefer to think you’ve had a halucination.”
    Timor said stubbornly, “I can’t help what you think, sir. I know what I heard and saw. Anyway, what’s wrong with Wiley trying to get me to help him—especially if I’m the only person he’s able to get in touch with? Just because we’re in America where people don’t …”
    â€œStop it!” roared the colonel. “I’ve heard enough! Not another word out of you about that rascal Wiley or the chair.”
    â€œBut …”
    â€œTake that thing out of the house and get rid of it!”
    â€œB-but it’s my chair! Wiley made it for me. He—”
    â€œYou heard me!”
    â€œDaddy, please,” Odessa pleaded. “It’s Timmy’s chair. It isn’t right to make him—”
    â€œYou keep out of this,” the colonel snapped. “If Tim doesn’t get rid of that chair this minute, I’ll take it out myself and break it up and burn it. Tim, I’ve given you an order. How long is it going to take you to obey it?”
    Trembling, Timor ran to his room. He picked up the sassafras chair and carried it outside. Blindly he went stumbling away with it through the trees.
    Once, far behind him, he heard Odessa call, but he did not stop. He plunged on, dragging or carrying the precious chair through thickets and over rocks, hardly noticing or caring where he went so long as he put distance between himself and the cabin. A great deal of distance.
    When he halted at last, panting with exertion, he could hear only forest sounds around him. There was no level place to put the chair, so he let it lay where he had stopped, and slumped down beside it.
    Now what should he do?
    He couldn’t leave the chair here in the woods, uncared for. As for returning to the cabin and facing his uncle …
    â€œI won’t go back,” he muttered. “I won’t do it.”
    At least not today. Tomorrow, maybe, after he’d figured a few things out. If he got hungry, he could find food in the woods. Old Wiley had taught him something about that. But how was he going to manage to stay in touch with Nathaniel?
    Suddenly Timor realized how foolish he had been. Instead of running away blindly, he should have crossed the bridge and headed for the Forks. The proper place for the chair was at Nathaniel’s shop. It would be safe there, and he could stay with Nathaniel till the box was found.
    All at once he sat up, thinking of Wiley. Wiley’s time would be up tomorrow. How could they possibly find the box so soon? But somehow it must be done. Tomorrow was Saturday, and in a few more days—unless they could locate the box—Nathaniel would lose everything. Nathaniel, and the Connors too. He had never met the Connors, but