Ripper Read Online Free PDF Page B

never even know what he’d ruined.
    The hallway door opened and their conversation melted into the rush of the party. He waited, just to be sure, and then stepped out of the closet. He was alone. He might as well continue with his plan to run away. Then again, he no longer had a reason to run.
    Was Hawking with Roosevelt? He had to know. Fingering his trusty bent nails, he approached the door to Miss Petty’s office and unlocked it with ease. It wasn’t the attic lock, after all. Remembering the card the man had left, he snatched it from her desk. It was printed on fine thick paper, but kind of crumpled, as if it had been curled, then flattened. On the front, in raised letters, it read:
    Albert Hawking—The Pinkerton Agency
    The Pinkertons?! Carver gnashed his teeth. The most famous detective agency in the world! Allan Pinkerton was the
first
private detective in the United States. For fifty years he and his agents battled kidnappers, robbers, murderers, outlaw gangs and more. He’d passed away, but his agency had offices everywhere.Their logo, a single eye over the motto
We never sleep,
gave birth to the term
private eye
.
    Maybe Carver could still apologize. Beg.
Weep,
if it would help.
    Was there an address? A phone listing? The front of the card contained nothing more than the name and the agency. He flipped it over. There were numbers and some letters on the back:
    40 42.8 (W)
    74 .4 (N)
    They looked pressed into the paper, typewritten. That was why it was curled. Someone had run it through a typewriter roll. Hawking’s hand was damaged, and he probably couldn’t hold a pen or pencil. But why would he go to the trouble of typing some numbers?
    Memorizing the contents, he carefully replaced the card. Rather than be seen walking into the party from Miss Petty’s office, he took the long way, through the laundry area, then back around front.
    By the time he reached the entrance, things were breaking up. Carver scanned the milling bodies for Hawking. It was no use—like Roosevelt, he was gone. He couldn’t even spot Miss Petty. He tried to remember every name Finn had ever called him so he could use them on himself.
    There was still the numbers on the card. They must mean something. If he could figure out what that was, he might still impress the man. A combination? No, there wouldn’t be decimals in a combination.
    As he puzzled over it, Delia came up, buzzing with questions. “Did you meet him? Did you talk? He looked… interesting, like he’d been hurt in a war. Was he important? What did you do?”
    When he didn’t answer, she noticed his dark expression. “Or should I say, what
didn’t
you do? Carver, tell me you did something?”
    “Oh, I did something all right. I was in such a rush to find Roosevelt, I nearly knocked over Albert Hawking of the Pinkertons. Then I insulted him to the point where he wanted nothing to do with me.”
    “No!”
    Carver nodded. “I saw his card, but it didn’t even have a city, or a country, let alone a… a…”
    He stopped in mid-sentence, looked briefly at Delia, then bounded down the hall.
    “Where are you going?”
    “To make my own luck!”

9
    CARVER hurtled up the stairs that led to the classrooms. He heard Delia follow, struggling to keep up in her long dress and awkward shoes, but couldn’t slow down now. Once inside, he headed to the hanging map of the world and eagerly ran his fingers along the lines.
    Delia, shoes in one hand, dress hem gathered up in the other, appeared at the door panting. “You might at least tell me.”
    Carver grinned. “The numbers and letters on the back of the card, latitude and longitude coordinates, degrees, minutes and seconds. The degrees put it right here in New York City.”
    “Put
what
right here?”
    “I have
no
idea, but it’s exciting, isn’t it?” He looked around. “I need something that shows minutes and seconds, something more local, a map of just the city… but where can I… Wait!”
    He rushed past