Skippy shrugged. "You're askin' me! What's all these prices for us anyway, huh? Why do they all go from $500 to $3,000--what could it be for? Gee whiz, Nickie, we ain't gettin' anywheres with this." "Don't I know it, kid? We should worry about what we don't know. Let's look through the trunk an' the closet an' if that ain't no help, we'll go up in the attic an' chase rats." Skippy laughed. "An' how!" he said. "If we can't get out we can give the rats a break anyway, huh? Devlin might put a price on 'em if he comes back an' finds 'em here." Without any definite motive, Skippy walked over to the back window and looked out through a good-sized chink in the shutters where two of the slats had fallen out. A rain barrel stood just beneath the window, and on the surface of the water a green slime had gathered, an excellent playground for mosquitoes. He watched it for a moment, then with a sudden idea, he let the notebook slip from his hands and saw it slide down the side of the building and out of sight behind the rain-barrel. "Say, you gone nuts?" Nickie exclaimed. "I don't know," Skippy answered honestly. "I'm playin' a hunch--don't ask me why! It was like--aw, you know what I mean, Nickie--like Fate!" It _was_ Fate--Skippy was to realize that before another twenty-four hours had passed. CHAPTER XIX HOPE IN THE ATTIC Shadows of early evening were beginning to creep over the silent swamp land before the boys hit upon a practicable plan of escape. They had had two hours' hunt through the dust-choked attic, braving a seventy-five year accumulation of rubbish which generations of rats had chewed and scattered to its four corners. They found a trunk of ancient vintage that still held up sufficiently to enable them to sit down and rest upon it. Before them, the front attic window offered possibilities and they were discussing it pro and con. Also, they had been able to open it and because it lacked shutters they enjoyed what was left of the daylight and welcomed the occasional damp, warm breeze that blew in. Skippy had found in the rubbish a coil of rope that was in excellent condition. Nickie had come upon what apparently had been the handle of an antique iron pot, and the two discoveries had formed the nucleus of their present discussion. The giant evergreen of poor Timmy's dream spread its lofty boughs within a few yards of the small window. "That pot handle's strong enough to wedge out those bars, Nickie," Skippy was saying thoughtfully. "It'll take maybe a coupla hours, 'cause I guess they're in there pretty tight. When we get that done, I'll lasso that tree an' tie it pretty tight somewheres in here." "I getcha, kid!" Nickie said enthusiastically. "We swing out along it hand over hand, hah? Then, when we hit a strong-lookin' branch we drop an' zip, we're on the ground fore we know it!"