The Black Dog Mystery (10 page)

Djuna was desperate. “Yes, but if you would only—” he began.

Captain Crackle frowned. “Now, see here,” he growled, “you’re getting to be a nuisance, young fella. I can’t waste any more time with you. Got to lock up and go home for dinner. Come on—take that dizzy dog of yours out of here before he gives me the jitters.”

Djuna gulped down his resentment, though he felt his eyes were smarting, and marched out, with Champ leading the way. They started home to Edenboro in a gloomy silence. It wasn’t until they were almost home that Djuna, looking across the fields to the woods around Lost Pond, cheered up a little. “Tomorrow we’ll go fishing,” he promised Champ. “You can help me dig worms this afternoon, and we’ll go first thing tomorrow morning.”

He gave a whoop of joy as he coasted down the hill into Edenboro, but as he came in sight of Mr. Boots’s carpenter shop, a look of surprise came over his face. The old man was walking slowly around the front of the house.

Djuna put on the brake as he reached Mr. Boots’s front yard, hopped off the wheel, lifted Champ down, and hurried up to the old man. Mr. Boots turned around quickly.

“Why, Mr. Boots, how did
you
get home so early?” exclaimed Djuna. “I thought you were going to work over at the Army camp!”

And then, as he caught sight of Mr. Boots’s face, Djuna stopped short in alarm. The old man looked so strange that Djuna was shocked. His face was pale and drawn, and there was a look of misery in his haggard eyes.

“Oh, gee, Mr. Boots, what’s the matter?” stammered Djuna. “Are you sick?”

Mr. Boots shook his head, and tried to smile. “No, I’m all right, Djuna,” he said wearily. “I’m just a leetle tired, that’s all.”

“But what’s the matter?” persisted Djuna. “Aren’t you going to work at the camp?”

The old man shook his head again. “Seems there was a leetle mistake about that,” he said miserably. “Come to find out, they told me they wouldn’t need me, after all.”

“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry!” exclaimed Djuna. “I’m awful sorry!”

“Oh, that’s all right,” said Mr. Boots, trying bravely to smile. “I’ll get along. I’ll get along somehow.”

He stooped down to pat Champ, and for the first time noticed the spots and daubs of paint which matted the little dog’s coat. Bits of grass and twigs and dust stuck to the paint, making Champ look as if he had been in some terrible fight.

“Hey, what’s all this?” exclaimed Mr. Boots. “What on earth have you been doing to yourself, Champ?”

“Doesn’t he look awful?” said Djuna. “He got himself all mixed up with a lot of paint. I’m going to give him a bath as soon as I get home.”

Mr. Boots examined Champ’s matted hair more closely. “You can’t get that paint off with just soap and water now,” he said. “It’s more than half dry already. No, sir, what you’ll have to do is to soak that paint in turps till it loosens up, and after that you’ve got to wash it off with hot water, so as he won’t lick it off and get himself sick with it. Just you bring him into the shop and we’ll fix it. I’ve got plenty of turps.”

“What’s turps, Mr. Boots?” asked Djuna curiously, as he reached down to lead Champ by the collar.

“Turpentine,” said Mr. Boots. “I keep it on hand to mix paint with. That’ll loosen it up.”

He hesitated. “Say, wait a minute,” he said nervously, just as he was about to go into the shop. “I’ve got a better idee. You take him on over home, and get a boiler full of hot water started, and I’ll bring the turps over to you. Then we can wash him right away, as soon as we get the paint off. You go ahead, and I’ll come right over.”

“Oh, thanks, Mr. Boots!” exclaimed Djuna. “Thanks ever so much!”

Miss Annie Ellery hurried to her door as soon as she saw Djuna coming up the path through her garden. “Well, did you have a good ride?” she asked. “I’m glad you got back so early—you’re just in time to have lunch with me.”

Then her glance fell on Champ. “Glittering glories of Golconda!” she exclaimed. “
What
has happened to that dog? And what
have
you been doing to yourself? You’re both of you just
covered
with paint!”

Djuna explained what had happened. “Mr. Boots is going to bring some stuff over to wash it off with,” he added.

“Mr. Boots?” exclaimed Miss Annie. “Didn’t he go to work today?”

“They didn’t want him, after all,” Djuna said sorrowfully. “Gee, I guess he feels awfully bad about it, Miss Annie. He looks as if he was sick, or something.”

Miss Annie sighed. “Oh, dear!” she said. “I suppose they thought he was too old. But he isn’t—he’s twice as strong as most men. Well, clean yourself up a little while I put some water on to heat, and by the time we finish lunch, it will be hot enough. Did those sandwiches fill you up, or are you still hungry?”

“You bet I’m hungry!” exclaimed Djuna. He glanced at the cyclometer on the bicycle. “You know how far we rode?” he demanded. “Sixteen miles and a half! We went half way to Grandville and back!”

“My gracious!” said Miss Annie. “No wonder you’re hungry!”

They had just finished lunch when Mr. Boots arrived, bringing with him a big bottle of turpentine and a scrubbing-brush. Champ began to look worried and tried to sneak off around the corner of the house, but Djuna collared him and held him firmly while Mr. Boots doused his tangled coat with the turpentine and scrubbed him vigorously. Then Miss Annie brought out a big dishpan full of hot water, in which she had put a cake of brown soap, and the washing went on, in spite of Champ’s wrigglings and objections, until every bit of the paint was washed off. Finally they emptied out the dirty water and filled the pan again with fresh hot water and scrubbed Champ some more. Champ was thoroughly disgusted, but when they got through he was as good as new, only wetter.

“There you are, Champ!” said Djuna, letting go of him at last. “Go on and dry yourself, and don’t get into more trouble, do you hear me?”

Champ raced madly around the yard, stopping to shake himself every once in a while.

While Mr. Boots and Djuna were washing the paint from their own hands, Djuna began to tell Mr. Boots about the ride he had taken that morning. He glanced over his shoulder at the kitchen door, to make sure Miss Annie could not hear, and lowered his voice to a whisper.

“I found out where the bank robbers went!” he whispered.

Mr. Boots gave such a start of surprise that the cake of soap slipped out of his hands. He looked frightened.

“Good grief!” he ejaculated. “Don’t say a thing like that, Djuna! You don’t know nothin’ about it!”

“I do too,” insisted Djuna, still in a whisper. “I knew just as soon as I got to Clinton this morning.”

“Clinton?” exclaimed the old man, turning pale. He seized Djuna’s shoulder, forgetting that his hands were wet. His hand trembled. “They ain’t in Clinton, are they?” he said excitedly.

Djuna shrank away from him, alarmed at his excited manner. “Why, no, Mr. Boots, I didn’t say they were in Clinton,” he stammered. “I just said I found out after I got to Clinton. What’s the matter?”

“Well, what did you find out?” whispered the old man wildly. “Speak up, boy! What are you drivin’ at?”

“Well, first I went to the police station,” began Djuna, “and—”

“Have the police got ’em?” demanded Mr. Boots eagerly, interrupting him.

Djuna shook his head. “I’ll tell you, Mr. Boots, if you’ll just wait,” he said. “No,
they
don’t know where they are, at all. Captain Crackle wouldn’t even listen to me, so I had to find out myself. But Mr. Ryan was nice. He told me, just as soon as I asked him.”

“Told you,” gasped the old man. “You mean Bill Crackle knows where they are, and ain’t arrested them yet? What—”

“But, Mr. Boots,
nobody
knows where they are!” interrupted Djuna. “I never said I knew where they
are
, I said I found out where they
went
, that’s all! Captain Crackle keeps saying they went to Canada. And they didn’t! I
know
they didn’t!”

“What makes ye say that?” demanded the old man, hoarsely. “Everybody says so!”

“Well, it isn’t so,” said Djuna positively. “They went to Riverton.”

Mr. Boots’s eyes were haggard. “Riverton,” he repeated in a croaking whisper. “They couldn’t have gone there! It wa’n’t possible! They would have been caught, sure!” He stared at Djuna with a sudden question in his eyes. “What makes you think they went to Riverton?” he demanded. “You wasn’t over that way, was you? You ain’t seen anybody that saw ’em, have you?”

“No,” said Djuna, watching him uneasily. “I didn’t go there, and I didn’t ask anybody. But I’m sure that’s where they went. They
must
have gone there!”

The old man twisted his brown hands nervously. “Then you don’t really know for sure,” he quavered. “You’re just guessin’, hey?”

Djuna felt discouraged. If Mr. Boots wouldn’t believe him, nobody would, he thought wretchedly.

“Well, the only railroad station is at Riverton,” he mumbled. “Just as soon as they got away from that bank they could have gone there and got on the train.”

Mr. Boots stared at him and began to look doubtful. “Now, look here, Djuna,” he said, “you ought to know better than that! What would they do with the car they was in? Leave it right there at the station?”

Djuna’s face reddened. He had never thought of that.

“And even if they got on the train,” the old man went on, “don’t you suppose it’s just as easy to send a telegram and head ’em off at the next station? Why, the police would do that just as sure as shootin’! No, sir, those robbers wouldn’t think of takin’ a risk like that! You didn’t tell that to Cap Crackle, did you?”

Djuna shook his head silently. He felt his ears were burning red.

“Well, that’s a good thing, anyway,” said Mr. Boots, looking relieved. “It’s just as well not to go botherin’ him with guesswork, when you hain’t got any real information. Don’t go gettin’ yourself mixed up in somethin’ you don’t know about, Djuna. You’ll just get yourself into trouble, and Miss Annie wouldn’t like it. Yes, sir, you take my advice and don’t go meddlin’ in this.”

Djuna hung his head and looked at the ground, absent-mindedly kicking at a dandelion tuft in the grass.

“But don’t you
want
the robbers to get caught, Mr. Boots?” he said slowly.

“Why, certainly I hope they get arrested!” said the old man sharply. “Only thing is, I’d be just as well satisfied if they caught ’em somewheres else than around here. Them fellows is dangerous. They ain’t goin’ to let themselves get catched without puttin’ up a fight. Somebody’s bound to get hurt, and I’d just as lief it wa’n’t you or me or anybody I know.”

Miss Annie Ellery came to the kitchen door. “If you two have finished washing that dog,” she called out, “you’d better come in and have some fresh ginger cookies. I’ve just taken them out of the oven.”

Mr. Boots hesitated. “Well, now, thanky, Miss Annie,” he answered, “but I reckon I’d better be gettin’ along home. I won’t stop just now, but thanky kindly.”

“Sure you can’t stay?” urged Miss Annie. “Well, then, let me put some in a paper bag for you. They’re mighty good when they’re fresh, if I do say it myself.”

She hurried out with the bagful of cookies and pressed them into his hands. “I declare, I don’t know what Djuna would do without you, Mr. Boots!” she exclaimed. “He never could have got Champ washed properly without that turpentine, I’m sure. And he tells me you’re building a house for Champ, too. Seems to me you’re doing too much for Djuna altogether.”

Mr. Boots looked embarrassed. “Say, now, if I hain’t clean forgot about that house for Champ!” he exclaimed ruefully. “I must be losin’ what’s left of my mind! I promised Djuna I’d finish it up for him yesterday, and here’s another day almost gone and I hain’t laid a finger to it!”

“Could we work a little on it right now?” exclaimed Djuna hopefully.

“Why, I guess so,” said the old man slowly. He rubbed his chin whiskers as if he were trying to remember what to do next. Then he shook his head.

“We-l-l, mebbe you’d better give me a leetle more time,” he said hesitatingly. “I’ve got a couple o’ things I’d better get finished up first, I reckon. I’ll tell you what—supposin’ you let me do what I can with that house, first chance I get, and then I’ll bring it over to you, soon as the paint dries good. Will that do ye?”

“Why, of course!” exclaimed Miss Annie. “You mustn’t think of letting that interfere with your work, Mr. Boots! Don’t you bother about it for a minute!”

“’Tain’t a bit of bother,” protested the old man. “It’s—well, I guess I’d better be goin’.”

He turned abruptly and hurried down the path. There was a puzzled look in Djuna’s eyes as he watched him. “Thanks a lot, Mr. Boots!” he called after him. But the old man did not turn around.

Djuna looked at Miss Annie. “Do you see what I mean, now, Miss Annie?” he whispered. “He acts awfully funny, doesn’t he?”

Miss Annie sighed. “Well, it’s no wonder,” she said, with a troubled look. “He must be dreadfully worried over losing that job. Oh, dear, I wish there was something we could do to help him!”

Djuna walked slowly back to pick up the washbasin in which they had been scrubbing Champ. “Oh, look!” he exclaimed. “Mr. Boots forgot to take the turpentine and his brush with him! I guess I’d better take them right back.”

“No, I wouldn’t bother him, if I were you,” said Miss Annie. “I think he just wants to be left alone for a while. Take them over some other time.”

Djuna nodded. He was thinking very hard as he put the things away and came into the kitchen.

“I’ll go over and see Tommy, I guess,” he announced. “Can I take some of these cookies with me?”

“Why, yes, go ahead,” said Miss Annie. “Take enough for both of you.”

Djuna put some in a paper bag and hurried over to Tommy Williams’s house, taking Tommy’s bicycle with him. Tommy came running out as soon as he saw him.

“Gee, where ’ve you been?” he yelled. “I came over to your house this morning and you were gone. Where’d you go? Is the bike all right?”

“Sure, I fixed it yesterday,” said Djuna. “Thanks a lot. Say, listen, you know what I found out this morning?”

“No, what?” asked Tommy eagerly.

Djuna lowered his voice. “Let’s go somewhere where nobody can hear us,” he whispered, “and I’ll tell you. Is your mother home?”