The Black Dog Mystery (6 page)

The Chief wagged his head in mock admiration once more. “Smart boy, ain’t ye?” he said. “Well, supposin’ you’re right—what about the car itself? Pay any attention to it?”

“Not much,” confessed Djuna miserably. “I—I guess I was too scared.”

“Can’t describe it at all, huh?”

Djuna pondered. “It was a black car,” he said slowly, as he searched his memory. “A Catapult Gearmaster, a 1938 model, maybe. Anyway, it wasn’t brand new. The paint wasn’t shiny any more. It was a coach model, two or three years old, I guess. But the tires were new; that is, the two on the right side—the only side I got a good look at—were new. They weren’t the same make. The rear one had white side-walls, but the front one didn’t. The front right fender was dented a little. That strip of tin, or whatever it is, along the edge of the running-board was broken, and there was a little piece of it hanging down.”

He paused. “I guess that’s all,” he said. “Oh, yes, one more thing—there was a scratch on the front hub-cap. But I can’t think of anything else. I’m awful sorry I didn’t get the license number, sir. I tried to, when they drove off, but the rear license plate was all dirty. I guess they’d smeared oil and mud on it, purposely. I’m sorry.”

The Chief of Police stared at him. “Well, dog my cats!” he exclaimed. “Is
that
all you can remember about it?”

“Yes, sir,” said Djuna, flushing again. “Can we go now?” he asked.

“Sure, sure!” said the Chief of Police. “But, hold on, you didn’t tell me your names. You don’t live here in Clinton, do you?”

“No, sir,” said Djuna, “we live in Edenboro.
His
name is Tommy Williams. I’m Djuna. I live with Miss Annie Ellery.”

“Is that your last name? Ellery?”

“No, sir. Just Djuna.”

And he marched out, with Champ in his arms, and Tommy following him.

T
HE TWO BOYS
had no sooner got out of doors and had walked far enough away from the bank, so that they couldn’t be overheard by any of the people who were still crowding around the scene of the robbery, than Tommy Williams burst out indignantly.

“I think that old police chief was
awful
mean!” he exclaimed. “The way he talked, you would think he blamed us for everything!”

Djuna put Champ carefully down on the sidewalk, and the little black Scotty wagged his tail and scampered ahead of them, chased a cat up a tree, just for luck, and came back panting.

“Oh, Captain Crackle is all right,” said Djuna loftily. “He’s doing the best he can. I guess he feels pretty bad, letting the bank get robbed, and not catching the robbers. I guess he was so mad that he just had to pick on somebody. Don’t you care, Tommy! Do you know what I’m going to do?”

Tommy looked up at Djuna wonderingly.

“No, what?” he asked.

“I’m going to find out where those robbers went!”

Tommy’s eyes widened. “Gee!” he exclaimed, admiringly. “Gee, I’ll bet you can! But how, Djuna? How are you going to do it?”

“I don’t know,” Djuna confessed. “Maybe it’s a crazy idea. But, anyway, I’m going to try. Gee, every time I think how they shot that nice old dog—well, it’s just awful! He was such a nice old dog, just as gentle as he could be, and Champ loved him, right away—and now he’s gone!”

“Aw, let’s not talk about it,” said Tommy miserably. “It’s just terrible!”

As they walked along in silence, Tommy put his hand in his pocket. Suddenly his face brightened. “My jelly-beans!” he exclaimed. “I’d forgotten all about them!”

Djuna hurriedly reached into his own pocket. He gasped. The pocket was empty.

“Do you know what’s happened?” he exclaimed. “I’ve lost mine!”

“Oh, my!” groaned Tommy. “Where?”

“It must have been when we first came out of the drugstore,” said Djuna. “It was just when Champ started chasing the robbers. I was so afraid he’d get hurt that I just let go of them and ran after him. Let’s go back and look. Maybe they’re still there!”

They hurried across the street and ran back to the drugstore. Yes, there on the sidewalk lay the little paper bag which had held the candy, but the jelly-beans were scattered all around. So many people had been running back and forth during the excitement that every bit of the candy had been mashed flat.

As they stood looking at it gloomily, a man came down the stairs from the offices on the floor above the drugstore. The bystanders crowded around him.

“Did you find the bullet, Doctor?” asked one of the men.

“I found what was left of it,” the doctor answered. “It was pretty much flattened out. But it’s a .38 calibre. I could tell that much.”

“What difference does it make, whether it’s a .38 or a .44 or a .22?” said the druggist bitterly. “It killed the best dog a man ever had.”

“I know,” said the doctor gently. “He was a mighty nice dog.”

Djuna couldn’t bear to listen any longer. He leaned down and patted Champ’s black head.
What if Champ had been shot, too?
He didn’t want to think about it!

“Come on, Tommy,” he whispered. “Let’s go home.”

They went around the corner by the church and started off on the long road to Edenboro, three miles away. The sun had climbed high and was hot on the backs of their necks, and little puffs of dust rose under their footsteps. They trudged along without saying anything much to each other, for both of them were thinking of the men who had robbed the bank and who hadn’t hesitated to shoot and kill. The sky was blue, and meadowlarks sang in the fields, but the road seemed pretty lonely. Djuna looked behind him again and again, to make sure that Champ was following safely. But no cars came along the road, and it was comforting to think that the bank robbers’ car had gone away in another direction.

When they had been walking steadily for half an hour, and were about half way home, they stopped for a minute to rest. They threw themselves down on the grass beside the road and looked toward the woods while they rested. Tommy crammed another handful of jelly-beans into his mouth.

“Well, anyway,” he mumbled, “you got your hooks! Gee, now we can go over to Lost Pond and fish!”

Djuna got to his feet slowly. “I don’t know whether I want to go right away, or not,” he said. “Maybe I won’t want to.”

“Don’t
want
to?” Tommy looked astonished. “Why not?”

Djuna walked along, his hands in his pockets and his eyes fixed on the road, for a few steps, before he answered. “Well, I don’t know,” he said in a low voice, almost as if he were talking to himself. “I’m thinking about something, that’s all.”

“What about?” demanded Tommy, eagerly.

“Oh, nothing. Nothing much. I was just wondering. I’ve been thinking about that robbery. I just don’t believe I want to go fishing or do anything else until I think about it some more.”

Djuna stopped. Turning, he looked back along the road they had just come, as if he could not resist one final glance at the village.

“But, gosh, Djuna, there isn’t anything
we
can do about it,” said Tommy. “We might just as well—”

Djuna interrupted him. “Look!” he exclaimed, pointing up the road. “There’s a car coming!”

“Gee, I hope we can get a ride!” exclaimed Tommy.

They watched the vehicle anxiously as it whirled up to them.

“It’s Mr. Sedd’s truck!” cried Djuna. “And that’s Mr. Morrison with him! Sure, they’ll give us a lift!”

The two boys waved their hands as the truck came up to them, but to their surprise and disappointment it didn’t slow down at all. It went past them at full speed, and neither Mr. Morrison nor Les’ Sedd paid the slightest attention to them.

“Why do you suppose they wouldn’t stop?” said Tommy wonderingly. “You suppose they’re mad at us, or something?”

“Why should they be mad at us?” asked Djuna. He was staring after the rattling truck as it whirled on up the road. “They
told
us they couldn’t stop for us; it’s all piled up with those bundles of shingles they were going for.”

Tommy caught a fleeting glimpse of the load piled in the truck. “Gee, they must have got an awful lot of shingles!” he exclaimed ruefully. “There isn’t a bit of room left!”

“They’ve got that piece of canvas spread all over them,” observed Djuna. “Gee, look at it bounce!”

“Well,
I
think they’re mean,” said Tommy indignantly. “We could have ridden on top of them all right. I don’t see why they couldn’t have stopped for us. I don’t feel good.”

He treated himself to another handful of jelly-beans and they trudged on. Luckily, before they had had to walk much farther, another small truck overtook them. This one stopped. The driver was Mr. Boots.

The old man looked worn and tired. But the boys were so eager to tell him about the exciting time they had just had that they didn’t notice his appearance until they had lifted Champ into the truck and had climbed in themselves.

“There was a bank robbery, Mr. Boots!” both boys said excitedly. “We saw it!”

Mr. Boots was just about to start the engine, but at this news he jumped as if he had been shot. There was a frightened look in his eyes.

“What’s that?” he gasped. “What do you mean?”

They told him the whole story eagerly, talking so fast that they interrupted each other, and the old man’s face grew paler and paler as he listened.

“You say there was three of ’em?” he asked hoarsely. “Are ye sure?” He wet his lips with the tip of his tongue.

“Of course,” said Djuna, wonderingly. “I saw them, I tell you.”

The old man groaned. “I gotta get right back home,” he muttered. He turned on the ignition with a shaking hand, and started off. He drove rapidly, faster than before.

Djuna and Tommy exchanged glances. Mr. Boots’s agitation puzzled them. They had wanted to go on talking about the robbery, but he seemed to be thinking of nothing except getting back to Edenboro. Djuna wondered if Mr. Boots had found some work to do in his shop, and as he thought of this he suddenly remembered the message that Mr. Granger, the hardware storekeeper, had given him for Mr. Boots.

“Oh, say, Mr. Boots!” he exclaimed. “Mr. Granger told me to tell you to come in and see him just as soon as you can, because he thinks prob’ly you can get a job, if you want it. You didn’t see him, did you?”

“Hey?” said the old man, as if startled out of his own thoughts. “Granger? No, I ain’t seen him. What does he want?”

So Djuna told him what Mr. Granger had said about the new Army camp that was being built near Riverton and the need for carpenters, and as Mr. Boots listened his haggard face grew brighter.

“Well, now, I’m much obleeged to ye, Djuna!” he exclaimed. “I’ll go right back over there as soon’s I get a bite to eat.”

“Gee, it’s too bad you have to make another trip,” said Djuna. “If you’d only known about it while you were in Riverton, you could have gone right over there.”

Mr. Boots drove on without answering. His eyes were fixed on the road ahead and his lips were set in a grim line. Djuna wondered what he was thinking about.

The truck climbed the last low hill, rattled down it, crossed the bridge over Miller’s Brook, and came to a stop in front of Mr. Boots’s shop.

“You boys don’t mind walkin’ the rest of the way, do ye?” said Mr. Boots nervously. “I’d like to get started right back to find out about that job, so I’m sort of in a hurry. But, say, listen, boys—I wouldn’t worry my folks none about that robbery, if I was you. Tommy, don’t you go scarin’ your mother about it, and I wouldn’t say too much about it to Miss Annie, if I was you, Djuna. You know how women-folks are, they get worried. Just go a leetle easy on what you tell ’em, hey?”

“Oh, but I’ve
got
to tell Miss Annie!” exclaimed Djuna, in surprise.

Mr. Boots sighed. “I suppose ye do,” he admitted. “But don’t go scarin’ her, will ye?”

He turned abruptly and hurried into his shop. The two boys and Champ walked on, past Mr. Pindler’s store.

“What do you suppose is the matter with Mr. Boots?” asked Djuna thoughtfully. “Gee, he looks awful sick, or worried, or something!”

But instead of answering, Tommy only groaned. Djuna glanced at him in surprise. “Hey, what’s the matter with
you
?” he cried.

Beads of perspiration stood on Tommy’s forehead, and he looked pale. He held the paper bag of what were left of the jelly-beans out to Djuna.

“Do you want these?” he said feebly. “I—I don’t think I want any more. I—I guess I’d better go home.”

“You aren’t sick, are you?” asked Djuna anxiously.

“Oh, I’m all right,” said Tommy bravely. “I just feel sort of funny. I’ll come over this after—”

He clapped his hand quickly to his mouth and fled, without more words. Djuna watched him till he reached home, then shook his head.

“I
told
him not to eat ’em so fast!” he muttered.

He went on, passing Mr. Pindler’s house. Clarabelle Smith was sitting on the front steps. She was holding a drawing-pad in her lap, and was so busily painting a picture with her new box of water-colors that she didn’t hear Djuna coming.

“Hey, Clarabelle!” said Djuna. “You know what we saw? We saw a bank robbery!”

Clarabelle looked up. “Oh, hello, Djuna,” she said. “Look what I’m painting! Isn’t it
beautifu
l
?”

“I guess you didn’t hear what I said,” said Djuna. “I said Tommy and I saw a bank robbery!”

Clarabelle nodded. “Look, isn’t it pretty?” she demanded, holding up the picture. “But it isn’t quite finished yet.”

“Oh, all right for
you
,” said Djuna. “If you don’t want to listen, you don’t have to. For Pete’s sake!”

He stalked on, followed by Champ. Clarabelle giggled.

But when Djuna got home Miss Annie Ellery listened to his story in alarm.

“That’s the most awful thing I ever heard!” she exclaimed. “Why, both of you boys might have—oh, dear, I don’t even want to think about it! Oh, dear, it’s a mercy you’re back home, safe and sound! But just to think of those dreadful men being around loose gives me the creeps!”

“Well, they aren’t anywhere around
here,
” said Djuna, “so what’s the use of worrying, Miss Annie? Say, what are we going to have for lunch?”