The Black Dog Mystery (7 page)

D
JUNA WAS HUNGRY.
The things Miss Annie had put on the table—cold sliced ham, and wonderful potato-salad, and a pitcher of fresh milk—were just what he wanted. And to top them, there was the surprise that Miss Annie had promised—delicious hot gingerbread, right out of the oven. Djuna ate everything, down to the last crumb, and washed it down with a second glass of foaming milk. But instead of talking as much as he always did, he was unusually quiet. He spoke only when Miss Annie asked him a question. Miss Annie, seeing that he was deep in his own thoughts, finally gave up trying to continue a conversation, which was so one-sided. When she took his empty plate out from under his very nose and he never even noticed it, she shook her head silently, as much to say, “Well, this boy certainly beats
m
e
!”

It was only when Champ finished the nap he had been taking in the shade of the lilac bushes at the front door, and came around and scratched at the kitchen door, that Djuna suddenly jumped up and came to life.

“A mile a minute!” he muttered. “You’re right, Champ—we’ve
got
to!”

“My goodness!” exclaimed Miss Annie. “I thought you’d gone to sleep! What did you say?”

Djuna smiled sheepishly. “Oh, nothing,” he mumbled. “I was just thinking, sort of. Say, Miss Annie, may I go over to Tommy’s?”

“Why, yes, if you want to,” sighed Miss Annie. “I declare, I should think you’d want to rest up a little.”

“Oh, I’m not tired!” said Djuna. “I just thought I’d go over there for a while. I want to ask him something.”

“Well, go ahead,” said Miss Annie. “But if I were you, I’d take it easy this afternoon.”

She watched him as he walked away, followed by Champ, and shook her head again, wonderingly. Djuna was walking with his head bent, deep in thought again, and the little black dog trotted along behind, with
his
head lowered. Miss Annie chuckled.

“Whatever it is, they’ll work it out together,” she said to herself.

Djuna reached Tommy Williams’s house without seeing any signs of Tommy. He yelled for him once or twice, but there was no answer, so he finally went to the door and knocked. Tommy’s mother came to the door.

“Is Tommy home, Mrs. Williams?” asked Djuna.

“He’s home, all right,” said Mrs. Williams. “But I’m afraid you can’t see him. I’ve had to put him to bed. He doesn’t feel very well.”

“Gee!” exclaimed Djuna, looking alarmed. “What’s the matter with him?”

“Oh, nothing much, I hope,” smiled Mrs. Williams. “I’m afraid he ate too much candy, on top of the excitement you boys had this morning. My gracious, Djuna, that was dreadful! You both might have been—”

She stopped short and Djuna saw that she was almost crying.

“Gee, I’m sorry, Mrs. Williams,” stammered Djuna. “We couldn’t help it. We just happened to be there.”

“I know,” said Mrs. Williams, wiping her eyes. “But it’s a mercy you’re both back, safe! I’ll tell Tommy you came to see him.”

Djuna hesitated. “Say, Mrs. Williams, do you think I could borrow his bicycle?” he asked. “If he isn’t going to use it?”

“He’s not going to use it for a day or two,” said Mrs. Williams grimly. “I’m not going to let him out of bed till he feels better. Why, yes, I suppose you can. But it isn’t in very good shape, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, I can fix it!” said Djuna eagerly. “Will you ask him, please?”

Mrs. Williams came back with the message that Tommy thought it would be fine if Djuna could fix up the bicycle. “You’ll find it out in the woodshed,” she said. “The brake doesn’t work, he says.”

“Oh, thanks!” cried Djuna. “I can fix it, I know I can!”

Hurrying out to the woodshed, he took one look at the bicycle and groaned. Not only was the brake useless, but the gear-chain had jumped from the sprocket and would have to be replaced. Djuna pushed the bicycle home, first making sure that all the tools were in the tool-bag.

“Well, you didn’t stay very long,” said Miss Annie, as he came into sight. “Wasn’t Tommy home?”

“He’s sick,” explained Djuna briefly. “I’m going to fix his bicycle for him.”

“Oh, dear!” said Miss Annie. “What’s the matter with him?”

“Oh, he’s just got a stomach-ache or something,” said Djuna. “Miss Annie, may I have some kerosene?”

“Merciful heavens!” said Miss Annie. “What for?”

“To clean this bike with,” Djuna explained. “It’s all rusty.”

“Oh!” said Miss Annie. “Well, take it out into the yard, and don’t get yourself any messier than you can help. If you want some old rags, you’ll find them in that bag.”

Djuna got the rags and the kerosene and spread everything out on the grass in the sun and went to work on the bicycle. Champ came and sniffed at the kerosene can and decided he didn’t like the smell and went somewhere else, on business of his own. Djuna worked away in silence.

After a while, he heard footsteps coming along the gravel path and, looking around, he saw Clarabelle Smith hurrying towards him.

“Say, Djuna!” she said excitedly, as soon as she saw him, “did you know there was a robbery?”

“Sure,” said Djuna, going on with his work. “I saw it.”

“Honest?” exclaimed Clarabelle, her eyes opening wide. “Did you really?”

“Sure,” said Djuna. “So did Tommy. I tried to tell you before, and you wouldn’t listen. Who told you?”

“Uncle Willis told me,” said Clarabelle. “But he just said there was a robbery. Honest, did you see it? Was it exciting? Weren’t you scared?”

“Of course I was scared,” said Djuna. “Anybody would have been scared. I’ll bet you would have been scared to death.”

“What was it like?” asked Clarabelle eagerly. “For Pete’s sake, can’t you tell a fellow? What did they
d
o
?”

So Djuna told her the whole story, and Clarabelle’s eyes got bigger and bigger, and when he came to the part where they killed the nice old dog she almost cried. But she got even more excited when Djuna told how Champ raced after the robbers’ car, and almost got shot.

“My goodness!” she cried, “That’s
terribl
e
! Why, they might have shot
you
, Djuna!”

“Well, maybe,” Djuna admitted, “but I never thought of that. I was so afraid that Champ would get hurt that I never stopped to think.”

“Gee, you were brave!” said Clarabelle admiringly. “I think you were awful brave!”

“No, I wasn’t,” said Djuna. “I was scared.”

“Why didn’t somebody catch them?” cried Clarabelle excitedly. “Didn’t they chase them, or anything?”

Djuna had taken the bicycle apart and was studying the pieces spread out on the grass. He didn’t answer Clarabelle’s question immediately.

“Didn’t they chase them?” repeated Clarabelle, impatiently.

“What?” said Djuna. He looked up. “Oh!” he said. “Sure, they chased them. Captain Crackle—he’s the Chief of Police in Clinton—he sent two policemen with motorcycles to chase them. And he telephoned to the police station in Grandville, and
they
sent some policemen to head them off.”

He kept on studying the scattered parts of the bicycle. “There’s one piece I can’t find,” he muttered, half to himself. “It’s a lock-washer. What became of it?”

“But they got away!” exclaimed Clarabelle. “Uncle Willis said they got away!”

“I know they did,” said Djuna, hunting around on his hands and knees. “Oh, here it is! Why don’t you watch where you’re going, Clarabelle? You stepped on it.”

“I did not!” said Clarabelle. “But I don’t see
how
they got away,” she added, wrinkling her forehead. “If there were policemen chasing them from both sides, I don’t see why they didn’t get caught in between.”

Djuna put the lock-washer into the pan of kerosene to soak. “Prob’ly the robbers were going so fast that they got there first, so
nobody
saw them.”

“Got
where
first?” demanded Clarabelle, with a puzzled look.

“There’s a side road,” Djuna explained, “about halfway to Grandville. If they got there first, they could go up that road until it joins the road to Canada, and they wouldn’t have to go through Grandville at all. So that’s how they got away.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake!” exclaimed Clarabelle. “Then they won’t
ever
catch them!”

“Oh, yes, they can, maybe,” said Djuna. “They’re telephoning to all the towns along the road to Canada, so maybe the police can head them off. They’re going to stop all the cars that come along.”

“
All
of them?” exclaimed Clarabelle. “Why?”

“Because the robbers might get some other car,” Djuna explained. “They might hold somebody up and take his car away from him, if they thought it was better than theirs. Or they might do it just because they know the police will be looking for the car they had in Clinton, so they would want to change to another one, anyway.”

Clarabelle shivered. “I’m glad they didn’t stay around
here!”
she said. “Is that your bicycle, Djuna? I didn’t know you had one.”

“I haven’t,” said Djuna. “This is Tommy’s. I’m just fixing it for him.”

Clarabelle stuck up her nose. “Why doesn’t he fix it himself?” she asked. “Doesn’t he know how?”

“Oh, I guess he could if he wanted to,” said Djuna. “But, anyway, I wanted to use it tomorrow.”

“Where are you going?” asked Clarabelle eagerly.

“Oh, no place special,” said Djuna carelessly. “I’m just going to ride around.”

Clarabelle stared at him suspiciously. “I know what you’re going to do,” she said. “You’re going to hunt for those robbers, aren’t you?”

Djuna looked up indignantly. “I am not!” he said. “I’m not going to do any such thing! Think I want to get mixed up with those men any more? Well, I should say not! Huh!”

“Well, what
are
you going to do, then?” demanded Clarabelle.

“Oh, nothing,” said Djuna. “I just want to find out something, that’s all.” He went on working over the bicycle parts, whistling softly to himself in a way that made Clarabelle furious.

“Aren’t you going to tell me?” she exclaimed, after she had waited and waited. “Find out
wha
t
?”

Djuna grinned at her teasingly. “How can I tell you what I’m going to find out,” he retorted, “when I don’t know what it will be? I’ll tell you as soon as I know—honest, I will.”

“I think you’re mean,” pouted Clarabelle. She moved over to the bicycle, which was lying on its side, and began idly turning the front wheel around. Every time she turned the wheel, there was a little click.

“What’s that funny noise?” she asked curiously. “Is that what’s wrong, is that what you’ve got to get fixed?”

Djuna looked up from his work and smiled. “Oh, no, that’s all right,” he said. “See that little box fastened to the forks? That’s a cyclometer. See that little sort of a pin on the wheel? That’s what makes it tick when you turn the wheel around.”

“Oh,
I
see!” said Clarabelle, turning the wheel again. “What’s it for?”

“That’s to tell how far you go,” said Djuna. “See the numbers in the box? Well, that tells how far you ride.”

“Oh,
I
see!” Clarabelle repeated. “It’s sort of like the one in Uncle Willis’s car, only that’s a speedometer. Uncle Willis’s tells how fast you go. Does this one tell how fast you can go?”

“No,” Djuna admitted. “That’s not what it’s for.”

“Well, don’t you
want
to know how fast you can go?” Clarabelle persisted.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake!” Djuna exploded. “How do you think I can get this done, if you keep asking questions all the time? Haven’t you got anything else to do?”

Clarabelle giggled. “I
like
you when you get mad,” she said. “You sound just like Uncle Willis.”

“Oh, is that so!” muttered Djuna. He went on working, without saying anything for such a long time that Clarabelle decided she had better stop teasing him.

“Look, can I go with you tomorrow?” she finally asked, coaxingly.

Djuna shook his head. “I want to go by myself,” he said. “And, besides, you haven’t got a bike.”

“Well, we could take turns, couldn’t we?” said Clarabelle eagerly. “Or else I could ride on the handle-bars, couldn’t I?”

“Aw, gee, Clarabelle, I’ve got a lot of things I want to think about tomorrow,” protested Djuna. “How do you expect me to think about them if I have to carry you on the handle-bars all the time? No, sir, I’m going by myself!”

“All right, go by yourself, then,” said Clarabelle. “I don’t want to go, anyway. I’ve got a lot of things I’ve got to do tomorrow, so there!”

She got up and walked away in a very dignified manner. Djuna went on working. She had been gone quite a long time when Djuna suddenly looked excited.

“Handle-bars!” he exclaimed. “Why didn’t I think of that before!”

Dropping what he was doing, he rushed into the house and down to the cellar, where, he remembered, there were several old wooden boxes, which were to be used for kindling. Among them he found one that seemed just the right size. Carrying it back upstairs and out to the yard, he lifted the bicycle and put the box between the handle-bars. As he had hoped, it fitted neatly between them, and he gave a whoop of triumph.

“All right, Champ, here’s where you ride!” he muttered to himself.

He worked busily all the rest of the afternoon, cleaned all the rusted and dirty parts of the bicycle, put back the gear chain and adjusted the sprocket so that the chain was just right. When the whole job was finished, he borrowed Miss Annie’s clothes-line and fastened the wooden box to the handle-bars, tugging at the rope until it held the box so firmly that it couldn’t slip. Miss Annie came to the kitchen door and called him just as he got it done.

“Supper’s ready, Djuna!” she called. “Are you ready?”

“Look, Miss Annie!” shouted Djuna, trundling the bicycle up to the door. “Look at the extra seat I made for Champ to ride in!”

“My land!” exclaimed Miss Annie. “What on earth made you think of that?”

“Clarabelle thought of it,” said Djuna. “I don’t mean she thought of the box, but she wanted to ride on the handle-bars. So then I thought of the box.”

“You’re going to put Clarabelle in that contraption?” demanded Miss Annie incredulously.

“Oh,
no
, Miss Annie!” laughed Djuna. “It’s for Champ! At first I thought I’d have to leave him at home, because it’s too far for him to walk, but now he won’t get tired at all.”