The Green Turtle Mystery (20 page)

“Scared
me
to death!” Ben put in.

“He scared me,
too!
” Djuna said and they both giggled, brave now in the memory. “And there was an end of a loaf of bread on the floor, and I saw some footprints in the dust on some stairs that led up to a closed door that went into the attic.”

“Look!” Mr. MacHatchet said as he exchanged a glance of incredulous wonder with Mr. Furlong. “Did you keep all these things in your mind and then put them together later on?”

“Oh, yes, sir!” Djuna said. “It’s sort of like arithmetic to me. I just add it up, like two and two makes four.”

“That’s right, Djuna,” Socker said. “Teach Sandy the rudiments first. He won’t get it unless you give it to him simply.”

Mr. MacHatchet gave Mr. Furlong a very dirty look but he didn’t say anything.

“Oh!” Djuna said. “There was another thing that night. There was a funny smell in that house.
I
thought it smelled like nasturtiums, but the next day Ben told me it smelled just like printer’s ink. I decided he was probably right because he knew all about the printing business.”

“Old Ben Franklin!” Socker said softly.

“I have to go back to the first day I met Ben, now,” said Djuna and he grinned at his friend fondly. “The first time I saw Ben he was walking through the Square with two funny-looking loaves of bread under his arm that Mr. Furlong had him carry so that he would look like the first Benjamin Franklin.”

“What in the world did Mr. Furlong have in mind, Djuna?” Mr. MacHatchet asked.

“Oh, he just wanted Ben to wake him up in the Square so he’d get to work on time,” Djuna explained very seriously.

“He deserves to get fired every couple of weeks,” Mr. MacHatchet said. “So, what about the bread?”

“Ben told me where he got his bread because it was the same kind I’d seen on the floor of the haunted house the night before,” said Djuna. “We decided we’d go to the bakery and find out if
they
might know who owned the parrot.

“On the way there,” Djuna continued, and he looked steadily at Mr. Firkins, “Mr. Firkins almost ran over us with his car. He got out to talk to us and Champ barked at him the
same way
he had barked at the man with the green feather in his hat the night before. That was when Mr. Firkins offered me a ten-dollar bill for Champ, and then looked awful funny and stuck it back in his pocket to offer me two fives instead.”

Mr. Firkins had a wide grin on his face, but something about his eyes would have given anyone the idea that he didn’t
feel
like grinning.

“When we got to the bakery we were surprised to see the little girl who opened the door of the haunted house on Carpenter Street the first night we went there,” Djuna said. “Her father owned the bakery
and
the green parrot. We found out he bought the parrot from the man who spoke Spanish and wore a green feather in his hat. The same one Champ barked at so funny. But they had only had the parrot a short time when it got out of its cage and when the little girl chased it, it flew into an upstairs window of that
same
house on Carpenter Street. She went to Mr. Firkins, too, to ask if she could go in the house to get her parrot. But Mr. Firkins wouldn’t let them. Mr. Firkins tried to scare the little girl the same way he did us.”

“Well, Djuna,” Mr. MacHatchet said. “How did you connect all these things together?”

“Keep your shirt on, Sandy,” Socker said. “You’ll be permitted to ask questions
after
the lesson!” Djuna and Ben giggled and Djuna went on:

“I began to wonder about them all together then, sort of,” Djuna said, “so I stopped in the store where Champ had barked at the man with the feather in his hat and asked the clerk what the man bought. He told me Brunswick black and some special colored ink. Then he wouldn’t tell me anything more.”

“Did you get any ideas from that?” Mr. MacHatchet asked.

“Later on I did,” said Djuna. “I tried to talk them over with Mr. Furlong but he seemed to think my im-im-imagination was running away with me, so–”

“
D-don’t
, Djuna.
Please!
” Mr. Furlong moaned and he covered his face with his hands.

They all laughed at Mr. Furlong then, except Mr. Firkins, who tried to laugh and choked until his face got red and there were tears in his eyes. Mr. MacHatchet and Mr. Furlong regarded him with chilled eyes until he stopped coughing and Djuna continued.

“But when you told me how counterfeiters used Brunswick black and used a soft feather to wipe the air bubbles off their note-plates after they had put on
acid
I was almost certain there was some connection between the man with the feather in his hat and Mr. Firkins,
and
the counterfeiters,” Djuna said all in one breath.

“
Why
didn’t you tell
me
, Djuna?” MacHatchet asked.

“Well,” Djuna said, “I–I guess I was afraid you’d laugh at me.”

“Mr. Firkins isn’t laughing at you, Djuna,” Socker said. “He’s choking!”

“How much longer is this nonsense going on!” Mr. Firkins roared. “To tell the truth, I don’t know whether to laugh or to call up the police.”

“You keep as far away from the police as you can, pal,” Socker Furlong said to him. “Go on, Djuna.”

“Well, that night when I went over to Ben’s to take Champ for a walk we started to go out Ben’s gate and Champ saw a garter-snake and began to bark at it,” Djuna said. “
Then
it came to me! I had
wondered and wondered
when it was that Champ barked the way he had at Mr. Firkins and the man with the feather in his hat. I remembered then that it was when he saw a
turtle or a snake
along Miller’s brook or Lost Pond up at Edenboro!”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Mr. MacHatchet said, and started to say something more when Djuna broke in.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir!” he said. “But don’t you see? I had connected the man with the feather in his hat–of course I didn’t know then that he was Squinty Jones–with the haunted house because
his parrot was there
. But Waterbury wasn’t there so I decided that the man with the feather in his hat had had Waterbury
in his pocket
when Champ barked at him! Don’t you see? Then, I figured that Mr. Firkins went to the house and got the turtle from Squinty the next day, the day we met him, and
he
had the turtle in his pocket when Champ barked at him, too.”

“That’s pretty wild guessing, isn’t it, Djuna?” Mr. MacHatchet asked.

“Oh, I wasn’t sure yet!” Djuna said. “That’s why I went into the house tonight. I wanted to be sure. I made an arrangement with Ben that
if
the parrot flew out a window of the house he would run and get Mr. Furlong. That’s what I was sort of thinking of when I asked you whether you’d be home tonight.”

“You should have impressed it on me more definitely, Djuna,” Mr. MacHatchet said softly. “I
might
have gone out.”

Djuna looked directly at Mr. Firkins as he spoke again.

“Mr. Jones told me that when his partner came to the haunted house this morning and got the turtle, his partner wanted Mr. Jones to
kill
me!” Djuna said. “Mr. Jones said he wouldn’t do it. But I think that is what Mr. Firkins tried to do this noon, when he nearly ran over us. We thought it was an accident then, but now I’m certain Mr. Firkins is the partner and he
did
try to kill both of us!”

Mr. Firkins’ pig-like eyes narrowed to mere slits as he glared at Djuna. For a moment he choked again, and then he found his voice.

“How much longer,” he demanded, “are you two grown men going to stand here and listen to this boy’s poppy-cock? It’s ridiculous and you know it’s ridiculous. I want you all to get out of my house and get out fast or I’ll–”

“W-a-a-ait a minute, Mr. Firkins!” said Mr. MacHatchet. “W-a-a-ait a minute. Let me ask you a little question. Do you have any counterfeit money on your person?”

“
Counterfeit money!
” Mr. Firkins bellowed. “Certainly I don’t have any counterfeit money on my person. You can’t browbeat
me!
”

“Take it easy, Mr. Firkins,” Mr. MacHatchet said softly. “Take it easy.” He reached in his pocket and brought out a little badge that identified him as a Secret Service man and an authorized agent of the Treasury Department. He cuddled it in the palm of his hand as he showed it to Mr. Firkins.

“Mr. Firkins,” he said, “I request that you kindly turn over any counterfeit money you may have to me, as an authorized agent.”

“But I tell you I don’t have any, man!” Mr. Firkins said, but he wasn’t bellowing now. He was bleating.

“You refuse, eh?” Mr. MacHatchet said. “Then,” and he reached in an inside pocket and brought out a folder from which he took a paper and extended it to Mr. Firkins, “that, my friend,” he said, “is a search warrant. I’m going to search your person and if necessary–” He broke off and said to Socker, “Go through his clothes, Socker.”

“If you lay one hand on me I’ll–” Mr. Firkins tried to roar, but he stopped as he saw the automatic pistol that came out of nowhere to appear in Mr. MacHatchet’s hand.

Socker Furlong took everything out of his pockets and put the various articles on the table. When he had finished Mr. MacHatchet picked up Mr. Firkins’ wallet. A smile of relief framed his face as he extracted a ten-dollar bill
just
like the one he had shown Djuna that afternoon!

“Well, Djuna,” Mr. MacHatchet said. “That does it. I–”

“You can’t prove I had anything to do with making that bill!” Mr. Firkins shouted.

“Be quiet! I don’t have to,
now
,” Mr. MacHatchet said and he turned back to Djuna. “I was scared to death we wouldn’t find anything on him, Djuna, but I knew I had to have as much courage and take the same chance you took tonight. If he hadn’t had a counterfeit bill on him I’d have been in a real jam. But he had!

“Mr. Firkins,” Mr. MacHatchet said. “United States law provides that whoever has custody or control of
any
counterfeit and fails or refuses to surrender it to an authorized Treasury agent at his request, shall be fined not more than one hundred dollars or imprisoned not more than one year, or both. You refused. You’re under arrest!”

“Well, tickle my Aunt Miranda!” said Socker Furlong. “Old Sandy MacHatchet came through! You see, Sandy, it
never
pays to hurry. Hurry! Hurry! Hurry! The whole world is in a hurry and look what’s happened to it! If I had become all stewed up this afternoon when Djuna told me those things and had hurried to tell you, what would have happened? Probably,
we
would have gummed the whole works! I let time take its true course, and what happens? Djuna comes up with
all
the answers!”

Sandy MacHatchet gave Socker a look of amused disgust and then grinned at Djuna.

“I’m only your little helpmate, Djuna,” Sandy said. “But now we’ve got Mr. Firkins where we want him. I’m sure we can prove without too much trouble that he’s Squinty Jones’ partner, and he’ll take the rap with Squinty. And in the process he may get a few additional years for trying to run you boys down with his car.”

“Oh, say!” Djuna said and his eyes were round again “I forgot to tell you that Mr. Jones tried to make me take some kind of a white pill. He forced it between my lips while I was tied and then I drank a glass of water.”

“
He did?
” Mr. MacHatchet said in alarm. “Did he say what it was? Have you felt any bad effects from it?”

“Oh, I didn’t
swallow
it!” Djuna said. “I pushed it up under my lip, and then when he wasn’t looking I spit it out!”

“O-o-oh-h, brother!” Socker Furlong said. “If we don’t get this over pretty quick
I’m
going to swoon!”

“Are there any other things you want to tell us now, Djuna?” Mr. MacHatchet asked.

“Oh, there are little things, such as why the parrot flew in the window of the haunted house the
only
time it was open,” said Djuna. “That was because Mr. Jones taught it to follow him any place when he whistled. A lot of
little
things like that, that don’t make any difference now because we’ve
got
the counterfeiters.”

Djuna tried to grin but he had a hard time because his eyelids were trying to close in sleep at the same time, and anyone could have told that he was tired.

“That’s right,” Mr. MacHatchet said. “There will be lots of time for all
that
. We’ll take Firkins out and turn him over to Edwards and Petrillo and they’ll lock him up with Squinty. After that we’ll take you boys home. And don’t forget you
may
be in line for a small reward!”

“A reward!” Ben and Djuna said in chorus. Then a worried expression appeared on Djuna’s face.

“Say, Mr. Furlong,” he said. “Do you suppose you’ll have a good enough story for Mr. Canavan so that he’ll give you your job back?”

“Give me my
job
back?” said Socker Furlong. “It’s so good they’ll probably give me the
newspaper!
Anyway, Djuna, it isn’t a story. It’s an
epic!
”

S
OCKER
F
URLONG
was sound asleep on his favorite bench in the Square when Djuna, Ben and Champ approached him at twelve o’clock the next day. Djuna and Ben were very wide awake, but Champ was walking along on his leash with his black head drooping, distinctly showing the effects of his late hours the night before.

When they reached Mr. Furlong, Djuna put his shoe-shine box down on the pavement and placed, with no little effort, one of Socker Furlong’s large shoes on the foot rest.

“Hey!” Socker said as he blinked at them. “I was just running a race with a green turtle. If you hadn’t waked me up I bet I’d have passed him!” A warm smile spread over his cherubic face and became a grin. “Forget about the shines, Djuna. We’re all even. I got my job back, with a
raise
, so I don’t have to worry about my shoes.”