The Story of Freginald (17 page)

“This is the song of Frederick,

Patriot, poet, and pig;

In pedigree, princely, patrician;

In appearance, both pleasing and plig.”

“Excuse me,” said Freginald, “but what does ‘plig' mean?”

“I made it up,” said Freddy. “It just came to me. Sounds well, don't you think?”

“Oh—well, yes,” said the bear hesitantly. “I thought maybe because there wasn't a rhyme—”

“There are hundreds of rhymes,” said Freddy a little irritably. “Wig, jig, swig, thingumajig—er—flig, mig, quig, skig—you see? Goodness, I'm never at a loss for a rhyme.”

“Please go on,” said Freginald. “It's very nice.”

“Precise he may be, and peculiar,

Preferring potatoes to pie,

Yet his perfect uprightness and polished politeness

No person can ever deny.

“In the pen where he pens all his poems

He will often sit pensive for hours,

Yet a panther in battle they've proved him,

This pig of great personal powers.

“Of all pigs he's the pink of perfection,

Of all pigs he's the pearl beyond price;

Though by no means the biggest,

Of all the pigs he's the
piggest,

And that will go everywhere twice.

“Of course you understand,” said Freddy hurriedly as he stopped reading, “that all that isn't necessarily true. I was just trying to write it with as many p's as possible, and of course I couldn't help it if so many of the words beginning with p were complimentary.”

Freginald could think of quite a lot of uncomplimentary words beginning with p, but he just said: “Of course not,” and praised the poem highly. But then he said: “I must tell you that I really came here to consult you as a detective.” And he told Freddy how he had heard of him.

“Mr. Boomschmidt is a fine man,” said the pig. “We all admire him very much because he treats his animals the way animals ought to be treated, and I'd be glad to do anything for any of his performers. But, you see, I've retired from the detective business. Had to give it up; it just left no time at all for poetry. But my assistant, Mrs. Wiggins, is still in business, and I'm sure she will be glad to help you. She is very able.”

“I have no doubt she is,” said Freginald, “but this is a very serious matter. It's for Mr. Boomschmidt himself that we need your help. I wish you'd just let me tell you about it.”

“Mr. Boomschmidt himself, eh? That does make a difference. Well, let's hear the story. Then we'll see.”

Freddy listened carefully as the bear told his story, putting in a question now and then. When it was finished he sat thinking for a few minutes, then nodded his head emphatically and, rummaging in a box in the corner of the pen, took out a false beard and hooked it on over his ears. “My disguise,” he said. “I do all my work in disguise. It makes it much easier if nobody knows who I am.”

Freginald thought he didn't look much different in the beard, which was just a dark fringe under his chin, but he only said: “Oh, are you really going to help us?”

“Can't leave that nice Mr. Boomschmidt in the lurch,” said Freddy. “Only you'll have to get him to stay in Centerboro a few days instead of moving on. Can you do that?”

“I think so. I'll try.”

“Good. Now run along home and leave everything to me. I promise you'll hear from me in a day or two. I must think now. Good night.”

Freginald would have liked to ask what Freddy thought of the case and how he was going to work, but the pig had already turned away from him and was sitting with one hoof pressed to his forehead, gazing off into space. Evidently he had begun thinking. Freginald tiptoed out.

CHAPTER 16

The two circuses stayed in Centerboro, each giving one performance a day. This didn't work out so badly for Mr. Boomschmidt, for after the third day everybody in town had seen the Hackenmeyer show, and then they came to him. On the fourth day every seat in the big tent was occupied.

Mr. Boomschmidt had tried to make parts of the performance appear more dangerous and thrilling by instructing the animals to act angry and ferocious. When he went into the cage to put the tigers through their tricks, there was so much snarling and roaring and leaping about that the audience sat on the edge of their seats, shuddering delightedly. But in the middle of the act a man in the front row shouted out: “Aw, this show's a fake. Those animals aren't any more dangerous than a lot of pussy cats!”

“Oh, is that so!” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “Well, maybe you'd like to come in here and pet 'em, then.”

“Sure, Joe; you show us! Go on in, Joe!” yelled the audience. And one of the tigers came to the front of the cage and looked hard at the man with his fierce yellow eyes and said: “I'll take his right leg.”

The man sat down and wouldn't say anything more, and pretty soon he left the tent, but everybody realized now that the tigers were only pretending to be fierce, and when they showed their teeth the people just laughed.

On the fourth day a rabbit brought Freginald a note from the detective. It was not an easy note to read, for Freddy's typewriter lacked the letters n, i, and y, there was no period, and the space bar didn't always work, so that the words sometimes ran together. The note was addressed to: “Fregwmald, Esq. Courtesj of Rabbwt Mo. 27.” The rabbit explained to him how to read it. “He puts w for i, m for n, and j for y. If you just remember that, it's easy.”

“I see,” said Freginald. “So this ‘Rabbwt' is ‘rabbit,' and ‘Mo. 27' is ‘No. 27.' And ‘courtesy'—yes, I understand. But is this your name—Rabbit No. 27? And if so, why?”

“Well, you see,” said the rabbit, “there are so many of us that they don't give us names any more, just numbers. It's easier. Now, will there be an answer, sir?”

“You sit down a minute, No. 27, while I read it, and I'll tell you.”

The note was as follows:

Dear Swr: Wm referemce tothe matter whwch we dwscussed omthe 18th wmstmt, W beg to wmform jouthat Warn mow wm a poswtwom towmpart certawm wmformatwom whwch ws of vwtal wmterest. W shall be pleased to call upom jou atjour earlwest comvemwemce—Thamkwmgjou for jour patromage W am

Respectfullj
Freddj
Preswdemt, Frederwck & Wwggwms, Detectwves

Freginald read the note through once and said: “Goodness!” Then he read it through again and said: “Dear, dear!” And then he got a paper and pencil and went at it in earnest. He had got through the first three lines and was trying to work out what a “poswtwom” was when the rabbit said: “Excuse me, sir. Freddy said if you couldn't read it, I was to tell you that he had something to tell you and would come to see you this afternoon if it was all right.”

“Position,” said Freginald slowly, “‘to—impart—certain information—which—' Eh, No. 27? Oh yes, of course. It's perfectly plain, thank you. Tell him to come, by all means. I'll expect him.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Rabbit No. 27, and hopped away.

Freginald went to find Leo and laid the note before him. “Well,” he said, “this looks as if we were beginning to get somewhere.”

“Yeah?” said Leo. “Where?” He turned the note upside down and looked at it that way. “Where'd you get this?”

“A rabbit brought it. From Freddy.”

“A Welsh rabbit, I guess,” said Leo. “Look at all those w's. Well, I might have known what would happen. Asking a pig for help! And he sends us a puzzle to work!”

Freginald explained about Freddy's typewriter. “But don't bother to work it out,” he said. “It just means that—”

“No, no; don't tell me,” Leo interrupted. “I can read it if you can.”

So Freginald sat down and waited while Leo, growling and grumbling under his breath, began to spell out the words.

But the lion was not a very good student, and pretty soon his growls became regular and turned into a purr, and then his eyes closed and he was fast asleep. So Freginald went back to his wagon to wait.

About three o'clock there was a rap on the door and he opened it to see a very strange-looking animal with a black stripe down his back, a sharp nose, and two wicked-looking tusks that made his upper lip curl into a ferocious sneer. At least he thought it was a strange-looking animal until he saw that it was just Freddy the detective, dressed up.

“Come in,” he said. “What are you disguised as, today?”

Freddy took out the tusks, which were just short curved pieces of wood that he had found in the woodshed, and sat down. “A wild boar,” he said. “I didn't want anybody to recognize me. It isn't a very good disguise, though, because I can't talk with those tusks in. And you knew who I was, too.”

“Oh, well,” said Freginald, “I probably wouldn't if I hadn't been expecting you. Have you found out anything that will help us?”

“I've found out two things,” said Freddy. “The first is that this man who says he's Mr. Hackenmeyer isn't really Mr. Hackenmeyer at all. I'll tell you how I found out. The day after you called I went to see his show. When I came out he was standing by the gate and I stopped and said: ‘How do you do, Mr. Hackenmeyer? Perhaps you remember me—I am Freddy, the pig you saved from drowning in the river that time, five years ago.' ‘Sure,' he said. ‘Why, sure, I remember you. So this is Freddy, eh? Well, well. How have you been, Freddy?' So I said: ‘All right,' and went on. And that's the way I knew he wasn't Mr. Hackenmeyer.”

“Well, but I don't see,” said Freginald, “how that proves he isn't the real Mr. Hackenmeyer.”

“Why, don't you see?” said Freddy; “he never did save me from drowning. I never saw him before. But he thought the real Mr. Hackenmeyer knew me, so—”

“Oh, yes,” said Freginald, “I see now. Why, that was clever!”

“Pshaw,” said Freddy, “that's nothing. Just routine detective work. And I'm afraid it isn't enough to really prove anything against him. Nothing to base a case on. Because I've talked to some of his men and they are all ready to swear he is Mr. Hackenmeyer. Of course, they none of them knew him when he was with this circus. But unless we could find the real Mr. Hackenmeyer we haven't got any complaint that the police would listen to.”

“I suppose that's so,” said Freginald. “But what can we do, then?”

“Well,” said Freddy, “I've got a plan. After all, the important thing is to get rid of this other circus, isn't it? Now, I've talked to most of the Hackenmeyer animals and they're all pretty sick of the way they are treated. He's pretty mean to them. What I propose is that we get them to go on strike.”

“You mean they'd refuse to do any more work?” Freginald asked. “But how could they do that? They're all locked up. He just wouldn't feed them if they struck. They'd have to go back to work.”

“Ah, but suppose they all got out of their cages and walked off the job?”

“Even then somebody'd have to feed them. Do you know how much hay an elephant eats a day? And there are five elephants over there, besides fifty or sixty other animals.”

“Shoot! And I thought that was such a good idea,” said Freddy. “But now wait a minute. I think we can get around that. Yes, I've got it. Can you give me a couple more days?”

“If something isn't done in two days, Mr. Boomschmidt's going to start back south,” said Freginald. “So whatever we do we'll have to do quick.”

“Two days is enough if we work fast,” said Freddy. “But you'll have to get leave of absence from the show and help me.”