Freddy and the Flying Saucer Plans (17 page)

At this Smirnoff, who had become more and more agitated as Freddy went on with the description of Penobsky's room which the mice had given him, drew in his breath sharply. “Stop!” he said. “How are you knowing this? You could not—”

“Quiet,” said Freddy. “I see other things, too. I see a man—someone you are expecting. His name is Cran-Crandall. Wendell. I cannot make out. It is to him the accident happens. He cannot come to you. There are men—they are shooting at him.” Freddy stopped suddenly and uncovered his eyes. “That is all I can tell you, gentleman,” he said.

Smirnoff stared at him. It was plain that he was thinking that there was no way in which this gypsy could have known about Penobsky's room, about the tube containing plans on the table, or that someone named Rendell was coming. After a moment he said: “This man you call Crandall—you are saying he cannot come here?”

Freddy sat up straight. “That is your fortune, my gentleman. That is all I can tell you.” Then, as the spy merely continued to stare at him, he said: “That is what I have seen with the eyes of the mind. But with these eyes”—he touched them—“I have seen other things. Men behind trees and walls, watching the house. Men down the road and up the road, armed men. What will you give Zelda if she can drive them away? So that the road is open?”

Smirnoff narrowed his eyes and stared at Freddy. After a minute he said: “The road—is not need to be open. But you can do thees—drive these men?”

“For one hundred dollars, yes.”

The spy didn't haggle. When the road was clear and there were no more men lurking behind trees and walls, he would pay Freddy the hundred dollars.

The next morning Freddy took one of the tubes containing false plans and strapped it to his leg under his skirts. He saddled Cy and rode slowly down to where the spies had their road block. There were a dozen cars parked beside the road, and back among the trees were a number of tents. Men came out of them as Freddy rode up, and pushed up around him, asking to have their fortunes told.

“Yes, I will tell them,” he said. “But one at a time. And not with you all crowding around. That tent there.” He pointed. “Is there a table there? Good. I will go there.”

So he dismounted and went into the tent and sat down at the table. The first man was short and slant eyed; Freddy thought him some kind of an Oriental. The others came up close to the door to listen, but Freddy shooed them away. Then when nobody could hear what he said:

“Listen,” he muttered. “I have the flying saucer plans. Do you want to buy them?”

“
You
have them?” the man exclaimed.

Freddy reached under his skirt and pulled out the tube. He took the cap off and pulled the roll of plans part way out and let the man assure himself that they were what he said they were.

“How did you get these?” the man demanded.

“I have known this house many years,” said Freddy. “There is a secret entrance. But what does that matter to you? Do you want them?”

“How much you want for them?” the other asked.

Freddy knew that such plans, if they were good, would be worth millions. He didn't want to take money for false ones, even from an enemy of his country. But to hand them over for nothing, or for a small fraction of their value, would make the spies suspicious.

He shook his head. “Make me an offer,” he said.

The man said: “I must consult my associate.” He went to the door of the tent, and beckoned. Another slant-eyed man who might have been his brother came into the tent. They talked in a language which Freddy couldn't even put a name to. It didn't look like a consultation to Freddy; it sounded more as if the first man was giving orders to his associate. And after a minute the latter went away.

“We will pay generously for these plans,” said the first man, coming back to the table. “But you must understand that we do not have a large sum of money with us. We will have to arrange—” He broke off, as a car starter whined briefly and then merged into the roar of a racing engine. He hesitated a moment, then suddenly grabbed up the tube and shoved the table hard into Freddy, so that the pig went over backwards in his chair. And he dashed out of the tent.

Freddy picked himself up, shook out his skirts, and ran after him. The second slant-eyed man was at the wheel of a big car which was already in motion. The first man, with the tube in plain sight under one arm, was running beside the car, holding to the door handle. As he scrambled in, Freddy began to yell. “Stop him!” he shouted. “He's stolen the plans! He's got the plans of the flying saucer!”

All the men who were waiting to have their fortunes told suddenly ran for their cars. Two men with walkie-talkies were shouting excitedly into them, and other men, having seen that something was going on, from where they were watching, up the road or out in the fields, suddenly appeared and were dashing for their cars and motorcycles, which had been parked wherever there was a little cover behind walls and among bushes and trees. In two minutes they were converging on the road, down which rushed the stream of cars in pursuit of the thieves. In five minutes the landscape, which had been alive with running figures, was empty of men, and the roar of the speeding cars died away to the east. Freddy called to Cy, hopped into the saddle, and went back to the camp.

CHAPTER

16

Freddy found Mr. Pomeroy waiting for him when he got back to the camp.

“I've found out who that fellow is that the mice heard the spies talk to over the phone,” said the robin. “Fellow named Rendell, remember? Well, he's got a helicopter down at the fairgrounds, and he takes people up for five dollars a ride. He must be the man I heard those roadblock guys talking about. The one that's supposed to pick up the plans and take 'em up to the secret base in Canada.”

“That's right,” said Freddy. “And it'll be a cinch, now that the road block is cleared up and all the other spies are gone. I guess maybe I wasn't so smart to get rid of them. There'll be nobody to shoot him down. All he's got to do is come down on the lawn and they'll give him the tube.”

“I don't believe he plans to land,” said Mr. Pomeroy. “He's got a basket on a long rope—I looked the copter over this morning. He'll hover, and let down the basket for them to put the tube in. And according to what the mice heard he's to come Friday, or the next calm night if Friday's stormy. Today's Thursday. I wonder why they put it off so long.”

“Waiting for the dark of the moon,” said Freddy.

“Oh, sure. But golly, Freddy, we've got to do something quick. If he gets away with the plans—Psst! Here come the spies!” he whispered, and flew up into one of the trees.

Penobsky and Smirnoff were coming down the path from the house. They seemed to be unarmed. They stopped in front of Freddy, and Penobsky said: “My associate tells me that he promised you a hundred dollars if you could drive away all these people who have been watching us. You seem to have done it. We will pay you. But we must first be sure that they do not come back. If they are not back by Saturday morning, we will pay you then.”

“That was not the agreement,” Freddy said. “I have driven them away. I want the money.” He didn't want to take money from the spies at all, but he thought he ought to protest.

Penobsky smiled and shook his head. “It is no good to us if they come back,” he said.

Freddy wondered where Uncle Ben was. An hour or so ago he had gone up the brook with a fishing rod, to find out if any spies were still watching the house. If he would only come back, with his shotgun, there would be a good chance of capturing these two. Then there would be only the two others to deal with. Just how he would deal with them he didn't know, but Penobsky and Smirnoff, as prisoners, would be something to bargain with. But he'd frighten them off if he called Uncle Ben.

Freddy's back was to the caravan, about which stood Mrs. Wiggins, Bill, and the two horses. The dogs were pretending to be asleep under the wagon, and Jinx was sitting beside them. Freddy motioned to them, behind his back, to come closer. Then with a quick jerk he pulled the black wig and the bright scarf from his head and tossed them to the ground. “Remember me?” he said.

“Hey!” Penobsky exclaimed. “You were in the jail. You're that educated pig of Bean's that stole the flying saucer plans!”

“And you're the one that stole them from me,” said Freddy.

“That's right.” Penobsky grinned at him. He didn't seem at all alarmed.

“Ha!” said Smirnoff. “This is clever piggy you are telling me about it. He does sleeping walk, eh?” He winked good-naturedly at Freddy.

But Freddy said sharply: “Put your hands up!” and he pulled the cap pistol from the pocket of his skirt and pointed it at them.

It was one of those cap pistols that you load with a coiled ribbon of caps, so that it shoots a cap as often as you pull the trigger until the coil is used up. The two spies laughed heartily and held their hands above their heads. “Sure, sure,” said Penobsky. “We mustn't take chances with such a dangerous gunman.”

Smirnoff pretended to be frightened. “You no shoot poor old Smirnoff, Mr. Piggy, eh?” He made his knees shake.

But Freddy was serious. “This is not a toy, gentlemen,” he said. “This is an atomic pistol, invented by Mr. Benjamin Bean. It is the Benjamin Bean Practical Disintegrator. You see that bird up there?” He pointed to where Mr. Pomeroy perched on a twig some ten yards distant. “Watch him. You will see him fall.” He spoke more loudly than usual, so that the robin would know what was expected of him. Then he pointed the pistol and pulled the trigger.

The cap snapped, and Mr. Pomeroy, grabbing at his glasses with one claw, tumbled off the twig. He fell straight down for ten feet, then spread his wings and planed off into the field across the brook.

The spies stopped laughing abruptly. They knew that Freddy was associated with Uncle Ben. They knew Uncle Ben's reputation. Freddy could see what they were thinking—that a man who could build a flying saucer could perfectly well build a practical disintegrator. And after all, the bird
had
been knocked from the tree.

Penobsky pulled himself together. He tried to laugh. “Phooey,” he said. “The bird flew away.” His hands came down.

“Keep your hands away from your pockets,” Freddy ordered, and swung the pistol from one to the other. “You still are unconvinced? Then watch that cat.” He pointed the pistol at Jinx and pulled the trigger.

The cat yowled, jumped in the air, rolled over twice and came to rest on his back, all four legs in the air, even his tail sticking straight up.

“The darn clown!” Freddy said angrily to himself. “Doesn't he realize that this business is serious? I wish he wouldn't always try to be funny.”

Smirnoff went over to Jinx, prodded him, rolled him over. The cat was limp. He picked him up by the tail and tossed him over toward the caravan. Jinx fell in a heap and didn't stir. Freddy thought: “I take it all back—that was a good performance. My gosh, I believe we've put it over!”

The spies looked at each other. There was doubt in their eyes. Penobsky's hand moved toward his coat pocket, but Freddy swung the cap pistol toward him, and the movement stopped. Smirnoff glanced over his shoulder toward the path and gave a startled exclamation. His retreat was cut off; Mrs. Wiggins had moved up silently behind him; the tip of her left horn was three inches from his coat tails. The goat and the horses and the dogs were moving in too.

“Look here, what
is
all this?” Penobsky exclaimed. “We haven't got those plans. They've been passed on long before this.”

Freddy said: “No. They are in the house. You, Mr. Penobsky, are my prisoner. Mr. Smirnoff is free to go. When he brings the plans to us, we will release you. If he does not return with them, we will inform the F.B.I. and turn you over to them.”

Penobsky shrugged his shoulders. “You seem to have the advantage of us,” he said dejectedly. He said something to his associate in a strange language. The other answered shortly. “I have told Smirnoff to get the plans,” Penobsky said.

Smirnoff turned as if to push Mrs. Wiggins aside and go up the path to the house, and it was in just those few seconds when the two men were separated and Freddy could no longer threaten both with the cap pistol, that disaster overtook him. Smirnoff swung around, and there was a heavy pistol in his fist, and at the same moment Penobsky struck down hard on Freddy's fore-trotter. The cap pistol spun out of his grasp. Penobsky dove for it, pointed it at Freddy and pulled the trigger.

Freddy had only a split second in which to choose what to do. But it took him less than that to realize that the only sensible thing now was to play dead. He gave a squeal and two groans and fell flat on his face. It was a good fall, he thought; almost as good as Jinx's.

The animals had dropped back at the sight of Smirnoff's gun. The spies stood over Freddy, talking. Penobsky knelt down and felt of the pig's left fore-trotter. The left one still had the sand-filled glove on; Freddy had taken off the right glove so that he could handle the cap pistol. It apparently didn't occur to Penobsky, as he felt the cold glove and tried to find the pulse, that he must be feeling of a fake hand, since pigs aren't usually equipped with hands and feet. He looked up at Smirnoff and shook his head as much as to say: “I guess he's gone.” They talked for a minute, then Penobsky looked Freddy over for a bullet hole. Freddy held his breath.