The Brown Fox Mystery (14 page)

“Jeepers! I can stand ’em any time,” said Djuna and for a moment his face brightened as he ran out on the front porch to call Tommy.

By the time Djuna had dressed, washed his face and had given his hair a lick and a promise, Captain Ben had a stack of deliriously brown buckwheat cakes on a hot plate in the warming oven, and Tommy had finished cleaning their rowboat and came bouncing into the cottage.

They all carefully avoided speaking about Miss Annie while they consumed Captain Ben’s delightful pancakes, and when Tommy and Djuna sat back and said they could not eat even another half of one, Captain Ben chuckled and said, “That’s good, because there ain’t no more batter. But they’ll kinda stick to the sides o’ your stomicks and keep you fr’m starvin’ to death durin’ the mornin’.”

While they were washing the dishes Djuna said, “Are you going to form a pos-s—a search party and help the Chief of Police, Captain Ben?”

“Yessiree!” said Captain Ben. “Soon as I make my deliveries. Got to take care of them first. Then I’ll have a few hours. What are you fellahs a goin’ to do?”

Djuna thought carefully for a moment before he said, “I think the first thing we better do is row over and talk to Clarabelle Smith and her mother. You see Mrs. Smith is a sister of Mrs. Pindler. Mr. and Mrs. Pindler run the store back in Edenboro where we live and are just about Miss Annie’s best friends. They’re just like relatives to us and Miss Annie thinks an awful lot of Clarabelle and her mother, too. I think we ought to talk to Mrs. Smith and see if there is anything else she thinks we ought to do, like letting Mr. Pindler know.”

“Say, that’s right thoughtful o’ you, Djuna,” said Captain Ben, “an’ it’s just what you ought to do. Mebbe this Mr. and Mrs. Pindler might know somethin’, such as that Miss Annie loses her memory every once in a while, that we don’ know. You fellahs git on y’ur way an’ I’ll finish up and lock the door and leave the key where you al’ays leave it so Miss Annie can find it when she comes wanderin’ back.”

“Okay!” Tommy and Djuna said together and they went scurrying toward the front door. But before they reached it Djuna stopped and shouted back, “You better leave Champ on the front porch, Captain Ben, so he won’t wander away, too. I fed him.”

“That I’ll do, boy,” Captain Ben shouted back. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll be all right.”

“Okay,” said Djuna again, and he dashed down the lawn after Tommy.

The two boys rowed along silently, each busy with his own thoughts, and being very careful to pull evenly, so that they kept the boat on a straight course. They were about one third of the way across the lake when Tommy said, “Wait a minute,” and rested one hand on his oar while he pointed with the other one.

“What in the world are those state troopers and other men doing in those two rowboats over there?” he asked excitedly as he pointed toward two rowboats that each had a state trooper and a man in civilian clothes in them. They were rowing the two boats along, side by side, and each of them had a rope trailing out over the stern.

“Jeepers, I don’t know,” Djuna said. “They sort of look as though they were trolling, but—”

He stopped speaking as a man in one of the boats shouted to the other one and the man in the stern of each boat began to pull in the ropes that had run out over the stern.

After a minute or two both of the men in the boats had pulled in all of the rope that had been run out and at the end they pulled up something that looked like a huge fishhook with several barbs.

It was then that Tommy and Djuna looked at each other and held each other’s gaze, and they both looked as though they were going to be sick.

“Chattering chimps!”
Tommy whispered. “Those are—what do you call ’em?
They’re looking for Miss Annie!
”

“Grap—grappling—grappling irons!” Djuna said in a voice that was a whisper, too. He turned his gaze away from the two rowboats that were working along the southeast side of the lake and suddenly his pallor left him and color crept into his face.

“Golly!” he said indignantly. “I think that’s awful, and I think they’re crazy. Miss Annie wouldn’t fall into the lake. And if she did, she can swim. I remember once, when I was just a little kid, we went to a beach some place and she swam away out in the ocean just as easy as anything.”

“But maybe she got dizzy, or fainted, or something,” said Tommy, and then when he looked at Djuna he was sorry he had said it.

“I don’t think Miss Annie ever fainted in her life,” Djuna said. “C’mon, let’s row. If the police aren’t going to show any sense we’ll have to find her ourselves. No wonder they haven’t found out who set fire to Captain Ben’s boat!”

With that he paddled and backed water with his one oar until he had the bow of their rowboat lined up on the Smiths’ dock and they began to row steadily and evenly again without paying any attention to the activities in the two police boats.

The next time Djuna looked over his shoulder, to be sure that they were still headed straight for the Smiths’ dock, Clarabelle was sitting on a canvas stool on the dock, with a painter’s palette beside her and an easel in front of her. She was working with great seriousness on a canvas that stood on the easel, and she was dressed in a white playsuit that made the deep tan of her skin look almost as dark as mahogany.

“Have they found Miss Annie yet?” she called to them, when they were still a hundred feet away.

Both Tommy and Djuna turned their heads and then shook them, without speaking, as they took their boat alongside the dock and moored it.

“Well, for goodness sake!” said Clarabelle as they climbed up on the dock, “Can’t you even answer me?”

“Is your mother here?” Djuna asked, ignoring her question.

“Of course she’s here,” said Clarabelle tartly, “and she wants to know about Miss Annie, too.”

“C’mon up to your cottage and we’ll tell you both what we know at one time,” Djuna said.

“How,” Clarabelle wanted to know as she stepped back and cocked her white hair ribbon on one side to gaze earnestly at her easel, “do you like my painting?”

“What is it—a horse?” asked Tommy with an annoying grin.

“You know perfectly well what it is, Tommy Williams!” said Clarabelle as she wrinkled her nose at him and stomped her foot.

“It’s that old icehouse at the north end of the lake,” Djuna said thoughtfully, as he studied the oil painting carefully. Then he pointed at two streamers of white paint that seemed to come out of the cupola on top of the building. “If they’re supposed to be clouds,” he criticized, “they ought to be farther back. They look as though they were coming right out of the cupola.”

“They’re not supposed to be clouds, smarty!” said Clarabelle. “It’s smoke.”

“Smoke!”
Tommy said with a howl of derision. “There couldn’t be any smoke coming out of
there
. Djuna was in the icehouse with Captain Ben yesterday and he told me all about it last night. There isn’t even any way to get up there.”

“Yes, there is,” said Djuna as he stared at the picture. “There are ladders on the inside and outside of the building that are built on the walls, but it would be almost impossible to get into the cupola from them. Are you
sure
it was smoke, Clarabelle?”

“Well,” said Clarabelle, hesitantly, “of course I’m not
certain
, but it looked like smoke, just two streamers like I’ve painted it, coming right out of the cupola.”

“When did you see it?” Djuna asked.

“Oh, about an hour ago,” said Clarabelle. “I painted the icehouse yesterday. Then when I saw the smoke coming out of the cupola this morning I painted it in to give it more life and motion.”

“What does that mean—motion?” asked Tommy with a snicker. “I don’t think you saw anything. I think—”

“Oh, you don’t!” Clarabelle said and she stuck the camel’s hair brush she had in her hand into a daub of bright red paint on her palette and started toward Tommy with it.

“Oh ho,
smoke!
” Tommy said derisively as he ducked away from the brush and ran off the pier with Clarabelle in pursuit, her brown legs flashing as she chased him across the lawn.

Djuna stood gazing thoughtfully at the painting for a moment longer and then he, too, turned and went toward the porch of the Smith cottage.

Mrs. Smith was listening with a decided expression of anxiety on her lovely face as Djuna went through the doorway and heard Tommy say, “No, ma’am. They haven’t found any sign of her.”

“Hello, Djuna,” said Mrs. Smith and she managed to accompany her greeting with her warm, charming smile. But it disappeared as quickly as it had come as she regarded Djuna with worried eyes and said, “What have they done, Djuna?”

Djuna sat down and very carefully told Mrs. Smith everything that had happened since he and Tommy came home for luncheon the day before and found a note from Miss Annie asking them if they could get their own lunch.

When he had finished and Mrs. Smith had asked him all the questions she wanted to, Djuna said, “Do you suppose we ought to get in touch with Mr. Pindler and tell him Miss Annie has disappeared? Captain Ben said Mr. or Mrs. Pindler might know whether or not Miss Annie loses her memory every once in a while.”

“That,” said Mrs. Smith, “is the silliest thing I ever heard of. I’ve never heard of Miss Annie losing her memory in all the time I’ve known her. She’s as smart as a whip, and she wouldn’t look a day over fifty, if it wasn’t for her white hair.”

“Do you think we ought to notify Mr. Pindler?” Djuna asked.

“No!”
said Mrs. Smith. “What could he do about it? They would just worry. They’ll find her and then we’ll tell them.” She sat back and pressed the knuckles of her closed hand against her lips while she studied the matting on the floor with a worried frown. Suddenly, her face brightened and she snapped her fingers as she said,
“I’ve got it!”

“Got
what?
” Tommy said with a startled voice as he jumped two inches off his chair.

“What was the name of that Secret Service man who worked with you and the newspaper man on that counterfeiting case?” asked Mrs. Smith, and her eyes were glowing now.

“Mr. MacHatchet, Sandy MacHatchet,” said Djuna. “And the newspaper man was Socker Furlong.”

“Send for them!” Mrs. Smith said and she sat back in her chair with a look of relief on her face. “They’ll know how to handle it.”

“Hoddy-doddy!” said Tommy excitedly. “They’d know just what to do and how to do it.”

“Golly, I don’t know,” Djuna said hesitantly, but anyone who knew him could tell by the glow in his eyes, too, that he thought the suggestion was a wonderful one. “They might not be able to come. Mr. MacHatchet works for the Treasury Department and Mr. Furlong might be away on another assignment.”

“Well, for goodness sake!” said Mrs. Smith. “They’d better come, after all you did for them on that case. Socker Furlong would just be another newspaper man, instead of a feature writer, if you hadn’t given him two big scoops.”

Mrs. Smith rose and said over her shoulder as she went into the house, “I’ll go get you some money to send Mr. Furlong a telegram.”

As she disappeared Captain Ben came chugging up to the Smith dock in the
Jolly Polly
with his morning delivery. When they saw him Tommy and Djuna leaped out of their chairs and rushed down to the dock to help him.

“Any—anything happen?” Djuna asked breathlessly as they started toward the cottage with a piece of ice and a small box of groceries.

“Nothin’ new, I’m afraid, Djuna,” said Captain Ben in a weary voice. “But they’re keepin’ right at it. They’re—”

“Say, Captain Ben,” Tommy interrupted excitedly, “Mrs. Smith suggested to Djuna that he ought to telegraph to Socker Furlong, the newspaper man, and Mr. Mac—a Secret Service man he knows—asking them to come and help.”

“Hey!”
Captain Ben said. “That’s the first real bright suggestion I’ve heard. Now we’re a goin’ to git some place! I—”

Captain Ben stopped speaking as Mrs. Smith swung the screen door open and said, “Just put the groceries and ice here on the porch, Captain Ben. I’ll put them away. Do you have to make any more stops?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Well then, will you take Djuna and Tommy with you so that they can get a telegram off, immediately?” she asked him.

“You kin bet y’r bottom sinker, I will!” said Captain Ben. “C’mon, boys.”

“Here, Djuna, are two dollars,” Mrs. Smith said, holding out two bills. “Send a straight telegram and explain everything to him. And tell them to get the next train to Lakeville.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Djuna said, “but I have some money.”

“For goodness sake!” said Mrs. Smith impatiently. “Can’t I do something to help?”

“Okay,” said Djuna as he took the two dollars and started to run after Tommy and Captain Ben. “I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything from them,” he called back over his shoulder.

“Now, Djuna,” Captain Ben said. “We’ll just tow your rowboat over to the landing so you won’t have to walk all the way back here for it.”

After Captain Ben had maneuvered for a moment to make a line fast from the stern of the
Jolly Polly
to the bow of the rowboat he opened his throttle wide and it seemed to Tommy and Djuna that the dory was racing over the water.

When they had nearly reached the Lakeville landing Captain Ben looked at Djuna and saw that he was leaning over with his elbows on his knees and his chin cupped in his hands. “Now, Djuna,” he said in a worried voice, “I told you I want you to stop frettin’. I—”

“Oh, I wasn’t fretting, Captain Ben,” said Djuna and he managed a smile to prove it. “I was just thinking. I was just wondering how long that coil of rope is that’s there on the deck.”

“Why, it’s a mite over sixty feet,” Captain Ben said as he looked at the coil of rope lying in the prow. “It’s good line, too.” And then he added with a surprised expression on his face, “Why?”

“Oh, I was just wondering,” said Djuna. “Could I borrow it sometime, if I wanted to?”

“Surest thing you know,” said Captain Ben. “Ain’t thinkin’ o’ hangin’ y’rself, are you? Well, here we are … never mind the lines … you boys skidaddle over to the depot and get that telegram off. I’ll take care of things.”