The Green Turtle Mystery (4 page)

A moment later they were so busy with their spoons that they didn’t hear Socker Furlong go into the telephone both and ask the operator for Orville P. Firkins’ home telephone number.

“I’d like to speak to Mr. Firkins, please,” Socker said when a voice came on the other end of the wire.

“Firkins speaking,” the voice said.

“This is Furlong of the
Morning Bugle
,” Socker said. “The reporter you talked to this afternoon about your haunted house.”

“Yes, yes, Furlong,” Mr. Firkins said. “Have you found someone who can get rid of the ghosts for me already?”

“No,” Socker said. “I wanted to ask you if you were there at that house tonight?”

“Who? Me?” Mr. Firkins said. “Do you think I’m crazy? You couldn’t get me in that house at night unless you carried me. It’s haunted, man!”

“Well, someone was in there tonight,” Socker told him. “A copy boy from our office lives near that house. He went by there with a friend tonight and they saw lights moving around inside.”

“You’re sure?” Mr. Firkins shouted and he sounded very angry.

“Yes. I’m sure,” Socker said. “They knocked on the door and a little girl answered the knock and said she lived there. A man shouted at her and told her to close the door and she did. The boys came to tell me. When I went back with them there was no one there. What is this, a gag, Firkins?”

“Gag nuthin’!” Mr. Firkins bellowed. “I want to find someone who can chase them ghosts outta there so I can rent the place. And you tell them boys to stay away from there! They didn’t see any little girl, and they didn’t see any man. Them was ghosts. Did they make funny noises, like a machine?”

“Listen, Firkins,” Socker said in disgust. “You must be nuts. You better stay away from there yourself. From the way you act, you’d make a fine meal for a couple of ghosts.”

Socker laid the receiver on its hook with a sigh.

But when Socker came out of the telephone booth and saw the satisfied expressions on the boys’ faces he couldn’t help grinning.

“They were good, eh?” Socker said.

“Oh, boy!” Ben said. Djuna just rolled his eyes.

“Well, Mr. Firkins, the renting agent, says he wasn’t in the house tonight,” Socker told them. “And he said that no one else was there–unless they were his ghosts getting playful.”

“Why he’s
crazy
, Mr. Furlong!” Ben said.

“I’m beginning to suspect as much myself,” Socker said, and then he groaned. “I’ll have to call up the night editor of my paper and kill the best story I’ve written in months. It would have had ’em rolling off their breakfast chairs.”

“
Kill
it?” Djuna said and his eyes were wide.

Ben looked at Djuna and snickered.

“He doesn’t mean kill anything, really,” Ben said. “He means he’ll have to tell the editor not to print his story in the paper, because if that little girl and her father live in that house they might get mad and do something.”

“That’s the idea,” Socker said. “We old-time newspaper men know about such things, don’t we, Ben?” Socker rumpled Ben’s hair with his hand and then went back to the telephone booth and got the night city editor of the
Morning Bugle
on the wire.

“Hey, Charlie,” he said. “You know that story of mine about the haunted house at 777 Carpenter Street?”

“Yeah,” Charlie said. “What about it? It’s all locked up.”

“Well, unlock it,” Socker said. “Kill it. I found out there are some people living there.”

“Real people?” Charlie asked. “You say in the story that the renting agent says they’re ghosts.”

“Yeah, real people,” Socker said. “I know some kids who talked to the people who live there.”

“What does the renting agent say about that?” Charlie asked.

“He’s sticking to his story,” Socker replied. “He says they’re ghosts. He’s crazy.”

“Look!” Charlie said. “
Who’s
crazy? You say you know a couple of kids who talked to some ghosts.
You
sound more than a little nuts yourself.”

“Great suffering sassafras!” Socker shouted. “Never mind who’s crazy. You kill that story!” And he hung up.

When he came out of the telephone booth his eyes were a little wild. He pushed his hat back on his head and mopped at his forehead with a handkerchief, and he looked a trifle as though he had just awaken up from a bad dream.

“Boys,” he said, sternly. “I’m going home now and go to bed before anything else happens that will keep me awake all night. Ben, you’d better stop in at that house and knock on the door on your way to work in the morning. See if there is anyone there. We’ve got to get this thing straightened out before I do go nuts.”

“
Me?
” said Ben in a faint voice as he pointed his finger at himself.

“Sure,” Socker said. “You won’t mind in the daytime. There will be lots of people going by.” He turned his head and smiled at Djuna. “Do you live around here, too, Djuna?”

“No sir,” Djuna said. “I live in Edenboro with Miss Annie Ellery. I’m just visiting Miss Annie’s sister, Mrs. Juniper Silvernails, over on Dapplegray Road. Miss Annie hasn’t been feeling well.”

“That’s too bad,” Socker said, politely. “I suppose you’ll be in the Square to give me another shine before I go to work tomorrow?”

“Oh, yes sir,” Djuna said, eagerly.

“Well, good night, boys,” Socker said and solemnly shook hands with both of them. They went out to the street with him and he said, “Well, tomorrow maybe we can get close enough to those ghosts to sprinkle a little salt on ’em, eh? Then we’ll have ’em. Good night.”

“Good night, Mr. Furlong,” they said in chorus.

“Gee. It’s getting late,” Djuna said. “I hope Mrs. Silvernails won’t be cross. I’ve got to scoot.”

“So have I,” Ben said, “and I bet you know where I’m going to scoot the fastest.”

“You could go around the block,” Djuna said. “Then you wouldn’t have to go by that house.”

“Naw,” Ben said. “I’ll stay on the other side of the street. Good night.”

“So long,” Djuna said. “See yon in the Square tomorrow.”

Mrs. Silvernails was sitting in a big, upholstered chair in the living room of her little house on Dapplegray Road when Djuna arrived home. She was such a little bit of a woman that she looked almost lost in the big chair. When Djuna came in she pushed up her spectacles and smiled at him and her little, red button of a nose bobbed up and down just like the nose of a rabbit when it smells carrots.

“Land’s sake! I’m glad you’re home, Djuna,” she said, but Djuna could tell from the way she smiled that she wasn’t cross at him. “I had a letter from Annie today and she writes that she is feeling much better. I forgot to tell you about it at supper time. I was hoping you’d get home early so I’d remember to tell you before I forgot it again.”

“That’s fine,” Djuna said. “Did she say anything about Champ?”

“Yes. She said to tell you that Champ missed you very much,” Mrs. Silvernails said. “She said he spent most of his time sitting on the front stoop looking down the road for you.”

“Gee, I wish I’d brought him with me,” Djuna said. “I miss him something
terrible
.” He blinked his eyes twice, very quickly and started to say something else when Mrs. Silvernails spoke.

“I’m afraid it’s just as well you didn’t, Djuna,” she said. “There’s no place to keep him around here, and dogs make me nervous.”

Djuna didn’t say what he was going to say. He knew there wasn’t any use. He was going to ask Mrs. Silvernails if he could send for Champ if he could think of some way to get him there.

“Dogs are happier in the country, anywhy, I think,” Djuna said and he changed the subject because he couldn’t imagine why dogs would make anyone nervous. Unless, of course, they were fierce dogs. He snickered to himself at the idea of his little black Scotty being fierce, except when he barked hard to try to make himself think he was fierce.

“I’m awful glad Miss Annie is feeling better,” he said.

Mrs. Silvernails pushed her spectacles up on her forehead again and smiled at him. “You’re very devoted to Annie, aren’t you, Djuna?” Mrs. Silvernails said.

“Gracious, yes,” Djuna said. “She’s always been awful nice to me. I guess I’ll go to bed now.” He stood up and rubbed his eyes.

“You go right ahead, Djuna,” said Mrs. Silvernails. “I’m going to sew awhile longer.”

Djuna climbed wearily to his room with the thought in mind that when he got into bed he would try to figure something out about the little girl and the man who were in the haunted house. But after he got into bed he put that off for a few minutes while he wondered if Champ was sleeping well and was happy. And the next thing he knew he didn’t know anything, because he was very much asleep.

D
JUNA WAS AWAKENED
the next morning by the sunlight that was dancing all over his room, and especially into his eyes. He opened one eye and looked at the clock on the table beside his bed. When he saw that it was ten o’clock he sat straight up like a jack-in-the-box. He wondered why Mrs. Silvernails hadn’t called him earlier.

He couldn’t hear anyone moving around downstairs when he jumped out of bed and ran to the window in his bare feet. He stuck his head out and looked up and down the street because he had only been there for a couple of days and everything was new to him. Every time he stuck his head out of the window in the morning he found something new, up or down the street.

The big clock with four faces on the tower of the newspaper building where Socker Furlong worked was tolling ten o’clock as Djuna put his head out the window. Automobiles and busses and trucks were hurrying along Dapplegray Road and Djuna couldn’t help wondering how in the world there were so many different places for all of them to go.

Then, down on the corner, he saw a man with a hand organ and a little monkey with a cap cocked on the side of its head, and he slid into his clothes and was downstairs in two jumps.

“For land’s sakes!” Mrs. Silvernails exclaimed as Djuna bounced into the kitchen so hard that the dishes in the pantry rattled. “I thought there was a tornado coming. You had a nice long sleep.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Djuna said. “Is it all right if I–”

“A growing boy needs lots of sleep,” Mrs. Silvernails said. “Now you get washed and I’ll fix you some breakfast.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Djuna said, and he began to edge toward the back door. “Is it all right if I–”

“Would you like the same thing you had yesterday morning–dry cereal with strawberries and cream?” Mrs. Silvernails asked, interrupting Djuna again. An expression of indecision that was very closely akin to pain appeared on Djuna’s face at the mention of strawberries and cream, but he continued to sidle toward the door.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said again. “Is it all right if I go aeross the street for a minute to see a monkey?”

Mrs. Silvernails pushed up her glasses and stared at him as though she thought he had taken leave of his senses. Then the squeaky strains of a hand organ came to her ears and she said, “Why, yes. Why didn’t you say so? Hurry back, because your breakfast will be ready in a moment.”

But Djuna hadn’t heard what she said. He had gone out the back door with the speed of a Fourth of July rocket when he saw the assent in her eyes.

He ran up to the corner and stood and watched while the hand organ ground out “The Sidewalks of New York” and some of the kids who were watching danced, and the monkey danced with them. It was the first time Djuna had ever seen a monkey up that close and he was amazed at how much it looked and acted like the old, old man who lived in a shack back of Lost Pond in Edenboro.

After awhile the man with the hand organ and the monkey and all the kids moved on up the street and Djuna went back to Mrs. Silvernails’ because Miss Annie had told him that he must never cause his hostess any trouble when he was visiting.

His breakfast was waiting for him on the table, and Mrs. Silvernails had just finished cutting an orange, a grapefruit and a lemon into small pieces to make marmalade.

“Gracious,” he said as he sat down. “There are so many things to do and see in a city! I just don’t see how you find enough time for all of them.”

“I guess nobody ever has time to do everything they want to do,” said Mrs. Silvernails. She sighed. “All my life I’ve wanted to pickle some capers to use for flavoring and I can’t
ever
seem to get around to it.”

Djuna thought that was a pretty funny thing to want to do but he didn’t mention it. But when he started thinking about it he remembered something Miss Annie had told him and he said, apologetically, “Miss Annie says pickled nasturtium seeds are just as good as capers.”

Mrs. Silvernails stared at him for a moment and then she said, “Well, I declare! Why didn’t she tell me! I have loads in the yard.”

“Probably she didn’t even think of it,” Djuna said. He looked up at the old clock on the shelf above the kitchen sink and saw that it was half past ten.

“Gee! I better hurry if I’m going to get any shoes to shine today,” he said. “I’ve had such a late breakfast, do you mind if I don’t come home for lunch, Mrs. Silvernails?”

“Why, no,” said Mrs. Silvernails, “if you don’t think you’ll get awfully hungry.”

“If I get a lot of shoes to shine I’ll buy some peanuts,” Djuna said.

“Don’t you go filling your stomach up with a lot of trash,” Mrs. Silvernails said, and she shook her finger at him and pretended to be very severe. “Annie would never forgive me if you got sick while you are here.”

“Oh, I won’t,” Djuna said. “Good-by.”

“Well, I
do
declare!” said Mrs. Silvernails as Djuna whizzed around the corner of the house with his shoe-shine box slung on a strap over his shoulder. “
Imagine
him remembering about those nasturtium seeds!”

When Djuna arrived at the Square the prospects of finding any customers were worse than they had been the day before. There were a half dozen men sitting on scattered benches but the shoes of all of them looked as though their owners had spent all of their time trying to avoid having their shoes shined.

After he had solicited their trade and had been curtly refused, or received no answer at all, he went across the street to the newspaper building. He saw a couple of men talking on the corner who looked like the kind of men that like to have their shoes shined and hopefully went up to them.