The Mystery of the Merry Magician (4 page)

“Oh, that?” Fisty said. “I guess there is, maybe.”

“…
and
the strange things on the New Orleans waterfront Uncle Ellery went to investigate!”

“Now you lost me,” Fisty said, scratching his head. “What’s it about?”

“Well, people have been reporting strange things happening on the waterfront in New Orleans …” He stopped suddenly.

“What of it?”

“Nothing,” Gully replied, remembering Ellery Queen’s warning. “I was just doing what Uncle Ellery told me not to do.”

“What?”

“Making up theories,” Gully said. “My job is collecting facts and only facts. And that’s what I’m going to stick to!”

The two boys parted at the subway entrance, Fisty turning back into the silent, empty streets and Gully going down the stairs to catch the train.

And yet, as he rode uptown in the noisy subway, Gully could not help but think about the strange events. He made up short, crisp sentences describing the facts which he planned to write down in his notebook later.

What facts did he have? Fisty saw a thing he called a space monster—that’s one. Mr. Merlin heard mysterious noises coming from the same building. That’s another fact. Mr. Merlin was hit on the head, then Sandro tried to force him to move away. Fisty said similar strange noises were heard from the barge at Pier A. So, the facts made a trail that led straight to the water and the piers.

And Uncle Ellery was investigating …

Fortunately the train pulled into his station at that moment and Gully made a mad dash to get out. He hurried home, entering the apartment in time to overhear his grandfather’s raspy voice.

“Didn’t you tell Gulliver we eat at seven, Mrs. Butterly?”

“If you’re hungry, you can start eating,” Mrs. Butterly snapped back. “It’s still five minutes of seven. You won’t starve to death waiting a few more minutes.”

“He’s shaving it mighty close,” Inspector Queen grumbled.

“Hi, grandpa,” Gully called cheerfully as he came into the dining room. “I should have been home sooner, sir. Only that space monster …”

“Never mind that now. Sit down, Gulliver. I’m starved.”

“Yes, sir.” Gully slipped into his seat.

“Eh?” His grandfather suddenly looked up from his plate. “Did you say
space monster?
”

“Yes, sir.”

“
What
space monster?”

“The one Fisty Jones reported seeing on the waterfront.”

Inspector Queen looked bewildered. “Have you been to the waterfront?”

“Yes, sir. Getting the facts on the case.”

“Now, Gulliver, what case are you talking about?”

“The one Fisty Jones brought for Uncle Ellery to solve.”

“Who is this Fisty Jones?”

“The boy sent here by Captain Foster who lives on a barge at Pier A …”

“Captain Eban Foster? Who used to be captain of a firetug in the harbor? A seaman before that?”

“I don’t know, grandpa. Anyway, he knows you.”

“I should say—he’s an old friend.” Inspector Queen paused, stared at his grandson thoughtfully for a moment, then said, “Suppose you start from the beginning. Tell me all about it.”

Gully ate and talked between mouthfuls. He finished his account and the meal at about the same time. When the boy stopped talking Inspector Queen had trouble holding back the smile that was trying to force itself to his lips.

But Gully noticed his grandfather’s amusement. “You don’t think there’s much to this case, grandpa?”

“That’s for Ellery to decide when he reads the information you’re collecting for him.”

“But what do
you
think?”

“I don’t think there’s much of a case.”

“What about Mr. Merlin getting hit on the head?”

“I’d say he was lucky this man Sandro didn’t have him arrested for breaking in. By the way, you’re not to climb any more fences, either.”

“Yes, sir.”

After supper, Gully went to his room. He closed the door, sprawled comfortably on the floor and began to write down the day’s events. Surprisingly, Gully found he had a good memory, recalling clearly even the smallest details of everything that had happened. But he was careful to keep his theories, guesses and opinions out of the notebook.

It was late by the time he had finished. He undressed, propped himself comfortably in bed and picked up a book. It was
The Finishing Stroke,
one of his Uncle Ellery’s mystery stories.

The door opened a little later and his grandfather looked in. “Still up?” he asked. “I came by to say good night.”

“Good night, grandpa.”

Inspector Queen threw an amused look at the book Gully was reading. He grinned.

“Nothing like one of Ellery’s books to put you to sleep,” he chuckled. “Good night, Gulliver.”

Inspector Queen was wrong. The book Gully was reading was so exciting that he could not put it down until he had finished it. By that time it was very late.

And it was late morning when Gully was awakened by a pounding on his door.

“Up, sleepy-head!” called Mrs. Butterly. “Are you going to sleep all day?”

“Gosh!” Gully leaped out of bed. “What time is it, Mrs. Butterly?”

“Too late for breakfast,” the housekeeper replied. “But if you hurry, you may make it for lunch!”

“In five minutes, Mrs. Butterly.”

Gully flung himself out of his pajamas, showered and dressed in record time. It was not the thought of food that made him hurry, though he was hungry, but the realization that he would be late for his appointment with Fisty.

Mrs. Butterly had lunch on the table when he came into the kitchen.

“I’m going downtown to meet Fisty,” Gully said after he had finished. “But I’ll be home in time for supper tonight.”

“See that you are.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Gully called over his shoulder as he went out.

It was past noon by the time he left the subway at the Canal Street station. For a moment, Gully was confused by the lunch hour crowds, pushing and jostling and rushing by him. He turned westward and soon became one with the crowd as he hurried toward the waterfront.

He continued at a fast pace until he found himself walking through the narrow streets near the waterfront. Then he slowed down enough to notice his surroundings. Huge trucks were parked along the curb unloading bags and boxes of fruit and vegetables. He was aware of the smell of oranges in crates, of cabbages and bags of onions. Somewhere coffee was being roasted.

But he was late and Fisty would be waiting. Some other time, Gully decided, he would take more time to visit these strange, crowded, busy streets through which so much of the city’s food moved.

He crossed Washington Street. A block ahead was West Street and Gully instinctively increased his pace.

But as he approached the corner, a hissing sound startled him.

“Pst! Gully! Come over here!”

Fisty was standing in the doorway of an empty store.

“What’s the matter?” Gully joined his friend.

“Sandro and his tough guy are around the corner.”

Fisty motioned for Gully to follow him and sidled along the wall of the building.

“Take a look.”

Staying close to the wall, Gully poked his head around the corner. A few feet away stood the dark blue sedan. Sitting in the car were Sandro and the man with the tattooed hands. Both were intently looking at the rear view mirror.

Gully glanced down the street. A truck was parked in front of Mr. Merlin’s house and two men were unloading oblong wooden boxes. The boxes appeared unusually heavy. Both men strained under the weight as they carried them into the store.

Mr. Merlin was on the sidewalk, hopping about and waving his arms wildly as he poured out orders and instructions to the truckmen.

“The tools and equipment he was expecting from the warehouse,” Gully said as he withdrew his head. “Why is Sandro so interested?”

“He’s not the only one,” Fisty said. “Look over there, under the highway.”

Once again Gully poked his head around the corner. This time he directed his gaze diagonally across West Street. For a moment he saw only the heavy trucks rumbling along the street and a few longshoremen standing about near the open gates of Pier B.

Suddenly Gully’s eyes caught a slight movement in the shadows beneath the elevated highway. A man had shifted his position and for an instant moved into the light. Gully saw him clearly.

It was a tall, gaunt man. His arms were crossed over his chest. His head was held high, his chin thrust forward. The man’s face was long and bone-thin with black, hollow eyes which were immovably fixed on Mr. Merlin.

It was a strange, skull-like face. With a shudder, Gully drew back around the corner of the building.

G
ULLY
leaned against the wall of the building. The gaunt, frightening face remained sharp and clear in his mind.

“I was scared, too,” Fisty said, looking at his friend.

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know. He’s been out there since I came.”

“Does Mr. Merlin know he’s being watched?”

“Maybe. Anyway, we ought to tell him.”

The two boys waited until they heard the sound of a car engine being raced. A moment later Sandro’s blue sedan shot past and headed uptown.

“Let’s go see Mr. Merlin now,” Fisty said, slipping around the corner.

The little magician was talking to the two truckmen who had finished their work.

“Well have another couple of loads for you tomorrow, Mr. Merlin,” one of the men said as the two boys approached.

“Thank you, gentlemen! I’ll soon be ready for business.”

Then Mr. Merlin did a strange thing. The truckmen stared as he hopped into the air and kicked his heels twice. When he landed again on the sidewalk, he held out his hands toward the truckmen.

“For you!” he cried and snapped his fingers.

A cigar appeared in each hand.

“Huh?” one of the truckmen gaped. “How’d ya do that?”

Merlin giggled. “Air’s full of things. I reach out and help myself to whatever I want!”

The truckmen took the cigars and left. As their truck rumbled away, the magician turned to the two boys.

“I’ve something for you, too,” he said.

Again the magician snapped his fingers and again two cigars appeared in his hands. He held them out for the boys to take.

“We don’t smoke …” Fisty began.

“Oops!” the magician laughed. “You’re too
young
for such things!”

There was a loud “pop.” The cigars vanished. Two large, red lollipops appeared in his hands.

As Gully and Fisty reached for them, there was another sharp “pop.” The lollipops vanished and the boys stared at Mr. Merlin’s empty, pudgy hands.

“You’re too
old
for such things!” Mr. Merlin said. “But what about some ice cream? I think I can summon a genie who’ll let us have a quart.”

“Sure!” Fisty agreed quickly, wondering if the magician had still another trick to play on them. “But we wanted to tell you about Sandro watching you …”

“I know all about it,” Merlin chuckled. “I saw him parked in the car near the corner.”

“You’re not worried about it?” Gully asked.

“Not a bit, my boy! Not a bit! We’re wasting time. Come into my house and we’ll see if I can’t get some ice cream out of the air …”

“What about the other man who was watching?”

Mr. Merlin stopped abruptly and shot a startled look at Gully.

“What other man?”

“The one over there …” Gully glanced toward the highway. But there was nothing to be seen in the shadows under it. “He was standing behind one of the pillars, watching you.”

The magician’s face paled. The merry twinkle disappeared from his eyes and an expression of fear came into them.

“Dear me!” he whispered. “Someone watching me!” He looked at Gully and asked, “What did he look like?”

“Tall and very thin,” Gully said. “He had a strange face … like … well, he reminded me of a skull!”

Mr. Merlin looked up and down the street fearfully. Then he turned and scurried into his store, slamming the door shut behind him.

Astonished by the man’s behavior, the two boys stared after the magician.

“What’s the matter with him?” Fisty asked.

“Maybe he knows the man.”

“He’s scared,” Fisty said thoughtfully. “That goes down in your little notebook, huh?”

“Only that Mr. Merlin was frightened,” Gully said. “It’s only an
opinion
that he actually knows the man. Not a fact.”

“Well, you decide what’s a fact and what’s not,” Fisty said. “I’ll just help get the information. Let’s go to the barge and talk to Peggy.”

The two boys walked to the corner where they waited until the traffic light changed, then hurried across.

Pier B was directly opposite Mr. Merlin’s house. It was an old wooden structure built over the pier, its green paint peeling off in long strips. Over a gate wide enough for trucks to drive through was a battered sign:

SEVEN SEAS SHIPPING COMPANY

No Admittance

The guard at the gate glanced at the boys curiously as they walked by. Inside, Gully caught a glimpse of men working on the heavy wooden planking in the middle of the dock.

“Come on,” Fisty said impatiently as Gully fell behind. “It’s the next one we want.”

Between the two piers was an open space where the river came up to the street embankment. Gully glanced down into the oily water and watched it, for a moment, as it slapped against the concrete wall in little waves.

A breeze came in from the river, cool and smelling of salt. Across the Hudson, Gully could see the New Jersey shoreline. A tugboat labored upstream, against the current, pulling a string of barges behind it.

“There’s Peggy’s barge,” Fisty said, stopping for a moment to let Gully catch up to him.

Standing beside his friend, Gully looked at Pier A. It was an open dock, unlike the others along West Street which had huge warehouses built over them. Halfway down the dock was an old-fashioned wooden barge, painted black and riding high on the water. Blunt at both ends, the barge had a small deck cabin at the stern. The little deck house was neatly painted white with red-trimmed windows and flower boxes bracketed under the window sills.