Get Smart 9 - Max Smart and the Ghastly Ghost Affair

by William Johnston

  99 shrugged. “All right, Max—if you’re that positive. I agree, it was somewhere over here near the tables.”

  “Unless, of course, it was near the bar,” Max said, scowling again. “It could have rolled farther than I remember. As a matter of fact, now that I remember, it did roll farther than I remember. It probably rolled allllllll-the-way across the saloon and dropped into one of those cracks near the bar. Let’s start looking there, anyway.”

  They walked to the bar, then stood around the crack that Max had pointed out.

  “That looks like it,” Max said.

  “It looks very crack-like,” 99 agreed.

  “Hee-haw!” the mule said.

  “Is he agreeing or disagreeing, Max?” 99 asked.

  “Agreeing, 99.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “That’s the nice thing about translating animal talk, 99. You can make it mean anything you want it to mean.” He got down on his knees and put his eye to the crack. “This is it,” he announced.

  “Do you see the penny, Max?”

  “I see part of it,” Max replied, rising. “I see Coolidge’s eye.”

  “His eye, Max?”

  “What’s so surprising about that?” Max asked. “A Coolidge-head penny has a head, doesn’t it? And a head has an eye—one at the very least—doesn’t it? And the eye in the head of a Coolidge-head penny would be Coolidge’s, wouldn’t it? I mean, it would be a little odd to find Washington’s or Lincoln’s eye in the head of a Coolidge-head penny. So, why are you so surprised that I saw the eye of Coolidge peering up at me from the head of a Coolidge-head penny?”

  “I just sort of thought that if you saw anything, you’d see the whole penny.”

  “Mmmmmmm . . . come to think of it . . .” He shrugged. “Well, I saw somebody’s eye looking back up at me,” he said. “If it isn’t Coolidge’s, I think we better find out whose it is.” He looked around the saloon. “I’ll need something to use to pry up these floor boards,” he said. “Let’s see . . . Aha!” He walked over to a chair and picked it up, raised it above his head, then smashed it against the floor. The chair splintered into several parts. “I’ll use this leg,” Max said, picking up a part that had not broken. “It’ll make a dandy lever.”

  “Max, you certainly are resourceful,” 99 said admiringly. “I never would have thought of breaking that chair and using a leg to pry with. That was very clever.”

  “Your frankness is appreciated, 99,” Max said. “But, actually, it was the most obvious thing to do. Anybody who’s ever seen a western movie knows that these chairs crack up at almost the slightest touch.” He inserted an end of the chair leg into the crack, then put his weight on the other end. There was a splintering sound and the leg snapped in two. “Just as I said—‘crack up at the slightest touch,’ ” Max said. He tossed the broken chair leg aside. “Any other clever ideas, 99?” he asked sarcastically.

  “Max, that was—”

  “Save it,” Max broke in. “You’ve used up your quota of frankness for today, 99.” He walked over to a table and kicked a leg. The leg broke off. Max picked it up and examined it closely. “I think this will work a little better,” he said. He lifted it over his head and smashed it against the floor. Again, there was a splintering sound. Max had smashed a large hole in the floor. “It just proves that the old adage is right,” he said, returning to where 99 and the mule were standing. “Never send a chair leg to do a table leg’s job.” He put the narrow end of the table leg into the crack, then pried. There was a creaking sound, then the floor board came loose. Max got down on his knees again.

  “Is it there, Max?”

  “Yes, 99, the eye is still here,” Max replied, rising. He began putting the floor board back in place.

  “Wasn’t it the penny, Max?”

  “It wasn’t the penny, 99,” Max answered, rising. “Now, let’s see, where shall we look next?”

  “Max, what was it you saw? You said you saw an eye, and then you—”

  “99, at some time in the long history of this saloon, a lady lost a small hand mirror down that crack. Now, does that answer all your questions sufficiently?”

  “You mean it was—”

  “Yes, it was my eye!”

  “Hee-haw!”

  “What did he say, Max?”

  “He said it was a natural mistake because, as he recalls, Coolidge had blue eyes, too. Now, are we going to stand around all morning discussing eyes or are we going to look for that Coolidge-head penny?” He moved to a crack near the tables and inserted an end of the table leg and applied leverage. The floor board popped up. Again, Max got down on his knees.

  99 and the mule had joined him. “What do you see this time, Max?” 99 asked.

  “Something shiny like a penny!”

  “It’s it!” 99 cried.

  “But I can’t reach it,” Max said. He plunged his whole arm into the hole. “It’s— I don’t know . . . I can’t figure it out.” He extracted his arm and stood up. “Look for yourself, 99,” he said.

  99 bent over and peered into the hole. “I see it!” she said. “You’re right, Max, it’s too far down to reach. I wonder what— Max! That’s the basement!”

  “I hardly think so, 99,” Max said. “Remember where we are? We’re in a saloon. If anything, that’s a wine cellar down there.”

  “All right, Max. A basement, a wine cellar, what’s the difference?”

  “99, a wine cellar is a place where wine is kept. A cellar is a place that floods in spring. You’d know the difference, all right, if you kept your wine in the basement and it got water in it.” He put the floor board back in place. “All we have to do now,” he said, “is find the basement door.”

  “The basement door, Max?”

  “How else do you think you get to the wine cellar, 99? You go down through the basement doorway.” He walked to the rear of the saloon and entered the back room. When 99 and the mule joined him, he said, “Doesn’t this remind you of the old song, 99?”

  “ ‘Dead In the Baggage Coach Ahead,’ Max?” 99 replied. “I don’t see the connection.”

  “I meant the old song, ‘See What the Boys in the Back Room Will Have,’ ” Max explained. He looked puzzled. “There’s no basement door in here,” he said. “And I didn’t see one out in the other room, either. Where do you suppose the entrance to the basement is?”

  “Wine cellar, you mean, Max.”

  “Basement, wine cellar—what’s the difference.” Max left the back room and returned to the main room, followed by 99 and the mule. He stopped and looked around again. “Maybe I’m looking for the wrong kind of door,” he said. “Maybe you get to the wine cellar through a trapdoor. That makes sense. If the saloon-keeper had a lot of expensive wine stored in his wine cellar, he wouldn’t have the door where anybody could see it. He’d hide it. He’d have . . . Let me see . . . Of course! He’d have a trapdoor behind the bar.”

  With 99 and Madame DuBarry tagging along, Max hurried to the bar, then went behind it. “A secret trapdoor,” he decided.

  “What makes you think that, Max?”

  “Do you see the trapdoor, 99?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I don’t either. So it must be a secret trapdoor. A little logic, 99, can be very helpful in answering those unanswerable questions.” He began stomping noisily on the floor. “I’ll know when I find it because I’ll hear a hollow sound,” he explained. “A little logic, that’s all it takes.”

  “I don’t hear a hollow sound, Max.”

  “99, I’m only halfway to the end of the bar.”

  A short while later, Max reached the end.

  “I didn’t hear any hollow sound, Max.”

  “Hee-haw!”

  “You can keep your comments to yourself, if you don’t mind,” Max said crankily to the mule.

  “What did he say, Max?”

  “He said, ‘Hee-haw!’ He was giving me the old mule laugh,” Max replied. Once more, he looked around the saloon. “
Well, if the wine cellar isn’t reached by trapdoor, then you must get to it by secret panel,” he said. “Logically, that’s the only sensible answer.” He walked out from behind the bar and went to a wall and began pressing the panels. “If I can just locate the right spot, the panel will swing open, revealing the entrance to the wine cellar. All these old castles have secret panels. I think—”

  “Max, this isn’t an old castle,” 99 pointed out. “It’s an old saloon.”

  “Old castle, old saloon—what’s the difference. As long as—”

  “Hee-haw!”

  “What?” Max asked. “I didn’t get that.”

  “Max!” 99 cried. “He disappeared again!”

  Reluctantly, Max took his attention from the wall. He looked for the mule. “You’re right, 99! He found it!” he said.

  “Found what, Max?”

  “The secret panel! You don’t seem to know any more about horror movies than you do about westerns, 99. In all the horror movies, there’s always a beautiful girl, and she’s always alone in this mysterious room—a library most of the time—and then there’s always a scream and she disappears through a secret panel. That’s exactly what’s happened here!”

  “Max, that mule isn’t exactly a beautiful girl!”

  “99, he probably thinks he is. Why else would he name himself Madame DuBarry?”

  “But this isn’t a mysterious room.”

  “Isn’t a mysterious room? 99, a mule who thinks he’s a beautiful girl has just disappeared through a secret panel, and you don’t think that’s mysterious? What does it take?”

  “All right, Max,” 99 said. “A beautiful girl just screamed and then disappeared through a secret panel. But, where is it?”

  “I don’t know, 99,” Max replied. “But now that we know for sure that it’s here, we shouldn’t have any trouble finding it. Where was the mule standing when he disappeared?”

  “Right here beside me in the middle of the saloon, Max.”

  Max walked to the spot that 99 had pointed out and looked down at the floor. “Fantastic!” he said. “I could have wasted the whole day examining the walls in here, and all the time the secret panel would be here in the floor. The man who thought this up was a genius. Either that or he’d never seen any horror movies and didn’t know where secret panels belong.”

  “He certainly did a great job of hiding it, though,” 99 said. “That looks exactly like bare floor to me, Max.”

  “To me, too.”

  “Max, isn’t it possible that the mule just disappeared—the way he did before.”

  “That would be too much of a coincidence, 99,” Max replied. He began stomping on the floor. “Hear that! Does that sound hollow to you, 99?”

  “No. Max.”

  “Mmmmmm . . . it doesn’t sound hollow to me, either. It sounds more like—”

  “It sounds like a noisy neighbor!” a voice said.

  Max and 99 turned toward the sound of the voice. They found Arbuthnot and the other assassins standing in the entrance doorway. Arbuthnot had a pistol pointed at them.

  “A noisy neighbor?” Max asked.

  “Yes!” Arbuthnot replied, furious. “How do you expect us to hold a meeting over in the bank with you doing all that stomping over here in the saloon! You’ve made a mess of the whole morning, Smart! I was right in the middle of my lecture on ‘Safe-Cracking—A Moral Confrontation with the Establishment,’ when suddenly I was interrupted by a terrible racket that sounded like stomping. I sent one of my men out to see what was causing it. But just as he was leaving the bank, the noise stopped.”

  “I’d failed to find the trapdoor,” Max explained.

  “Then, next, right in the middle of my lecture on ‘Getting a Good Night’s Sleep and Having a Nourishing Breakfast Before an Assassination,’ the stomping started again.”

  “I was looking for the secret panel in the floor,” Max told him.

  “Well, you ruined my whole morning!”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

  Arbuthnot looked at him narrowly. “You were looking for a secret panel on the floor? And a trapdoor? Why?”

  “Oh. Well, I, uh . . . That’s my hobby. Some people play with electric trains and some people save stamps and some people look for secret panels and trapdoors.”

  Arbuthnot looked down at the floor. He moved further into the saloon, then stomped. “It’s solid,” he said. “What’s supposed to be under there?”

  “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. If you’re hooked on looking for trapdoors and secret panels, you don’t care where they lead,” Max said. “The kick is in finding them. As a matter of fact, if you find one that leads somewhere, you’re usually disappointed. Because you have to follow it and find out where it leads to, and that gives you less time to go look for another trapdoor or secret panel.”

  “Smart, I don’t believe you,” Arbuthnot said. He moved to another stop—a place near the tables—and stomped again. “Aha!” he said. “It’s hollow underneath.”

  “You’re probably over the wine cellar,” Max said.

  “Oh . . . yes . . .” Arbuthnot replied, looking disappointed. He shrugged. “All right, Smart, don’t tell me why you were doing all that stomping,” he said. “It doesn’t make any difference. I’m going to lock you up again. And, this time, I’m sure you won’t get free. I won’t make the mistake of sending food to you again. I’ve learned my lesson. Kindness doesn’t pay.”

  “I think you mean ‘Crime doesn’t—’ ” Max began. Then he interrupted himself, and, after a second of looking thoughtful, he said, “I guess, in this case, at least, you’re probably right.”

  Arbuthnot gestured toward the doorway. “Out!” he commanded.

  “Back to the jail, eh?” Max said.

  “Not this time,” Arbuthnot replied. “I have a surprise for you. Out the door, then turn right toward the bank.”

  Max and 99 marched out of the saloon, followed by Arbuthnot. When they reached the porch, they headed for the bank. The other assassins joined Arbuthnot, tagging after them.

  “I’m sorry, 99,” Max said. “All this could have been avoided if I hadn’t done that stomping.”

  “In the final analysis, it wasn’t the stomping that led me to you,” Arbuthnot told Max.

  “Oh?”

  “No. When the stomping started the second time, I sent my man out again. But just as he got outside, the stomping stopped—the way it had the first time.”

  “That was when I decided there wasn’t a secret panel in the floor,” Max said.

  “Anyway, my man cane back,” Arbuthnot went on. “He didn’t know where the stomping sound was coming from. I didn’t want to be interrupted again, though. So, my men and I left the bank and began an investigation, hoping to learn where the stomping sounds were coming from.”

  “That’s logical enough,” Max said. “But what was it that ultimately led you to us.”

  “I’d rather not say,” Arbuthnot replied.

  “Ah, come on.”

  “You won’t believe it.”

  “Sure, I will. Promise. Cross my heart and etc., etc.”

  “Well . . . we followed what appeared to be drunken jack rabbit tracks,” Arbuthnot said sheepishly.

  8.

  “INSIDE,” ARBUTHNOT SAID, when they reached the bank.

  “If you think you can buy us off—”

  “Inside!” Arbuthnot repeated, prodding Max with the gun this time.

  Max and 99 stepped through the entrance into the bank. One of the KAOS agents drew out a spray bottle and disinfected the doorway. Then Arbuthnot and all the KAOS assassins followed Max and 99 into the bank.

  “If you think you can buy us off—” Max began once more.

  “Back to the vault!” Arbuthnot ordered, waving the pistol.

  Max led the way toward the rear of the bank. “A vault!” he whispered to 99. “Arbuthnot must have millions with him if he has to keep it in something as big as a vault. Maybe we ought to give bribery some seco
nd thoughts, 99. I mean, what’s so terrible about accepting a little gift of money in return for doing an enemy a favor?”

  “Max! It’s dishonest!”

  “No more dishonest than taking a company stamp to mail a letter, 99,” he whispered. “If I do that, why shouldn’t I accept a few million dollars from Arbuthnot as a bribe? We could look at it as a six-cent stamp.”

  “Max, I’m not sure—”

  “Halt!” Arbuthnot commanded. He pointed to the door of the vault, which was closed. “There you are . . . that’s for you,” he said to Max.

  “Sorry,” Max replied. “According to my wife, we cannot be bribed.” He stepped a few paces closer to Arbuthnot and lowered his voice. “However—”

  “Bribed?” Arbuthnot said. “I have no intention of trying to bribe you. And—” He stepped back, looking bothered, “—don’t get so close! I don’t want your germs. I could get your Control germs and pass them on to other KAOS agents and start another epidemic as terrible as the bubonic plague.” He issued an order to the KAOS agent with the spray bottle. “Get him!” he said, indicating Max.

  The KAOS agent stepped forward and sprayed Max thoroughly.

  “That was very exhilerating,” Max said, waving away the mist of disinfectant. “But it didn’t help your cause any,” he said to Arbuthnot. “Before, you had a teensy-weensy chance of bribing me. You lost that chance, however, with that crack about Control and the bubonic plague.”

  “What gave you the idea I would try to bribe you?” Arbuthnot asked.

  “That’s a vault, isn’t it?” Max said, pointing. “And it’s a vault in a bank, isn’t it? I just put two and two together, that’s all. I have a very logical mind.”

  “Well . . . you’re right—it is a vault, and it is in a bank,” Arbuthnot said. “But I wasn’t thinking about bribery. I had in mind a gift.”

  Max brightened. “ A gift?”

  “I think we owe you something,” Arbuthnot said. “You’ve been quite entertaining. And cheap.”

  Max frowned. “I don’t think I quite understand that.”