“Oh, sure, sure,” Freddy interrupted. “You’ve been trailing me some of the time. I can see that. But why are you hiding out? Not very kind to your nieces, is it, to let them think you’ve been murdered? And how about Bismuth? He’s got the jewelry. Where has he hidden it?”
It took some time, and several threats, to get Uncle Wesley’s story, but Freddy got it finally. After Mr. Bismuth had seen the duck’s letter in the newspaper, complaining about the loss of mud from the pond, he had come to see him. They had had several consultations, and Mr. Bismuth had suggested changing the course of the brook. They disguised themselves, since Mr. Bismuth felt that Mr. Bean would not approve, and having scouted the stream, found a place where there was low ground on the west side of the Big Woods; at one spot there was just a little ridge between this and the stream bed. A trench dug through the ridge for a few yards would lead the water into a new bed, and would, so Mr. Bismuth said, form a new pond with the richest and most nutritious mud farther down.
“I didn’t know that it would be led into the garden,” Uncle Wesley said. “But of course once it was done, there was very little I could do about it.”
It didn’t occur to the duck at first to wonder why so selfish and dishonest a man as Mr. Bismuth would take so much trouble to help him. But then the questions that were asked about his nieces’ jewelry made him suspicious. “I fancy,” he said pompously, “that I am not without skill as a detective. I retained my disguise, which made me practically invisible—”
“Except for those big feet,” remarked Freddy.
“The feet,” said Uncle Wesley, “are not the feature by which one most readily recognizes an acquaintance. As perhaps you have learned.”
“You’ve got me there,” said the pig.
“There are methods of detection,” said Uncle Wesley, “in which a simple uninstructed duck, like myself, who uses his brains, can teach even a professional, uh—private eye, I believe you call yourself.”
“I don’t,” said Freddy. “Get on with your story.”
“From the moment my suspicions were aroused,” Uncle Wesley continued, “I shadowed—I believe that to be the correct term-Mr. Bismuth. I was close by when he dug the jewelry up. But in the excitement of your capture, and of his flight, I lost sight of him.”
“You don’t know then what he did with the stuff?” Freddy asked. “And did you ask him to dig them up, so you could hide them in a safer place?”
“No to both questions,” said Uncle Wesley. “And now if you are finished with this entirely unauthorized cross-examination—’’
“I’m not,” Freddy cut in. “I want to know why you’re slinking about with a piece of cloth over your head like somebody trying to haunt a house. Why don’t you go home? I suppose you’re afraid Mr. Bean will blame you for flooding his garden—”
Uncle Wesley flew into such a rage at this suggestion that Freddy was sure that it was right. “I am not ‘slinking,’ as you call it!” he quacked. “I have never, in my life, slunk! I am watching every move that Bismuth makes; I am searching for the hiding place of my nieces’ jewelry, and if it is ‘slinking’ to attempt to recover their property, then I do indeed ‘slink.’”
“OK, OK,” Freddy said. “I withdraw the word. You don’t slink. And I must say, I admire your courage in tackling a crook like Bismuth. But—well, look, Wes: if I respect your disguise, you must respect mine. Are you sure that if Bismuth catches you, you won’t tell him who I am?”
“Sir,” said the duck, puffing out his chest, “do you think for a moment that I would fear such a low vulgar fellow as this Bismuth? Let me tell you—”
“Let me tell it,” said a deep voice in the tree overhead. There was a soft flutter of big wings and Old Whibley swooped down, seized the duck in his claws and flew off with him.
Freddy heard the owl’s voice: “I’ll keep him out of mischief for a while.”
And then a feeble quacking which died away in the northern sky.
CHAPTER
15
Freddy slept that night in the big bedroom which had once been the Beans’, and was now Carl Bismuth’s. He left the door open, and before he went to sleep the mice came up to see him. He asked them what Mrs. Bean had done to revive them.
“Nothing,” said Eek. “Just said: ‘Get up out of that and don’t be silly.’ So we got up and ran back under the stove. Guess your big death ray act didn’t fool her for a minute.”
“H’m,” said Freddy. “Well I guess—” He broke off as three rabbits came hopping through the door. “Hey!” he said. “How’d you get into the house?”
“Back door,” said Rabbit No. 23. “Screen’s propped open, and the door’s ajar.”
“We think maybe old Bismuth’s sneaked out and left ’em open,” said No. 16. “We thought we’d ask you if you wanted him followed.”
“He’s in bed,” said Eeny. “We just looked. He’s got a clothespin on his nose, and some arrangement of rubber bands. I’ve seen braces on teeth, but I never saw one on a nose before.”
“Makes him snore terrible, that clothespin,” said Quik. “Shook two pictures off the wall last night, and a pitcher of milk walked right off the table and went smash on the floor. Never even woke him. Good milk, too.” He licked his whiskers.
“Funny about the door being open,” Freddy said. “The Beans never leave it that way. Well, yes; I think you’d better keep an eye on Bismuth if he goes out. By the way, who’s this?” he asked, pointing to the third rabbit, who was rather smaller than 23 and 16, but had much larger ears.
“My oldest boy,” said 23. “No. 84½.”
“A half?” Freddy inquired.
“Sure. He’s one of the twins.”
“What do you call the other one then?”
“Why, 84 and the other half, of course,” said 23.
“Isn’t that kind of a long name to call if you want him in a hurry?” Freddy asked. “How about 84a and 84b?”
“Well, in practice, we just call ’em ‘other’ and ‘brother,’” said 23. “But I kind of like a and b. I’ll speak to their mother about it.”
“Why did you bring him?” Freddy asked. “He’s never done any investigating for the firm.”
“Speak up, brother,” said 23. “Why did you come?”
“Well, sir,” said 84½, “my father has been one of your trusted operatives for many years, and I thought if—well sir, if you tried me out, and I proved worthy, maybe I could work with him.”
The mice began to giggle.
“Wants to be a private eye,” said Eeny.
“Private ear, is more like it,” said Eek. “Bet there ain’t a whisper on the farm that misses those flappers.”
“All right, all right!” said 841/2 angrily, “You want to pick on me, I’ll pick right back. Want me to tell Freddy what you were whispering about him to your brother just before we came into the room?” He imitated Eek’s squeaky little voice. “‘Now we’ll see the great detective do his stuff! The big dope! Why, he couldn’t detect a—’”
“Skip it!” said Freddy. “If you want to work for Frederick & Wiggins you’ve got to have better control over your temper than that. But I’ll give you a chance. You can help your father on this case, and we’ll see what he says about your work.”
So then he told them all that he knew, and said: “What we want first of all is to find where he’s hidden the jewelry, and the money from Mrs. McMinnickle.”
They were discussing this when the Webbs came in. Only they came in along the ceiling instead of along the floor, like the mice. This is the best way to go from one room to another in the dark, if you can manage it, because you don’t fall over things.
Of course Freddy didn’t know they were there until they slid down a strand of web and landed on his head. Any other pig would have shaken his head and tried to throw them off, but Freddy knew at once who they were and, even though they tickled, he stayed still, and only said: “Hello, spiders. Don’t stamp around any more than you have to.
”
He felt the tickle move from the top of his head over to his left cheek, and Mr. Webb’s tiny voice said in his ear: “Good evening, Freddy. Well, we haven’t anything to report. The Bismuths haven’t said a word to each other about the jewels. Maybe Mr. Bismuth hasn’t told his wife that he stole them. Probably afraid she’d ask to wear that string of pearls, and the Beans would want to know where it came from.”
“I wouldn’t mind having that string myself,” said Mrs. Webb. “Though what I’d do with a necklace, without any neck to hang it on, I’m sure I don’t know.”
Mr. Webb said: “You’d better stick to flies, mother. Though to tell you the truth, Freddy, these flies today—they’re not like they used to be when I was a young spider. They’ve got no more manners than a centipede. It used to be, you could make a sort of gentleman’s agreement with them, they would stay out of the house in the summertime, and mother and I, when we caught any of the local flies, we’d let ’em go. Of course, unless we were terrible hungry. But generally, we just dined off those we weren’t personally acquainted with.
“But my land, these flies—I don’t know what kind of folks they come from, but they’ve certainly been badly brought up. Walk all over the dining-room table, and in and out of people’s ears—and no respect even for a fly swatter. You ought to hear the language they use! And they’re rough customers, too. They’ll rassle you all over the web, and sometimes it takes both of us to handle a big one.”
“The truth of the matter is, Freddy,” Mrs. Webb said, “that we’re getting too old for this kind of work. Maybe ‘twouldn’t be so bad if we could get a good night’s sleep once in a while. But I haven’t had one in I don’t know when. It’s this snoring.”
“I suppose it must be sort of annoying,” Freddy said.
“Annoying!” Mr. Webb exclaimed. “How’d you like to try to sleep through two thunderstorms, a cyclone and an earthquake? We have to tie ourselves into bed, and even then every time Bismuth snores it’s as if we were playing snap the whip.”
They were pretty upset, and Freddy did his best to calm them down. He was sorry, he said, but as he saw it, the whole future of the Bean farm was at stake, and they’d just have to carry on.
As he had thought, they were indignant that he should have suspected them of wanting to quit. “But as we see it, Freddy,” Mr. Webb said, “the future of the Bean farm depends on getting rid of the Bismuths. And that’s mostly your job. We don’t say you aren’t trying, but are you losing any sleep over it? We are.”
At which Freddy flared up and said he was doing the best he could, and if anybody thought they could handle it more efficiently, they were welcome to try. Perhaps he wouldn’t have been so indignant if he had really had a good plan. He could have told the Webbs about it, and they would have been satisfied. But not having any plan, he got mad.
The Webbs were smart spiders. They knew Freddy wasn’t mad at them, but at himself for not having thought up a plan. So they apologized for being cross, and then he apologized for being cross, and there was a great exchange of politenesses.
The mice were getting bored, for they had only heard Freddy’s side of the conversation, and they began to giggle and poke one another in the ribs, and at last Eeny said in an affected voice: “Oh, dearie me, dearie me, what very polite animals we all are, to be sure!” And Quik said: “Pawdon me, deah Cousin Augustus, but did I step on your tail?” And Cousin Augustus said: “Not at all, not at all! It’s a pleasure. Jump up and down on it if you wish, deah cousin.”
Freddy laughed, and said: “Well, there’s nothing more we can do tonight. Keep your eyes open, all of you. We have got to find where Bismuth has hid the stuff. Because we can’t drive him away by keeping him awake for a week, or by scaring him with ghosts, or by hiring wasps to sting him, or any of the ways we’ve used before.”
Eek wanted to know why not, and Freddy said: “He’s Mrs. Bean’s guest. She’d be ashamed of us if she found out we drove away somebody that she’d invited to stay.”
“You mean you’re just stuck with a guest, no matter how they act?” Eeny demanded. “Boy, I’ve issued my last invitation, then.”
So then the mice and the spiders left, and Freddy went to bed.
When he went down to breakfast he found Mrs. Bean at the stove, and Mrs. Bismuth and the two children gobbling pancakes as fast as they came off the griddle, while Mr. Bean sat in the rocking chair by the window, puffing his pipe and taking an occasional sip from a cup of black coffee. He liked cream in his coffee, but Bella had emptied the entire pitcher over her oatmeal. Mr. Bismuth had gone out without his breakfast, Mr. Bean told him.
Freddy said heartily: “Goot mornink all peoples,” and sat down next to Bella. “Is nice, the utmeal?” he asked, and he picked up a spoon and dipped into the little girl’s bowl. “My, my, is goot!” he said, and he pulled her dish over to him and began spooning it into his mouth as fast as he could.
Mr. Bean took the pipe out of his mouth and doubled up in his chair and fizzed with laughter, but Bella let out a roar. “Ma! Ma! The big pig has taken my breakfast!”
At first Freddy was startled, thinking that she had seen through his disguise. But then he realized that she was just calling him a pig because she thought he was greedy. Any reference to pigs as lazy or dirty or greedy always made him mad; he had written a number of his excellent poems on that subject; so when she grabbed for the bowl, he slapped her hands away. “Is bad manners, snatchings,” he said.
Well then Carl chimed in and Mrs. Bismuth got up and put her arms around Bella and said that if her honored pa was there, nobody would dare steal her food.
“My poor defenseless baby!” she sobbed. “My little hungry Bella!” And they all wept and howled.
Freddy dropped the spoon in the now empty bowl. “Is noisy, dot Bella,” he remarked. “Why she got name Bella?” he asked Mrs. Bismuth. “On account maybe she bellers?” He laughed. “Ha, is goot! Is big choke, not? Where is honorable pop? I like tell him big choke.”
Freddy had been wondering where Mr. Bismuth was. It wasn’t like him to be absent when a meal was on the table. Mrs. Bean brought a plate of pancakes and set it in front of Freddy. Carl, though he was now crying and yelling so hard that he had his eyes shut, seemed to know it was there and made a grab for it. Freddy rapped him over the knuckles with a knife, then felt in his pocket for the flashlight.
The flashlight wasn’t there. Was that, he wondered, what had waked him last night? Had someone sneaked into his room?
He got up, picked up the plate, and took it over the stove. “You eat,” he said to Mrs. Bean. “I go find mister, tell him big choke.”
There was no one around outside. He went into the stable, where Hank told him that Mr. Bismuth had come in earlier that morning. “He acted kinda funny,” the horse said. “Though I dunno—he always acts funny, doesn’t he? Hard to tell with him, is he actin’ funny or just natural.”
“He acted kind of funny,” the horse said.
“Sure, sure,” said Freddy impatiently. “But what did he do?”
“Oh, that,” said the horse. “Why he pointed a little flashlight at me and kept clicking it on and off, and he mumbles something about spiders and mice, and then he—”
But Freddy didn’t hear the rest. He ran out of the stable. He was halfway to the house when he heard Mr. Bismuth call to him, and he turned and went reluctantly back. “Got something of yours, my bold Captain,” said Mr. Bismuth, and held out the flashlight. “Guess you mislaid it last night. Ha, ha; you certainly fooled me for a minute or two, and it ain’t easy to fool a Bismuth—no, sir! Fooled me good with that death ray stuff and the mice and all. Funny thing, too; it’s marked here—see?—patented nineteen something-or-other. Batteries are same as I buy here in Centerboro. Maybe the Busy Bee’s got a branch store on Neptune, hey?” And he laughed heartily.
Freddy felt his tail coming uncurled, but he knew he had to put up a brave front.
“Is so,” he agreed. “Some tings we
buy when we making trips to America in flying saucer. De deat’ ray part, we put it in byemby. We put—I try eggsplain—we put little ogglewop under batt’ry. I show.” He started to take out the batteries.
“A little oggle—what?” said Mr. Bismuth.
“Ogglewop, ogglewop,” said Freddy impatiently. “See! We put him under batt’ry, then we connex ogglewop wit’ two himblatts—I sorry—these Neptunish words, no can say in English—we connex, like I say, then must push button same time touching littly fizzleplick, so deat’ ray working. See?”
“No,” said Mr. Bismuth. “You trying to kid me? There ain’t any pollywogs or whatever you call ’em in there. Look, Cap—”
“Listen,” Freddy interrupted. “No be stoopit. You listen—you learning. We got here ogglewop, no? OK, so we take like waglish wit’ some tollypin ranklums, an’ we dorfin a humblymamma—”
“Ah, phooey!” said Mr. Bismuth, turning away in disgust. “You’re a fake, Mister, and I’m going to show you up. You and your pollywogs!” He shoved Freddy aside and started towards the house.
But Freddy stopped him. “Just a minute,” he said, and said it in his regular voice.
Mr. Bismuth stopped dead. He stood for a moment motionless, then he turned. “What … what’s that?” he said doubtfully.
“I’d better tell you,” Freddy said, “since you’ve found out so much. I’m a police detective. I’d show you my badge, but it’s inside this suit where I can’t get at it. So it will be much better for everybody if you go right on believing that I’m a Neptunian.”
Mr. Bismuth stared at him. “It’s a good disguise,” he said. “You look sort of—you’ll pardon me—but that face isn’t your own, is it?”
“Rubber mask,” Freddy said. “Had it made specially for this job.”
“Well, well,” said Mr. Bismuth. “And who are you investigating, if I might ask?”
“Ah!” said Freddy mysteriously. “I’m not allowed to answer that. But I can tell you that the case I came to investigate is not the one I’m investigating now. See here, sir: I will put my cards on the table. I know you stole the ducks’ jewelry. I know you hid it, and I have a good idea where you hid it. I have only to tell Mr. Bean, or the state troopers, what I know, and you, my friend, will be locked up in a little room with bars on the window.”
Freddy and the Space Ship Page 10