by Craig Rice
She shook out the tablecloth and replaced it.
“—and this Mrs. Sanford—”
By that time there was no further excuse for being in the dining room. She went out in the kitchen, filled the dishpan with soap and water, and considered running away from home. She’d gotten as far as the silverware when April came out in the kitchen.
“Dinah, he’s not a spy, he’s a reporter. He writes books. About spies.”
“Wipe the glasses,” Dinah said.
April picked up the dishtowel. Archie burst into the kitchen and said, “Hey, Dinah! Y’know what?”
“Carry out the wastepaper,” Dinah said.
April and Archie tended to their chores in silence. Dinah went on washing dishes and putting away pots and pans. April glanced at her. It was going to be a long, cold day before Dinah asked any questions about Pat Donovan.
Archie came back and banged down the wastebasket. “He paints water!” Archie said. He added a rude noise.
“Archie,” Dinah said coldly, “put away the pots and pans. And, April, there’s lint in that last glass you wiped.”
April and Archie exchanged glances and winks. April rewiped the glass and Archie began putting away the pots and pans.
“You know, Archie,” April said, “I bet his book is going to be a best seller. Maybe it’ll even be in the movies.”
“Yeah,” Archie said enthusiastically. “All about how he chased spies all over Europe pretending he worked for a newspaper.”
“And how he really did get to know this Armand von Hoehne. Gee! I’d begun to think there wasn’t really any such person.”
Dinah said nothing.
“It was pretty smart,” Archie said, “then letting this—this what’s-his-name—”
“Donovan,” Dinah said, “and don’t talk so fast.”
April and Archie exchanged another wink and said, “Why, Dinah, We didn’t know you were listening.”
“I’m not,” Dinah said. “And don’t make so much noise.”
There was a little silence, and then Archie said, “Well, anyway, it was pretty smart, that’s all I gotta say.”
“Funny,” April said, “what a lot of the story he told Dinah was true. About him knowing all those different languages, and stuff. And how he grew a beard and tried to act like Armand von Hoehne pretending to be somebody else, and always keeping his sleeves rolled down so’s nobody’d notice he didn’t have a scar on his left arm, and fixing it so this dope in New York would write letters to Mrs. Sanford making it look as if he really was Armand von Hoehne pretending to be somebody else, and—”
“Wait-a-minute!” Dinah said, dropping the dishrag. “Did he do that?”
April and Archie stared at her innocently and said, in unison, “Do what?”
By the time they’d gone through the bread-and-butter-make-a-wish ceremony, Dinah had forgotten all about being mad. “Did he fix it so those letters—”
“Oh, that,” April said. “Sure. They figured if there were any spies, and if the spies thought he was Mr. von Hoehne, the spies would get in touch with him. All he had to do was grow a beard and paint pictures and be bait.”
“Paint water,” Archie said. “And—and—and—and Mrs. Sanford, they knew she was acquainted with a lot of questioning people—”
“Questionable,” April said.
“Oh, a’right. Anyway, they figured she’d be as li’ble to know spies as anybody.”
Dinah drew a long breath and said, “Is all this on the level?”
“Dinah!” April said. “You don’t think we’d kid you!”
That was the wrong thing to say. Dinah glared at her, wrung out the dishcloth, hung it up, and said, “I’m not interested.” She banged the dishpan into the undersink compartment and marched to the door. There she paused. “Well, why did he run away like he did? And did he actually catch any spies?”
“Sure,” Archie said. “That’s what we’re trying to tell you, only you ain’t interested, because you’re—”
April kicked Archie and said, “They broke up a reg’lar spy ring, honest. Because you put the FBI on his trail and so he had to beat it, fast. And they—the spies, I mean—were gonna arrange his getaway, but he purposely led the FBI to where they were. And Mrs. Sanford really didn’t have anything to do with it, that was just something he tried and it didn’t work.”
She paused for breath and said, “And it can’t go in the newspapers yet and we have to keep it a secret, but he’s going to write a book about all the diff’rent stuff he’s done. And he says you deserve all the credit because you were so smart and caught him and that’s why he had to run away and everything.”
“Me!” Dinah said. Her cheeks turned pink.
“Yeah, you,” Archie said excitedly. “He said—he said—he said—”
April went on hastily, “He said the police or the FBI oughta have you working for them, account of you’d make a wonderful detective and you’re a wonder at questioning suspects. So there!”
“My sister!” Archie said, with pride.
“Gosh,” Dinah said, her cheeks scarlet now. “I didn’t do anything!”
“He said you were awful smart not to fall for that Peter Desmond story, but to call up the FBI right away,” Archie said.
“Well,” Dinah said slowly, “it wasn’t exactly that—” She glanced toward the door. “I wonder what they’re talking about now!”
The three young Carstairs stole through the dining room and paused at the foot of the stairs, hidden in the shadows.
“—must forgive me for taking you in, Marian. But you were the only person I could use for a—a test case. I felt as long as you didn’t recognize me, I was safe.”
“If I’d known, I’d probably have given you away by accident,” Marian said. “It’s just as well.” She was laughing. Her cheeks were pink. She looked happy.
The quiet man in gray had gone. Pat Donovan sat in the most comfortable chair, sipping a cup of coffee, looking very much at home. Bill Smith sat on the less comfortable chair, holding a cup of coffee that looked cold even from the doorway, his face glum.
“Tell me, Pat,” Marian said, “how is Jake? When’s the last time you saw him?”
“Jake Justus? I saw him in Chicago about a year ago. He’s doing fine. Married a gorgeous blonde girl. Say, will you ever forget the night they had that warehouse fire in Blue Island?”
Marian giggled and said, “Never!”
“And say,” Pat Donovan said, “do you ever hear anything from Alma?”
“She’s married,” Marian said. “Married a man that runs a chain of filling stations in Indiana.”
“I’ll be darned,” Pat Donovan said. “Never will forget the time she got a job as a hotel maid and got an exclusive interview with—”
“Newspaper work must be very interesting,” Bill Smith said stiffly.
“You’ve no idea!” Marian said. “Oh, Pat, remember the time Jim spread that airplane bootlegger story all over the front pages!”
“Forsythe? I sure do! Wonder what’s become of him!”
“He’s running a newspaper up in Michigan,” Marian said. “Doing a marvelous job of it, too. And, Pat—”
“You must meet such interesting people,” Bill Smith said, even more stiffly, putting down his coffee cup.
“That’s not the half of it,” Pat said. “Marian, remember that blonde countess in Havana, that wore a nose ring and led a tame leopard on a leash?”
“I’m sorry,” Bill Smith said, rising, “but it’s late.”
Around the corner, Dinah nudged April. “He’s jealous!” she whispered exultantly.
April nudged Archie. “Run up to your room, fast. And then yell! Loud! And keep yelling!”
“Why?” Archie whispered, halfway up the stairs.
“You saw a ghost,” April hissed at him.
Down in the living room, Marian rose and said, “Oh, Mr. Smith, must you go?”
“I’m afraid I must,” Bill Smith said.
“But,” Bill Smith said, “I’ll—”
Archie yelled. April relaxed. A split second more, and Bill Smith would have said, “I’ll be here for dinner tomorrow night.”
Dinah took the stairs in one leap, while April ducked behind the banister. “Mother!” Dinah called. “Archie’s seeing a ghost!”
Mother was halfway up the stairs by then. April headed off Bill Smith and Pat Donovan by emerging calm and smiling, and saying, “That Archie!”
“Marian!” Bill Smith called frantically.
“It’s nothing,” Mother’s voice floated down. “Just a nightmare. Good night, Mr. Smith.”
April beamed and said, “Good night. And don’t forget we’re expecting you for dinner tomorrow.” She walked him to the door as she spoke.
“Yes, of course,” Bill Smith said, his eyes toward the stairs. April opened the door for him. “You’re sure everything’s all right upstairs?”
“Oh, sure,” April chirruped. “We see ghosts all the time. Or didn’t we tell you, this house is haunted? Good ni-i-ght!”
She closed the door just as Marian came down the stairs. “Mr. Smith had to go, Mother.”
“I’m so sorry,” Marian said. She smoothed her hair, sat down, and said, “Sometimes I think Archie doesn’t always tell the truth.”
April rounded the corner into the staircase. Dinah and Archie were waiting for her.
“This is all we need,” April whispered happily. “A rival. Now it’s really in the bag.”
“I’ve got to leave in a few minutes,” Pat Donovan was saying.
“Oh. Pat! Look, can’t you come to dinner tomorrow night?”
“That would really do it,” Dinah whispered. “With her new hair-do and manicure, and the meat loaf—”
The three young Carstairs listened hopefully.
“Sorry,” Pat Donovan said. “But I’m catching the midnight plane. Edna and the kids have been parked in Santa Fe for six months, waiting for me to finish this job.”
The three young Carstairs looked at each other and tiptoed upstairs.
“Never mind,” April said consolingly. “Judging from the way Bill Smith looked tonight, with our brains and Mother’s looks I don’t think we need to use jealousy!”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The three young Carstairs woke early Tuesday morning. There was a feeling of excitement, a sense of great things about to happen, the same feeling that was in the air on the day school was out or the circus was in town. They tiptoed around the house as quietly as kittens, not to wake Mother. An extra hour’s sleep now would make her look even prettier at dinnertime.
In the middle of breakfast, April had her idea. She laid her fork down, gasped, and said, “Dinah! Mr. Holbrook’s daughter!”
“Huh?” Dinah said. Archie stared.
“We’ve got to see that picture of her,” April said. “Today. Because.” She paused for a minute. “She’s a burlesque star. Or maybe—was a burlesque star.”
“Was?” Dinah repeated. She looked a little dazed.
“Bette LeMoe was a burlesque star, too,” April said dramatically. “And—if she’d been Mr. Holbrook’s daughter—”
Dinah choked on her milk. She said, “April! My gosh!” Archie pounded her on the back until she got her breath again.
“Where does Mr. Holbrook live?” April asked.
“Up on Washington Drive.” Dinah said. “It’s about four blocks from here. He’s got a housekeeper. She’s cross. Joella and I went up there once to try and sell her a ticket to the PTA garden tea, and she kept us there fifteen minutes telling us why she wouldn’t buy one.”
“Fine,” April said. “Wonderful. That’s just what we need.” She picked up her fork, returned to the scrambled eggs, and said, “We’ll go up there right after school. You and Archie ring the front doorbell and try to sell her a—a magazine subscription. While I sneak in the back and look for the picture.”
“Yipes!” Archie said happily.
Dinah frowned. “Suppose you get caught.”
“Then I’ll get arrested and put in jail,” April said serenely. “Don’t be a gloomy gus. Suppose I don’t get caught and do find the picture.”
“If I’m gonna keep her busy while you search,” Archie announced, “you won’t get caught, don’t worry. I know her. She’s got a very fine garden, and I’ll borrow Flashlight’s dog and take him along.”
“Archie,” April said, “you’re a genius. For that you can have my jam.”
Archie sniffed, reached for the jam jar, and said. “I just happen to know you don’t like this kind of jam.”
“But, April.” Dinah said. “This is Tuesday.”
“So what?” April said. “It usually is.”
“Except when it’s raining,” Archie said. “Then it’s Saturday.”
“But if you look at it with one eye shut it turns pink,” April said.
“Only I like the striped ones best,” Archie said.
April said, “But you can’t do that, because it’s Tuesday.”
“Quiet, you kids,” Dinah said in exasperation. “It is Tuesday.”
April and Archie stared at her and said in unison, “Did we say it wasn’t?”
There followed the elaborate ceremony that had to be carried out whenever two people said the same thing. Little fingers hooked. “Make a wish.” “Bread ’n’ butter.” Then Archie went on scraping out the jam jar, and April said, “What does Tuesday have to do with it?”
“Tuesday I have after-school gym class,” Dinah said. “I don’t get out till four-thirty.”
“Oh, heck,” April said. “You would!” She thought for a minute. “You’ll have to cut gym.”
“I can’t,” Dinah said miserably. “I’ve already cut three times this term. Once when Archie wanted to see that Roy Rogers movie, and once when it was such a nice day to go swimming, and once—”
“Wait a minute,” April said. “I know. You’ve sprained your ankle.”
Dinah automatically glanced at her ankles. They seemed perfectly intact.
“Archie,” April said, “get the adhesive tape. Thank goodness for those Girl Scout first-aid lessons!”
Dinah looked bewildered, then finally said, “Oh!”
Ten minutes later April had finished a magnificent job of taping the ankle. “Now,” she said. “Mother was sleeping when you left for school, so you couldn’t ask her for an excuse slip. That gym teacher is such a shot bag that she prob’bly won’t remember it by next gym class. If she does, by that time we’ll be able to explain all to Mother. Got that straight?”
Dinah nodded.
“We’ll invade the Holbrook house at four o’clock on the dot,” April said. “And meantime—don’t forget to limp!”
At two minutes to four Dinah and Archie walked up to the house on Washington Drive. Dinah was still limping, and Archie was leading Flashlight’s big brown mongrel on a tightly held leash. April was going up the alley, parallel to them.
“A subscription to Farmer’s Wife magazine,” Dinah muttered. “What the hash-e-cash-kuk am I going to do if she says she’d like to subscribe to it?”
“Tell her you’ll come up tomorrow and bring the thing to write out,” Archie advised, “and then I’ll let Samson loose. That’ll keep her busy.”
Dinah sighed. They turned in the front walk and she could see April, behind the house, waiting in the shrubbery.
Lawyer Holbrook lived in a medium-sized, unpretentious stucco bungalow with neat, very ordinary grounds, and a carefully arranged garden at one side. A large, cross-looking white cat was dozing by the sundial. Samson growled. Archie jerked on the leash and said, “Shut up.” He beamed at Dinah and said, “Oh, boy—if Samson ever gets loose after that cat—”
Dinah rang the doorbell. A minute later a tall, bony, gray-haired woman came to the door and said, “Well?”
“Would you like to take a year’s subscription to the Farmer’s Wife magazine?” Dinah said ti
midly.
The gray-haired woman glared and said, “Do I look like a farmer’s wife? Does this look like a farm?”
“No, ma’am,” Dinah said in a small voice. “But—”
“If she sells ten subscriptions she gets a genuine diamond ring,” Archie said.
The gray-haired woman’s lips tightened. Then she launched into a ten-minute dissertation on why she wouldn’t subscribe to the Farmer’s Wife, what she thought of impudent children going around selling subscriptions and bothering their neighbors, and the bad behavior of modern children in general. She ended by saying, “And you take that dog right out of here!”
Dinah felt sudden panic. April must still be in the house. She was to have signaled to them from a vantage point in the alley the minute she got out, and so far she hadn’t been heard from.
Mr. Holbrook’s housekeeper started to go into the house and close the door. Archie let go of Samson’s leash. Samson promptly went after the cat, who squalled and fled. The housekeeper shrieked, and ran after Samson. Archie and Dinah ran after the housekeeper.
The resulting confusion lasted a good five minutes, and ended in the back yard, with the cat halfway up a telephone pole and Samson raising a terrific row at the bottom of the pole. The housekeeper was screaming at Dinah and Archie. Dinah and Archie were just plain screaming.
In the midst of the excitement April slipped out a side window, raced around the house, and joined the group, exclaiming loudly, “Archie! Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, letting that awful dog chase that poor little pussycat!” The poor little pussycat climbed six feet higher up the pole, hurling profanities at Samson.
April grabbed Samson’s leash, put it in Archie’s hand, and said sternly, “You go right straight home! This minute.” Archie beat it fast, dragging a still-barking Samson after him. Dinah ran after him. April lingered just long enough to say sympathetically to the housekeeper, “You’d better call the fire department. That cat’ll never get down that pole by herself.”
She caught up with Dinah and Archie halfway up the street.
“Well?” Dinah demanded. “Did you find it?”
April nodded. “I found it. It was in his desk drawer, right where I thought it would be. I left it there, because it wasn’t evidence.”