Encyclopedia Brown and the Case of the Secret Pitch (6 page)

“Bugs hired me to get the knife back,” said Encyclopedia. “He’s trying to get even with me, too. I can prove Excalibur was never stolen.”

 

Chief Brown put down his cup of coffee. “Do you know anything about ginger ale?” he asked.

“It comes in a bottle, and I don’t like it as much as root beer,” answered Encyclopedia.

“What a strange question, dear,” said Mrs. Brown, who was clearing away the dinner plates.

“It’s a mighty strange case,” replied Chief Brown. “Rafino de Verona is in the middle of it.”

“Rafino de Verona!” exclaimed Encyclopedia. “The famous blind violinist?”

“Yes, he has a summer home on the beach,” said Chief Brown. “He asked me to drop by this evening. He believes he’s been tricked out of his prize violin by a glass of ginger ale.”

With a whopper like that ringing in his ears, Encyclopedia could hardly stay in his chair. “Can I go with your, Dad?” he asked.

Chief Brown looked at Mrs. Brown.

“You may as well take him along,” she said. “He may never again get a chance to meet someone like Rafino de Verona. But be home by nine-thirty.”

Encyclopedia dashed to his room. He dug out his autograph book. When he reached the car, his father was waiting behind the wheel. Night was beginning to fall as they drove up to the house of the blind violinist.

A maid showed them into the living room. Mr. de Verona, a tall, white-haired man wearing dark glasses, came forward.

“Chief Brown,” he said, holding out his hand. “You brought someone with you. Judging from the sound of sneakers, I should say a lad of ten or twelve.”

“My son, Leroy,” said Chief Brown. “He’s ten.”

“So nice of you to come, too, Leroy,” said Mr. de Verona. He motioned father and son to chairs but remained standing himself.

“I’m almost too ashamed to tell you what happened,” he said. “You’ll think me a fool.”

“Over the telephone you said you had lost your prize violin,” said Chief Brown.

“Lost in a bet,” said Mr. de Verona. “I made a bet last night with Hans Braun, concert master of the Glendon Symphony, and lost.”

He crossed the room to a table. On the table was a tray, several glasses, an ice bucket, and three bottles of ginger ale. Encyclopedia mar-veled at how easily the sightless musician moved among the furniture.

“Clara, my maid, had the night off, and Hans Braun and I were alone in the house,” said Mr. de Verona. “We sat in this room, and the talk soon moved from music to mysteries. Hans is especially interested in locked room puzzles. Almost before I knew it, I’d bet my Stradivarius violin against his Stradivarius.”

Mr. de Verona ran his fine, strong fingers through his mop of white hair. “I didn’t think I could lose! Hans positively worked a miracle to win!”

The blind musician reached into the ice bucket. He dropped four pieces of ice into a tall glass.

“Hans said, ‘Oh, this ice is cold,’ as he filled a glass with four pieces of ice, just as I have done,” said Mr. de Verona. “Then Hans gave me the glass to hold. I heard him open a bottle of ginger ale. He left the room carrying it.”

Mr. de Verona, glass in hand, went to the door of the living room and locked it.

“I locked the door after making sure that Hans was out in the hall. Next I locked the two windows.”

Mr. de Verona went about locking the two windows. One was behind the piano, the other behind Chief Brown’s chair. Now there was no way of getting into the living room without breaking the windows or door.

Mr. de Verona strode across the room. He stopped at an oil painting hanging on the wall and pushed it aside. Behind the painting was a wall safe.

“I felt in Hans’s glass to make sure it was filled only with ice,” he said. “Then I put the glass with the ice inside the safe and locked the safe.”

Mr. de Verona locked the safe and replaced the oil painting. He walked to the door and switched off the lights.

For a second the lone sound was the ticking of the grandfather clock by the bookcase.

Mr. de Verona’s voice came from the darkness.

“The bet was that I was to sit in an easy chair in the middle of the room. I was to stay seated exactly one hour. In that hour, Hans was to enter the locked, lightless room, open the locked safe, take out the glass, remove the ice, pour into the glass the bottle of ginger ale he had carried into the hall, lock the safe, leave the room, and lock the door behind
him—all without my hearing him!”

Mr. de Verona sat down in an easy chair in the center of the dark room.

“I can tell time by the raised numbers on my wrist watch,” the blind musician said. “After an hour had passed, I had heard nothing. I was sure I had the bet won. I unlocked the door and kept Hans talking in the hall so that I should know where he was. I crossed the room and opened the safe. The glass was still there. The ice was gone. Instead, the glass was filled—by thunder!—with ginger ale! I tasted it!”

Mr. de Verona slapped the arms of his chair in bewilderment. “How did Hans do it?” he cried.

For a long moment the room was still. Finally Mr. de Verona arose and switched on the lights.

Chief Brown looked questioningly at Encyclopedia. “Any ideas?” his eyes asked.

Encyclopedia nodded. “May I ask a question, sir?”

“Please do, Leroy,” said Mr. de Verona.

“Who brought up the subject of locked rooms?” asked the boy detective.

“Why, now that I think about it, I suppose it was Hans,” answered Mr. de Verona. “What is the difference? What I want to know is why I didn’t hear him?”

“There is nothing wrong with your hearing, sir,” said Encyclopedia. “No man could have heard the second clue.”

He picked up his autograph book. “Would you please sign this for me?”

It was very unusual for Herb Stein to
walk
into the Brown Detective Agency.

Herb was Idaville’s junior bicycle champion. Usually he came riding up at top speed. He was the only boy in town who wore out the seat of his pants before his sneakers.

“Who grounded you?” asked Encyclopedia.

“Biff Logan,” answered the walking Herb. He rolled twenty-five cents onto the gasoline can. “Biff stole my bicycle.”

Encyclopedia gave the money some thought. Herb was one of his best pals...

“Go on, take it,” urged Herb. “You’ll earn it. ”

“Is this case dangerous?”

“Only around the belt line,” said Herb. “You’ve heard of Biff Logan. If he doesn’t like you, he smacks you in the belly, pow!”

“Biff won’t exactly kiss me if I accuse him of stealing your bike,” observed the boy detective. He pictured Biff Logan in action. Suddenly twenty-five cents wasn’t nearly enough to charge Herb.

“Last week Biff tangled with three of Bugs Meany’s Tigers,” said Herb. “He smacked them each in the stomach-biff,
bam, sock!
They couldn’t eat for a day and a half.”

“I’d better not tell Sally about this case,” mused Encyclopedia. “She might try to mix with Biff. He’s too old and too big for her. We’ll have to outsmart him.”

“If you don’t,” warned Herb, “he’ll smack you in the belly,
pow!”

“I heard you the first time,” said Encyclopedia. “Give me the facts.”

“Yesterday my bike was stolen from in front of my house,” said Herb. “Nancy Etzwiler, who lives down the block, thinks she saw Biff riding it. I went to Biff’s house. He was busy in the back yard covering something with a big canvas.”

“You felt it was unwise to accuse him then and there?”

Herb rubbed his belly and nodded.

Encyclopedia poked around in the rear of the garage. He found a strip of sheet metal on a shelf. He lowered his pants. With the rope from his kite, he tied the sheet metal around his waist. Then he pulled up his pants to cover the armor.

“You look like an overstuffed can of beans,” said Herb.

“I don’t care if I look like I ate a sofa so long as Biff Logan calls me Fatso,” said Encyclopedia. “I’m counting on the fact that he never saw me before, fat or slim.”

Because of the sheet metal middle, Encyclopedia wobbled rather than walked. He couldn’t bend at the waist. He had to bend his knees in order to pick up a baseball and bat.

“We’ll need these,” he said. “We can get into Biff’s back yard if we pretend to chase a baseball.”

Herb pedalled Encyclopedia’s bike while the punch-proof sleuth sat on the cross bar. Biff’s house was in the old, run-down part of town beside an empty lot.

The two friends got off the bike and began hitting the ball in the empty lot. Four times Herb hit the ball into Biff’s back yard. Four times Biff stormed out of the house. He threw the ball back with an angry warning.

“He’s the toughest sixteen-year-old kid in Idaville,” said Herb gloomily. “Why did he pick my bike to steal?”

“Keep a good grip on the bat,” Encyclopedia ordered. “We’re moving in!”

Encyclopedia took aim and threw the ball at the lump of canvas behind Biff’s house. Then the two boys hurried through Biff’s back yard jungle of old tires, bedsprings, screens, and cement blocks.

Encyclopedia picked up the ball. He was lifting one corner of the canvas when Biff charged out.

“Get away from there, Blimp!” shouted Biff, shaking his fist in Encyclopedia’s face.

“You know what I’m going to give you two smart guys?” asked Biff. “The same thing I give all snoopers—a punch in the eye.”

“A punch in t-the
e-eye?”
stammered Herb.

“Don’t you mean the belly?” said Encyclopedia weakly. “I’m sure you mean the belly.”

“The eye,” said Biff. “The last kid I punched in the belly couldn’t eat for a week. He nearly starved to death.”

Herb dropped the bat. He sagged to the ground.

Biff grabbed Encyclopedia by the collar.

“Go ahead, give me a black eye,” said Encyclopedia. “Let everybody see where you punched a smaller boy. How stupid can you get?”

Biff hesitated. “You got something there,” he said. “The old way was better. No marks—so no proof.”

“Don’t spare me,” said Encyclopedia with a noble lift of his chin. “I’ll take my medicine like a man.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” said Biff, swinging for the stomach.

Flesh and bone met sheet metal.

Encyclopedia was knocked backward seven feet.

“Ye-o-ow!”
screamed Biff. “Yipe! Yipe! Yipe!”