Freddy and the Flying Saucer Plans (9 page)

There was a faint scratching on the door.

He crept to the door. “Oh, dear,” he said to himself, “I wonder if they're going to lynch me.” But listening, he could hear none of the rustlings and movements that a large crowd would have made.

“Who—who is it?” he said with a quaver in his voice. The quaver made him mad and he stiffened his backbone and tried to make his tail curl up tight again—it always came uncurled when he was scared—and said in a firmer tone: “Who's there?”

“It's me, Freddy—Bloody Mike, your old pal. Lemme in, will you?”

Mike wouldn't lynch him, he thought. They had been comrades in some pretty dangerous adventures. So he unlocked the door.

The burglar came in and sat down. “Well,” he said, “what's all this about you selling Ben Bean's saucer plans to some foreign spies?”

“The boys kind of mad about it?” Freddy asked.

“I'll say. They're talking pretty tough. I agreed with 'em—didn't want to get in wrong with the gang. But you know me, Freddy—I wouldn't do nothing against you no matter what you done. I thought I ought to come up and tell you to keep your door locked tonight.”

“I was going to do that anyway,” Freddy said.

“Yeah, well you got to watch out. Us criminals are a pretty patriotic lot of men. I expect because we're kind of easygoing in some respects, we're pretty severe in others. We have to draw the line somewhere. We'll rob and steal, but we won't have any truck with the enemies of our country. But you ain't really doing that, are you, Freddy?”

“No, I'm not,” said the pig. “But I can't tell you what I really am trying to do. All I can say is, if I pull it off, Uncle Ben will be pleased. But don't tell the others.”

“That's enough for me,” Mike said. “And I won't tell anyone. Anyway they wouldn't believe me. But I'll try to calm 'em down.”

“What were—what were they going to do?” Freddy asked.

“Well, there was some talk of tar and feathers and riding you out of town on a rail. But of course they couldn't ride you out of town, because you're in jail. And it wouldn't be very pleasant to have you around the jail all covered with tar and feathers. I don't know what they may have decided on in its place. Maybe I'd better go down and try to calm 'em down a little. Keep your chin up, Freddy. I'll stand by you.”

After Mike had left, Freddy was pretty worried. Feeling among the prisoners was evidently running high against him. He had relocked the door and pushed a heavy dresser against it, and was sitting by the iron-barred window, looking out disconsolately into the night, when again there came a tap at the door.

“Freddy—are you there?”

Again he listened, and hearing no rustles or suppressed whispers, opened the door. Louie the Lug darted in.

“Hey, Freddy,” he said, “you gotta watch the old step. Dese guys is out to gnaw your bones if dey can get at you. Lookit, Freddy, if youse want to get ert o' here, just gimme de woid, see? I'll stand by ya.”

“You mean you don't want to tar and feather me for selling secrets to foreign agents?”

“You hoid about dat, huh? Nah, we been pals, Freddy. I know you; you ain't no traitor. I figure you got a good reason for what you done; you wouldn't do nothin' to hoit your country.”

“Gee, I'm glad you feel that way, Louie,” said Freddy. “I wish the others did. Maybe some of 'em do. How about Bloody Mike?”

“Mike? Nah, he's one o' de woist ones. Said if he had his way, he'd berl ya in erl. He's de one wanted to tar and feather ya. Well, I better beat it. Remember, Freddy, I'm next door to ya on dis floor. If you want me, bang t'ree times on de wall.” And he slid out.

“Well, I've got two friends here, anyway,” Freddy said to himself. “I guess I have. Gee whiz, I wish Mike hadn't been the one to think up tar and feathers. And boiling in oil!” He shuddered.

And again somebody tapped on the door.

This time it was Dirty Joe, the cook. He wasn't really dirty at all; the sheriff wouldn't have let him cook if he had been. The other prisoners called him that as a joke. When a new prisoner joined them, who had never been in the jail before, they would tell him stories about how Joe never washed anything. They said he had a wash boiler hung upside down over the kitchen table, and when he had cooked a meal he put all the pans and dishes on the table and let the boiler down over them on a pulley. They said he said this kept them from getting dusty. Then when it was time to start another meal, Joe would pull up the boiler and use all the pots and dishes over again. Usually a new prisoner didn't have much appetite for the first few days. But later, when he had seen how clean Joe kept the kitchen, he got it back.

Well, after Joe had gone, one by one nearly all the prisoners came up and tapped on the door and assured Freddy of their friendship and that they didn't believe for a minute that he was a traitor. They all said they had told nobody else, and that they had all pretended to be ready to start the lynching party at a minute's notice. Freddy felt pretty good when he finally got to bed. Maybe he and Jinx could get their trip after all. He slept like a top all night.

CHAPTER

9

Nothing much happened for a few days. The spies had learned through the radio that Freddy had been arrested and was in jail, and the Centerboro hotel and boarding houses were again full, and a dozen or more tents were up on the fairgrounds. Freddy spent most of his time in his room, watching the spies peering through the fence or peeping out from behind trees at the jail. He kept back from the window, as there was no use letting them know which room he had. He didn't go out into the grounds much either, because he hadn't yet decided which of several plans he was going to use to get the cylinder into the hands of one of the spies.

After the first day he did go down to the dining room for his meals, and though at first the other prisoners kept up the pretense of wanting to lynch him, most of them, even the newcomers who didn't know him, didn't believe that he intended to sell the plans to foreign agents. Probably because none of them would have so contemptibly betrayed their country, they could not imagine that anyone else would. Only the Yegletts, the four racketeers from the city, still scowled and sneered at him.

On the third day he was taken down to the courthouse to appear before Judge Willey. Every spy in the neighborhood attended the trial; the courtroom was jammed to the doors and many prominent local residents and friends of the accused were unable even to get inside. The Bean animals, however, were provided with seats, since they were admitted as character witnesses.

But the trial was a short one, as Freddy at once pleaded guilty to the smothering and theft charges. Since there was no proof that he had sold or even attempted to sell the plans to the representatives of any other nation, he was not even accused of treason, although there was a good deal of scowling and muttering when he was brought in, and when he stood up to be sentenced the room resounded with angry boos. Judge Willey sentenced him to five years at hard labor, but in consideration of his hitherto blameless reputation, the hard labor part was remitted. He was then returned to his cell at the jail.

Through Horace and other operatives of the A.B.I., Freddy was in constant touch with Uncle Ben and his friends at the farm. Uncle Ben had got the real plans from the First Animal Bank and was working hard at the saucer engine. The spies hadn't bothered him. One or two had been sneaking around, but as Uncle Ben had given out that the plans Freddy had stolen were the only ones in existence, and that he was now working on a new type of phonograph that would play both sides of the record at the same time, they were all now concentrating on Freddy.

This of course was what Freddy had wanted, since Uncle Ben was free to work on his engine. Life in the jail was pleasant enough; there were games to play and TV to watch and lots of good things to eat. But he couldn't go outdoors, or out for the evening with the other prisoners, and when they went to the movies he had to be content with being told about it afterwards. And as everybody knows, there's nothing duller than listening to old movie plots.

There was, too, the disgrace of being a convicted criminal, and the danger of being kidnapped and tortured to make him tell where the plans were. Naturally he would tell, but he would have to undergo a little torture to make it look good. The idea was not specially appealing. Indeed he could feel the curl coming out of his tail at the mere thought.

What he was really tempted to do was run away, and thus avoid the hatred and contempt of the townspeople and of many of his old friends. It was easy enough to do. As the sheriff said, the jail was easier to get out of than to get into. To get in you had to commit some kind of a crime but to get out, you merely told the sheriff that you were going downtown to buy a bag of peanuts, or that you were invited to dinner at Mrs. Winfield Church's. Of course he would need a disguise to avoid the spies. But Freddy was a past master at disguise. He had dozens of costumes and wigs at home; all he'd have to do was get somebody to bring him down one. Then, when the engine was finished and the Air Force had taken over, he could come back and tell the true story. He liked to think about that. There'd be banquets (for Freddy) and speeches (in praise of Freddy) and generals presenting medals (to Freddy).

But he couldn't do it. He had to get the plans into the hands of one gang of spies. Until he did, there was danger, both for Uncle Ben and himself. So he thought hard.

The spies were thinking hard too. Thinking and lurking. They had become very good at lurking; after the first day or two, from the jail one could hardly ever see the lurkers, hiding behind walls and trees and bushes, watching in the hope of locating Freddy's room by catching a glimpse of him at a window. The only way anyone knew they were there was when one of the prisoners would light a giant firecracker and toss it over the fence. Then half a dozen spies would suddenly dash from their hiding places to find cover at a distance from the explosion.

Then half a dozen spies would suddenly dash from their hiding places to find cover.

These firecrackers had been made one summer by Uncle Ben, when he was working on the exploding alarm clock which had been such a success commercially. Several of the prisoners had bought some of the crackers from him. It was of course against the law to shoot off any kind of fireworks within the city limits; there was a penalty for it of ten dollars or ten days in jail. This was just made to order for prisoners whose sentences were about to expire. They could get an extra ten days added by shooting off something. Otherwise, in order to stay in jail, they would have to go to the trouble of passing a bad check or burglarizing someone's house. In order to make it easier for them, the sheriff kept a supply of firecrackers always on hand, which he sold to them for a nominal sum.