Mad Scientists' Club (10 page)

Henry pried the moldy bag open and dumped the contents on the ground. We all stood there goggle-eyed. On the grass at our feet lay about two dozen packages of bank notes and a heap of loose bills.

"That isn't real money," said Homer. "It's stage money. Look how big it is."

"It's real money, all right," Henry said quietly. "Bills used to be that size, years ago."

"Let's count it in a hurry and get out of here," said Jeff.

We all pitched in and counted the money. It came to a little over $75,000.

"That's the bank money, all right," said Homer. "That's just what Mr. Willis said was stolen!"

"What do we do now?" asked Mortimer. "Catch a boat for Brazil?"

"We've got a lot to do," Henry answered. "Now's when the fun begins." He dove into his huge duffel bag that seemed to contain one of everything on earth, and emerged with another dusty brown satchel that looked very much like the one at our feet. "I just happened to find this up in our attic," he explained, as he threw it into the mouth of the cannon. We could hear it slide all the way to the back and thud against the rear wall of the breech. Obviously, Henry had some nefarious scheme up his sleeve.

We had to heat up the cannon again in order to ease the cement plug back into the barrel. When we had finished, and cleaned up all the evidence of the bonfire, the giant gun looked as though it hadn't been touched. We trundled Zeke's hoisting crane and all our gear back down the hill to where the truck was parked.

It was a good thing we cleared out when we did. When Zeke had finally maneuvered Richard the Deep Breather back into town, we discovered that a crew from the town road department was already on its way out to Memorial Point to try and unplug the Rodman cannon.

"We should have guessed they'd get moving fast," said Jeff. "Tomorrow's election day, and if Abner Sharples is going to make a big issue out of the bank robbery, he'll have to do it today."

Mortimer and I were detailed to follow the crowd of curious onlookers back to Memorial Point. We didn't want to miss any detail of the maneuverings of Abner Sharples. Henry, Jeff, and Homer went straight to the bank to see Mr. Willis. For the moment we had forgotten all about Dinky and Freddy.

The scene at Memorial Point was full of laughs for us. Mortimer and I sat on a low branch of a tree where we could see everything that was going on, and snickered behind our hands as the town road crew sweated and labored over the job of getting the cement out of the cannon's bore. They had dragged a gasoline-powered air compressor up the hill, and with two jackhammers they took turns chipping away at the concrete. The farther in they got, the tougher the job became, and they had to stop once and send back to town for breathing masks. The silica dust was so bad they could work only a few minutes at a time, and it took hours to drill through to the breech.

Jim Callahan, the city engineer, was in charge of the project, but Abner Sharples kept running around giving orders and making speeches to the crowd so nobody would forget whose idea it was. Harmon Muldoon kept getting in the way trying to hand tools to the men and give them advice so everybody would think he was essential to the operation. Mortimer and I sat up in the tree trying to keep from laughing so we wouldn't attract attention. My side was aching from Mortimer elbowing me in the ribs every time Abner Sharples said something stupid.

It was late in the afternoon when the workers finally chipped through the last bit of cement. Harmon Muldoon got stuffed into the barrel to see what was inside, just because he happened to be hanging around. When he crawled back out, clutching the leather satchel in one hand, the crowd had pressed up close to the cannon's mouth. Abner Sharples grabbed the satchel and held it aloft for everyone to see. Then he gave the shortest political speech on record in Mammoth Falls.

"Follow me!" he said.

Harmon Muldoon turned around with a look of triumph in his eyes, and thumbed his nose at Mortimer and me. We just sat there on the tree limb and stared right through him as if he wasn't even there.

The crowd followed Abner Sharples down the hill to the road, and Mortimer and I tagged along. Abner led the caravan of vehicles back to Mammoth Falls, standing in the back seat of his convertible, waving the brown leather satchel over his head.

A few minutes later he was waving it in front of the Town Council, with most of the spectators from Memorial Point crammed into the meeting room.

"Gentlemen," said Abner, "with the help of the detective work of our young friend Harmon Muldoon here, I think we may have discovered important evidence which will solve the mystery of the 1910 bank robbery."

Harmon Muldoon had a smirk on his face like a Cheshire cat.

"First, I would like to call your attention to the initials on the nameplate of this satchel."

Abner Sharples looked down. Then he looked up at the Council. Then he looked down again. He turned the satchel around. There were no initials. There wasn't even a nameplate. Abner's face fell. He looked toward Harmon, who made a helpless gesture with his hands.

"I could have sworn there were some initials on this bag," said Abner. "However, there doesn't seem to be now. But what is important is what's inside it!" Whipping a penknife out of his pocket he snapped the lock off the rotten leather. With a dramatic movement he upended the satchel and dumped its contents onto the council table. Hundreds of red, white, and blue campaign buttons cascaded from the satchel and clattered onto the table top. A roar of laughter shook the room. Abner Sharples' chin shook with rage as he picked up one of the buttons and read, "Scragg for Mayor."

Mayor Scragg's eyes were popping out of his head as he reached out from the head of the council table and fingered one of the buttons.

"How on earth did these get inside a bag that has been hidden for years in that old cannon?" he asked.

"I suspect that some nefarious schemer got there before me, and is trying to make a laughing-stock of this august Council," said Abner Sharples, in his best oratorical style. He was purple with rage.

"Appears to me the joke's on you, Abner," said Mr. Snodgrass.

Mr. Willis, the president of the bank, rose from his place at the council table. "Gentlemen, if you will permit me, I believe I can clear this matter up," he said. "A few hours ago I had a visit from young Henry Mulligan and two other members of a group of young men who call themselves the Mad Scientists of Mammoth Falls. I believe you are all familiar with the group and with some of the, er -- let us say -- some of the exploits they have been connected with. In this case, however, I believe they have done the town a service."

Mr. Willis reached under the council table and produced the original brown satchel.

"I believe this may be the bag you were hoping to find in the old cannon," he said, as he placed it on the table. "Henry Mulligan brought it to me late this morning. I am told that it contains the seventy-five thousand dollars that has been missing from the bank for fifty years. I have not opened it myself, since I do not have the key. I think it is best if we open it here in the presence of the Council, so there can be no misunderstanding as to its contents."

Abner Sharples grabbed the bag. "This is the satchel I was speaking of," he said, excitedly. "You can see the initials EMS on the nameplate.... I wonder! Could those be the initials of our illustrious townsman Elijah Scragg? Could this bag have been his property? Is it possible that after fifty years this inoffensive little satchel should comeback to haunt his descendants and throw a cloud upon his memory?"

Mayor Scragg had turned scarlet, and was gripping the edge of the council table so hard you could hear his knuckles crack.

"Seems to me they could also be the initials of Emory Sharples," said Mr. Snodgrass placidly.

Just then there was a commotion at the door of the council room. Dinky Poore and Freddy Muldoon were elbowing their way through the crowd. Behind them loomed the spare and weathered figure of Elmer Pridgin. He wore a tattered hunter's cap, and his long squirrel ride was clutched in a strong right hand.

Dinky squeezed through the press of spectators to Jeff Crocker's side and whispered in his ear. Jeff reached out and plucked the sleeve of Mr. Willis, and the banker bent down to consult with the new arrivals. Abner Sharples started complaining loudly about the interruption. Mayor Scragg, still flushed, pounded his gavel on the table for quiet.

Finally Mr. Willis came forward to the council table once more. "Gentlemen," he said, "I believe we have some important evidence here. I think you all know Elmer Pridgin. He has a story to tell. But since he has had little experience in public speaking, he has asked me to tell it for him."

Mr. Willis turned and motioned Elmer toward the table. Holding the old leather satchel aloft, he asked, "Elmer, have you ever seen this satchel before?"

Elmer shook his head.

"Of course you haven't," Mr. Willis continued, "It was put into that old cannon by someone before you were born." Mr. Willis pointed to Elmer's throat, where a thin, gold chain was visible among the profusion of hair protruding from his shirt collar. "What is that you are wearing around your neck?"

"This here's a key," grunted Elmer, as he slipped the chain over his head.

"May I have it?" Mr. Willis took the chain and passed it among the council members. "You will note, gentlemen, that the small gold key on that chain bears the initials EMS engraved in the same style as those on the nameplate of this satchel." He turned to Elmer again. "What was your mother's name, Elmer?"

"'Lisbeth!" said Elmer.

"You mean Elizabeth, don't you?"

"I guess so," said Elmer.

"Gentlemen," said Mr. Willis, "those of us old enough to remember know that Jacob Pridgin married a young woman named Elizabeth Margaret Sargent, a member of the old Sargent family over at Hooker's Point. She died, unfortunately, when Elmer was born." Mr. Willis turned to Elmer again. "What did your father tell you to do with this key, Elmer?" he asked.

"He told me to always keep it," answered Elmer. "Someday it might bring me a whole lotta money. He told me to always watch the old cannon out by the point. 'Always watch the cannon,' he said."

"Why did he want you to watch the cannon?"

"I dunno. He just didn't want people messin' around it."

"Gentlemen," said Mr. Willis, addressing the Council once more, "I believe the true story of the bank robbery of 1910, and the secret of the old cannon out at Memorial Point, is plain enough to anyone who wants a piece together the facts. Here is an obviously ancient satchel bearing the initials EMS, which Henry Mulligan and his friends will testify was found in the breech of the cannon. How they got it out of there I don't know, but I expect they will be willing to tell us if it doesn't involve divulging any of their trade secrets."

"Here is a key bearing the same initials in the same style of engraving. It has been in the possession of Elmer Pridgin since his father's death many years ago."

Mr. Willis handed the key back to Elmer. "Elmer," he said, "I would like you to see if that key will open the satchel."

"Just a minute!" cried Abner Sharples, leaping to his feet.

"Why don't you sit down, Abner!" said Mr. Snodgrass, clapping him on the back and forcing him into a chair.

Elmer Pridgin rubbed his thumb over the key and looked warily around the room. Then he set his squirrel rifle carefully on the table and fitted the key into the lock. The satchel popped open. There was a gasp from the roomful of spectators as Mr. Willis dumped its contents on the table and held up two of the bundles of bank notes for examination.

"Obviously, this is the money taken from the bank," he said, riffling through the old bills. "And obviously, Jacob Pridgin knew its whereabouts and had possession of the key to the satchel. Gentlemen, it must be presumed that it was he who held up the bank and used Elijah Scragg's strawberry roan to make his getaway."

Abner Sharples, seething with rage, rose abruptly from his chair and pushed his way through the crowd to the door. A wave of laughter wafted him from the room. Pinned to the back of his coat was one of the red, white, and blue buttons proclaiming "Scragg for Mayor." Anyone watching Mr. Snodgrass at the moment would have seen him snickering quietly to himself.

"Did my daddy do something bad?" asked Elmer, when the room had quieted down.