The Alley (16 page)

Evidently, Katy, the judge, may have begun to realize a connection. She pretended to be examining her speller. After a while, to throw the bullet-head man off the track so that he would not suspect that, at this very moment, one of them, Ray Arp, was impersonating him and being the burglar, number-one suspect on trial in the Alley, Katy said, "Soon the spelling bee will begin. I want you all to think—just think," she admonished. "Remember, 'i before e except after c.'"

Complete silence met Katy's words. Hugsy, however, had not gotten it clear. "Bee?" he said. "I thought this was a trial."

But Katy stopped him with an awful look. "You want to be put out of the G.G.C.?" she hissed. "Just be quiet, you."

Hugsy—everybody—was quiet. Again words spoken between Bully Vardeer and the bullet-head man could plainly be heard.

"What kind of dog is that?" asked the bullet-head man. His voice had a sort of squeak.

"Oh, just any old kind of dog," said Bully good-naturedly. "Mainly terrier, I think."

"That so? We had a dog once, not too long ago ... mainly terrier, too. Mainly just dog, ha-ha. Had to get rid of him, though. Bit. Yes, I'm sorry to say he bit my little girl's hand. She was just sitting in her high chair, reaching out to pet him.... Of course, we could not keep a dog like that. Had to give him away. Ah, yes. Your dog do a thing like that?"

("Ts," thought Connie. "
Lies
as well as
steals.
First it was a spaniel; now it's any old dog ... mainly terrier.")

"Princey? Bite? Oh, no," said Bully Vardeer. "Not a member of his family—I don't know about strangers."

The man held out his hand to Princey, open so that Princey could sniff it, get acquainted—get to know it. He even patted Princey's head. "Good dog," he said. "Nice doggie. You like me, don't you?"

Princey wagged his tail. He liked the man very much.

Bully Vardeer said thoughtfully. "I do think, though, that Princey would bite anybody that tried to hurt any of us."

"Ah," said the man smoothly. "You have little ones, and he likes the little ones, eh? Not like my bad little fellow. 'Scrappy' his name was."

"My little one is hardly 'little,'" said Bully. "My son, though only thirteen, is already six feet tall."

"Can you imagine!" thought Connie. "Bully Vardeer is giving away his whole life story, just about, to this man who is—I'm sure he is—the number-one burglar on trial right now in this Alley, Ray Arp." However, she was mesmerized by the conversation. "Am I dreaming?" she asked herself. "Hearing practically the same things said again as were said before to Mama and me, except now his dog's name is 'Scrappy,' not 'Goldy,' and is 'he' not 'her.'"

"Well," said the stranger. "We, as I say, had to get rid of Scrappy.... Nice dogs as a rule, though, mongrels are. Bright, oh, very bright. Hard to outwit them."

"The hipe-o-crite!" thought Connie.

Then the bullet-head man drew a milk-bone dog cooky out of his pocket and gave it to Prince. "Oh," thought Connie. "How mean! Deceiving dogs right and left like that." She wanted to say, "Princey! Don't eat it!" She wanted to yell, "Hey! Help! Police! There's a thief here!" But, of course, she did not dare. This burglar-number-one man might kill them all! Anyway, where are the police when you want them? Up in an attic, perhaps, or down in a cellar, looking for things real burglars don't take. Can you trust the police? Of course, usually. But can you trust Sergeant Rattray and Officer Ippolito? Ah. That is what this trial in the Alley was going to prove, if only they could get on with it.

Then Billy gave Connie a nudge and muttered, "Turn around." Turning her head slightly, Connie noticed that the bullet-head man had put his hand casually, as though to rest it a moment, on the wire fence that began where the high brick wall ended. On this hand—it was his right hand—there were fresh, not completely healed scars! Well! Proof piling on proof! This must be the hand that had held the tool named "Stanley" and had broken into her house. Connie was positive ... she was just as sure about this hand and "Stanley" as her mother had been about seeing her ring through the policeman's pocket.

"If only we could get a sample of his blood," murmured Billy, "and compare it with the curtain evidence."

"How brave Billy is!" Connie marveled. "He trembles, but he is brave. Bright, too, though not in the R. A."

As if in answer to Billy's prayers, the man whose hand was lightly resting on top of the fence, not realizing how jagged the barbed wire was, gave the fence a sudden shake—perhaps he wanted to test the fence for strength in case of future break-ins—and he gashed his hand. "Ouch!" he exclaimed.

Bully handed him a piece of tissue. "I always have some of this in my pocket. I'm a painter, you know."

The man took it and dabbed at his scratched hand. Then, in spite of the do-not-litter sign, "Keep Our Campus Clean," he threw the tissue away. ("Educated man, hah!" thought Connie. "He thieves, he lies, he litters.")

The tissue began to blow away, but Connie watched it—where it blew. And then—still more luck—the man threw down his cigarette. This started rolling after the tissue in the slight easterly breeze.

"Well," said bullet-head. "Have to chug along now," he said jovially to Bully Vardeer. "Nice talking to you. And nice meeting you, too, puppy—what did you say his name is?"

"Princey," answered Bully in his slurry, slow, sentimental voice. "Just Princey."

"By-by, Princey," said the awful man. Finally he, the bullet-head man, burglar (Connie was sure) number one, disappeared behind the Sholes' house, the last one on the Alley. He was whistling, as he went, "On the Street Where You Live." You could hear him for a long time in the distance.

Bully Vardeer then sauntered away in the other direction with his dog, Princey, in his usual carefree way, hat tipped back, and swaying slightly as though strolling along the banks of the Seine; he was not in the least aware that he had been having a friendly conversation with a burglar.

Well, the fresh clues! Connie was too scared to go out of the Alley to get them—the new cigarette butt and the tissue—to compare with the old clues. But Billy Maloon wasn't scared. "He doesn't know
me
" he said. "I'll go." And he walked, not ran, down the Alley, disappeared around the Carrolls' house, and crawled, probably—they could not see him, of course—under the iron gate. Soon, there he was, standing outside on the other side of the fence on No-Name Street.

Now, the other children in the Circle, who had been waiting and waiting for the two grownups to go away so they could get on with the trial, said, "What's going on, anyway?" No one, except possibly Katy, had taken in the significance of the bullet-head man and his dog questions. They had just thought he was a regular person, not a burglar—a nuisance, standing there talking so long.

Katy said, "Billy! You come right back in here or you can't continue being the main lawyer."

Connie waited for Billy to come back before making the announcement that a burglar had been standing there, and Billy did not bother to answer Katy. He walked slowly up No-Name Street, looking for the new clues. "There they are," Connie said. "There, Billy." She had scarcely taken her eyes off the butt and tissue for one minute, lest they be lost forever. Billy picked them up and came back the way he had gone, taking his time as usual.

"That is the way to build up suspense," thought Connie. "Take Hugsy! Hugsy would have run every inch and probably lost the clues, the new ones and the old ones—some of them, anyway—so that no one would know which was which."

Everyone gathered around Billy, who sat down next to Connie with his new things. "What's up, anyway?" asked Jonathan, exasperated. "We're playing a game, you know."

"Billy and I think," said Connie, "that that man who was talking to Bully Vardeer was the real number-one burglar..."

"Then, who am I?" interrupted Ray Arp.

"You are him," said Billy. "Now we'll compare the evidences, the new and the old," he said.

No breeze was blowing in the Alley, for they were protected by the high brick wall. Billy took his first almost worn-out butt and placed it on the curb beside him.

"See this butt?" he said to Katy and all the others, who were pressing around curiously. "Well," said Billy, "this butt is named 'Mura.' It is a Turkish cigarette, not very well known now, but my father says it was quite common when he was a boy—he used to collect empty Mura boxes because they are very pretty."

"My father smokes them," Ray interrupted.

"Yes," said Billy. "He's the only one I know who does except for you know who. Now, here," he said. "Here's butt number two—the butt that that man who was just talking to Bully Vardeer threw on the ground. We will now see what brand
it
is. M U R A—Mura! That is what
it
is!"

A Mura butt ... two Mura butts—the old one dating from the day of Connie's burglary and the new one dating from right now, seen by both Connie and Billy first being smoked and then being thrown down by the bullet-head man, asker of the question—they had all heard it—"Does this dog bite?" This bullet-head and the old bullet-head man were the same person—going around asking the same old question.

When Billy with Connie's help explained this, astonishment swept over the children. Confusion burst out. Here they were, holding a make-believe trial in the Alley, and then who should come marching along outside the Alley and outside the game but the real burglar whose part was being played by Ray Arp. Then they all began to feel afraid. Hugsy climbed the Stuarts' catalpa tree to see if the bullet-head man had really gone.

"Oh, come," said Jonathan. "You can't see over the houses on Waldo Place from up there, Hugsy!"

June said, "Well, I'll have to have more proof than this—that that man and Connie's burglar man are the same." You would think she was the judge and not Katy!

"June," said Katy severely. "The trial is not over yet. And you are not supposed to make any comments."

"And, Your Honor," said Billy, paying no attention to the interruptions, "you see this piece of tissue that the man wiped his hand with just now when he scratched it on the bobb wire? And you see this piece of evidence that I've produced in my charge against the first burglar, this bloodstained piece of curtain evidence? Well, I submit, Your Honor, that the blood is the same!"

A murmur ran through the courtroom. "That's not scientifically proven, lawyer," said Judge Starr. "1 can't take your word that the blood is the same just because you think it is the same, on account of what you're deducing from Wagsie, and Princey, and Muras, and all. I can't do that, you know. What kind of judge would I be if I did that?"

"A loused-up one," said Hugsy.

"No one asked
you,
" said Judge Starr. "So, how are you going to prove it?"

Billy was silent.

But Connie was not. "Under the microscope!" she said. "Under my microscope!" She was excited. She had gotten a microscope for Christmas. With its help, she had made a science project on different types of blood cells—rabbits, mice, chickens—no humans, but does that matter? So she knew how to look at cells. Connie did not like science very much; but she did like making that report on cells and she got an A on it. Still, Mr. Crawley gave her a C in science on her report card—not very good at all. And there! She had spent all of Christmas vacation doing the science report. Connie's mother said that was really not fair—getting an A on her project but a C on her report card. But Connie shrugged it off. She had liked doing the report.

Anyway, she thought that she had had enough experience with examining blood cells to see if the curtain specimen matched the tissue specimen—if she could bear to touch them! She said, "Wait while I go and get my microscope." She would make the comparison right here so all could take a look—all would know that no question of scientific accuracy would be left unanswered.

"All right, Miss Ives, you may go," said the judge.

Like Billy, Connie did not run; she walked with dignity to her house, went upstairs, and got her microscope and slides. She returned to the court in the Circle and set the microscope on top of the flattest garbage pail. "Only Billy and I can handle this," she said. "Afterwards, you can take turns and look, but not touch it." Some of them might accidentally break the microscope in a second, especially Ray or Hugsy, who moved so quickly always.

Billy tore off a tiny piece of curtain evidence and put it on one slide, and he put a tiny piece of tissue evidence on another slide. Then Connie, squinting, looked in with one eye. "Don't lean all over me, Hugsy," she said. "Get off my back," she said. "And don't breathe down my neck, and don't breathe away the evidence." They all backed off, and Connie studied the two slides.

"Hm-m-m," she said. "Just as I thought. These two bloods are the same. That man that was just here
is
burglar number one. We should warn Bully Vardeer. The bullet-head man might be robbing his house this second!"

Everybody gasped. "Let me take a look at the slides," said Billy Maloon. Naturally, since he was Connie's lawyer he had to know what was what, too. He was no better than Connie in science in school. But outside of school, he was excellent in it. The moon was Billy's specialty, not blood. Still, he scrutinized the specimens coolly and with scientific detachment. "The same!" he said at last, agreeing with Connie, the cell specialist.

"The same! The same!" everybody exclaimed.

Hugsy politely asked to take a look. In science Hugsy concentrated on "insectae" as he called them. "Latina," he said. It might be. Connie hadn't had Latin yet. But then, neither had Hugsy. Connie let him examine the precious slides. "All right, but be careful," she said, remembering how Hugsy accidentally broke almost everything he came in contact with. Then all the children wanted to take a look. "Line up," said Connie. "Line up the way you do to look at the stars through Professor Goode's telescope."

Each one looked, and each one exclaimed, "The same! The same!"

Connie was proud and excited! This was almost as good as the day of the burglary itself. Then, Hugsy—honestly, Hugsy! What do you think he did? He took the new clue, the piece of tissue, and by means of a small magnifying glass that he always carried around with him, he started to burn up this important piece of evidence with the sun's rays!