The Alley (27 page)

Connie's mother had to give the details of hers over and over in every detail; and Bully Vardeer the details of his. "Imagine!" he said. "I had just stepped out for a few minutes! Imagine how they must have been watching my every move! I had only walked Princey over to Library Park, across the Mall, that's all. And they came, they broke in ... they took my Olivetti—it is brand-new, you know. And we don't know yet what all they took, we don't know—probably little things of Dolly's, though they were not in there very long. Still, they work fast..."

And Connie said, "Mr. Below, I wonder if they left a screwdriver in your house named 'Stanley,' too."

"That's right," he said, "I wonder." Many followed him back into his house to see if they could find "Stanley" or any other interesting clue.

Clues. The most important clue of the solving of Connie's own original burglary was now in the hands of Connie's mother—the silver pencil of Connie's father, given to him by his ladies, with the scrolled J. I. on it. She had it, the burglars had not gotten it, and if they had not gotten it, then they had not gotten the ring. The policemen had had the pencil all along, and they must have had the ring, too. Now, let anyone say, "Hysterical lady!" about Mama and her hunches about seeing through pockets, thought Connie with great pride.

Then Billy came back out. Connie had never seen anyone look so excited and triumphant. After all, he had lived through this whole new burglary, while all she, his casing partner, had been doing was giving a piano recital! That had been nerve-wracking, too, but not
as
nerve-wracking as being in a tree at the scene of a crime and unraveling not only this crime, but also the old crime, proving all over again what the children in the Alley had previously proven in the trial in the Circle—that the bullet-head dog man was Connie's main burglar, and now, also, was Bully Vardeer's main burglar, and that casing had not been in vain. Billy showed the pictures first of all to Connie. "Wowie!" said Connie. "Honestly, Billy, you should be a whee-gee news photographer, the pictures are so good."

There in picture number one was the bullet-head man, coming along whistling ... you saw him side-view; there in picture number two was his lookout man, Sawtooth Pete, his helper in breaking down doors; next a picture of the bullet-head man coming out of Bully Vardeer's house with the Olivetti typewriter. There it was in the burglar's hand. Also there was a picture of the two of them ... bullet-head man and Sawtooth Pete together. And finally there were two pictures, blurry, but still they did show something, of the escape car driving them off. "It's a beat-up Pontiac," said Billy.

"You know, Billy," said Connie, "you and me solved this burglary, and we solved the other one, we really did. Wouldn't I like to take these pictures over to the police station and say, 'There! Catch your robbers that you never seem to be able to catch!'"

"Hey, let's," said Billy. But this was not to be. Connie's father and Mr. Fabadessa, home from his class in "phiz-ed" were studying Billy's snapshots. "Why!" exclaimed Mr. Fabadessa. "That is one of the men, I'm sure it is, who rang our bell the day of your burglary, John, the day we had the missionaries here from India; the others—let me see—yes, I'm sure they are all the same people."

Connie's father said, "Well, I'll be gol-darned."

And Mama said, "Billy Maloon, you are a genius and a brave boy besides."

Nanny said, "Bless Maud!" Connie hoped this meant Nanny would never more speak crossly to Billy.

Wagsie, not liking the excitement, clung closely to the back of Papa's legs, hanging her head, looking dejected. The cats, Mittens and Punk, were sitting behind a rose bush. They enjoyed the excitement. Still, their twitching tails were meant to say to Mama, "Where are our kidneys? It is time to eat."

Though they were the heroes of the day, Connie and Billy were not going to be allowed to go over to the police station with all the clues and the pictures. Mr. Fabadessa and Mr. Ives were going to do that; also Bully Vardeer, the latest victim. Off the three men went, and gradually, sorry that everything was over ... piano recital, burglary, piecing things together, examinations of snapshots, people wracking their brains to try to remember if they, too, had ever seen these men ... gradually one by one, people went home, the mothers wondering what to have for dinner—no one was in the mood for cooking. Billy and Connie went into her yard to swing. No casing to do now, they thought. No more piano lessons to give ... the recital was over. "What a day!" they thought.

All the other children of their age congregated in Ray Arp's yard. Many asked, and got permission from him, to get up in his tree. From there they watched Connie and Billy swinging. Nobody said anything. With blank expressions, they just watched the two gifted, swinging detectives.

"The swingers," said Ray Arp once, with a sort of wonderment in his voice.

The view from the swing included a view of the police station on Gregory Avenue across the athletic field. It was one of the few attractive buildings in the Grandby College neighborhood aside from those on the campus. It looked like an old castle ... something that you might see on a picture post card sent from abroad, and it had a round tower. Connie and Billy did not watch the children in the next yard who were watching them. They were watching Gregory Avenue, hoping for a view of Connie's father, Mr. Fabadessa, and Bully Vardeer coming out of the police station.

At last, there they were, Connie's father talking as usual with great excitement and waving his arms around. You could even hear his voice, the wind was in that direction, though not what he was saying. The three men walked along the athletic field and soon would be coming down Larrabee. When they could no longer be seen, because of the little houses on Waldo shutting out the view, Billy and Connie jumped down and went into the house to watch for her father from the living-room window. Soon, here he came. Bully Vardeer was not with him—he had gone home—but Mr. Fabadessa was, and he and Connie's father stopped outside the house and went over and over things.

Mama went to the front door. "John," she said. "Sh-sh-sh! You're talking so loudly, everybody in the world will be able to hear you."

"That was the way with Papa," thought Connie. Shouted. Got so excited; shouted into the phone besides. But then, so did his mother, Nanny. When they spoke on the telephone, you would think every person they talked to was stone deaf. ("They soon would be," said Connie's mother, a non-shouter.) It must be a family trait, like crunching on ice. Papa loved to crunch ice—did it whether there was company or not. Connie was beginning to crunch ice, too ... the habit stemmed from Nanny down to Papa and now to Connie. No one knew about Papa's grandfather, whether he had crunched ice or not.

At last Papa wound up his animated conversation with Mr. Fabadessa and came in to report to Connie and Mama and Billy.

"What happened? What happened?" asked Connie.

"Well!" exclaimed Papa. "Just you wait!" He stomped back into the kitchen for a long glass of cold water, drank it down without stopping, and then he stomped back into the living room, followed in both directions by impatient Connie and Billy. "Well!" he repeated and sank to the couch. He wiped his brow with his handkerchief. His legs were sprawled out straight in front of him, stiff. Despair clouded his face, the way it did when a bill he favored did not pass in Congress. "What is the world coming to, I wonder? Those two policemen!"

"Tell it, Papa. Papa, tell it," pleaded Connie, "and from the beginning."

"Well," said Papa. "We got there, Joe and Fab and I, and it was exactly at police changing time, that is—many officers were coming in to go on their beats, and others were about to go off, finished for the day. There, standing in a corner, were our two policemen, our two splendid—I must say—officers of the law, Rattray and Ippolito!" (Papa could be withering in his scorn sometimes, and he was always dramatic. It ran in Papa's family to be dramatic ... stemmed from Grandfather Jonas. Nanny was, too.) "Well! They didn't notice us coming in ... they were having a little argument it seems between themselves. I went up behind them (they had not noticed me), and this is what I heard! 'Wise guy, eh? You never told me, Ippy, that you got a ring in that haul.' The answer: 'I tell you, Ratty—now you know me, Ratty—the rule is the small things we keep, but the big things we share. Well, I never knew there was a ring on the pencil. In fact, there wasn't. Those loonies ... you know they're eggheads—just must have
thought
there was! But there wasn't.' 'Ho-ho-ho! I thought so!' said the other one. ("Fighting among themselves," said Connie, "the way thieves always do," she said. "Yeah," said Billy.) And I," said Papa, "had heard enough. I just walked over to the captain, and I slammed all my cards on the table..."

"Clues, you mean," said Connie. She could just envision her father over there. He was very peppery ... red peppery.

"Clues, pictures, the pencil, everything. 'Chief,' I said to the chief. 'Arrest those two policemen. They finished up, tied it up very nicely, very nicely indeed, after the real burglary, and there's the proof. This pencil is the proof. The one known as Ippy had my pencil today when he arrived at the burglarized house of my friend here, Professor Below. He dropped the pencil in the garden. He was most anxious to retrieve it—and why not? Such damaging evidence as that! I demand to know, sir, where is the diamond ring that was on this pencil? See my initials on it? J. I.? John Ives. Me.'

"The two policemen, hearing me, quickly buttoned up their coats to leave. But the chief said, 'Stay a moment, officers.' So they stayed. The chief questioned them. He showed them the pencil. They denied having ever seen it before, despite the proof, all the witnesses, to prove he had dropped it in Mr. Bernadette's hidy-hole. Then Officer Ippolito said, 'Anyway,' he said, 'my name begins with an I.' 'And what is your first name?' asked Papa, not waiting for the chief to ask. The man said, 'Joseph!'"

"Wasn't that unlucky ... I mean for us? "said Mama.

"Then of course, more denials, and of course, they had no logical answer as to why they had stayed upstairs so long in our house. Anyway, the upshot of that was that they are going to be questioned by the police commissioner himself, who is on an inspection tour of all precincts, I understand, so we can only wait and see what he finds out. It's too bad his initials had to be J. I. like mine. But, Jane, I am now as sure as you were that those two policemen are dishonest and that they did have your ring."

Mama glowed with pride. Praise from Papa was a very great privilege.

"It's like having many screwdrivers named 'Stanley' to have two pencils named J. I.," said Connie.

"Then," said Papa. "We got on to the burglary clues, the original burglary clues ... and I must say, Connie and Billy, the chief was really impressed with all your casing and your deductions, and especially with the pictures. He rang the bell. Four sergeants answered. He showed them the snapshots and said, 'Go forth and find these men. ("Sounds like King Arthur," Billy murmured to Connie.) They probably live in the neighborhood or they would not have so much time to case the little college houses; and if we catch
them,
we can clean up this whole neighborhood.' Well, the four sergeants went out, and they came back in fifteen minutes with the bullet-head man handcuffed to them, and, likewise, a man with sawed-off teeth. They didn't have a leg to stand on—with the snapshots, of course—and confessed to everything ... Joe Below's burglary (they had been trying to sell the Olivetti in Pete's Pawn Shop on Myrtle Avenue when they were caught)—and they confessed to our burglary, also Bernadettes' and others in the neighborhood. But they denied having taken any diamond ring or pencil. 'Never saw the pencil before,' they said. And so that proves, too..."

"Proves I am right about hunches," said Mama, laughing.

"It certainly does," said Papa, giving Mama another kiss and a squeeze. "Anyway, they confessed to lots of burglaries around here, and this is the end of their activities, I guess. Phew-ee!" Papa sank back on the couth again, mopped his brow again.

"Why should he be tired?" Connie wondered. "Billy is the one to be tired, and with a cold and all!" She and Billy went back outdoors to talk and to swing. Papa went over to Bully Vardeer's garden to discuss everything. You could hear his indignant voice. "They'll never do anything, you'll see," he said. "Not one thing will they do," he said hotly, "about these two officers." He was off on a new tack ... how there would be an investigation, how it would be dragged out, and how in the end nothing would be done.

The children couldn't hear Bully's voice. It was low and smooth, but he was agreeing with Papa ... that they could gather. "You know," said Connie. "They, the two policemen, might kill the whole bunch of us. Our entire family might be wiped out by them."

"Me, too. Mine, also. Because they know I am your friend and was in the tree with you. I wonder who would move into your house?" said Billy.

"Billy!" exclaimed Connie in horror. She had expected to be reassured, not agreed with. "You don't really think they will, do you, kill all of us?"