The Red Chipmunk Mystery
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Authors: Ellery Queen Jr.
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Ellery Queen Jr.
X. M
R
. S
CISSORS
P
LAYS
H
IS
A
CCORDION
CHAMP STARTS IT ALL
T
HE BOY
named Djuna clung to the leash of his little black Scottie, Champ, while he and his friend, Ben Franklin, stood near the entrance to Gate 18 and anxiously scanned the faces of the hurrying people in the great cavern of the railway station. It was a hot summer morning in late August and all the bustle and confusion made it seem even hotter.
A bell rang sharply and Champ gave a startled tug at his leash and barked at it in protest. A moment later a loud-speaker blared: “Train for Harrisburg, Altoona, Johnstown, Pittsburgh and points west leaving from platform twelve. A-l-l-l-l aboard!” Enginemen, drivers, porters and barrows loaded with baggage buzzed busily around the two boys. Voices rose high and shrill as people called good-bye to each other. There was excitement everywhere.
“That’s not
my
train,” said Djuna. “But I wish Mr. Furlong would hurry.”
Ben Franklin reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny green turtle that was barely larger than a half dollar. Both Ben and Djuna looked anxiously at the turtle—whose name was Waterbury—as it stuck out its head and its left front leg.
“Jeepers! It’s nearly a quarter to nine by Waterbury,” Ben exclaimed. “And he’s right on time, too, by the station clock. Do you suppose Mr. Furlong overslept again?”
Mr. Furlong, a newspaper reporter, was a friend of both the boys. They admired him, because he was really a good reporter, but he liked to pretend that he was lazy. Waterbury looked alarmed at seeing so many people around and hastily pulled his head inside his shell.
“I don’t think so,” Djuna replied as Ben put the turtle that served him as a watch back in his pocket. “He said he’d be here, sure, and you know you can always depend on Mr. Furlong.”
“Well, I hope he isn’t too late,” Ben said, and he frowned, “because I looked in at the office for a minute on the way to the station and Mr. Canavan said—–”
“There he comes!” said Djuna, and he could hardly believe his eyes, because the plump young man who was coming up the steps was actually hurrying. His round, pleasant face was dripping with perspiration. He wiped it with a large white handkerchief as he looked around for the boys.
Ben Franklin jumped up and down and waved his arms to attract Socker Furlong’s attention; and Champ, although he wasn’t quite sure what the excitement was about, began to jump up and down, too. Socker’s jovial face became a wide grin as he spotted the two boys, and he heaved a sigh of relief.
“Some day,” he said as he came up to them, puffing, “I’m going to get apoplexy from hurrying like that and it’ll serve me right.”
“What’s
that
, Mr. Furlong?” Djuna said quickly.
“What’s
what
?” Socker said in alarm, looking quickly around.
“No,” Djuna said, snickering. “I mean apo—apo—what you said.”
“Oh! Well, it’s nothing you get from eating green apple pie,” Socker said. “It’s something you get from worrying and hurrying. But let’s skip it. I’m sorry you’re going home, Djuna. I was really surprised when you telephoned to tell me you were going to-day.” Socker bent down and rubbed Champ behind the ear as Champ put his paws on Socker’s knee to say hallo. “Hallo, Champ. I didn’t mean to slight you.” Champ barked twice and sat down with his red tongue hanging out, quite satisfied.
“Miss Annie Ellery doesn’t expect me at Edenboro for another ten days or two weeks,” Djuna explained. “I’m going to surprise her. You know she has been ill and I thought if I got back a couple of weeks before school started I could help out with things that might have got ahead of her.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you,” Socker said. “When does school start?”
“Beginning of September,” Djuna said. “You see, that’s only a couple of weeks away.”
“It
is
!” Socker said and he looked surprised. “Why I’ve only seen a few matches all summer and it’s nearly over. What’s the date, Ben?”
“It’s the twentieth of August,” Ben said. “Oh, Mr. Furlong, I looked in at the office on the way to the train and Mr. Canavan said—–”
“Oh, bother Mr. Canavan!” said Socker. “He’s only an editor. What does
he
know about the important things in life, eh, Djuna?” Socker gave Djuna a pat on the shoulder and asked him how long it would take him to get to Edenboro.
“I’m not sure, Mr. Furlong,” Djuna said. “I’ll get to Riverton around twelve o’clock. You see, the railway doesn’t go to Edenboro. The train goes from here to Thompsonville and then away up to West London, where it crosses the bridge over the London River. Then it goes down the river to Riverton. When I get to Riverton, I’ll telephone to Mr. Pindler and prob’ly Mr. Pindler or Mr. Boots will drive over and pick me up in his truck and take me to Edenboro.”
“That’s quite a roundabout way to get there, isn’t it?” Socker asked.
“Yes, it is,” Djuna said, and he grinned. “But it’s the only way, unless I walk, Mr. Furlong. If there was a railway right from Thompsonville down the back road to Farmholme, across the river from Riverton, it would only be a little more than thirty miles. The other way it’s over a hundred.”
“It’s a case of the longest way round being the shortest way home,” Socker said. “Are you sure Mr. Pindler will meet you? He’s the one who runs the store and has the only telephone in Edenboro?”
“Yes, sir. That’s right,” Djuna said, but for a moment he looked a trifle worried. “Oh, yes. He’ll come over to get me.”
“What about your luggage?” Socker asked.
“I’ve sent it in advance, to Riverton,” Djuna said.
“A seasoned traveller,” Socker said with a grin. “Now, let’s see your ticket. You’re sure you still have it?”
“Oh, yes, sir,” Djuna said and he pulled his wallet out of his pocket and opened it to show his ticket. Socker glanced at it and then his eyes widened as Djuna displayed a ten-dollar bill in the back of his wallet. “That’s what I saved from doing errands this summer,” Djuna said, proudly.
“Well, I’ll be!” Socker said. “I—–”
“Yes, sir,” Djuna interrupted, “and when I put that in my wallet this morning I thought about the time Mr. MacHatchet, the Secret Service man, asked me if I remembered what a ten-dollar bill looked like and I had to tell him I didn’t—the day you took me to the Mint and he showed us the counterfeit ten-dollar bill, too. Remember that day, Mr. Furlong?”
“Yes, and so will old Sandy MacHatchet,” Socker said, and there was both admiration and affection in his eyes as he looked down at Djuna. “You certainly helped Sandy solve
that
case!
*
“Jeepers! I helped, too, Mr. Furlong,” Ben put in eagerly.
“Sure, you did, Ben,” Socker said, and he rumpled Ben’s hair with his hand.
“Say, Mr. Furlong,” Ben said. “When I looked in at the office this morning Mr. Canavan said—–”
“Phooey to Mr. Canavan!” Socker said firmly, but he glanced at the big clock suspended from the ceiling of the station. “Look, we’d better find you a seat on your train, Djuna. It leaves in five minutes and it may be crowded.”
Socker put his arms around the shoulders of the two boys and they started towards the train, but Djuna had to stop when Champ’s leash became taut.
Champ had braced his four short legs and was peering up at them through a tangle of black hair with his shoe-button eyes. His stubby tail was wagging but he refused to move.
“For Pete’s sake, come on!” Djuna said and pulled at the leash. As soon as Djuna spoke to him Champ lifted one foot and then another and strutted along behind them with his head cocked on one side as though to say, “How do I know you’re going if you don’t tell me?”
Socker found a coach up near the front of the train with most of the seats empty. As Djuna sat down and lifted Champ up on the seat beside him people were running to get aboard the train before it started; and Ben Franklin took Waterbury out of his pocket and looked at him with growing alarm.
“It’s almost nine o’clock, Mr. Furlong!” he exclaimed. “Mr. Canavan wanted you in the office promptly at nine because he wants you to cover the prison story.”
“Prison story!” Socker echoed, and for a brief instant that insatiable curiosity that is the best asset of a good newspaper reporter shone in his eyes. “What prison story?”
“He got a tip that two convicts escaped from the penitentiary last night,” Ben whispered eagerly, and Djuna’s eyes became wide with excited interest. “He said he wanted you to cover the story but—–”
“But I won’t get to work until all the other newspapers have the story on the news-stands,” Socker interrupted. “Isn’t that what he said?”
“That’s
just
what he said, Mr. Furlong,” Ben said. “He—–”
“Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!” Socker said disdainfully. “Let him wait. Good-bye, Djuna. Or let’s say ‘so long’ instead, because I hope we’ll be seeing you again very soon.”
