Mr. Garble lived with his sister, Mrs. Underdunk. They were probably the only enemies Freddy had in all Centerboro—which on the whole viewed its talented neighbor with pride and affection. Freddy had had a great deal of trouble with them. They had been in several plots to injure him, and even to ruin the Beans. And though he had defeated these, it had been at considerable danger to himself. Mr. Garble seemed the likeliest accomplice for Mr. Anderson.
But at Mrs. Underdunk’s they drew a blank. Getting in was easy—there was a wide crack under the front door. Mr. and Mrs. Webb and Cousin Clifford went in, leaving Cousin Clifford’s wife in care of Freddy—Mr. Webb said she was more bother than she was worth. They spent two hours searching the house from top to bottom, even the jam closet in the cellar where Freddy had once been imprisoned—but there was no sign of Squeak-squeak—not so much as one peanut shell.
“It’s begun to rain, and I guess we’d better call it a day,” Freddy said, when the spiders came out. “We’ll go back to Mrs. Peppercorn’s, and then tomorrow I’ll take you Webbs back home.”
But an unpleasant surprise awaited them at Mrs. Peppercorn’s. Freddy’s room was in disorder. The mattress was dragged off the bed, bureau drawers were pulled out and their contents scattered about the floor—and the jewelry was gone.
“Hey, look here,” said Jinx. There was mud on the window sill, and under the window the print of a shoe sole—one that Freddy remembered, with a herringbone pattern on the sole and a triangle on the heel.
“Anderson!” Freddy said. “Now how could he know that we had the jewelry? Or rather, that Mr. Arquebus had it? He couldn’t possibly have known that it would be here.”
“You don’t suppose that he could have seen us going out with that jewelry?” said Jinx.
“He was in a dead faint when we left with the stuff,” said Freddy. “And even if he had seen us, he doesn’t know that I’m Mr. Arquebus. I just don’t see how—” Freddy stopped short. “Oh, gosh!” he said suddenly. “I’ve got it! I know what happened. He wasn’t after the jewelry at all—probably didn’t know it wasn’t still in his safe. No, what he came here for was the wallet full of money he thought I had.”
CHAPTER
14
Whatever Mr. Anderson may have thought about his safe being opened, and the jewelry taken by Mr. Arquebus, he didn’t say anything to that gentleman. He kept right on coming up to the farm nearly every day to watch the baseball practice. Mr. Pomeroy was much disturbed at the failure of his A.B.I. operatives to find out how Mr. Anderson had managed to leave, and return to, his house without being observed, but as Freddy pointed out, it was so unusual for anyone to have a flying saucer pick him up at an upper window that they might well be excused for not having spotted it. Several sharp-eyed night-flying moths had now been posted at all the upstairs windows, but Mr. Anderson’s nocturnal excursions had evidently been discontinued.
Freddy, however, decided to have it out with Two-clicks, so he called him one afternoon into the cow barn for a conference with Mrs. Wiggins, Jinx, Leo, and J. J. Pomeroy. Freddy didn’t beat about the bush. He told the Martian that he knew that the saucer had been taking Mr. Anderson on midnight trips all over the state, to burglarize the houses of rich people and steal their valuables. He told him all he had found out. “And how do you think Mr. Boomschmidt will like that?” he said.
Two-clicks rolled his third eye and waved his feelers agitatedly. “You not tell Mr. Boom,” he said. “We no can help. Mr. Andyson he grab Squeak-squeak, he say, we no do like he want, we no see Squeak-squeak again. He make us go burgling. We no like. But we don’t can stop it, is it?”
“No, I guess it isn’t,” Freddy said.
The discussion that followed was somewhat hampered by the fact that Mrs. Wiggins could not use the letter s, Leo, the letter r, and Mr. Pomeroy, who had also got interested in the game, the letter g. They had all really become quite expert at it, but since they were thinking less about what they were saying than about how they were going to say it without using their letter, they didn’t always make sense.
“If you could only find out where our kidnapped friend wa—I mean, became locked up,” said Mrs. Wiggins, “we would have a chance to resc—I mean, relea—I mean, get him out.”
“Anderson talked on the phone to somebody named Herb, and it sounded as if he was talking about Squeak-squeak,” said Freddy. “The only Herb I can think of is Mr. Garble, but the Webbs searched his house and didn’t find anything.”
“Our operatives,” said Mr. Pomeroy, “have been unable to find any connection between Anderson and Mr.—ah, Mrs. Underdunk’s brother. We have watched this man carefully, and all his time for the past few days has been accounted for. I will stake my reputation,” said Mr. Pomeroy forcefully, “that he does not know anyth—that he is not concerned in this crime.”
“You maybe find it somebody else got name Herb?” inquired Two-clicks.
“I can think of four or five in Centerboro,” Freddy said. “But I don’t think any of them could have had anything to do with Anderson. Still, we ought to investigate them. Eh, J.J.?”
“Hand me their names,” said Mr. Pomeroy, “and I’ll attend to it.”
“Please, you not tell somebody I tell about Mr. Andyson,” Two-clicks begged. “He say, we tell, Squeak-squeak not come ever back. Not ever, ever, ever.”
“Don’t you worry,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “We don’t—won’t—” She stopped. She couldn’t think of a phrase that didn’t have an s in it. She thought of: we won’t say a word; we won’t discuss it; we won’t speak of it.… All esses.…
“We won’t tell anybody about it,” Freddy suggested.
“Drat it!” said the cow. “Why couldn’t I think of that?”
“You don’t tell nobody neither, is it, Leo?” the Martian inquired.
“If I don’t tell nobody, that means I do tell somebody, doesn’t it?” said the lion.
“Huh?” said Two-clicks.
“Skip it, kid,” said Leo. “My Uncle Ajax always said: Never explain a weak joke. Just change the subject quick.”
“You used an r,” said J. J.
“I was quoting my uncle,” Leo replied.
“We won’t give you away, Two-clicks,” said Freddy. “But if you find out anything at all from Anderson, do please tell us. If you’d trusted us in the first place, you’d have been better off.”
“You right, I guess it,” Two-clicks admitted.
The conference bumbled along, getting nowhere, a while longer. They broke up finally without deciding anything more than that they ought to look for somebody named Herb. “‘The Case of the Missing Martian’ becomes ‘The Case of the Guilty Herb,’” Freddy said to Mr. Pomeroy.
“Have no doubts,” said the robin. “We shall find him.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Freddy.
Two-clicks patted the pig consolingly on the back with a couple of his hands. “I t’ink so you find Squeak-squeak. I sorry don’ tol’ you right away. Mr. Andyson, he scare we. He very mad—oh, he holler very loud! Yes, yes! He scare Squeak-squeak. Squeak-squeak write letter—say we not telling you, not telling nobody.”
Freddy said he guessed under the same circumstances he would not have disclosed the identity of Squeak-squeak’s captor either.
“Huh?” said Two-clicks.
“I guess I do same like you done,” Freddy said. “I not tell nobody nothing neither.”
“Sure,” said the Martian.
During the next few days Freddy was too busy with preparations for the first game with Tushville to hunt for clues to the whereabouts of Squeak-squeak. The A.B.I., of course, were continuing their efforts, and Mr. Pomeroy, combing through the Centerboro phone book, had turned up four more Herberts, whom he was having investigated. Mr. Boomschmidt had agreed with Mr. Kurtz that the winning team should take two thirds of the gate receipts, and he and Freddy—disguised of course as Mr. Arquebus—had driven over in the saucer to inspect the Tushville diamond, where the game was
to be played.
On the day of the game, Freddy got himself up very carefully. All Tushville was expected to turn out, and certainly all Centerboro would drive over to root for the Martians. And there would be people from all over—Aeschylus Center and Gomorrah Falls and South Pharisee and Plutarch Mills, and probably even Rome and Syracuse and Utica. So Freddy had Mademoiselle Rose press his coat, and then she washed his beard and ironed it. Leo, who had been to the beauty shop and had his mane washed and set, wanted Freddy to go with him and have a wave put in his beard, but the pig said no. “ ’Tisn’t dignified,” he said. “Not for old Henry Arquebus, it ain’t. And for goodness’ sake,” he added, “don’t let ’em drench you with cheap perfumery this time. You go round smelling like a wilted bouquet. If you aren’t careful, somebody’ll throw you in the trash can.”
Although the Boomschmidt Martians didn’t have any uniforms, they certainly made a nice appearance when they marched onto the field. Freddy had bought some white doll boots, and Henrietta led the procession in them, as a drum majorette. Next came the five Martians, then Oscar and Leo, with Mr. Hercules between them, juggling the iron cannonballs as he walked. And finally old Hannibal, with a little house on his back containing Mr. Boomschmidt and Mr. Arquebus.
Henrietta led the procession.
As soon as they had broken ranks and started warming up, Henrietta ran across to the section of the bleachers where the animals from the Bean farm were seated. She picked up a megaphone and led them in a cheer. This was a sneezing routine which Freddy had suggested to her, basing it upon Mr. Anderson’s performance when the pepper went up his nose. It went rather like this: “A—a—a—chew! A—a—a—chee! A—a—a—chaw!… Hup … hup … hup … CHOW!” Henrietta led it with a remarkably fine display of acrobatic skill, and on the final “CHOW!” turned a complete somersault. Charles was so amazed that he hardly paid any attention to the game, but kept saying to his companions: “Where on earth did she learn that?” and “Good gracious, can that be my Henrietta?” all the rest of the afternoon.
The Tushville team, although in brand-new uniforms and accompanied by the Tushville band, did not get the applause that the Martians did. But that was because there were so many strangers, hundreds, who had seen uniformed teams often enough, but never before a team composed of circus animals and creatures from another planet.
Tushville won the toss. The first batter up was a man with a black beard who, although he was married and had three children, had played on the Tushville High School football team two years earlier. Freddy remembered him well; he was a dirty player, and he had slugged Freddy every time he had got a chance until at last the pig got angry and bit him in the leg. Then Black Beard had quit the game.
Chirp-squeak’s first pitch was straight over the plate. But Black Beard, although he had been over to watch some of the practice at the Bean farm, was confused by the Martian’s four arms. And when an arm on the other side delivered the second pitch, he still didn’t swing, although it was slow and he couldn’t have missed. With two strikes on him, he got mad. He swung too hard at the third pitch, missed it by inches, and was out.
The second man up was Smith, the Tushville pitcher, who was suspected of being Zingwall, a professional pitcher in one of the minor leagues, hired by Tushville under an assumed name. He, too, was plainly puzzled by the four-arm delivery, but he didn’t get confused. He waited out two balls and two strikes, and then hit a line drive over Oscar, the shortstop’s, head, which put him safe on second. After which Ernie Popp, the catcher, singled, and Jaybob, the center fielder, struck out.
Cranbury, the shortstop, was the next man up. When he swung at the first one, Smith (or Zingwall) tried to steal third, but Mr. Boomschmidt caught Leo’s throw and tagged him.
The Tushvillers groaned, for with two men on bases, even with two out, there had been a good chance to score. But Henrietta dashed out in front of the cheering section and led a cheer for Chirp-squeak. This included the Martian word for “Hurrah,” which sounded sort of like “Wheeeeeech-click!” It is, of course, the Martians being such a gentle people, a very mild exclamation, much more like “Goody, goody,” than “Hurrah.” After this they sang one verse of the circus marching song, in honor of Mr. Boomschmidt.
Freddy’s batting order did not at once reveal his secret method for winning the game. Hannibal led off. He didn’t use a bat. He let two balls go by, then swung with his trunk at the third and sent it rolling down to the shortstop, who fielded it neatly and sent it straight to Black Beard, covering first. If Black Beard had stood his ground, Hannibal would have been out. But when he saw the elephant bearing down on him at a dead run, the man lost his nerve and stepped aside. He caught the throw, but he was nowhere near the sack when he did.
Mr. Boomschmidt followed, but the Tushville pitcher was too much for him—he fouled into the stand, and then misjudged two fast ones and twice hit nothing but air. Chirp-squeak, the poorest batter among the Martians, came up next. Freddy gave him the signal not to strike at anything, but when the Tushville catcher fumbled the first pitch, Hannibal tried to steal second and was put out. With two out, Freddy decided not to try for runs in that inning, and he gave the batter the “strike at everything” signal. The Martian quickly fanned himself back to the bench.
The first half of the second was much like the first: Oigle, Tushville right fielder, and Brown, second baseman, confused by trying to guess which of Chirp-squeak’s four whirling hands would throw the ball, struck out. Agglett, the third baseman, just as confused as the others but more determined, swung wildly at each pitch, with the result that on the third one he connected and drove the ball over the left field fence for a home run. But then Black Beard came up again, and exactly repeated his former performance—he watched two go by, swung angrily at the third and missed by a mile.
With the score at Tushville 1, Martians o, Freddy decided to let things go on a while before trying his trick scheme. So he signaled the three Martians who were next in batting order to continue swinging at everything. Smith realized that this was what they were doing, although he didn’t know the reason, and he threw high and low and outside without caring much where the ball went as long as it didn’t cross the plate. With the result that he struck out Chirp, Click-two-squeaks and Two-clicks, in that order. And in the first half of the third Tushville scored two runs.
But Freddy still held back his scheme. With Mr. Hercules, Leo, Hannibal, and Oscar coming up to bat, in that order, he couldn’t at the moment do anything else, for the scheme depended for its success on having at least two Martians up in succession. Mr. Hercules grounded out, Leo fouled twice and then watched the third strike go past him, and Hannibal singled. When Oscar swung at the first pitch, Hannibal stole second, and when the ostrich swung again, he stole third. The third baseman had the ball in his hand before Hannibal got there, but the elephant slid. And when an elephant slides, something has to go. In this case it was the third baseman, who went six feet in the air, dropping the ball on the way up, and yelling for help on the way down. But Oscar struck out.
With Tushville having collected two more runs in the first half of the fourth, Mr. Boomschmidt came to bat for the Martians. Smith, feeling that the game was in the bag, had grown a little careless. He gave Mr. Boomschmidt his base on balls. That was more than Freddy had hoped for. “Now’s our chance,” he said to himself, and as Chirp-squeak stepped up to the plate, he gave him the signal which meant: “Don’t strike at anything.”
CHAPTER
15
Freddy’s scheme was a simple one. A pitched ball, in order to be counted as a strike, has to go over the plate at a height below the batter’s armpit, and above his knee. With even a small boy this distance isn’t much less than two feet; with a grown man it is three feet or more. But a Martian is only two feet tall, and from his knee to his lower pair of armpits is not much more than eight inches. As long as the Martians continued to swing at everything, nobody paid much attention to this, but as soon as they stop
ped hitting at anything, Freddy figured that it would be pretty hard for even a good pitcher to put half his pitches across the plate and in that small strike zone. For of course to throw three strikes before he threw four balls, he would have to make half his throws good ones.
Smith’s first pitch was a foot above Chirp-squeak’s head. But the Martian didn’t swing. “Ball!” shouted Mr. Bean, and threw up his left hand.
Smith hesitated a moment. Every ball he had thrown to one of the Martians before had been swung at—even one that had slipped from his hand as he threw and went halfway toward first base. Well, he thought, maybe the guy wasn’t ready. He tried another high one.
“Ball two!”
At this, the catcher pulled off his mask and ran up, and he and Smith whispered together for a minute. They went back, and the next pitch was closer in.
“Ball three!” Chirp-squeak hadn’t moved.
By this time, Smith realized that the Martian had decided to wait for a good one. But he had grown careless, pitching them anyhow, and he found it impossible to throw a strike into such a narrow target. He realized, too, that even if he were pitching at the top of his form, it would be beyond his skill to put these creatures out if they wouldn’t reach for those that were a little out of range.
So Chirp-squeak got his base on balls, and Mr. Boom moved up to second. Then Chirp walked, and after him, Click-two-squeaks. And Mr. Boomschmidt walked home.
By this time Smith’s pitching had improved somewhat, and he had begun to find the range. He had two strikes on Two-clicks before the Martian walked. And then Mr. Hercules came up.
Now Smith had a target that was probably five times as high, and he had no trouble in finding it. He put one right through the center, and Mr. Hercules’ bat met it there and sent it sailing over center field for a home run. And that brought in three more Martians, making the score Tushville 5, Martians 6.
Freddy and the Baseball Team from Mars Page 9
