The passage to the vaults was just about big enough to let Zingo crawl along on all fours, holding the flashlight ahead of him. When he heard the bang, he knew that he had been trapped, and he tried to turn around. But he couldn’t. He had to go on until he came to the first room. So that by the time he got back to the trapdoor, the big bell was sending its clangdong-bang! out over the dark and silent fields of the Bean farm.
Up in the cow barn Mrs. Wiggins heard it. “Trouble at the bank!” she shouted. “Come on, girls!” And followed by her two sisters she dashed out into the barnyard. As they galloped down across the fields towards the bank Robert and Georgie went bounding past them, while behind them they heard the clatter and thump of Hank’s iron shoes as he backed out of his stall and followed.
On her perch in the henhouse Henrietta heard it. She popped her head out from under her wing, and pecked Charles sharply on the shoulder. “Trouble at the bank! Stop that snoring and wake up!”
“Wh-what’s that?” Charles squawked. “Who hit me? Oh, it’s you, Henrietta. What’s the idea? I was just dreaming that—”
“Well, you aren’t dreaming now,” she interrupted, “and that’s the alarm bell.”
“The bank!” shouted the rooster, who suddenly remembered the peck of shelled corn and the fifty cents in cash that he had put in the vault for safekeeping. “Henrietta, you stay with the children. You’ll be quite safe if you lock the door. I must get down there right away!”
“Oh, yes?” said Henrietta sarcastically. “And what good would you be, may I ask? You’ll stay with the children yourself!” And she fluttered down and out of the door.
Up on the edge of the woods Sniffy Wilson, the skunk, heard it. He was out hunting with two of his boys. “Trouble at the bank!” he said. “Edgar, you run back and get your mother and the other children, and Thurlow, you run over and wake up Mr. Grundy, the woodchuck. He sleeps like a log—he’ll never hear the bell.”
And up in the Big Woods Old Whibley heard it. He had just swooped on a mouse but had miscalculated the distance and had come down rather heavily among some blackberry canes, while the mouse ran off giggling, and his niece, Vera, who was hunting with him, pretended not to have noticed. “Trouble at the bank!” he hooted. “Wretched animals—always in trouble! Always coming for help—most inconvenient times. Well, come along, Vera! Don’t just sit there!” And he spread his wings and floated softly down towards the bank.
Most of the animals, as they galloped along through the dark, could see only well enough to avoid running into trees or falling over fences. By the thump and patter of hoofs and paws all about them they knew that other animals were running beside them, but they had no idea whether they were many or few. But the owls, who can see fairly well except on the very darkest nights, had the whole farm spread below them. They saw dozens and dozens of animals all converging headlong on the bank—cows and dogs; Hank, and Bill the goat, and goodness knows how many rabbits; and there were skunks and woodchucks lolloping along with their clumsy gait, and a fox or two; and they saw Peter, the bear, and his two cousins, break from the woods and streak down the hill at a dead run. And all around them in the night sky were chirps and the flutter and beat of wings, for the birds were coming too.
Up in the farmhouse Mr. Bean heard it in his sleep. He stirred uneasily and mumbled: “Dinner! Land sakes, dinner time already?” Then he woke up. “Mrs. B.! Mrs. B.!” he said. “That’s the old dinner bell down on Freddy’s bank!” He leaped out of bed, pulled on his boots, grabbed his shotgun, and in his long white nightshirt and his white nightcap with the red tassel, tumbled down the stairs and out into the darkness.
Down at the bank Freddy had lit a candle so he could see what was going on. He sat in the chair, trying to make himself as heavy as possible as the trapdoor under him shook with the heaves of the enraged magician. He still held Minx, who had stopped struggling inside the blanket. The bell clanged and bonged and made so much noise that he couldn’t hear whether his friends were coming to his rescue or not; but he didn’t need to hear them—he knew they’d come.
Then the scrabbling down in the passage stopped, and after a moment’s quiet there was a muffled bang, and something zipped up past Freddy and went through the roof with a click. For maybe half a second he looked up at the little round hole in the boards above his head. Then he gave a squeal and threw himself sideways so that he and the chair and Minx went over in a heap. And when presently the trapdoor was forced slowly up, and Signor Zingo’s sharp nose and a shiny pistol barrel appeared side by side in the crack, Freddy was outside peeking in.
Then he gave a squeal and threw himself sideways.
Zingo crawled out. He was covered with dirt and the expression on his face wasn’t pleasant to see. Outside, the bell had stopped ringing, and he could hear plainly the rush and trampling as the animals closed in. For a moment he hesitated; his magic hat had been knocked off in the passage and left there; but there was no time to go back for it. He ran out the door and made for the fence.
He was just in time. As he went over the fence, Robert made a snatch at him, but the collie’s narrow jaws snapped shut on the tail of the long red-lined cape. Robert held on, and Zingo went on without it, just as Mrs. Wogus and Bill, the goat, came crashing into the fence behind him.
The fence held up the pursuit just long enough for Zingo to reach his car. The smaller animals went through or over, but alone they were too weak to tackle the magician, and the bears, who could have gotten over easily, hadn’t yet come up. The two dogs got over, but the car door was shut and Zingo was inside stepping on the starter before they could reach him. And by the time Hank had turned around and kicked enough rails out of the fence so the animals could pour through, the car had begun to move.
Zingo had a terrible temper, and the thought of being done out of his hat and a thousand dollars by a lot of farm animals made him lose it completely. He glanced back and saw that the chase had been given up; the mob of animals made a darker blot on the darkness of the road behind him. He stopped the car with a jerk, leaned out, and aimed his pistol to shoot into the crowd. And Old Whibley, who had been cruising along, waiting for a chance, swept noiselessly down. His long sharp talons closed on Zingo’s hand, and the magician gave a yell and dropped the pistol. Vera swooped and picked it up, and as Zingo, grinding his teeth with pain and anger, drove on towards Centerboro, the two owls, without saying anything to Freddy, flew back to their nest.
Back in the road everyone was shouting at once and asking questions, and Freddy was trying to explain, when they heard the clump, clump of Mr. Bean’s boots coming along the road. The voices died down to a respectful silence as the farmer came up. It was like Mr. Bean not to ask any questions. He always said that if his animals needed his help, he was there to give it; otherwise he thought it was better for them to manage their own affairs.
All he said now was: “Everything all right?”
“Yes, sir,” said Freddy. “It was a burglar. We drove him off.”
Mr. Bean gave a grunt which might have meant anything. Freddy thought it meant: “Good work!” but it might just as well have meant: “Lot of fuss about nothing!” Then he said: “Pretty late. Better get to bed.” And turned and stumped off.
But the animals weren’t as easily satisfied. Freddy had to explain everything, and make a little speech thanking them all. It was nearly eleven o’clock when he and Jinx at last started back for Centerboro with the red-lined cape in a bundle under his arm.
Chapter 13
Freddy had dropped Minx when he had fallen out of his chair in the bank and nothing had been seen of her since. He and Jinx agreed that probably nothing would be seen of her for some time to come. The farm wouldn’t be a very pleasant place for her, and they both felt that she had probably started out on her travels again and that the next that would be heard of her would be a postcard from Quebec or Buenos Aires, with a line or two saying that she was being entertained by the mayor and had been given the keys of the city.
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They were pretty surprised therefore when she overtook them a mile down the road.
At first they wouldn’t have anything to do with her. She begged and pleaded to be allowed to come with them. “I don’t know what got into me to do a thing like that, Freddy,” she said. “I was mad at the trick you played on me, but really and truly I am terribly sorry, and I’ll do anything if you will forgive me.”
Freddy didn’t say anything, but Jinx said: “You’d better stay invisible, sis, if you know what’s good for you. I’m your brother or I’d knock your head off; but there are a lot of animals back there that aren’t your brother, and you’d better keep away from them.”
Minx said meekly that she wished he would knock her head off—she’d feel better about it; and she followed them, weeping and wailing, until Freddy finally took pity on her. “Look here, Minx,” he said, “if you really mean it—well, I know you won’t go to see Zingo, after tonight—he thinks you shut him in the bank vault. So if you want to come along with us, and will promise to do just as we tell you, and not talk us deaf, dumb and blind …”
“Oh, I will, Freddy,” Minx said. “I mean I won’t. I won’t say a word, I promise; I’ll be just as still—you won’t hear a thing out of me, not a whisper—”
“And now,” Freddy interrupted firmly, “is the time to begin.”
So Minx stopped talking and didn’t say another word all the way to Centerboro.
When they got back to the hotel the mice told them that Zingo had come in about half an hour before and had gone right to bed. But during his absence they had ransacked the room. They had found a lot of gadgets he used in doing tricks, and they described these to Freddy, and in one of his pockets they had found a box containing a number of beetles and caterpillars.
“We let ’em out,” said Quik. “Poor things, they were almost suffocated. I hope it was all right to do that, Freddy. We thought it was cruelty to animals or something.”
“Cruelty to bugs,” said Freddy, “which is just as bad, though lots of people don’t think so. Sure it was all right. I suppose he’s collected them to drop around on people’s plates in the dining room if Mr. Groper starts talking about his bill again.”
“They were awful grateful,” said Eek. “They said if they could ever do anything to pay us back, just to call on them.”
Some people would have laughed at the idea that the assistance of a caterpillar or a beetle could be of any value, but Freddy had had extensive contacts with the insect world, and their help had at times been invaluable to him. He said: “Where are they now?”
“We opened the window for them,” said Quik, “but they said they guessed they’d stick around until you came back, just in case. They’re there on the sill.”
There were two large red-brown fuzzy caterpillars, and several smaller smooth green ones, and half a dozen assorted beetles, standing in a little group on the window sill. Freddy went over and thanked them for their offer, and then he called up Room Service and had some lettuce sent up for their supper. The fuzzy caterpillars didn’t like lettuce, and the beetles never ate it, but they didn’t like to say so when Freddy had gone to so much trouble, so they all politely ate a little. Then the caterpillars, who are not used to being out so late, curled up and went to sleep. I don’t know what the beetles did; they are like some people—it is hard to tell whether they are asleep or just thinking. But the green caterpillars liked lettuce and they sat up and ate it all night. They were quite a lot larger in the morning.
The mice also reported that several mousetraps had been set in dark corners of Zingo’s room. “He probably heard us gnawing yesterday,” said Eeny, “Or maybe Presto saw us.”
“You’d better be careful and not go fooling around there in the dark,” said Freddy.
Eeny grinned. “We put ’em where they’d do the most good. I guess he hasn’t hit the one we put in his bed yet. But there’s a couple others will get him sooner or later.”
“That gives me an idea,” said Freddy. “Remind me to buy a few tomorrow. And I think we’d better get some sleep; we’ve got a lot to do before Tuesday.”
Freddy was having breakfast with Mr. Groper next morning when Signor Zingo came into the dining room. He came straight up to their table, and Freddy was horrified to see that he had the cape with the red lining over his arm. The last Freddy had seen of it was when he had thrown it over the back of a chair in his own room when he had come in last night.
“Morning, Groper,” said the magician. “Maybe you can explain why I find this cape of mine in your nephew’s bedroom, eh? What kind of a hotelkeeper are you anyway? Serving caterpillars with the meals, and now having a sneak thief come to stay with you! If you’ve got anything to say before I call the police—”
Everybody in the dining room had stopped eating and was staring, and two guests who had come the night before got up and left the room hurriedly—presumably to check up and see if any of their belongings were missing.
Freddy said quickly: “I found this cape last night and took it to my room. It was too late to find out who it belonged to. Go ahead and call the police. I guess they’ll want to know how you got into my room—the door was locked.”
“I had a right to go in after my own property,” said Zingo. “I’ve suspected you were a crook all along, though it is hard to believe that one so young could be so depraved. But I suppose this uncle of yours put you up to it.”
Mr. Groper heaved himself to his feet. “You state,” he said, “that this here article of apparel is one of your chattels and appurtenances.” He seized the cape and examined it. “Tain’t provided with any legend, label or device that determines such ownership.” He tossed the cape back. “But I’m with you as to the advisability of summoning the representatives of the law. This young relative of mine has had his constitutional rights violated and trompled on. His private room has been burglariously and feloniously broke into. And I’m agoing to put myself into immediate telephonic communication with the sheriff.” He started for the office.
Zingo evidently realized that he had gone too far. He had found his cape in the room occupied by Mr. Groper’s nephew—but how had he got into that room? He had no wish to explain that to a judge. So he merely grumbled something about living in a den of thieves, and sat down to his breakfast pulling his moustache irritably as he ordered an extra portion of ham and eggs.
Freddy was worried. If Zingo had broken into his room, he might have discovered a good deal. He might have discovered that little Marshall Groper was just a pig in an Indian suit. And a pig who was his enemy. Freddy would have liked to go upstairs at once and find out what had happened. But he didn’t dare leave the dining room until the sheriff came. For although it would please Mr. Groper to have Zingo arrested and taken off to jail, it would mean that Freddy would probably never get his hundred and thirty dollars back. It would mean that there would be no magic show Tuesday night, and Freddy had laid very elaborate plans for that show. Also it would mean that the sheriff would have a very troublesome prisoner in his jail. For Zingo certainly wouldn’t fit in well with the other prisoners, who, as the sheriff often said, were just one big happy family.
Presently Mr. Groper came back and sat down with the remark that the representative of legal authority was momentarily anticipated.
“You mean the sheriff’s coming,” said Freddy, who was getting used to Mr. Groper’s language.
Mr. Groper smiled a slow, fat, kindly smile. “You—and—Sheriff,” he said very slowly, as if choosing his words with great care, “are about—the only ones—that ever know what—I’m talking about. You see, I’ve always had a predilection for this here sesquipedalianism. I …”
“Whoa!” Freddy interrupted. “Now you’re way beyond me.”
Mr. Groper nodded. “I mean,” he said, “big words. They were—kind of a hobby. Which it is bad. It habituates you to imperspicuity. I mean—you can’t find the little words when you want ’em. So that I ain’t able any longer to express myself i
n intelligible monosyllables. And though my oral communication is unambiguous, it …”
A loud yell and the scrape of a chair interrupted him. Freddy turned around. Zingo, who had put a hand in his pocket to get a cigar, had yanked it out again and jumped to his feet. From one finger dangled a mousetrap.
A loud yell and the scrape of a chair interrupted him.
“Look at that!” he shouted furiously. “That’s the kind of thing that goes on in this miserable dump you call a hotel!” He shook his fist at Mr. Groper who was slowly getting his feet under him so he could get out of his chair. “Treetoads in the orange juice, sneak thieves going through your rooms, and now practical jokes! And I know who’s responsible! If you won’t give this nasty little wretch a good hiding, I’ll do it myself, and now!” And as he advanced upon Freddy he whipped off his belt and swung it menacingly.
Freddy slid out of his chair and ducked around behind Mr. Groper, who by now was halfway up. He didn’t like the look of that belt buckle, and he knew the magician meant business. But just as Zingo reached for him, a voice from the doorway said: “What’s going on here?” It was the sheriff.
One of the guests pointed at Zingo. “That fellow got caught in a mousetrap,” he said. “He’s going to lick the boy for putting it in his pocket.”
“Caught in a mousetrap, eh?” said the sheriff. He shook his head. “Tryin’ to steal the cheese, I suppose. What some folks won’t do to get a little extra!”
“I wasn’t stealing the cheese, you fool!” snarled Zingo. “That boy put the trap in my pocket.”
“Kin you prove it?” said the sheriff. “And if so, what of it? Tain’t a hangin’ matter. Whereas this breakin’ into the boy’s room—”
“I don’t think he broke into it,” Freddy interrupted. “I remember now I left the door open, and if he saw his cape there, I suppose it was all right to go in and get it.”
Freddy the Magician Page 9
