CHAPTER XXI
FISHING!
Not until later, until our adventure was over with and the excitement had died out of my nerves, did I fully realize how fortunate it was for the two of us that Scoop, in good presence of mind, had smashed down the hall door in advance of the soap man’s entrance into the old hotel.
For we would have been at a disadvantage, as you can see, if we had waited and the enemy had heard us smashing our way to freedom. There would have been no chance then for us to gain possible secret possession of the talking frog.
The spy had entered the hotel through the kitchen door. But we couldn’t hear him in the building. And this worried us, in a measure. For we were fearful of suddenly meeting him, face to face, in the building’s shadowy halls.
Of course, in meeting him we could have outrun him. Easy. We were in no particular danger. [214]But it was necessary to our plans to not let the newcomer know that we were ahead of him in the building. This was the main reason why we didn’t want to meet him.
We had descended the two flights of stairs to the ground floor and were almost to the doorway leading into the kitchen when our ears were suddenly punctured by a gurgling sneeze.
We stopped as quick as scat.
“He’s in the kitchen,” whispered Scoop.
“Maybe he’s laying for us.”
“Probably.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Get a look at him if I can.”
So we tiptoed to the door. But when we got there we didn’t dare to put out our heads. It was too risky.
To one side of the kitchen, against the wooden wall, was a stairway leading to a room directly above. This gave us an idea. And going back up the stairs, to the second floor, we sought the room over the kitchen, hoping that we would be able to see into the room where the spy was through a knot hole in the board ceiling.
We were lucky. Not only was there many knot holes, but directly over the spy was an open trapdoor. [215]
It took careful walking, I want to tell you. For you know how a board floor sort of groans and creaks when you step on it. We were fully three minutes crossing the room to the trapdoor. Each step was taken with extreme caution.
Below us, seated on a box, the soap man was hard at work. A dozen or more bars of soap lay on the floor at his feet. He was cutting these bars into slices. Each slice was given a few drops of perfume and then squeezed separately in an iron jigger, which seemed to be a sort of mold. In went a thin slice of soap, then squeeze, then out came a cake of Bubbles of Beauty with the name pressed into the soap just as slick as you please. The big bars on the floor were marked I-V-O-R-Y.
“What the dickens?…” I breathed in Scoop’s ear. “Does he make his beauty soap out of Ivory?”
“Seems so.”
I was dizzy.
“But it made Miss Prindle beautiful.”
“That’s what you said. I didn’t see her.”
“Red, too.”
I couldn’t understand it. It would seem on first thought that the beauty soap was a fake. Still, it couldn’t be a fake, I told myself. For in [216]the dressmaker’s case, and in Red’s case, too, it had done all that was claimed for it.
We had wondered what the soap man’s purpose was in coming to the old hotel. We had thought, at first, that he knew something about the ghost. But now we quickly concluded that he had been selling soap in the neighborhood, and had stopped at the hotel to fix up a supply of soap for the coming day’s business. There was nothing in his actions that would suggest that he knew about the ghost. His thoughts were wholly on his work.
The traveling bag that he had brought into the hotel was on the floor directly behind him. Getting a closer look at the bag, I was convinced beyond all doubt, and so was Scoop, that it was Gennor’s bag. How it had come into the soap man’s possession we couldn’t imagine. But here it was. And we were determined to get it.
Scoop pulled a piece of fishline out of his pocket.
“If we had a hook,” he grinned, “we could do some fishing.”
“Anything you want,” I grinned back, “just ask me for it,” and I dug up a piece of wire. I don’t know why I had the wire in my pocket along with my other truck. But, lucky for us, it was there. [217]
Fastening the bent wire to the fishline, Scoop let the hook down, swinging it slowly back and forth, trying to hook the handle of the traveling bag.
“Be careful,” I grinned, “and don’t hook old soapy’s wig.”
“Keep still. How can I get a ‘bite’ with you talking.”
“You need a bobber,” I joked.
He jiggled the line up and down for several moments.
“Hot dog!” I breathed as the hooked bag was lifted from the floor.
The soap man was still at work. He didn’t know that his traveling bag had “swallowed” our hook. I grinned to myself in the thought of how amazed he would be to suddenly learn that his bag had vanished.
But I grinned too soon.
With the hooked bag within a few inches of our hands, the string broke. And down went the bag, kerplunk!
The talking frog angrily awakened.
“R-r-r-a-t-s!” it rumbled, indignant over its fall. “R-r-r-a-t-s! R-r-r-a-t-s!”
Well, if ever you saw a scared man it was the spy. He pretty nearly jumped out of his skin, [218]as the saying is. His eyes bulged like sliced marbles.
For all he knew to the contrary, the bag had suddenly come to life and had jumped into the air like a grasshopper. Maybe he believed in spooks. I don’t know. Anyway, he took to his heels. A talking bag was more than he could stand.
It was funny. Oh, boy, how we laughed! Still, we didn’t waste any time. Dropping through the trapdoor to the kitchen floor, we grabbed the bag and hoofed it for the river.
To this day we don’t know where the soap man disappeared to or what became of his old horse and soap satchel. But it was a wise thing for him that he cleared out. Otherwise he would have landed in jail. For the officer was looking for him the following morning. If he is still alive, I imagine that he’ll give Tutter a wide berth hereafter.
Coming to our boat, I whipped out my knife and cut the tie rope, wanting to get away from the pier as quickly as possible. Scoop cranked the motor. Put! put! put! Did the little old exhaust sound good to us? I’ll tell the world. The spy couldn’t catch us now.
Passing the Woodlawn Bay Hotel, we soon [219]came within sight of the bridge, a shadowy span in the early darkness. Hearing us coming, Deacon Pillpopper ran to the pier to meet us to learn how we had come out and to help us put the boat away.
It was after nine o’clock when we came into town. And when we rounded the hotel corner, there sat Gennor in his red automobile, directly under a street light, sort of posing important-like for the benefit of the common, everyday people passing along the sidewalk.
But his pushed-up chest went punctured when we hurried by, carrying the leather bag. Oh, boy, did his eyes bulge! But he kept shut. For he had sense enough to realize that he was licked.
Scoop chuckled.
“I wish I could have seen his face when he discovered the empty luggage box. I’ll bet he felt sick.”
We learned afterwards that the red car struck a bad bump shortly after it had disappeared from our sight. No doubt the bag was thrown from the car into the road, where it was picked up by the soap man.
I suspect it is a wonder to Gennor to this day how the bag came into our hands.
He left town that night, headed for Chicago. [220]That is the last we ever saw of him. And moreover that is the last we ever want to see of him or any boy like him.
For, as Scoop says, the fun of being rich lies in doing good turns for other and less fortunate people. And when a fellow gets Gennor’s idea that money is something to lift himself above other people, he’s all wrong. Without his money he might have been a good kid. For he was smart. But with his money he was a fizzle. And that is why I hope that he’ll forever keep out of my way.
When we came even with the town hall, Scoop paused, letting his face go thoughtful.
“I think that we better make a prisoner of the talking frog, Jerry. For, with all of the trouble that we’ve had recovering it, we certainly don’t want to fumble and again lose it. I can’t feel that it’s wholly safe in our hands. And the better plan will be to put it where a thief won’t be able to get it.”
“Is it your idea,” I laughed, “to ask Bill Hadley to lock it up in one of his steel jail cages?”
“Why not?” grinned Scoop, starting for the door.
Seated at his desk, the town marshal gave us a questioning look when we entered. [221]
Scoop’s request brought a hearty laugh.
“How’d it be,” grinned Bill, good-natured-like, “if I locked your valuable bag in the big office safe?”
“That suits me,” nodded Scoop.
A twinkle came into Bill’s eyes as he took the bag and hefted it.
“What have you got in it?” he questioned. “A gold brick?”
“A talking frog,” informed Scoop; and he gave a quick account of our adventures.
“Well, I swan!” exploded Bill, staring at us with admiring eyes. “If you hain’t the beatin’est kids I ever heard tell of. One time it’s a whispering mummy that you’re chasin’, and the next time it’s a rose-colored cat. Now it’s a talkin’ frog.”
Then the conversation turned to the ghost.
“Of course,” waggled Scoop, “I may be all wrong about the ghost’s identity.”
“I hope you hain’t,” Bill said, grim-like. “Fur I’d like to see this murder mystery cleared up. Anyway, we’ll soon find out who the ghost is,” and locking the frog in the office safe, he started heavily for the door, motioning for us to follow him. [222]