The Green Turtle Mystery (18 page)

Jones closed the window, put the black curtain back in place and lit the lamp again. “Well, that’s taken care of,” he said half to himself. “It has been good company for me while I’ve been stuck in this dump, but I can’t be bothered with it any longer. I was goin’ to let it free before I left. If that little girl can catch it she might as well have it as anyone.” Jones made the funny noise in his throat again. “I’ll bet she wonders how it ever got away.”

“Did you always do that, Mr. Jones?” Djuna asked because he thought that if he could get him to talking again it might give Ben time enough to summon help.

“Did I always do what?” Jones asked.

“Steal the parrot back again after you had sold it?” said Djuna.

“
Steal
it!” Jones snarled. “It was my parrot, wasn’t it?”

“I shouldn’t think it would be yours after you sold it,” Djuna said. He stifled a groan because his whole body was beginning to ache from being so long in one position.

“Them’s the things you’ve got to learn,” Jones snarled. “You’ve got to learn to think the way I do. An’ you’ve started in already without knowin’ it. It’ll save you a lot of beatin’s if you learn how to please me fast.”

“What do you mean, I’ve already started in?” Djuna asked and he was genuinely puzzled.

“You told me about lettin’ the parrot go because it would help me,” Jones said. “You’re afraid already that you might do somethin’ that’d make me mad.”

Djuna struggled hard to conceal an almost hysterical giggle. Mr. Jones, he thought, will be pretty surprised when he finds out
why
I wanted him to let the parrot go.

But the only reason Djuna could conceal the giggle was because it turned into a real groan of anguish that he couldn’t suppress. The ropes were cutting cruelly and the heat in the stuffy room was making him sick and faint.

“Would–would you
please
loosen these ropes a little, Mr. Jones, so that I can change my position?” Djuna pleaded trying to keep the tears out of his voice.

“
No!
” the squinty-eyed man said without looking up from the printing press. “It’ll do you good to get your first taste of what’ll get a lot worse if you don’ do what I tell you to do. Now shut up! I got to get these bills finished.”

Pain shot through Djuna’s whole body as he tried to alter his strained position. The seconds dragged into minutes and the minutes dragged along, endlessly. The counterfeiter kept doggedly at his task, paying no attention to the stifled groans that slipped from between Djuna’s feverish lips. Once, when a fire engine clamored along Carpenter Street, they both listened intently until its siren faded away in the distance.

As the minutes sped by, Djuna’s first wild hope that Socker Furlong would be there with Mr. MacHatchet soon turned to doubt. Perhaps, he thought, Ben and Maria hadn’t seen the parrot! Perhaps Mr. Furlong had gone out and Ben was waiting for him to return! A score of doubts followed one another through his mind. After Djuna judged more than an hour had passed, his doubt returned to a question as to whether Socker Furlong was going to arrive with Mr. MacHatchet
before
the counterfeiter finished his work.

Why, oh why, he asked himself, hadn’t he gone to Mr. Furlong that evening when he had been
almost
certain that he was going to find the squinty-eyed man in the attic of the old house? He had thought that he would make sure, and
then
go and ask for Mr. Furlong’s help. And just in case he
was
caught while he was making sure, he thought he had arranged a signal with Ben for help that couldn’t fail.

Now, the whole thing had failed and he would disappear along with the counterfeiter, and
no one
would ever know what had happened to them! As all these thoughts of self-condemnation raced through Djuna’s teeming brain he became as sick mentally as he was physically.

Djuna gritted his teeth hard and tried not to give up hope. He remembered books he had read where
faith
had pulled people through. But when the sullen man at the printing press had run off the last of the counterfeit bills and grunted in tired satisfaction Djuna knew that the time for hoping had almost come to an end. He knew that unless Socker Furlong arrived within the next fifteen minutes it would be too late!

Djuna watched the counterfeiter with hopeless frightened eyes while he washed his hands and face in the bucket of drinking water and began to change his clothes and pack his belongings. His thoughts lingered for a time on his little black dog, Champ, Miss Annie Ellery’s twinkling blue eyes, Mr. Boots’ kind face and patient voice, Ben Franklin and all his brothers and sisters, and last, but not least on the man he had thought would never let him down–Socker Furlong. Would he
ever
see any of them again?

Djuna’s eyes fluttered closed and tears trickled down his cheeks that were a part of both his mental and physical pain. But he resolved again that he would never pass a counterfeit bill for good money no matter
what
Mr. Jones did to him!

“All right, sonny!” the counterfeiter growled and he put his hand under Djuna’s chin and flipped his head back so hard his neck cracked. Djuna’s eyes flew open to see Jones towering over him like some nearsighted monster. “I’m goin’ to take these ropes off you now. I don’t want you to open your trap
for anything
unless I speak to you. If you do I’ll shoot you, an’ I won’t shoot you to kill yuh. I’ll shoot you to cripple yuh. Do you un’erstand that?”

“Yes–yes sir,” Djuna said in a voice that was scarcely audible as Jones bent down and untied the rope on his ankles.

When Djuna was slow in getting out of the chair at Jones’ command a few minutes later, Jones grabbed him by the back of the neck and yanked him out so fast that every cramped muscle in Djuna’s aching body screamed in protest. He staggered across the room and almost fell to his knees.

The counterfeiter checked over the remaining things in the room to make sure that he had placed everything he wanted in his suitcase along with the counterfeit bills. He snapped on Djuna’s flashlight, turned out the acetylene lamp, picked up his suitcase in the same hand he held the flashlight, and grabbed Djuna’s collar with the other hand.

“Get goin’!” the counterfeiter snarled pushing Djuna in front of him. For one mad moment Djuna considered trying to wrench away from him to dive through the open doorway and down the stairs into the shelter of the blackness below. It seemed to him then that even a shot in the back was to be preferred to the endless torture that lay ahead of him.

But the grip on his collar was like a grip of iron and they began what to Djuna was a painful, and stealthy descent of the stairs. Djuna remembered when they reached the top of the front hallway stairs how frightened Ben had been when they first heard the ghastly laugh of the parrot the night before, and it seemed like a thousand years ago.

“
Remember!
” the counterfeiter hissed in Djuna’s ear as they reached the bottom of the steps.

“Yes–yes,
sir
,” Djuna said weakly as Jones snapped off the flashlight and released his grip on Djuna’s collar to open the front door.

The cool night air struck their faces, and at the same moment the beams from three or four flashlights blinded them.

“Great suffering sassafras!” Socker Furlong’s strong voice said as he grabbed at Djuna’s elbow. “What
has
he been doing to you, kid?”

D
JUNA
clung to Mr. Furlong’s arm for a moment because his relief was so great that his knees began to tremble and almost buckled. And in those first few seconds he saw the counterfeiter’s hand jab toward the pistol that was in his shoulder holster, and at the same instant he saw
three
snub-nosed automatics thrust sharply into Mr. Jones’ stomach to give him pause for thought. Mr. Jones’ hand stopped and lifted above his head as though it might have been an old custom of his.

“Well! If it isn’t my old pal, Squinty Jones,” Mr. MacHatchet’s astonished voice said from behind the maze of flashlights. “Fancy meeting
you
here!” His hand slid deftly inside the counterfeiter’s coat to pull out his automatic. He dropped it in his pocket and ran his hand over Squinty Jones’ clothes. Another man with an automatic in his hand stepped forward and slipped a pair of handcuffs around Squinty’s wrists and snapped them closed with a finality that must have been discouraging for him.

Socker Furlong had pulled Djuna back out of harm’s way where Ben Franklin loomed up beside him out of the darkness. But it wasn’t so dark that Djuna couldn’t see the large, white roundness of Ben’s staring eyes.

“Did he hurt you, Djuna?” Socker asked in a voice that did
not
bode any good for Squinty Jones if he had.

“Oh, no, sir,” Djuna said, quickly. “It was just awful uncomfortable the way he tied me up, but–”

“Jeepers!” Ben said in an awed voice. “Weren’t you just scared to death?”

“Well,” Djuna said as he took a deep breath. “I
wasn’t
very happy!”

“
What
was he going to do with
you?
” Ben asked.

“He was going to take me to Mexico and make me pass his counterfeit bills,” Djuna said.

“Well, batten my britches!” Mr. MacHatchet exclaimed as he went through the counterfeiter’s suitcase which they had opened and spread out on the porch. “Look at
this
, Socker!” Mr. MacHatchet held up the note-plate Squinty Jones had been using. “The kid not only came up with the counterfeiter and all his wares, he came up with this note-plate, too. The whole Secret Service has been trying to locate it for three years!”

“‘A little child shall lead them!’” Socker said, “Djuna, you ought to give those guys some lessons.”

“But Mr. MacHatchet!” Djuna said, excitedly. “You don’t have all of the counterfeiters. There’s another one. A partner.”

Mr. MacHatchet stood up and went quickly over to Djuna. There was admiration in his voice as he said, “And I’ll bet my last pair of mittens that you know who he is!”

“Well,” Djuna said slowly as he looked up at Mr. Furlong. “I–I’m not
certain
, but I
think
I know. I think it’s Mr. Firkins.”

“O-o-o-h!” Socker Furlong said in an anguished voice and he clasped his forehead with his hand. “That’s what you tried to tell me this afternoon. Forgive me, Djuna. I knew not–”

“From what I’ve been able to gather he tried to tell you a lot of other things, too, you big lug!” Mr. MacHatchet said. “If you had had enough sense to listen to him, we–”

“You’re telling
me!
” Socker said. “But let’s forget
that
for
now
. I’m willing to forget it forever! Let’s go and get Mr. Firkins.”

“Wait a minute, Socker,” Mr. MacHatchet said. “Who is this guy, Firkins? We can’t just go around arresting people unless we have some evidence, you know. Is Firkins a crook?”

“Well, I wouldn’t know about that,
for sure
,” Socker said. “He’s supposed to be a respectable real estate dealer. He’s the man who wants to rent this old house. He came to me and wanted me to write a story about the house, as I told you. He–”

“
Excuse me
, Mr. Furlong!” Djuna said, excitedly. “
That’s
why he did it. He wanted to scare everyone away so no one would find Mr. Jones in here. Mr. Jones told me he was going to take his partner half of the counterfeit bills before he started for Mexico tonight. I told you about the ten-dollar bill Mr. Firkins offered me for Champ!”

“A ten-dollar bill!” MacHatchet said quickly, and he gave Socker Furlong a withering look. “It seems to me that Djuna gave you a lot of tips that you didn’t have enough sense to take. Do you have the bill, Djuna?”

“Oh, no!” Djuna said. “He offered me the bill, and then he looked awful funny and put the bill back in his pocket and offered me two fives instead. But I didn’t take the two fives, either, because I wouldn’t sell Champ for anything!”

“I see,” Mr. MacHatchet said, and he looked speculatively over at Squinty Jones. “We might try Squinty.” He moved over and turned his flashlight on Squinty’s face and said, “Squinty, you might save yourself a year or two in Federal prison if you tell me who your partner is in this deal. You’ve spent enough time in prison so that you know a year or two can be an awfully long time.”

Squinty Jones stared back at him with his myopic eyes and his expression did not change except for the sneer that twisted the corners of his mouth.

After a few more attempts Mr. MacHatchet said, “He won’t talk. If we had just a bit of evidence we could hang on Firkins I’d take a chance on grabbing him so he can’t run away before we get a case. But I’m afraid–”

“Oh, gee, Mr. MacHatchet,” Djuna said. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, sir, but–but I think I could get some evidence if you’ll help me!”

“Djuna,” Mr. MacHatchet said and he gave Mr. Furlong another withering look, “‘whither thou goest I shall follow.’ Lead on!”

“Where–where’s Champ?” Djuna said quickly to Ben.

“I fastened his leash to the fence across the street,” Ben said, “when I went to get Mr. Furlong. I’ll get him.”

Djuna whistled as Ben ducked down the steps and Champ’s impatient bark came back to them.

When Ben and Champ came running up the steps a few moments later Champ jumped up and down a half dozen times and barked at Djuna as though to say, “Why don’t
you
, at least, tell me where you’re going, when you tie me up to a strange fence like that?”

Djuna took the leash from Ben, gave Champ a hug and said to Mr. MacHatchet in a low voice, “Will you please shine your light on Mr. Jones when I take Champ over beside him?”

“Why, sure, Djuna,” Mr. MacHatchet said in a puzzled voice.

They walked the few feet to where Squinty Jones was slouched against the clapboards of the house and stopped in front of him. When Mr. MacHatchet shined his light on Squinty Jones, Squinty glared at him with malevolent eyes while Champ sniffed at the cuffs of his trousers and his shoes. Djuna was watching Champ closely and when Champ began to wag his tail and looked up at Squinty Jones as though he didn’t think he was worthy of any more attention Djuna began to giggle.