The Case of the Exploding Plumbing (5 page)

Encyclopedia had heard of Pride. It was the name of a band of children who mailed back litter to the litterbugs during the summer. Their purpose was to keep Idaville beautiful.

“Why did you quit?” asked Sally.

“I got scared,” said the boy. “Somebody threatened to fill my belly button with my face if I continued.”

“Maybe we can help you,” said Encyclopedia. “I’m Leroy Brown and this is Sally Kimball.”

“The detectives?” exclaimed the boy. Suddenly he seemed almost cheerful. “I’m Marlo Fosgood. I sure can use help.”

“Who threatened you?” asked Encyclopedia.

Marlo took a letter from his pocket. “Here,” he said.

Encyclopedia removed the letter from the envelope. He read:

“Dear Marlo Fosgood:

“Stop sticking your nose into other people’s trash. If you don’t mind this warning, I’m coming after you. I’ll shove your face into your belly button.”

The letter was typewritten on a plain white sheet. It was not signed, and the envelope had no return address.

“Writing threatening letters is a crime,” said Encyclopedia. “Whoever wrote it could go to jail.”

“We should give this letter to your father, Encyclopedia,” said Sally. “There may be fingerprints on it.”

“Unless the guilty person’s fingerprints are on file, it wouldn’t do any good,” said Encyclopedia.

“He probably wore gloves, anyway,” said Marlo.

“Can’t we do
something?
” said Sally. “Hey, look! On the back of the sheet—there’s more typing.”

Encyclopedia turned the sheet over. On the back was typed, “The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dogs.”

“That sounds like a line from a book of nursery poems,” said Sally, disappointed.

“It isn’t,” said Encyclopedia. He had closed his eyes. He always did his deepest thinking with his eyes closed. “Tell me, Marlo, how does Pride work?”

“Members mail back litter and include a litter bag,” replied Marlo. “The letters we write are kind but firm—a reminder that littering is against the law. We ask the litterbug not to do it again. We get contributions to help cover the cost of the postage.”

“How do you know where to mail the litter?” asked Sally.

“Most of the litter returned are envelopes, bills of sale, receipts, and other things with names and addresses on them.”

“Suppose there isn’t a name or address—like that cigarette pack,” said Sally.

“The police help us,” answered Marlo. “They trace the license-plate number of the litterbug.”

Encyclopedia had opened his eyes. He was examining the postmark on the envelope closely.

“The letter was mailed yesterday in Idaville,” he said. “So the person who wrote it must live here.”

“And we’d know the typewriter,” said Sally. “I mean, no two typewriters write alike. Their letters are sort of like fingerprints.”

“That’s not much good,” said Marlo. “The typewriter could be anyplace in Idaville.”

“Can you remember some of the people who got back their litter in the past few days?” inquired Sally.

“No, Pride doesn’t keep that kind of records,” said Marlo.

“People who write threatening letters are cowards,” said Sally in disgust. “This one is a litterbug as well.
Ooooh!
Would I like to make him eat his words!”

“So would I,” said Marlo. “But we don’t know where to find him.”

“You’re wrong,” said Encyclopedia. “The quick brown fox will lead us to him.”

 

 

 

When Sally returned to the detective agency after lunch, her first words were, “What does
legible
mean?”

“It means ‘able to be read,’ ” answered Encyclopedia. “What’s up?”

“Luther Ginocchio is in some kind of trouble,” said Sally. “He’s talking funny.”

“Luther enjoys using big words like legible,” said Encyclopedia. “Sometimes he sounds funny.”

Luther Ginocchio was Idaville’s leading boy author. He became interested in words while learning to spell his last name.

“It isn’t only the big words,” said Sally. “You know Bruno Devlin, that bonehead? He’s picking on Luther, and I don’t know why.”

Sally explained. Luther had asked her to type his latest short story because he didn’t have a typewriter. On her way back from lunch, she had stopped at his house with the typewritten story. Luther was cutting the lawn.

“I didn’t have a chance to say a word to him before Bruno Devlin ran over,” said Sally.

“Bruno lives across the street,” said Encyclopedia. “I don’t see anything wrong—”

“Neither did I—at first,” said Sally. “Bruno stopped behind Luther and stood there as if he wanted to be of help.”

Encyclopedia frowned. “Bruno will never get dizzy from doing anyone a good turn.”

“I gave Luther back his story,” went on Sally. “There wasn’t a typing mistake on it. You know all he said? ‘It’s legible.’ Some thanks!”

“What about Bruno?”

“Before Luther had started to speak, Bruno gripped him by the back of the neck,” said Sally. “Luther looked scared to death. I asked if Bruno was hurting him.”

“Luther said he was fine, of course,” guessed Encyclopedia.

“His exact words were, ‘Bruno’s not my tormentor. I have a headache.’ ”

Sally lowered her head sheepishly.

“What does
tormentor
mean?”

“It means ‘someone who causes suffering,’ ” replied Encyclopedia.

“Luther was suffering plenty,” said Sally. “It wasn’t from a headache. It was from a neck-ache. Bruno was squeezing his neck so hard I thought his feet would swell up.”

Suddenly she made a fist.

“This must have something to do with the theft at the elementary school yesterday,” she said. “Luther must know something that Bruno doesn’t want him to tell!”

Encyclopedia gave the idea some thought. Fifty dollars—five ten-dollar bills—had been stolen from the school office.

“Bruno and Luther have morning jobs at the school,” said Sally. “Bruno works in the office. Luther helps Mr. Long, the caretaker, with the grounds.”

“You may be on to something,” said Encyclopedia. “They both were at the school when the money disappeared.”

“Luther wouldn’t steal,” said Sally. “But Bruno ... I wonder. He’d throw a drowning man both ends of a rope.”

“Mrs. Watts, the assistant principal, came to our house last night,” said Encyclopedia. “She told my dad about the theft.”

“Did you overhear anything?” asked Sally.

“There wasn’t much to overhear,” said Encyclopedia. “The money had been left on a desk in the office to pay for a delivery. After the theft, Bruno demanded to be searched to prove his innocence. So did Luther. The money wasn’t on either boy.”

“Bruno wouldn’t demand to be searched unless he had already hidden the money,” snorted Sally. “He probably discovered Luther watching him hide it. So Bruno is staying close to Luther till he has a chance to go back for it.”

“I think that’s the answer,” agreed Encyclopedia. “If Luther tells on him, Bruno will beat him up.”

“What can we do?” asked Sally worriedly.

“We must get the money before Bruno does,” said Encyclopedia. “But we can’t let him think Luther squealed. We better get started.”

“Where do we begin?” asked Sally. “At the school?”

“At Luther’s house,” said Encyclopedia. “I want to make sure of the facts.”

Luther was clipping the hedge when the two detectives biked up. Bruno was standing beside him like a watchdog.

“Hi, Luther,” called Encyclopedia. “Sally says your short story is great. It didn’t need one word edited.”

At the word ‘edited,’ Luther’s face lit up. He had looked frightened. Now he looked hopeful.

“She did a good job of typing,” he said quietly. “And er ... er ... I’m writing better, too. Do you remember my first story two years ago?”

“It wasn’t very good,” said Encyclopedia. He picked his next words carefully. “To tell the truth, it smelled worse than an onion.”

Luther turned his back on Bruno. A smile flashed across his lips. “Take care,” he said, and waved good-bye.

Encyclopedia was halfway down the block before Sally caught up with him.

“Where are you going now?” she asked.

“To the school,” replied Encyclopedia. “The money is hidden in one of the classrooms. I would guess in one that is not used during the summer.”

“We’ll never find it,” protested Sally. “You can hide five ten-dollar bills anyplace!”

“It won’t be difficult,” Encyclopedia assured her. “Check the blackboards. The money is hidden under ...”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Encyclopedia was finishing breakfast Saturday morning when Winslow Brant telephoned.

Winslow was Idaville’s master snooper. He snooped around in the city dump and the neighborhood trash piles. Whenever he found junk that was worth keeping, he fixed it up and sold it as an antique.

He wasn’t calling about antiques, however. He was calling about his life.

“You’d better get to my place quick!” he said. “I was nearly killed by my toilet!”

Encyclopedia didn’t waste time with questions. “I’ll be right over,” he said.

Winslow lived nine blocks away in an apartment house. He was waiting out in front when Encyclopedia arrived.