The Case of the Exploding Plumbing (6 page)

The detective got off his bike as a small station wagon stopped at the curb. It was jammed with all kinds of junk. There wasn’t room left to fit anything larger than a pencil among the mess of old dishes, lamps, glassware, and whatnots.

The driver, Gladys Smith, was eighteen and a junk collector like Winslow. She seemed surprised to see him standing in front of the apartment house.

“Is everything all right, Winslow?” she called.

“Everything except my toilet,” answered Winslow.

Two fire trucks pulled up. Firemen raced into the building.

“We’d better use the back entrance,” said Winslow. He motioned Encyclopedia and Gladys to follow him. He went around to the rear, through the parking lot, and into the service elevator.

“I flushed the toilet and it started to make funny noises,“ he said. ”Hot water shot up. So I ran. Then the toilet exploded.”

The elevator stopped at the sixth floor. Winslow opened the door of his apartment. “Don’t worry, Mom,” he shouted. “Encyclopedia Brown is here.”

His mother was sitting dazedly in the living room. His father was at the telephone asking questions about insurance. The floors were soaked, and water was dripping from the ceilings.

“This way,” said Winslow. He walked into the bathroom. Nothing was left of the toilet but pipes and little white pieces.

“Boy, am I glad I ran,” he said.

“This is just terrible,” said Gladys. “But we’d better get started, Winslow.”

“Gladys is driving me up to Cedartown,” Winslow said to Encyclopedia. “The biggest antique market of the year is being held there today. I have a lot of things to sell.”

“I’ll help you carry them to my car,” said Gladys.

“They’re in two orange crates in the boiler room,” said Winslow. “My folks won’t let me store anything in the apartment. What about the toilet, Encyclopedia? Was it a bomb?”

“I don’t know yet,” answered Encyclopedia.

He went to the window. Winslow’s apartment faced the rear of the building. The detective stared down at the parking lot.

“I want to see the boiler room,” he said.

Two firemen and the building’s handyman were in the boiler room. The handyman told Winslow he could take his boxes of antiques, but to be careful. The floor was covered with water.

“Golly,” said Winslow uneasily. “I hope my antiques are all right.”

His orange crates were split apart. Everything inside them was smashed.

“My lion ... !” whimpered Winslow.

While he fought back tears, Gladys explained about the lion.

Two weeks ago, she and Winslow had found two small marble lions in a garage sale. They were ugly, but they looked rare and old and so might be worth a lot of money.

“Winslow, bought one, and I bought the other,” she told Encyclopedia. “We were going to have them checked by an expert at the antique sale today.”

Encyclopedia nodded and moved about the pipes and tanks of the boiler room. In the corner he saw a pickax, a shovel, and a sledgehammer. He showed the sledgehammer to Winslow.

“The person who smashed all your antiques also exploded your toilet,” the detective said. “Probably with this.”

Winslow looked at the sledgehammer questioningly.

“The guilty person was swinging it at your antiques when it slipped,” said Encyclopedia. “It smashed this—the central coil within these two heat exchangers.”

The firemen and the handyman stopped talking. They stepped closer to Encyclopedia and stood listening.

“With the heat exchangers broken, the boiling water from the central heating plant escaped into the regular hot- and cold-water pipes,” said Encyclopedia.

“Of course!” said the handyman. “That would cause the copper sweat joints in the pipes to soften and pull apart clear to the top floor.”

“And where the joints didn’t break,” said one of the firemen, “the hot water shot into the cold porcelain bowls and tanks and shattered them.”

“Say,” declared the handyman, his voice full of wonder. “You’re some smart little kid.”

“But who would want to smash all Winslow’s lovely antiques?” protested Gladys.

“You,” said Encyclopedia.

 

 

 

 

 

Ziggy Ketchum was sixteen and the most absentminded boy in Idaville.

He often hired Encyclopedia to help him find things. Only last month Ziggy lost his wristwatch. Encyclopedia found it on his other wrist.

Early Friday morning Ziggy entered the Brown Detective Agency. He laid a quarter on the gas can.

“I want to hire you,” he said. “I’m going to lose my job.”

“Good grief, Ziggy,” exclaimed Encyclopedia. “We can’t help you find something you haven’t lost yet!”

“Well, if you find my lunch, I won’t lose my job.”

While Encyclopedia blinked his eyes, Ziggy explained.

During the summer he worked in Hector’s Department Store. Every day he hid his lunch in a different box of boys’ shoes.

“I forgot where I hid my lunch—a salami sandwich—Monday. If Mr. Wilson, the floor manager, finds it before I do, I’m dead.”

“Why do you have to hide your lunch?” asked Sally.

“Al Noshman is the other stock boy on the third floor,” said Ziggy. “If I don’t hide my lunch, he eats it.”

“He must be fast with the teeth,” said Encyclopedia.

“Fast as lightning,” said Ziggy. “He eats his dessert with his soup spoon.”

“You should go to a restaurant for lunch,” said Encyclopedia.

“Naw, it costs too much,” said Ziggy.

“Al Noshman should at least take you out to eat now and then,” said Sally. “He owes it to you.”

“He took me to the Dog Shack last week,” admitted Ziggy. “I’ll never go again.”

“Why not?” inquired Sally. “Didn’t he pay the check?”

“He paid,” replied Ziggy. “But he said terrible things like: ‘This tablecloth is filthy—has it come straight off the bed?’ ‘Do you run your own hospital for people who eat here?’ It was awful.”

“It could have been worse,” said Encyclopedia. “Al forgot to ask, ‘When did the waiters go on strike?’ and ‘Do you kill your own garbage here?’ ”

“He probably said those things on purpose,” suggested Sally, “so you wouldn’t want to go out to eat with him again.”

The detectives discussed what to do. They decided to go with Ziggy to Hector’s Department Store and search the stock room for the salami sandwich. They took the number 3 bus into town.

Ziggy went into the store by the employees’ entrance. Encyclopedia and Sally waited on the street until ten o’clock, when the doors opened. They met Ziggy on the third floor.

Home furnishings took up half the floor, and men’s and boys’ clothing the other half. Ziggy pointed to a door at each end of the floor.

“Those doors lead to the stock rooms,” he said. “Al Noshman handles home furnishings. I take care of clothing. Follow me.”

The children walked slowly through the clothing department. It was filled with every kind of wear from caps to shoes.

Sally gasped as they entered the stock room. “There must be five hundred boxes of shoes, plus a zillion others!”

“I’ve been working here a month,” said Ziggy. “I still haven’t learned half the colors and sizes.”

“We’ll never be able to look through all the boxes without being caught,” said Sally.

“How do you remember which shoe box you put your lunch into?” asked Encyclopedia.

“I make a list for each week,” said Ziggy. He took a piece of paper from his pocket.

On it he had written: “Brown 7½, Brown 7, White 7½, Tan 6, White 6½.” After each color and size was a check.

“The check means I found my lunch for that day,” said Ziggy. “This is last week’s list.”

“Then all we have to do is look at this week’s list,” said Sally.

Ziggy shook his head. “I make up a new list on Monday. Last Monday I took sick with fever and had to quit early. I forgot about my lunch, and I don’t remember where I put the new list.”

“Do you have a locker in the store?” asked Encyclopedia.

“Downstairs,” said Ziggy. “Say, you’ve got the smarts! I remember now—I put this week’s list on the shelf.”

He dashed off and returned waving a slip of paper. He showed it to Encyclopedia.

The boy detective read: “Black 6, Black 6 ½, Tan 7 ¼, White 7 ¾, White 7 ½.” There wasn’t a check on the sheet.

“Black size six!” sang Ziggy. “It won’t take me long to get the salami sandwich now. You two better move before Mr. Wilson, the floor manager, finds you in here.”

The detectives slipped onto the selling floor and waited for Ziggy by a rack of men’s ties.

Presently Ziggy came out of the stock room. He walked toward the rack as if he were going to use a tie to hang himself.

“I’ve looked through every box of size six black shoes,” he said. “No salami sandwich. I must have been sicker than I thought when I made up the list Monday. If Mr. Wilson finds my lunch in with a pair of shoes, I can start hunting for a new job.”

“Don’t worry,” said Encyclopedia. “I know where to find the sandwich.”