The Grub-And-Stakers House a Haunt (9 page)

“The robber couldn’t have needed a hostage if there was nobody around to stop him from getting away with the money.”

“No,” said Zilla, “that was the interesting part. What the robber seems to have had in mind was to hold the banker for ransom. Late that same night, he called up the banker’s wife, who’d just got in from the opera, I think it was, and told her he wanted some outlandish ransom or she’d never see her husband alive again. The wife was pretty well heeled in her own right, as I recall. But you know how those rich people are with their money, she jumped to the conclusion that her husband had been out tying one on with the boys and this was just one of his cronies trying to be funny. So she told the kidnapper to stuff it in his ear, or words to that effect, and went to bed expecting the old man to roll in sooner or later. But the banker never came home. That next afternoon, she got a package with his left little finger in it and the signet ring bearing his ancestral crest that he always wore, still on the finger.”

“Oh my gosh!”

“Yes, it shows the folly of jumping to conclusions, doesn’t it? There was also a note in the package, telling the wife she needn’t worry about her husband coming back because she was now a widow. She held a nice memorial service for the finger after she’d kept it in the fridge for a while in hopes the rest of him might show up, but the police never found so much as a hair from his mustache.

Nor the money, nor the robber. I don’t know what became of the widow but I certainly do hope she’ll know better next time. You don’t really want me to stay for tea, do you, Dittany?”

“Sure we do, unless you’ve got something more interesting on the fire.”

“Well, to tell you the honest truth, I’m sort of curious to see whether Hiram shows up again before we go digging after that other trunk.”

“If he does, be sure to tell him you’ve seen the platinum print of him and the mules. He’ll be pleased, I should think. Give us a ring after supper and let Osbert know if the expedition’s still on.”

“Right you are. ‘Bye then.”

They went their separate ways. When the Monks got home, they found Margaret in the rocking chair with a twin on each arm. She looked a trifle disappointed to see them but agreed willingly to stay to tea once they’d explained why her husband would be late for supper.

“Thank you, I may as well. Goodness knows when he’ll be along. I don’t know why disaster always seem to strike at suppertime. Not that finding a trunkful of hundred-dollar bills can exactly be counted a disaster, I don’t suppose. And Donald has no idea where the money came from?”

“If he does, he didn’t say,” Dittany replied. “Zilla was telling us about a banker who was robbed and kidnapped some years back, and all they ever found of him was a finger that the robber sent back out of spite because the wife wouldn’t pay the ransom.”

“I remember that case, Donald was very interested in it. The assistant manager had to be operated on for a hernia a while after the banker disappeared and came under heavy investigation, but it was never proved that he got it lifting the money. He’d just been married, I believe; his wife swore up and down that he’d ruptured himself trying to move one of those great big old-fashioned golden-oak hat racks with a boot box and a plate glass mirror and a lot of deer feet sticking out to hang hats on, which had been given them for a wedding present.”

“That sounds reasonable enough,” said Dittany.

“Those things weigh a ton, as everybody knows who’s been unfortunate enough to inherit one.”

“I know,” said Margaret. “I quaked in my shoes when my mother’s Aunt Gertrude died for fear she’d will hers to me, but luckily she’d left it to her husband’s nephew Percival, who used to board with them before he got married.

I don’t know what effect those deer feet may have had on Percival’s marriage, I haven’t laid eyes on him since Aunt Gertrude’s funeral. The twins have been good as gold the whole time, bless their little hearts. Look at those big blue eyes. I think Annie favors your mother a bit, Dittany.

When’s Clorinda coming back?”

The conversation drifted into familiar paths, the time passed agreeably. Dittany had got up to refill the teapot when she suddenly froze with the kettle in her hand. “Darn it, I forgot! I’m supposed to see Hazel, Arethusa, and Minerva about whether they’ll approve an exhibition of photographs Mr. Glunck wants to put in the ThorbisherFreep display cases.”

“Any change would be an improvement, in my opinion,”

said Margaret. “Can’t you simply call them up and ask them?”

“Good thought.”

Dittany phoned Hazel Munson first. Hazel said she didn’t give two hoots and a holler what Mr .Glunck put in his darned old cases, nor did she want to hear about the platinum printing process because her custard sauce was about to curdle.

Pollicot James must have been starting to curdle too.

Arethusa was almost frantic with eagerness to express her contrition at having forgotten the important trustees’

meeting scheduled for ten minutes ago; she’d be along as soon as she’d had a chance to speed her parting guest and set the cream back in the fridge.

After those two, Dittany was a trifle nervous about calling Minerva Oakes, and well she might have been. It turned out that Mrs. Melloe was still there and particularly eager to meet Dittany Henbit Monk. Mrs. Melloe had found new reason to believe that she might be connected to the Henbits on her mother’s side, and wondered if she might just pop over for a few brief moments.

“Not on your life,” yowled Dittany. “Minerva, I do not want Mrs. Melloe over here at any time, particularly not now. I want you to come and look at a photograph of Hiram Jellyby that Mr. Glunck dug out of the museum files and I have to take back to him pronto before he falls into a swivel. Tell Mrs. Melloe you’ve got to attend an emergency trustees’ meeting. She can phone me in the morning.”

“She’s going to Toronto in the morning.”

“Good. Hurry up, Minerva, we need you.”

“I can’t just leave Mrs. Melloe sitting here.”

“Then tell her to go away. Oh, darn it! Tell her to go have her supper at the inn and I’ll see her this evening after I get the twins to bed.”

“You tell her.”

“For the cat’s sake, Minerva! Why do you waste so much time being nice to pushy people?”

“Dittany”-Margaret MacVicar had been listening to Dittany’s half of the conversation with wry amusement”if you’d like to run over and show Minerva that photograph, I’d be more than happy to sit here with Osbert and give the babies their supper. Truly, I don’t mind a bit.”

Since Margaret so very obviously didn’t, Dittany snatched up the platinum print and ran. It was almost dark out by now, but that didn’t matter; she knew her way blindfolded. Minerva was looking a trifle pinched around the mouth, as served her right for letting herself be imposed upon by large ladies with jutting chins and artifactstrewn bosoms.

In addition to a triple necklace of gold beads, Mrs.

Melloe was wearing a gold chain with a single eyeglass hanging from it, another gold chain bearing a gold hunter watch, a third gold chain with a little gold pencil, and a large gold brooch in the shape of a date palm, with a cluster of small garnets for the dates. Otherwise her garb was restrained enough: a brown tweed suit of excellent quality, a cream-colored silk blouse with a frill at the neck, well-polished brown leather walking shoes, brown leather gloves, and a russet velvet toque such as the late Dowager Queen Mary had been wont to affect.

Mrs. Melloe had much that same regality of manner, she wasn’t actually so much pushy as overwhelming. Dittany could see why someone as unassuming as Minerva would have had a hard time trying to tell such a personage to go peddle her papers. Dittany herself was not easily overwhelmed, she acknowledged the introduction with her usual brisk efficiency.

“How do you do, Mrs. Melloe. You don’t look a bit like a Henbit. You wouldn’t want to be connected with us anyway, we’re totally devoid of class. Minerva, I need to talk to you. Excuse us, Mrs. Melloe.”

Taking a grip on Minerva’s arm, Dittany steered her out to the kitchen. “See, Minerva, you simply have to be polite but firm.”

“Polite? Dittany, you were about as rude as you could have got.”

“No, I wasn’t. I could have been lots ruder if I’d really put my mind to it. People who barge around trying to muscle in on your ancestry just when you’re ready to start supper aren’t being all that dad-blanged polite either, in my considered opinion. I want you to look at this platinum print.”

“What do you mean, platinum print? It’s just a photo of some ratty-looking old coot with a team of-mules! Dittany, you can’t mean-“

“Can’t I, though? Read what’s written on the back of the mount.”

“Then hold the darned thing up to the light where I can see it. Hiram who? Dittany, am I reading this right?”

“You certainly are.”

“I can’t believe it! And there was I, thinking Zilla’d been nipping at the dandelion wine. Do you suppose she really did see Hiram Jellyby’s ghost, or was she having some kind of present’ment, the way her grandmother used to?”

Dittany shrugged. “Your ghost is as good as mine.

Whatever she said, it was right about the treasure, though not in the way we expected.”

She explained. Minerva goggled.

“But where did all those hundred-dollar bills come from?”

“That’s what Sergeant MacVicar’s over at Mountie headquarters for, trying to find out. Margaret’s at our house now. She offered to mind the babies while Osbert and I went out to the community garden. It’s beginning to look as if we might have to kidnap them back from her.

Margaret and Zilla think the money might be the loot from a bank robbery that happened about eight years ago down around Windsor or somewhere. The bank president was kidnapped and murdered and his finger was sent to his wife. Do you remember anything about that?”

“No, but if Margaret says so, I’m willing to believe she’s right. After having seen this picture, I’d believe pretty near anything. What are you going to do now?”

“Take the photograph back to Mr. Glunck, then go home and get supper.”

“Zilla’s not eating with you, is she?”

“Perish the thought. I told her we were out of tofu and she flounced off in a huff. She’s hoping Hiram will show up again so she can ask him how he managed to transform his gold pieces into paper money. Oh, what I really came for was to ask you how you feel about taking the ThorbisherFreep artifacts out of their display cases. Mr. Glunck’s itching to show a collection of these platinum prints that Osbert’s greatgrandfather took around Lobelia Falls.

Eliphalet Monk, his name was. Tell Mrs. Melloe, she may want to hang another leaf on her family tree.”

“Now, Dittany, Mrs. Melloe’s very sincere about her roots. Eliphalet Monk, eh? I’d have to look him up. As far as the photographs go, they’d certainly make a far more appropriate exhibit for the Architrave than that old theatrical junk. However, the condition of our acquiring the ThorbisherFreep Collection was that everything has to be kept on permanent display.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to keep it in the cases, though. We can stick a few of the best artifacts on the parlor whatnot and set out the rest on tables in the attic.”

“What if people go up there and pinch them?”

“We should be so lucky. We might scrounge those old storm windows that the Boulangers have just had replaced, and lay them over the artifacts for protection.”

Minerva was appeased. “Like cucumber frames. I don’t see why that wouldn’t work. All right then, tell Mr.

Glunck I said go ahead. Look, I really must get back to Mrs. Melloe, though I have to say I’m about ancestored out for one day. After she leaves, if she ever does, I’ll slip over to Zilla’s and see if I can catch a glimpse of Hiram.”

“Then I’ll nip out the back door. Say good-bye to Mrs.

Melloe for me. Maybe she’ll take the hint.”

Now to return Hiram’s photograph. The Architrave would be closed by this time, but Dittany had her own key.

She found Mr. Glunck in the kitchen of his small apartment on the first floor, meditating gently on the relative merits of vegetable and split pea soup. He was glad to get his artifact back, glad to hear of the trustees’ unanimous approval. Dittany left him to his gloating and his soup, and went home to start supper.

LJool” said Hiram Jellyby-

“Oh, boo yourself, you old goat,” replied Zilla Trott.

“Though I must admit I was sort of hoping you’d show up.

We’ve found your photograph and dug out your spring. At least we think we have.”

“Who’s we? You an’ your mules?”

“I told you last night we don’t have any mules around here these days. Though there were a few jackasses among those present, now that you mention it,” Zilla conceded.

“This afternoon we had a bunch of people over at Hunnikers’

Field, if you remember where that is, getting the soil ready to plant a community garden next year. We also had a dowser trying to locate your spring, which he did. Unless it’s the wrong one.”

“Dowser? You mean a water witch? With a forked hazel twig that dips down an’ shows you where to dig?”

“That’s right, only this man used a fancy metal gadget instead of a twig. He nailed the spring right on the button, too.”

“Did you find my gold?”

“Yes and no, as you might say. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Hiram. We did dig up a trunk that looked pretty much the way you described it, only this one had brass fitments instead of iron, and it was locked. When a young fellow picked the lock, we found the trunk full of paper money, all done up in waterproof packages. Now Hiram, I want you to tell me the truth, if you remember how. Was there really any chest of gold? And if there was, how the blue blazes did you manage to turn it into modern currency?”

“Yes, there was, an’ no, I never. What would I want to change it for? Gold’s gold, ain’t it? An’ paper’s only paper, no matter what anybody says. An’ furthermore, I ain’t no magician. I’m just what’s left of a damn good mule skinner.

Where’d you get hold o’ my photograph?”

“It was on file at the museum, which used to be the old Architrave house.”