The White Elephant Mystery Part 14

OF.

ALVAH O. GRANT.

"That's it!" Djuna said. "That's it!"

"Yes, that's it," a voice said from the bottom of the cellar stairs. "Don't go for that gun, Socker. You'll be a dead duck before you get to it."

Djuna whirled around but Socker turned slowly after he had dropped the Last Will and Testament of Alvah O. Grant on the workbench. He saw Sonny Grant and Tony Ciro coming toward him with automatics in their hands, and there was nothing that faintly resembled friendliness in their faces.

"Hey, what gives, Sonny?" Socker said. "Have you joined those cutthroats that are working around your show, too?"

"I'm afraid I have, Socker," Sonny said as he reached for the Last Will and Testament of his father. "You see, I organized them."

"Drop it, Sonny!" another voice said from the foot of the cellar stairs. "Drop those guns, too! Don't turn.... Drop the guns before you turn!"

When Sonny Grant dropped his gun on the cement floor, Tony Ciro whirled and one bullet from his gun ricocheted off the plaster wall as he fired. But another gun had fired twice from the foot of the cellar stairs before Ciro fired, and the bullets didn't strike plaster. They struck Tony Ciro, and he folded up like a marionette whose string had been cut; he sank to the floor, not dead, but no longer dangerous.

Djuna picked up the Last Will and Testament of Alvah O. Grant and stuck it down inside his basque shirt as he said, "You're right on the b.u.t.ton, Cannonball, and-Jiminy crimps, am I glad!"

Chapter Ten.

"Heebie, Hebby, Hobby, Holey, Go-long!"

The superintendent of the Riverton Hospital-a woman with large brown eyes, white hair and a worried expression-looked around the sun parlor, which was usually used for convalescents, and made sure that everything was just the way it was supposed to be.

There were low vases of flowers standing on the wicker tables and tall vases of flowers standing in the corners. At the end of the room, out of the sun and covered with a very clean white table cloth, was a long table that simply groaned with delicacies, and other things that were more substantial, such as an enormous crisp, brown turkey and an equally large baked ham that was studded with cloves.

At the other end of the sun parlor was another much smaller table on which had been arranged a number of very important-looking papers. Behind the table sat a white-haired old gentleman-Mr. Webster, the lawyer-who beamed at the superintendent of the hospital as she arranged and rearranged flowers and chairs, and occasionally spoke to the young man who sat beside him, evidently his a.s.sistant.

"I think Mr. Furlong said there would be a dozen, or more, people here," the superintendent said to Mr. Webster. "He was very explicit about just how he wanted everything. I think some of the time he was laughing at me when he gave me directions," she went on, "but I wasn't certain because his face was sort of hidden behind those two black eyes."

"Young Furlong is quite a lad," said old Mr. Webster. "And quite a showman, too. I wouldn't be surprised if he went off with the circus and gave up his newspaper job." Mr. Webster beamed and then he added, "When are you going to bring in Mr. Peters?"

"After they've all arrived," the superintendent said. Then she gasped as she heard a bevy of voices down the corridor and said, "My gracious, here they come!"

Mr. Webster and his young a.s.sistant rose as more than a dozen people flowed into the cheery sun parlor. In the lead was Djuna with young Tommy Williams. Their faces and hands shone from too much scrubbing and they were wearing their very best Sunday suits, and collars that looked as though they scratched.

Right behind them were Socker Furlong and Joy Maybeck, and from the way they were looking at each other as they talked they didn't even know that anyone else was there. Then came a very distinguished-looking man and woman who were Joy's father and mother, and with them was a girl who was the spitting image of Joy. Although she had black hair, anyone would have known that she was Joy's sister.

Next came Miss Annie Ellery, dressed in a cool cotton dress and observing every minute little thing around her with her bright blue eyes. With Miss Annie was Mr. George Boots, who was all dressed up in his best blue suit and looked very happy and proud, except for the high stiff collar he was wearing.

Behind Miss Annie was Cannonball McGinnty and the two enormous troopers-all three in uniform-who had appeared so opportunely in old man Grant's cellar a couple of afternoons before. And right in the center of the three big troopers was a tiny man, the clown Merry Andrews, whose head came only a little above their knees. But all three of the troopers were listening to him and laughing as though their sides would split as they listened. Merry had taken off his clown's costume and wore a suit that was beautifully tailored and would have fitted any good-sized walking doll.

After Socker Furlong had introduced everyone to Mr. Webster and his young a.s.sistant, a door to a private room in the corridor just outside the sun parlor opened and the leg rests of a wheel chair came into view. Everyone leaned forward as Spitfire Peters's feet appeared and then his body, encased in casts and bandages. Pushing the wheel chair was Trixie Cella. No one could believe what they saw, because only two days before Spitfire had still been in a very critical condition. They stared at him with unbelieving eyes until he raised his good arm and said, through the bandages that swathed his face, "Hi-yah, folks!"

Then everyone began to crowd around him until the suprintendent of the hospital came rushing in to say that Mr. Peters could stay at the party only for a short time, and would everyone please sit down, so they wouldn't tire Mr. Peters.

Everyone sat down except Socker Furlong and he stood in the center of the sun parlor and said, "Just so we can get everything straight for the record, before Mr. Webster has a word to say, I'm going to ask Djuna to tell you just how he goes about rounding up gangs of desperate criminals singlehanded."

"Oh, pshaw, Mr. Furlong!" Djuna said and his face became very, very red as he began to squirm in his chair. Then, when he tried to speak, his lips moved but no words came out, so Socker gave him an encouraging pat on the back and said, "Start at the beginning, kid. You're among friends, you know."

"Jeepers, I know it," Djuna burst out, and his eyes swept the circles of faces around him. "But I don't know just where to begin!"

"Why'n't you begin at the beginnin', Djuna, and tell 'em about that fellah you saw swingin' into old Mr. Grant's house from a tree?" Mr. Boots suggested. "The mornin' I brought you over to Riverton and didn't have enough sense to listen to you when you told me you saw someone in the treetops!"

"You're not the only one who wouldn't listen to him, Mr. Boots," Cannonball said. "I-"

"Yeah, me, too!" Trixie Cella interrupted to say.

"Go on, Djuna, tell it your own way," Socker said.

"Well," Djuna said, "I did see a man swing into Mr. Grant's house the morning Mr. Boots brought us over to Riverton to get some lumber and see the iron animals, including the elephant that was painted white, on the lawn of Mr. Grant's house.

"But I didn't think much about it until the day we came over to the circus and met Sonny Grant, and, right after that, Spitfire. Spitfire was going to have a rehearsal that morning because he said his catcher had been missing the night before and he wanted to find out what was wrong. Tommy and I watched them and when I saw Ned Barrow swinging back and forth up in the top of the tent I sort of thought he was the same man I saw swing from the tree into Mr. Grant's house! Then when I thought about it some more I thought I was crazy, too, and tried to forget about it. But maybe I'd better tell you that when Spitfire took off his sweater to go up and do some flying, the little black good-luck charm that he wore around his neck popped out and he showed it to us and told us about it. I mean, he just told us it was a good-luck charm."

"But he didn't tell you what would happen to you if you got tangled up with it, did he?" Socker said, laughing.

"I'm glad he didn't," Djuna said, and then he frowned and went on: "A little bit later, when Spitfire was through with his rehearsal, Mr. Grant came along and I could tell that he and Spitfire didn't like each other from the way they talked.

"So," Djuna continued, "we saw the parade and had dinner in the chow tent and then we went to the afternoon perfor-"

"Hey!" Tommy interrupted to say. "You didn't tell 'em about the second white elephant!"

"Oh!" Djuna said and he grinned. "That morning while we were waiting for Socker to come along we wandered into the menagerie and when we peeked in a tent we saw some men painting an elephant white. We thought it was an awful fake but Socker told us it really was a white elephant from Siam. And I told Mr. Furlong that I thought the man I saw swing into Mr. Grant's house from the treetops was Ned Barrow, Spitfire's catcher."

"You did?" Spitfire exclaimed. "What did Socker say?"

"He said he'd check it," Djuna told him. "I don't know-"

"I've checked it, Djuna, too late as usual," Socker said. "It was the same person. We'll come to that later."

"Then," said Djuna, "Tommy and I went to the afternoon performance. Golly, it was wonderful until-until I just knew something was going to happen. I saw Spitfire swing 'way up to the top of the tent and saw him go into his triple, and the next thing we knew he landed right in front of us on the hippodrome track. Golly, it was awful!"

"I wasn't feeling so hot myself about that time, Djuna!" Spitfire said, from his wheel chair.

"Jeepers, maybe you weren't," Djuna said. "But when you landed your good-luck charm shot out from under your tights and I scooped it up and stuck it in my pocket. And when you were almost unconscious you said to me, 'The white elephant!' I didn't know what you meant. I told Tommy about it later and showed him Spitfire's black luck charm, but he couldn't figure out what Spitfire was talking about either.

"Later that afternoon Mr. Furlong took us over to the hospital to see Spitfire but he was paralyzed and couldn't talk to anyone. Then Mr. Furlong made Tommy and me go home to our hotel and made us promise to go to bed at nine o'clock because he thought we'd had enough excitement for one day."

"Yeah!" Socker said. "You went to bed at nine o'clock and got up at five after! I'll know how to word the promises I get next time."

"Well," said Djuna, "I'd been thinking about what Spitfire said, and I thought about the iron elephant on old Mr. Grant's lawn that was painted white. So-Tommy and I got dressed and went up to see if there was anything about that white elephant that would solve what Spitfire had said."

"I should have known, when you borrowed that flashlight," Socker said.

"Anyway," Djuna went on, "we looked the white elephant over very carefully when we got to Mr. Grant's and couldn't find anything. We were just about to leave when Sonny Grant and a man named Ciro arrived in one car, and Mr. Webster in another. They all went inside the house, and after a few minutes I slipped in and listened to what they said.

"I heard Mr. Webster tell Sonny Grant that his father hadn't left any will, but that everything would go to him because his father had died intes-intes-"

"Intestate, Djuna," Mr. Webster said, helping him out.

"Yeah, like that," Djuna said. "But Sonny insisted he thought his father had left a will; and when Mr. Webster had gone, Sonny told Mr. Ciro that he was sure his father had left a will leaving everything to someone else. He said he thought the people who were going to inherit everything knew where the will was, but they didn't know what was in it. He said he had to find it, and tear it up, before they got it, because, you see, if no will was ever found, he would inherit all his father's property. Gee, he sounded pretty desperate! But I forgot about that when I heard Tony Ciro tell Mr. Grant that he thought 'a good dunkin' in the London River with some lead fastened to his feet' would teach Socker Furlong a lesson! I got scared then, and slipped off the stairs in the hallway where I was listening and made an awful racket, on purpose.

"Mr. Grant and Mr. Ciro came rushing out into the hallway and I pretended to be pounding on the front door when they saw me!"

"Fast thinking, Djuna, fast thinking!" Socker said.

"I didn't know what else to do," Djuna explained. "I told them what Spitfire had said to me when he fell that afternoon and I told them I'd seen the elephant that was painted white on the front lawn and that we had come up to look at it, thinking Spitfire might have meant that elephant. They thought it was awful funny we were prowling around there until I told them that."

"Well, just why did you tell them that?" Cannonball asked.

"Because I was scared," Djuna said. "I remembered that Spitfire had asked Mr. Grant that afternoon when they were talking if he could come up to his house and get some things he had left there the last time the circus played in Riverton. And I remembered that when Mr. Grant told Mr. Ciro about the will he thought was hidden in the house that he sort of hinted that someone in the circus knew where it was. I thought, kind of in the back of my mind, that Mr. Grant would think Spitfire knew where the will was hidden. That's why I told him about the white elephant, because I knew he'd be glad to get rid of us, so that he could search it to see if the will was hidden there."

"Did you think it was hidden there?" Socker asked.

"No," Djuna said. "I'd just got through searching for a door or some sort of opening into that white elephant on the lawn, and I knew there wasn't any way to get in it! ... I wanted him to take us home."

"He did, too!" Tommy put in.

"Were you beginning to think there was something funny about Mr. Grant by this time?" Socker asked.

"Yes and no," Djuna said. "But the next morning, I thought there was something very funny. But I'll come to that in a minute. After Cannonball and Tommy and I had breakfast the next morning, Cannonball took us over to Edenboro to get some clean clothes. Socker had been given an a.s.signment at Farmholme by his newspaper, so he couldn't go.

"But while I was changing my clothes at Miss Annie's I dropped Spitfire's luck charm out of my pocket. My Scotty, Champ, began to chew on it under the bed-and before I could stop him he'd chewed off some of the outside black and some of the plaster inside. I took it away from him and looked at it carefully, and then I got a knife and pried the rest of the plaster off. Inside, I found a tiny white elephant carved in ivory; and on each of its forelegs and on its hind legs and on its belly it had a numeral scratched!"

"Did you have any idea what they were?" Socker asked Djuna.

"Not until later, when I remembered how Mr. Pindler at the store in Edenboro showed me how to open his safe one time," Djuna replied. "But I knew there was something awful happening, and when Cannonball took us by the big iron elephant on Mr. Grant's lawn, on the way into Riverton, and we saw that it had been opened with an acetylene torch-then, I knew Spitfire's luck charm was the solution to everything, if I could just figure it out.

"The next thing we learned," Djuna continued, "was that Socker's newspaper hadn't sent him to Farmholme. So I knew he was in danger, because I remembered what Mr. Ciro had said the night before about dunking him in the London River. But then, when we got back to the circus grounds, I ran into Mr. Grant and Mr. Ciro in the menagerie. They had me sort of cornered. They kept asking me questions and they kept pushing me back and I couldn't see where I was going."

"What were they asking you?" Socker asked.

"Whether I'd helped you and the police in some other cases, before this," Djuna said. "I was trying to figure out how to get away from them when an animal man knocked me down to save me from being hit with a mad elephant's trunk and then stomped on!"

"What did you do, Djuna?" Trixie cried and her face was horror-stricken.

"Do?" Djuna said, and he snickered. "As soon as I was sure I was alive I got out of there! I was sure that Mr. Grant was dangerous, now, and I was almost sure that he had tried to have Spitfire killed. I went to the performers' dressing tent and asked for Trixie. When she came out she said she'd take me to see Spitfire. She said no one was supposed to see him except herself, and I suggested that they'd probably let me in if she said Spitfire was my father.

"And they did!" Djuna went on. "I had a chance to talk to Spitfire. That is, I asked him questions and he answered them by nodding or shaking his head. He told me just what I wanted to know. So, I-"

"So you stuck your chin out!" Cannonball said. "Why didn't you come and get me, Djuna, instead of walking into the thing alone?"

"I couldn't!" Djuna cried. "When I left the hospital in a taxi I intended to come and get you, but when I got as far as the hotel I knew I was being followed. I told the taxi driver, and he checked it for me and found out for sure that someone was following me. I didn't dare go back to the circus grounds, for fear Mr. Grant or Mr. Ciro would see me, and I knew that the man who was following me would catch up to me if they didn't. So, I told the taxi driver to take me nearly up to old man Grant's house and let me out, and I gave him a note to take to you."

"Yeah; lemme read it to all you folks," Cannonball said. He took a piece of paper from a pocket of his uniform blouse, unfolded it and read: DEAR CANNONBALL:.

The taxi driver who is bringing this note to you is taking me up to old man Grant's house on the hill. If I'm not back by five o'clock, you'd better get a couple more troopers and come and look for me. Be careful because if I don't come back by five someone will be holding me there and they will be armed and dangerous.

DJUNA.

Cannonball refolded the note and stuck it back in his pocket with a solemn shake of his head.

"Did you know why you were going to old Mr. Grant's home at this time, Djuna?" Joy Maybeck's father asked him.

"Oh, yes!" Djuna said. "You see, I'd sort of guessed that the numerals on the little white elephant made up the combination to the safe that was hidden someplace in Mr. Grant's house and had his will in it. That's why I went to talk to Spitfire. He told me that's what it was. You see, the elephant had a zero scratched on its stomach. I remembered, from watching Mr. Pindler open his safe, that you had to have a starting number in a combination. So, I figured the starting number was zero. Then the elephant had 8 on its left leg, 5 scratched on the right. Then 3 on the left, and 9 on the right. And that was the combination that opened the safe in the cellar!"

"But," Socker said, "before Djuna got to the safe, he found me! That is, he was met at the front door by a grifter with a gun in his hand. The grifter brought him upstairs to the room where they were holding me, but while he had been gone I'd been able to bend down and unfasten the knots that tied me to the chair I was in, by the ankles. While the grifter was trying to bat Djuna on the head, I dropped down behind him on my hands and knees. Djuna was half groggy from a swat on the head, but he co-ordinated perfectly. He b.u.t.ted the guy in the stomach and when the guy fell over me the automatic he was holding flew out of his hand. We got the automatic, tied him up-and went searching for the safe where Spitfire had told Djuna he'd find it."

"We found it all right," Djuna said excitedly; "but just then, Mr. Grant and Mr. Ciro came in, and they pointed guns at us and we couldn't do a thing! Socker couldn't reach the automatic we'd taken from the man upstairs. It looked pretty bad for us-you bet-until Cannonball tiptoed in with these other two troopers. Golly! They looked awful good!"

"Golly, they did!" Socker echoed. "But the biggest surprise is yet to come," he added. "I might explain that Djuna by then had already grabbed old man Grant's will from the workbench where we'd dropped it, and stuck it in his basque shirt. Later he gave it to me, and after a little investigating-you'll pardon me for that, Mr. Webster-I turned it over to Mr. Webster. Mr. Webster will now be heard from."

All eyes turned on the white-haired old gentleman who had been sitting behind the little table at the end of the sun parlor quietly listening to the thrilling story of what had happened during the past two days. Now, he smiled and rose to his feet with a sheaf of foolscap paper bound with a light blue binder in his hand.

"I think," he said solemnly, "that if I read the Last Will and Testament of Alvah O. Grant, or rather parts of it, that you will all understand more fully just what has happened and why."

He began to read in a sonorous voice: I, ALVAH O. GRANT, of the city of Riverton, being of sound mind and memory, do make, publish and declare this my Last Will and Testament, in manner following: FIRST: I order and direct that my Executor, hereinafter named, pay all of my just debts and funeral expenses as soon after my decease as may conveniently be done.

SECOND: I give, devise and bequeath unto my only son, Alvah O. Grant, Jr., the sum of one (1) dollar only. The same to be payable to him upon his release from Yarwell Penitentiary. He will not contest this will because he knows that he broke his mother's heart and killed her. I had tried to use every precaution to prevent her from knowing that he was a dangerous criminal and had been sentenced to Yarwell for the second time, but in some manner and in spite of my precautions, he managed to get word through to her, asking for her help. When I pointed out the infamy of his crimes she agreed not to attempt to help him, but the knowledge caused her slow death.

THIRD: I direct that all the property, real, personal and mixed, and effects of every name and nature and wheresoever situated, which I may die possessed of, or may be ent.i.tled to, be divided into three equal parts, and when this has been done I give, devise and bequeath unto Roger Maybeck, his wife Natalie, and their children Joy and Constance, one of the three equal parts; to Norman Peters and his wife, Trixie, I give, devise and bequeath the second of the three equal parts; and to Joe Casey, better known as Merry Andrews, the midget clown, I give, devise and bequeath the third of the three equal parts.

In explanation of these bequests I state that a few years ago, when the financial condition of my circus was in a perilous state from lack of funds, these people beforehand-mentioned came to my relief with their own personal resources and saved me from failure. They are also my dearly beloved friends; and Norman Peters, with his consideration and kindness, has taken the place of my own son in my heart.

FOURTH: I hereby make, const.i.tute and appoint my old friend Ezekiel Webster sole Executor of this my Last Will and Testament, although he knows nothing of it, and it is my wish and I hereby request and direct that he may not be compelled for any reason to give any bond or security as such Executor.

FIFTH: I hereby revoke all and every former will by me heretofore made.

In witness whereof, I have ...

Mr. Webster's voice ceased and he looked up and smiled at the astonished faces in front of him. "That's all of any importance," he said. "I wish to congratulate all of you who are so fortunate. I might say that old Mr. Grant kept his son's disgrace very much of a secret, and no one in Riverton ever knew that Sonny had been in jail."

"He was in under another name," Cannonball said. "He was paroled just before his father died. Incidentally, he jumped his parole and now will go back to Yarwell. Along with about a half-dozen more of the grifters he gathered together to take over his father's circus and rob the public from coast to coast."

"What about Ned Barrow?" Djuna asked. "He didn't seem like a-"