Encyclopedia Brown Cracks the Case (3 page)

Business was slow at the Brown Detective Agency. Encyclopedia and Sally were deciding whether to spend the afternoon at the beach or at the park when they heard a shout.

“The British are coming! The British are coming!”

They watched six-year-old Mark Goldberg race up the sidewalk on his scooter, waving a rusty lantern.

“Whoa, soldier,” Encyclopedia said. “What's your hurry? You're late. The British came more than two hundred years ago.”

“This was Paul Revere's!” Mark said, waving the lantern in front of Encyclopedia. “I just bought it. And after Wilford's book is published, I'm going to sell it for lots and lots of money. I'll be rich.”

“Wilford Wiggins?” Encyclopedia asked. “He's lazier than a dead battery.”

“He says he has to rest up before he gets tired,” Sally added.

“He's not lazy,” Mark said. “He's working on an important book about the war that made America, and he needs money to go to Philadelphia.”

“You mean the American Revolution?” Sally asked.

Mark nodded.

Encyclopedia was starting to catch on. “So he's selling some historical treasures to get money for his trip?”

“Yup,” Mark said. “And after his book is published all his stuff will be worth a ton of money.”

Wilford was a high-school dropout. He spent his mornings under the covers and his afternoons trying to trick little kids out of their money. But his get-rich-quick schemes were usually bigger than his brains. Encyclopedia always stopped his phony deals in time.

“You'd better hurry,” Mark said. “The auction starts at the city dump at two o'clock . Wilford did me a huge favor by selling me this light before the bidding started.”

Encyclopedia took the lantern from Mark. “This is old all right, but if I believed it was Paul Revere's, I'd also believe that pigs could fly.”

“You think it's a fake?” Mark asked.

Encyclopedia nodded. “How many times has Wilford Wiggins said he was going to make you rich?” he asked. “And how many times was he lying?”

“I believed him this time. Look how old this is. It's all rusty!” Mark shook his head sadly. “I emptied my piggy bank to buy this, or I'd hire you to get my money back.”

“I just hired myself,” Encyclopedia said. “If you get your money back, you can pay me a quarter.” He turned to his junior partner. “We'd better get over there—”

Sally finished his sentence for him. “Before Wilford cheats the whole neighborhood out of their life savings.”

Encyclopedia and Sally hopped on their bikes and headed to the dump, followed by Mark. He waved his lantern, only this time he cried, “The detectives are coming! The detectives are coming!”

Wilford was standing on a soapbox that looked all washed up. Another cardboard box sat at his side.

“Gather around,” he said to a group of little kids. “I don't want to have to yell too loud and let the whole world know about the treasure—”

He broke off when he saw the detectives arrive with Mark.

He recovered quickly. “I guess everybody is welcome. Even nosy-bodies who weren't invited.” Wilford pulled a stack of paper from the box and waved it in the air. “I've been working on a top-secret historical document for the past two years,” Wilford said.

Sally grumbled at hearing the word “working” coming out of Wilford's mouth, but the other kids crowded in closer.

“I have collected some treasures from our country's great history during the course of my work, and I'm almost ready to publish my book—a
guaranteed
million-copy best seller.” Wilford waved the papers, and repeated, “Million-copy best seller.

“But first,” he went on, “I need to travel to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, to gather one last fact. And what do you think I need to get there.”

“Money?” Sally asked, sarcastically.

“Right!” Wilford ignored her tone of voice. “I need money to take my trip. So I have to give up my treasures. But I can guarantee each and every one of you,” Wilford stopped and swept his eyes over his audience, “that these treasures will be worth ten times what you paid for them after my book is published. Museums will be begging to buy them from you for whatever price you ask.”

Encyclopedia watched one little girl shake her piggy bank. Other children pulled quarters, dimes, nickels, and pennies out of their pockets.

Danny Lucas waved a ten-dollar bill in the air. “I was saving for a video game, but I can buy the whole video store when I sell Wilford's treasure.”

Wilford's eyes lit up when he saw the bill. “Why, ten dollars will buy you my most important artifact. An original, handwritten letter from George Washington to his wife, Martha.”

There was a gasp in the audience.

Wilford pulled a yellowed paper tube tied with a ribbon from the box and unrolled it to reveal the letter. “It's dated July 4, 1776, and begins: ‘My dear Martha, I have just signed the Declaration of Independence.'”

Wilford cleared his throat importantly. “As we Revolutionary War historians know, the Americans had been fighting the British for many months before Thomas Jefferson wrote the Declaration. Every member of Congress signed it, including George Washington.”

Encyclopedia opened his mouth to object. But Wilford cut him off. “Look how old and delicate this parchment is. It's the gen-u-ine thing, boys and girls. And no one can prove otherwise.”

Sally took the letter from Wilford and scanned it. “It certainly looks old,” she said to Encyclopedia. “Can Wilford be telling the truth?”

“No. He's lying, and I can prove it,” Encyclopedia said.

 

HOW DID ENCYCLOPEDIA PROVE THE LETTER WAS A FAKE?

 

(Click here for the solution to “The Case of the Revolutionary Treasures.”)

The Browns' dinner table was quiet Thursday night. All the crimes in Idaville had been solved. Talk turned to the day's newspaper.

“Did you see the article about Mrs. Monarch's good luck in the
Idaville Morning News
?” Mrs. Brown asked.

Mrs. Monarch was known around town as the butterfly lady. She was crazy for butterflies. Her garden was filled with the kinds of flowers that attracted butterflies, like petunias, roses, and goldenrod.

The local Butterfly Gardener's Club often met in her living room, where they could keep an eye on the many butterflies that sunned themselves in her front yard and fed on her flowers.

“I read the article,” Chief Brown said. “Her aunt left her an antique butterfly brooch that turned out to be very valuable.”

“That brooch will buy a lot of wildflowers if Mrs. Monarch decides to sell it,” Encyclopedia added. “It's worth ten thousand dollars.”

“I imagine she wants to keep it,” Mrs. Brown said. “Her aunt was the person that got Mrs. Monarch interested in butterflies in the first place. It was something they shared. That butterfly pin is worth a lot more than money to her.”

“I hope she locks that pin in a safe-deposit box at the bank,” Chief Brown said. “A piece of jewelry that valuable shouldn't be kept in the house.”

He had hardly finished his sentence before the doorbell rang.

“Who could that be?” Mrs. Brown asked.

Officer Lopez stood on the front porch with her hat in her hand. “Sorry to disturb your dinner, Chief,” she said, after Encyclopedia led her into the dining room. “A masked man snuck into Mrs. Monarch's house while her butterfly club was meeting and stole her brooch. Mrs. Sweeney got a look at the back of him, but he jumped out a window with the brooch before she could alert anyone. Officer Rand is there now, but there don't seem to be any leads.”

“Poor Mrs. Monarch,” Mrs. Brown said. “She must be so upset—she loved that pin and the aunt who gave it to her.”

Chief Brown shook his head. “I was just telling Leroy that that pin belonged in a bank,” he said. “Every crook in the state could have read about that piece of jewelry in the newspaper today.” He eyed the apple pie on the table and reached for his jacket.

Encyclopedia liked nothing more than going to crime scenes with his father. “Can I come with you?” he asked. “Maybe the thief left some clues behind.”

“Is there any danger, dear?” Mrs. Brown asked.

“Leroy will be perfectly safe,” the chief said. “And I'll take all the help I can get.”

Mrs. Monarch's house was easy to spot. There was a butterfly painted on her mailbox and another on her front door.

Officer Rand met them on the porch. He had questioned the members of the Butterfly Gardener's Club. Aside from Mrs. Sweeney, no one had witnessed the crime, and so he sent them home.

A tearful Mrs. Monarch was wringing her hands. Her binoculars hung around her neck. “Thank goodness you've come, Chief Brown,” she twittered. “I've never been so upset. My beautiful brooch—my most precious possession—is gone!”

Mrs. Sweeney patted her friend on the shoulder. “If only I hadn't been too stunned to scream,” she said. “Someone might have gotten a good look at him.”

Encyclopedia checked the picture window in the living room. It provided a perfect view of the oak tree in Mrs. Monarch's front yard. There were no butterflies in sight.

Encyclopedia remembered from a book on butterflies that they only flew in the sunlight. On cloudy days and when it was dark they rested underneath leaves and on tree bark. They liked to blend into their surroundings to protect themselves from flying predators.

Officer Rand led the group upstairs while Mrs. Sweeney explained what happened. “Mrs. Monarch and the rest of the club were watching a particularly fine redbanded hairstreak perch on a leaf before settling down for the night when I went upstairs to use the restroom. I had just gotten to the top of the stairs when I saw a masked man in Mrs. Monarch's bedroom.” Mrs. Sweeney shuddered, remembering.

“I'll never forget that look in his eyes when he saw me,” she said. “He was such a pro that he didn't make a sound. He must have climbed down the farside of the tree. No one in the living room saw him.”

Officer Rand finished the story as they stepped into Mrs. Monarch's bedroom. “By the time Mrs. Sweeney came to her senses, the masked man was long gone—and so was Mrs. Monarch's brooch. He could be anywhere by now.”

“I feel terrible,” Mrs. Sweeney said. “Can you dust for fingerprints?” she asked, rubbing her hands together. “Could the thief have given himself away when he touched the window?”

“Only if his fingerprints are already on file,” the chief answered.

Mrs. Sweeney's shoulders slumped. Mrs. Monarch watched a whip-poor-will fly by and imitated its lonesome song with a sigh.

The thief had rifled through Mrs. Monarch's drawers and her jewelry box. “Has anything else been taken?” Chief Brown asked.

Suddenly, about a hundred butterflies took to the air flapping their wings in alarm.

“No, just my butterfly brooch,” Mrs. Monarch chirped. “I blame myself. I never should have talked to that newspaper reporter.”

Encyclopedia noticed Officer Rand's powerful flashlight underneath the bedroom window. A large branch was within his reach. Encyclopedia shook it back and forth and shined the flashlight on the tree. Suddenly, about a hundred butterflies took to the air flapping their wings in alarm.

“I'd do anything to get my brooch back,” Mrs. Monarch said. “Should I offer a reward?”

“We'll send notices to all the jewelry stores in the state,” Chief Brown said. “When the thief tries to sell the pin, we'll catch him.”

“That won't be necessary, Dad,” Encyclopedia said. “I know who has the brooch.”

 

WHO WAS THE THIEF?

 

(Click here for the solution to “The Case of the Missing Butterfly Brooch.”)