Get Smart 9 - Max Smart and the Ghastly Ghost Affair (13 page)

“Don’t stop me when I’m winning, 99. One-two-three—go!”

A second passed, then the thud was heard once more.

“Max?”

“If at first you don’t succeed, so forth and so forth and so forth, 99. Just stay back out of the way. One-two-three—Go!”

Thud!

“One . . . uh, two . . . three—Go!”

Thud!

“One . . . one and a half . . . two . . . two and a half . . . two and three quarters . . . three—go.”

Thud.

“Max?”

“99 . . . I’d rather not discuss it. I’m broken in body and spirit.”

“You just need a rest, Max. Take time out, then try it again.”

“Yes . . . I’ll just lean against the back of the—”

There was a crash. Light suddenly flooded into the vault. Blinking, 99 saw Max lying outside on the floor, on top of the rear wall.

“Max . . . what happened?” she asked, baffled.

“When I leaned against the back wall of the vault, 99, it fell out. The whole vault, apparently, is about to crumble.”

“Except for the hinges,” 99 said.

“Except for the hinges,” Max nodded, rising. He looked around. “Well, there are no KAOS assassins hanging around. So, I guess we can get back to the saloon and look for that Coolidge-head penny.” He headed for the door. “Come on, 99. Let’s get over to the saloon and find that penny before this seminar ends and all those KAOS assassins get away.”

“Right behind you, Max!”

Max reached the door—and abruptly halted. 99 crashed into him.

“Max!”

“Back, 99!” he said. He retreated, then peeked out the doorway. “Talk about terrible luck!” he said. “Look! All the KAOS assassins are trooping into the saloon!”

“Yes!” 99 groaned. “I wonder why they’re going in there?”

“Arbuthnot is probably going to instruct them on How to Cheat at Poker While Assassinating the Bartender,” Max said.

“That’s the last of the assassins—they’re all inside the saloon,” 99 said. “What shall we do now, Max?”

“Somehow, we have to get them out of there, so we can search for the secret panel that leads to the secret passageway that leads to the wine cellar, where we can begin looking for the Coolidge-head penny.”

“Max . . . have you noticed how complicated this is getting?”

“I don’t know why that surprises you, 99. It was bound to get more and more complicated. I’m surprised, frankly, that it isn’t more complicated than it is.”

“Why is that, Max?”

“Well, you know what they say. The best things are the simple things. So, the worst things must be the complicated things. And what could be worse than this?”

“I see what you mean, Max.”

“Let’s sneak up on the saloon and listen at one of the windows,” Max said. “Maybe we’ll hear something that will give us an idea how we can get those assassins out of there.” Cautiously, he moved out the door. “Quiet, 99,” he warned. “Don’t make a sound.” He halted. “And, Madame DuBarry, if you’re with us, that goes for you, too.”

“Hee-Haw!” a familiar voice responded.

“Shhhhhhhhh!”

Silently, Max, 99, and possibly the mule, slipped out of the bank and crossed the dusty street to the saloon. When they reached a window, Max and 99 bent low, keeping out of sight, and listened. Madame DuBarry, if he was present, had no need to bend down.

Arbuthnot was telling the other assassins how pleased he was with the way they had responded to instruction.

“I’ll be honest with you,” he said. “When I first took a look at you, I said to myself, ‘What a bunch of dumbheads!’ But I was wrong. Each one of you is an individual. You’re not a ‘bunch’ to me any more. You’re all dumb in your own stupid personal way.”

“The typical farewell address,” Max said, bored. “We’re not going to learn anything here, 99.”

“Shhhhh—just listen, Max.”

“But, dumb as you are, with me as your professor, you had to learn something,” Arbuthnot went on. “I venture to say that from now on you’ll all think twice before you pick up a weapon to go out to assassinate somebody. You’ll remember what I told you about germs. The phrase ‘kill, kill, kill’ will now have an added meaning. Before you assassinate the victim, you’ll assassinate those dirty germs! And you’ll all be better assassins for it—not to mention your victims, who will die the right way—by knife, gun or poison—instead of by accident from getting your dirty, filthy old germs!”

“Well, maybe not completely typical,” Max said. “But, even so, 99, we’re not learning anything that can help us. Let’s get out of here before we’re spotted.”

“All right, Max.”

They crept away and returned to the bank.

“Did you think of anything, Max?” 99 asked. “How are we going to get them out of the saloon?”

“I’m sorry, 99, but I wasn’t thinking about that at all,” Max replied. “The truth is, my mind was wandering. That always happens to me when I listen to speeches. I was listening to Franklin D. Roosevelt in December, 1941, when he announced that the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor, but I didn’t find out about it until January, 1942, at a New Year’s Eve party. While he was announcing Pearl Harbor, I was thinking about maraschino cherries. I was calculating exactly how long it would take a maraschino cherry weighing one ounce to sink one inch into a mound of whipped cream six inches high if the whipped cream had a stable consistency of— Well, anyway, you probably get the idea.”

“Max, what were you thinking about while you were supposed to be listening to Arbuthnot’s farewell speech?”

“I was thinking that probably the reason why we didn’t find that secret panel that led to the secret passageway that led to the wine cellar that the Coolidge-head penny dropped into was because there isn’t any secret panel that leads to a secret passageway that leads to— Well, anyway, you probably get the idea.”

“But, Max, we saw the cellar. And we saw the Coolidge-head penny. At least, you said we saw them.”

“We did see the penny, 99,” Max nodded. “But I was mistaken about the cellar, I think. I think what we really saw was the lost gold mine.”

“Max, I don’t understand.”

“99, where is a mine?”

“Where is-a yours? Max, I don’t even-a know-a where-a mine is, let-a alone-a yours.”

“You’re very good on dialect, 99. But what I meant was, where are mines usually located?”

“Oh. Underground, Max.”

“Right. So, what was it we saw when we looked down that crack in the floor? We saw the mine tunnel. That explains why we couldn’t find the secret panel that led to the secret passageway that led to the wine cellar. No secret panel, no secret passageway, and no wine cellar. Only a mine tunnel. And that’s where the Coolidge-head penny is.”

“Then we ought to be searching the mine!”

“Right again, 99.”

“Of course!” 99 said. “Why didn’t we think of that before!”

“I don’t know about you, 99,” Max replied, leading the way from the bank, “but the reason I didn’t think of it was because Arbuthnot hadn’t got around to giving his farewell speech yet.”

M
AX AND
99 started up the dusty street toward the mine. But after they had gone a few steps, Max halted. “We’re making the same mistake we made last time,” he said to 99, pointing to the tracks they were leaving in the dust. “When Arbuthnot and those other assassins came out of the saloon, they’ll see our tracks and follow us up to the mine.”

“I don’t see how we can help but leave tracks, Max,” 99 said. “There’s dust all around.”

“Only on the ground,” Max said. “Not inside the buildings, and not on the roofs.”

“Well . . . I suppose not, but—”

“Just follow me,” Max said.

With 99 right behind him, Max entered the bakery. He ducked down and crawled into the old open fireplace, then, with excruciating slowness, he made his way up to the inside of the chimney. When he reached the roof he reached down and gave 99 a hand, helping her out.

“Max . . .” she panted, “I never thought I’d make it. Is this really necessary?”

“This is only the beginning, 99.”

Max crossed to the edge of the roof. The roof of the next building, the jail, was several yards away. He retreated, then got a running start and leaped off the bakery roof and—with the tips of his fingers—caught hold of the drain pipe alone the edge of the jail roof. Summoning all his strength, Max pulled himself up, finally reaching the roof over the jail.

“Jump, 99!” he called.

“Max, I’ll never make it!”

“It’s the only way! Jump!”

99 backed away, then ran toward the edge of the bakery roof and jumped. She missed the edge of the jail roof—and the hands Max was holding out to her—by at least a foot, and plummeted to the ground, landing, fortunately, in a soft pile of dust.

“Oh, Max . . . I’m sorry . . .” 99 called up.

“You’re forgiven, 99. Now, back into the bakery, and back up the chimney, and try it again. If at first you don’t succeed, try—”

“Max, are you going into the jail?”

“No, 99. I’m going to cross to the roof of the lumber yard, then, by plank, make my way to the barber shop. Having retained the plank, I will then proceed to the roof of the bakery, reaching it by climbing handover-hand up the treacherous incline formed by extending the plank from the lower window of the barber shop to the upper gutter of the bakery roof. From the roof, I will drop down the chimney.”

“Max, as long as I know where you’re going, I’ll just meet you outside the bakery.”

“All right, 99.”

Max disappeared from the edge of the roof. When he was gone, 99 walked around to the front of the bakery and sat down on the front steps. She heard a great deal of grunting and straining during the next few minutes. Then Max appeared from the bakery. His clothes were ripped in a number of places.

“That takes care of that problem,” he said. “Arbuthnot and his assassins might, in time, be able to follow that trail. But a lot of them will probably lose their lives doing it. And, by the time they catch up with us, we’ll have found the Coolidge-head penny and alerted the Chief.”

“That’s nice, Max,” 99 said, managing to control her admiration.

“Now, 99—to the mine.”

“Fine, Max.”

They left the bakery and proceeded up the dusty street, leaving a full set of tracks behind. When they reached the entrance to the mine, they stopped and peered, squinting, into the darkness.

“Do you still have your lighter, Max?” 99 said. “We’ll sure need it. I just wonder how long it will keep burning, though. I wouldn’t want to get lost in there without a light.”

“99, there’s no problem. Even without a light we’d be able to find our way out. Tunnels only go two ways—out and in. If we came to the end of the tunnel and discovered that we weren’t outside, we’d know we were going the wrong way. So, we’d turn around and go the other way, which would take us out.”

“Suppose the tunnel has branches, Max?”

“We’ll stay
out
of the branches. This is no time to go out on a limb.” Max reached into his pocket to get the lighter. “I don’t seem to have it,” he said. “Did I give the lighter to you, 99?”

“I don’t think so, Max.”

“We’ll just have to go on without it,” he decided. “We don’t really need it. We’ll see the Coolidge-head penny when we reach it. Remember?—it was gleaming in the light through the crack in the floor.”

“But, Max—”

“It’s just as well that I can’t find the lighter, 99,” Max said. “If I lit it the flame would cast flickering shadows on the walls. And when a flame casts a flickering shadow on the walls that means that danger is lurking somewhere nearby. It’s a warning the Good Guys always get.”

“Max . . . you don’t really believe that, do you?”

“Why wouldn’t I believe it, 99? It never fails to happen. When a candle or a lighter is lighted in a dark place like a cave or a tunnel, the flame always flickers. And then, a short while later, the danger always comes out of lurking and confronts the Good Guys.”

“But, Max, that’s the wind blowing the flame!”

“If you want to think it’s the wind, 99, that’s your privilege.”

“What is it, then?”

“It’s the sacred god of Good Guydom.”

“Oh, Max, you can’t—”

There was a sudden sound, like a puff of air, and the old prospector suddenly appeared. He was carrying his lantern and blocking the way. Beside him was his mule, Madame DuBarry.

“Well . . . speak of the god of Good Guydom . . .” Max said.

“None of your soft soap!” the old prospector growled. “I caught you red-handed this time!”

Max looked at his hands. “That’s not my normal color,” he said. “They’re getting the reflection from your lantern.”

“None of your squirmy way with words, either! You know what I’m talking about!” the old prospector charged. “You’re after my gold! You had me fooled at first with that story about the Pinkertons. But now I’ve got the goods on you. If you’re not after my gold, what are you doing back in the tunnel?”

“It’s sort of a long story,” Max said. “After you disappeared and left us stranded on that mountain, we made our way down to the town, and, at the break of dawn, found ourselves confronted—”

“Don’t go into all that detail,” the old prospector said. “I disappeared, all right, but that don’t mean I haven’t kept track of you. I been on your trail every minute of the time—almost. I had my suspicions, so I followed you—staying about a dozen yards behind. I saw you get yourself trapped in that jail. I saw you get shut up in that vault in the bank. The only place I didn’t tail you was when you jumped over from the roof of the bakery to the roof of the jail.”

“Oh? Chicken?”

“Well, I saw your wife take that fall. So, I said to myself— Well, never mind what I said. What it adds up to is, yeah, I was chicken. I went along with her and waited on the porch.”

“I see. Well, if you’ve been with us all the time, then you must know why we’re here,” Max said. “Didn’t you hear us say why we were returning to the tunnel?”

“From a dozen yards behind?” the old prospector replied. “I didn’t have ears like that even when I was young.”

“Oh. Well, if you’d been a little closer,” Max said, “you’d have heard us say—very clearly—that we were coming back here to look for the Coolidge-head penny. You see, our idea that the penny dropped through the floor and into the wine cellar was wrong. Because there is no wine cellar below the saloon. What there is, instead, is a tunnel. A mine tunnel.
This
mine tunnel. And that’s why we’re here now. To find the Coolidge-head penny, not to look for your gold. I hope that clears up any misunderstanding that may have arisen. Are you satisfied?”