The White Elephant Mystery (10 page)

“All right, Mr. Grant,” Trixie said. “I’ll—”

Then she stopped speaking, although she didn’t betray why she had stopped. She stopped because Djuna was standing right behind Mr. Grant and as she started to speak Djuna’s face had set and his lips were tight as he slowly shook his head from side to side while he looked straight into her eyes. For an instant Trixie hesitated and then she rose quickly and said, “No! I can’t, Mr. Grant. I can’t do it!”

“You’ll break your contract!” Mr. Grant said as he rose to face her. “I don’t want you to do that, Trixie.”

“I’m sorry, Sonny,” she said. “I can’t do it.”

He studied her for a moment in silence. “Well, if you can’t, you can’t,” he said with a smile of resignation. “Do what you think best, Trixie. I rushed over here as soon as I found out about Spitfire. There doesn’t seem to be anything I can do, but we’ll do everything we can for him, Trixie. I’ll come back later.”

“Thanks, Mr. Grant,” Trixie said.

After he had gone Trixie bent her index finger and beckoned with it to Djuna. He came over and stood before her in embarrassed silence. “Why did you shake your head like that, Djuna?” she asked.

“Golly, I don’t know.
Honest!
” Djuna said. “I can’t explain it. I remembered how Spitfire had urged Mr. Grant to keep his billings in five towns this week and how Mr. Grant, more or less, told him to mind his own business. He—”

“Yes, I know,” Trixie said. “Spitfire was pretty upset about it. But—”

“It—it just seemed as though Mr. Grant was con-contra—”

“Contradicting himself,” Trixie supplied with a smile.

“That’s right!” Djuna said. “Something just told me to shake my head to tell you not to do any flying tonight,” he added a little desperately. “I don’t know why.”

“A hunch, maybe, Djuna,” Trixie said. “I’m glad you did. I always play my own hunches.”

Just then Socker and Cannonball came out of the corridor leading to the private rooms and in spite of the fact that they tried to hide their feelings their faces were tragic.

“Oh, Socker!” Trixie said and she buried her face in her hands.

“Take it easy, Trixie,” Socker said gently. “It’s not going to be too bad. He tore his shoulder pretty badly and fractured an elbow, and he’s partially paralyzed from shock, but unless he’s injured internally, he’ll be flying again in a couple of months. They’re going to take some X-rays as soon as they can.”

“Th—thanks, Socker,” Trixie sobbed, but she managed to smile through her tears. “You—you make it sound as though he had just stubbed his toe!”

“That’s the girl, Trix,” Socker said. “There’s nothing you can do here. What about letting us take you back to the lot, where you can be with Joy? They’ll let you know here the minute you can see Spitfire.”

“I guess that’s best,” Trixie said.

They all went out and got in Cannonball’s car again, only this time Trixie sat between Djuna and Tommy in the back. When they were halfway into the center of Riverton, Socker said to Cannonball, “Stop at the Brewster House. I want to get Tommy and Djuna a room.”

Socker turned around and looked at the two boys and said, “No more circus for you two today. You must have been up at four o’clock this morning and you’ve already had too much excitement. You can worry the place to death tomorrow and see everything that you haven’t seen today—after you’ve had a good sleep. You can get some supper in the dining room at the Brewster House, and—”

“Jeepers, we look pretty crummy to be eating there, Mr. Furlong,” Djuna said.

“Don’t worry about how you look,” Socker said. “Here’s five bucks for a comb and brush and a couple of toothbrushes. Tomorrow morning we’ll make Cannonball run you over to Edenboro to pick up some things so you can stay a couple more days and get all the circus you want.”

Cannonball drew up in front of the entrance to the Brewster House. A uniformed doorman, who was standing with his back to the car, shouted over his shoulder without looking around, “You can’t park there, Buddy!”

“Who can’t park, where, Buddy?” Cannonball shouted back. The doorman looked around and almost fell into the car, opening the door.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said to Cannonball. He bowed deeply to Socker and said, “Good afternoon, sir!”

Socker went in the hotel with Djuna and Tommy and got them a double room with twin beds, a bathroom and a radio. He showed them a couple of stores where they could buy what they needed for the night, told them to have dinner in the dining room and sign their room number and names to the check, and then sternly warned them that they were to turn off the radio and their lights at nine o’clock.

“You promise?” he said.

“Swallow my gum and hope to die!” they said together.

“Okay. Good night. See you in the morning for breakfast,” Socker told them.

“Say, Socker,” Djuna said just as Socker was turning away. “You don’t have a flashlight I could borrow, do you?”

“A flashlight!” Socker said. “What do you want with a flashlight?”

“Well,” Djuna said slowly, “I always have one on the stand beside my bed at home, and I thought if I woke up in the night and didn’t know where I was I could reach for the flashlight and turn it on and look around and then I’d know.”

Socker didn’t say anything as he looked at Djuna with a very peculiar expression on his face. ”You’re
sure?
“ he asked. He didn’t wait for Djuna to answer. “I’ll see if Cannonball has one he can spare,” he added.

He came back a few moments later and handed a long flashlight to Djuna.

“Thanks, Socker. Thanks a lot! Good night,” Djuna said.

Promptly at six o’clock, when the main dining room of the Brewster House was opened for dinner, Djuna and Tommy went through the doorway as the glass doors were thrown open.

A large, heavy-set man with a face the color of an early beet was standing just inside the door and bowed rather doubtfully as they entered. His wide expanse of shirt front gleamed beneath the black bow tie he wore under his four chins. When he saw that Tommy and Djuna were alone he said, “This way, please,” and led them to a table for two that stood against a side wall. He put two menus in front of them and then hurried away to greet two couples who were entering.

“Jeepers! What’s tripe
à la Créole?
” Tommy whispered.

“I don’t know,” Djuna said. “I don’t know what most of these things are. Oh, here is some roast beef
au jus-s-s
. That’s what we had in the chow tent this noon. Let’s have some of that and some green peas and mashed potatoes.”

“Sure,” Tommy said, “and some apple pie and milk and cheese. It was awful good this noon, so it ought to be just as good again.”

Djuna gave the headwaiter the order when he came back, and when he had finished Tommy got up the courage to say, “Big glasses of milk, please.”

He said it just the way he had heard his father say it and when the headwaiter bowed and said, “Yes, sir!” in a very solemn way they both snickered as he left their table.

After they had eaten every tiny particle of everything that was put before them they agreed that the food was not as good at the Brewster House as it was in the chow tent at the circus.

Then when their waiter brought the check they both signed it and put their room number on it. “How much do you think we ought to tip him?” Tommy whispered.

“Oh, about 10 per cent,” Djuna said, and added hastily, “I think!”

“Golly!” Tommy said.
“That’s fifty cents!”

They left the check and a half dollar on the table and hurried out of the dining room. Just as they got outside they looked back and saw the waiter pick up the check and the fifty-cent piece. He wrinkled his nose like a rabbit smelling a carrot as he put the coin in his pocket.

“Jeepers, he doesn’t think it’s enough!” Tommy said indignantly. “I wish he had to mow our lawn to get that much money!”

“Let’s go up to our room and listen to the radio,” said Djuna. “Maybe it will tell something about Spitfire.”

“There’s eight o’clock news on the Riverton station,” Tommy said. “Let’s sit down here in the lobby until then.”

“Sure,” Djuna said. “Remember though, we’ve got to be in bed at nine o’clock.”

So, they sat down in the lobby in enormous overstuffed chairs and watched the people coming and going, and after they got tired of that they wandered around and stared into the windows of the stores that had doors entering into the lobby, and into the corridor outside.

At eight o’clock they went up to their room and turned on the radio. The news announcer told all about the circus but he didn’t mention Spitfire’s accident, so they switched to what the radio station thought was a comedy program until just before nine o’clock when Tommy jumped up suddenly and said, “Last one in bed is a wall-eyed guppy!”

For a brief instant the room was filled with flying basque shirts, shorts and low shoes. They hit their beds at the same moment, and their lights and the radio went off as a clock began to toll nine in the distance.

“We forgot to wash our faces,” Tommy said after a brief interval.

“We can do it when we get up in five minutes,” Djuna said.

Tommy’s bed creaked and he said, “We promised Mr. Furlong we’d turn out our lights and the radio, and get in bed at nine o’clock.”

“Well,” said Djuna, “we did, didn’t we? We didn’t promise to
stay
in bed.”

“Jiminy crimps, Djuna!” Tommy said. “What are we going to do if we get up?”

“We’re going up to look at that iron white elephant on old man Grant’s front lawn,” Djuna said. He saw Tommy pop up on his bed like a jack-in-the-box in the light that streamed in the window from a neon sign across the street from the hotel.

“
Way
up on top of
that
hill, at
this time
of night!” Tommy exclaimed. “What do you want to look at that old iron white elephant for?”

“I don’t know,” Djuna confessed. “It
might
be the white elephant Spitfire mumbled about.” He waited a moment and added, “You don’t have to go if you’re afraid.”

“Afraid!”
Tommy said in a high-pitched voice. “What is there to be afraid of?”

When Djuna didn’t answer him he leaned over and snapped on the light on the table between their beds and added, plaintively, “I knew when you asked Mr. Furlong for that flashlight something like this was going to happen. You acted the same way you did last summer when you borrowed that sixty-foot coil of rope from Captain Ben up at Silver Lake.”

“Well, I found Miss Annie, didn’t I?” Djuna protested.
¹
“Anyway I just want to
look
at the white elephant.” He grinned and added, “I don’t want to bring it home!”

“Well, c’mon!” Tommy said resignedly. He pushed back the sheet that covered him and began to hunt for the short socks he had been wearing when they raced for bed.

“Are you sure you can find the place?” Tommy asked when they were out on the street and headed for the outskirts of Riverton.

“Oh, sure,” Djuna said. “I remember just how Mr. Boots went the day he took us by there.”

“How far do you think it is?”

“Not more than a couple of miles,” Djuna said. “We’ve walked farther than that lots of times.”

“Sure,” Tommy said. “But remember we got to walk back, too.”

They plodded on through the warm night air, slapping at mosquitoes now and again and saying little as they neared the top of the long hill where old man Grant’s house stood. Clouds scudded before the moon as they stopped by the first stone gate and peered in at the grotesque old mansion. The moon peeped fitfully through the old elms and maples and beeches around the house, and as they swayed gently in the summer breeze the old house seemed to sway with them. It was dark and silent, and not a little eerie, as they climbed over the stone gate and dropped into the tall grass on the other side.

“The white elephant is ’way up on the other end,” Tommy whispered.

“Yeah, I know,” Djuna whispered back and then he laughed and said aloud, “What are we whispering for? There’s no one within a mile of here.” He snapped on his flashlight to prove that he believed what he said and counted off the strange iron procession as they passed it.

“There’s the man with the torch at the end of the parade,” he said. “An’ there’s the regular elephant, and the tiger and the lion.”

“Boop—boop-boop-a-boop!” Tommy said in imitation of the steam calliope, to show that he had lost his nervousness, as they passed the odd contraption.

“Then the camel, with the man leading it, and then the giraffe,” Djuna went on as he flashed his light ahead.

“And there’s your old white elephant!” Tommy said as they came to the head of the motionless procession. “Now,
what
are you going to do?”

“I’m just going to look it over very carefully,” Djuna explained. “There might be something inside it, some kind of a door, or something, to get in it.”

“Jeepers!” Tommy whispered. “Did Spitfire say anything about that?”

“No,” said Djuna. “He couldn’t. All he could say was ‘The white elephant!’”

Djuna flashed his light all over the elephant’s trunk and around the place where its mouth was supposed to be, and carefully up each foreleg. Then he asked Tommy to give him a hand while he climbed up on the elephant’s peeling white back and inspected the iron man, with the turban on his head, who sat on top of the elephant. He ran the light down the elephant’s broad back and then slid off and inspected the elephant’s belly, hind legs and tail.

There wasn’t anything that even faintly resembled a door, or an opening into the inside of the elephant. Djuna snapped off his flashlight and stood staring at the huge iron beast in the dark.

“Well, are you satisfied?” Tommy wanted to know.

“No,” Djuna said and he snapped on his flashlight again and directed its ray at the turban-clad form on top of the iron elephant. “Spitfire couldn’t have meant the live white elephant in the circus. Whatever he was talking about must be here. Spitfire has been up here, because, you remember, he told Mr. Grant he had left some things in a closet here. He knows about this white elephant. This is the only other one beside the live one. I don’t—”