The White Elephant Mystery (9 page)

Together they managed to find their way out of the big top, and then ran its length to get to the performers’ dressing tent. A roustabout was stationed at the entrance and when Djuna asked him if he had heard about Spitfire Peters he cocked his head on one side and said, “Spitfire Peters? I don’t think I ever heard of him, Bub.”

“The aerial trapeze performer,” Djuna said. “He just fell and I think was hurt pretty bad.”

“Hurt pretty bad!” the man said and he chuckled. “Bub, you can’t hurt them fellahs. They bounce!”

“He did bounce!” Tommy said. “It was awful. He—he’s a friend of ours.”

“He is?” the man said in a more kindly voice as he saw the tears in Tommy’s eyes. “Now, don’t you worry about him. He’s going to be all right. I remember when his wife, Trixie, went right over the net into the seats and only broke her thumb. Yessir! As I said, you can’t hurt them fellahs. Now, you run along because—”

He stopped speaking as the siren of an ambulance wailed across the field and sent razorbacks and rigging men darting in all directions as it came clanging up to the entrance of the performers’ tent.

A doctor in a white coat and an intern jumped off the front seat and hurried into the tent. The man at the door went inside, too, and Djuna and Tommy stood there trying to peep around the flap.

Then four roustabouts came out carrying a stretcher and on the stretcher Tommy and Djuna saw Spitfire’s white face. His eyes were closed so that he couldn’t know that Trixie was walking beside him, holding to his hand, her eyes wet and fearful.

Djuna darted around the back of the stretcher beside her and said, “Mrs.—Mrs.—Trixie, is there anything we can do?”

They were pushing the stretcher into the back of the ambulance now, and as Trixie Peters dropped her husband’s hand she looked down at Djuna and managed a brave smile.

“No, there’s nothing, Djuna,” she said and for an instant she pressed her lips very tightly together. “We—we sort of expect these things. I’m—I’m going to ride to the hospital in the ambulance. Will you find Socker and Cannonball and tell them about it, please?”

“Of course,” Djuna said. “We—we’ll be over.”

“Thank you, Djuna,” she said and climbed up on the seat of the ambulance where the doctor had been sitting. The doctor was inside the ambulance with Spitfire.

The ambulance went clanging away across the lot and the two boys stood there watching it go. The roustabout who was guarding the entrance to the tent came over and put an arm around their shoulders.

“Look, kids,” he said. “Why don’t you go over and look at the side show and not worry about Mr. Peters? He’ll be all right. They’ll do everything they can for him.”

“Oh, we know that!” Djuna said, and he managed to smile, too. “But you can’t help worrying.”

“No, I guess you can’t,” the man said and he had a sort of faraway look in his eyes that would have made anyone wonder if he hadn’t done a little worrying himself before he became a roustabout.

As Djuna and Tommy started to move away Djuna stuck his hand in his pocket. When he felt a hard, oblong object there, he yanked his hand out and stared at it.

Tommy stared at it, too—then said, “Jiminy crimps! That’s Mr. Peters’s lucky charm. Where did
you
get it?”

“The cord broke and it flew out across the track when—when he struck,” Djuna explained. “I just scooped it up and stuck it in my pocket and forgot about it. I guess I should have given it to Mrs. Peters.”

“I don’t think Mrs. Peters would want it, if it won’t bring him any more luck than he had this afternoon,” Tommy said. “I don’t think she’d even want to see it again. I’d just throw it away and forget about it!”

“I couldn’t do that,” said Djuna. “He must have had a good reason why he carried it as a lucky charm.”

Suddenly Djuna’s eyes and mouth both popped open wide and he stopped walking. After a moment he said, “Oh, my golly!”

“What’s the matter with you?” Tommy asked suspiciously. He had seen Djuna act this way several times before, and he knew that when he acted like that something was very apt to happen.

“Will you promise not to tell anyone if I tell you something?” Djuna asked. “I mean, not tell
anyone
until I’ve had a chance to think it over.”

“Sure,” Tommy said, and he grinned. “Swallow my gum and hope to die!”

“I mean it,” Djuna protested, but he couldn’t help grinning, too, at hearing Socker’s way of promising.

“Of course I won’t tell anyone,” Tommy promised.

“Well, when I bent over Spitfire, right after he fell, he opened his eyes for just an instant and whispered, ‘The white elephant!”’ Djuna said.

“The white elephant!”
Tommy whispered. “What do you suppose he meant by that?”

“Jeepers!” said Djuna. “Your guess is as good as mine. I don’t have any idea what he meant.”

“Do you suppose he meant the elephant they paint white for the parade?” Tommy asked. “What would that have to do with his fall?”

“I guess it wouldn’t have anything to do with it,” Djuna said thoughtfully. “But that’s what he said—’The white elephant!’”

“Maybe he meant the one made of iron up on old man Grant’s front lawn!” Tommy said excitedly. “Maybe
that
has some secret in it that he knows about!”

“Say, that’s an idea, anyway,” Djuna said. “I’ve never heard of any other white elephants, have you?”

“The one in the circus is supposed to be the only one outside of Siam that’s in captivity,” Tommy said. “It must be that one, or the iron one. But what did he mean?”

“I don’t know,” Djuna said, and anyone could tell by looking at him that although he didn’t know he intended to do his best to find out.

“Look,” he went on as he broke into a trot. “We better go find Mr. Furlong and tell him about Spitfire. They said they were going to take that grifter over to the substation of the State Police in Riverton. I know where it is. Maybe we can hitch-hike into town.”

They trotted, side by side, toward the main gate that would let them out of the fenced-in lot; and neither of them tried to talk, because they had to save their breath.

There were a lot of cars parked outside the gate and when Djuna asked the first driver who was driving away if he would take them over into Riverton the man smiled and said, “Surest thing you know. Climb in!”

They climbed in and he asked where they were going.

“If you’re going by the State Police substation we’d be very much obliged if you’d drop us there,” Djuna said.

“Goin’ right by it,” the man said. “Be glad to!”—and added, “Say! That’s quite a show they put on back there, eh? Bad fall that trapeze fellah took, though. Looked as though it might o’ jarred the gizzard right out o’ him! No kind a business for a man with any sense to be in.”

Djuna and Tommy didn’t say anything and when the man looked at them and saw how grimly they were staring straight ahead he didn’t say anything more until about five minutes later when he came to a stop and said, “Well, here you are, boys.”

“Thank you, very much,” they both said very politely and climbed to the ground.

They stood outside the State Police station and barracks for a couple of minutes while they stared in through the window, and then Tommy said, “Oh, c’mon! Socker and Cannonball must be in there someplace.”

They slipped inside the door and saw an enormous trooper, who must have weighed at least 280 pounds, standing at a teletype machine reading and tearing off the messages as they came in. He wore a big.44 Colt automatic strapped to his hip, and didn’t look like the kind of man a burglar, or anyone else for that matter, would want to annoy.

Another trooper, without a hat, sat at a desk at the end of the room. He didn’t look very busy because he had his feet on the desk. He smiled pleasantly at Djuna and Tommy when they came in, and said, “What can I do for you, boys?”

“We’re looking for Trooper McGinnty and a newspaper man named Mr. Furlong, please,” Djuna said. “If they’re here.”

“Old man McGinnty, with a shanty on his eye!” the trooper sang and put his feet down on the floor. “Sure, they’re here,” he went on. “They’re entertaining a customer in a back room. Who shall I tell ’em wants to see ’em?”

“Djuna and Tommy Williams,” Tommy said promptly. “Please tell them it’s important.”

“So, it’s important, is it?” the trooper said, smiling. “You’re sure I couldn’t take care of it? They’re pretty busy.”

“Thank you, very much,” Djuna said, “but we have to see them.”

The trooper disappeared through a doorway behind him and in a few minutes he came back with Socker and Cannonball right behind him. They both flipped a hand at Tommy and Djuna but went on talking to the trooper who had been sitting at the desk.

“We couldn’t get anything out of him, except the name of the guy who directs the short-change racket,” Cannonball told the trooper. “I don’t think he knows who is the big boss of all the rackets. Book him for larceny in some degree and when the lieutenant comes in explain things to him and ask him to take a rap at him. Maybe he’ll take a chance and get a little tougher than I did.”

“That baby knew a lot more than he told us,” Socker put in. “In fact he told me a few things without intending to. At least, I hope he did. Throw him in chains, if you’ve got any,” he added sourly.

“Was he a—a real grifter, Mr. Furlong?” Tommy asked eagerly as Socker stepped down from the platform on which the trooper’s desk stood, and came toward them.

“Look, my inquisitive little ibex,” Socker said. “Didn’t you see him lift ten bucks of my hard-earned money, right in under my eyes?”

“No!” Tommy said. “I didn’t see him. I didn’t even know he had it until Cannonball twisted his hand and made him drop it.”

“Well, that’s some satisfaction, anyway,” said Socker. “I didn’t see him either! But what brings you kids over here—”he glanced at his watch—“before the circus is over?”

“We—we came because Mrs. Peters, Spitfire’s wife, asked us to come,” Djuna explained, and his eyes were large and round as he spoke.

“What’s the matter, Djuna?” Socker asked quickly.

“Mr. Peters—Spitfire—had a
terrible
fall!” Djuna said. “He was doing his triple somersault at the end of his act, and his catcher missed him entirely. He shot right across the net and hit a rope and bounced down on the track
right
in front of me!”

“Where is he?” Socker snapped.

“At the hospital,” Djuna said quickly. “Mrs. Peters went with him. He—he was unconscious.”

“Let’s go, Cannonball!” said Socker and he was at the door in two long strides.

“Can we go, too, Mr. Furlong?” Djuna asked when they were out on the sidewalk.

“Get in!” Socker snapped. He slammed the door shut behind them and dropped into the front seat beside Cannonball.

Cannonball went away from the curb and down the street as though the car he was driving were jet-propelled. He kept his finger on his siren as they tore through the streets to the Riverton Hospital on the outskirts of the small city.

Socker spoke only once on the way to the hospital and then he said, “Did you see Joy Maybeck’s act, Djuna?”

“Oh yes,” Djuna said eagerly. “She threw a kiss at me after she did a back somersault on a horse’s back. It was wonderful.”

“She’s a wonderful girl, Djuna,” Socker said half to himself.

“I sort of thought that was what you thought, Mr. Furlong,” Djuna said.

Socker swung around in the seat and looked at Djuna sharply, and Djuna didn’t even smile. He was looking out the window and wondering about Spitfire Peters.

After Cannonball had parked his car, all four of them went up the stone steps of the hospital and into a room that was the office and reception room.

Socker and Cannonball went through the reception room and into a corridor where a woman dressed in a white uniform and with a black stripe around her cap sat at a desk. Djuna and Tommy went as far as the door that led into the corridor and stopped.

“We want to see Mr. Peters, please,” Socker said to the day supervisor.

“Who’s calling?” she asked.

“Furlong of the
Morning Bugle
and Trooper McGinnty of the State Police,” Socker said.

“I’m sorry,” the nurse said. “There are three doctors in his room now, holding a consultation. If you’ll wait outside—”

Socker walked over to a chart that was hung on the wall behind her and scanned the names of the people who were in the hospital and the numbers of the rooms they were in.

“Eighteen. Thanks,” Socker said. “Come on, Cannonball.”

The nurse half rose from her chair and then sank back into it as Socker and Cannonball disappeared down the corridor. Djuna and Tommy turned around and wandered back into the reception room; and around an ell they saw Trixie Cella and Sonny Grant, owner of the circus, talking in a corner.

“Hello, Djuna. Hello, Tommy,” Trixie said and both of the boys could see that her eyes were swollen from crying. “Did you find Socker and Mr. McGinnty?”

“Hello, boys,” Sonny Grant said in a kindly voice.

“Yes, ma’am,” Djuna said. “They just went in to see Mr. Peters?”

“They wouldn’t let me!” Mr. Grant said angrily.

“They didn’t ask,” said Tommy. “They just went.”

“Well, let’s get this thing settled, Trixie,” Mr. Grant said, turning back to Mrs. Peters. “Your husband told me Hip Edwards is all ready to fly. You can work with him tonight. He—”

“Oh, Sonny! I don’t think I can,” Trixie said. “I know you’ve got to have someone to take our place but I don’t feel—”

“Come, come, Trixie!
You’re a trouper!
The show has to go on,” Sonny said. “Spitfire is going to be all right. No one will even know he isn’t up there.”

Djuna had been standing just behind Mr. Grant, and had been listening to their conversation. Suddenly Djuna remembered how Spitfire had urged Mr. Grant to reconsider his decision to skip five towns the circus was supposed to play that week. Djuna could hear Spitfire saying, “The show always goes on, Mr. Grant. It’s a sort of sacred thing with circus people. Unless you have a major catastrophe you stick to your billing.”

Then he could hear Mr. Grant snap, “All right, Peters. I’m running this show now. I don’t want to hear any more advice from you. I’ll run this show
my
way!”