CHAPTER IV

THE MYSTERY OF EGBERT

Freddy’s failure bothered him a good deal. The rats soon spread the news of it far and wide, and Freddy couldn’t go outside the pig-pen without meeting animals who asked him how the case was getting on and whether he had got the train of cars back yet. “They’re all very kind and sympathetic,” he said to Jinx, “because nobody likes Simon and his family. But I won’t get any other cases if I don’t solve this one pretty quick. And from the way it looks now, it’s going to take some time.”

“Yes, and I’ll be out of a job if Mr. Bean finds out,” replied the cat. “We’ve got to do something, and do it now. I suppose you’ve heard the song the rats are singing about you?”

Freddy grunted angrily. Yes, he had heard it all right. Every time he went near the barn, the rats began shouting it out at the top of their lungs, and they used it as a sort of marching song when they trundled the train back and forth between their hole and the feed-box.

Freddy, the sleuth,

He busted a tooth,

He’s a silly old bonehead, and that is the truth.

Freddy the pig,

He talks very big,

But all that he’s good for’s to guzzle and swig.

Freddy the fat,

He’s never learned that

It takes forty-nine pigs to equal one rat.

And there were many more verses. It was not very good, just as a song, but it irritated Freddy frightfully, and that was what the rats wanted. It would irritate anyone to have a song like that yelled at him morning, noon, and night.

“Well,” said Jinx, “I’m counting on you. There’s nothing much I can do but hang round the barn and try to get a crack at Simon when he’s not inside that train. Haven’t you got any ideas at all?”

“Sure, I’ve got ideas,” Freddy replied. “I’m working on the thing all the time. But you know how detectives work. They wouldn’t be any good if they told everything they were doing. Everything is going satisfactorily, though a little slower than I had hoped. But I’m making as good progress as could be expected.”

“Humph!” said the cat. “As good progress as I could expect from you—and that’s just none at all.” But he said it under his breath, for perhaps Freddy did have an idea—he was really a very clever pig—and it was no good offending him. Jinx needed his help too badly for that.

But Freddy really had no ideas at all. There was no good using force; he had tried that, and all he had got out of it was a broken tooth that sent his family into fits of laughter whenever he smiled. Anyway, detectives seldom used force; they used guile. He went back to his library and got comfortable and tried to think up some guile to use on the rats. And as usual when he lay perfectly still and concentrated for a short time, he fell asleep.

He was awakened by a timid but persistent tapping at the door. “Come in,” he said sleepily, and then as a white nose and two white ears appeared round the edge of the door, he jumped up. “Ah, Mrs. Winnick,” he said as the rest of an elderly rabbit followed the ears into the room; “long time since I have seen you. What can I do for you today?”

Mrs. Winnick was a widow who lived down by the edge of the woods. In her day she had been as pretty a young rabbit as you could wish to see, but since the loss of her husband the cares of providing for a large family had taken every bit of her time and energy. She took no part in the gay social life of the other animals in the neighborhood, and they seldom saw her, though they were good to her, and one or other of them was always taking a fresh head of lettuce or a couple of carrots down to her, for they suspected that she and the children did not always get enough food.

“Oh, Mr. Freddy,” she burst out, “it’s about Egbert. He’s disappeared, and whatever I shall do I don’t know. He was always such a good boy, too—kind and helpful, and willing to look after the baby. With the other children it’s play, play, play all day long, but Egbert—” And she began to cry.

Freddy was not greatly disturbed by her tears. Most animals don’t like to cry because it makes their eyes red, but white rabbits have red eyes anyway, so crying doesn’t make them look any different. And as they are very sentimental and tender-hearted little animals, and easily upset, they cry a good deal.

“Come, come,” said Freddy briskly. “Just tell me all about it, and we’ll see what can be done. I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think. Now, do you want me to help you find Egbert?” And as she nodded tearful assent, “Well,” he continued, “let’s get at the facts. Let’s see—Egbert. He’s your eighth oldest, isn’t he? Or ninth?”

“Twelfth,” she replied, “and always such a good—”

“Yes,” said Freddy quickly. “And when did you last see him?”

After asking a good many questions Freddy got Mrs. Winnick’s story. The night before Egbert had taken several of the children up through the woods to Jones’s Creek to get some watercress. At nine o’clock the children had come home without him. They had not found any good watercress, and Egbert had said that he would go farther down the creek to a place he knew where there was sure to be some, but that they must go home, as it was their bedtime, and their mother would worry. Mrs. Winnick had put the children to bed and had presently gone to bed herself. But this morning Egbert’s bed was empty. He had not come home, and nothing had been seen or heard of him since.

Freddy consoled the weeping widow as best he could. “I’ll get to work on it right away,” he said, “and meanwhile don’t worry. I’ll soon have Egbert back for you. By the way, who sent you to me?”

“It was the children,” said the rabbit. “They’d heard about your setting up to be a detective, and they wanted me to come and see you. Not that I have any faith in it—excuse me, sir. But you haven’t been at it very long, have you?”

“No,” Freddy admitted, “but there always has to be a first time, doesn’t there? Even Sherlock Holmes made a start once, didn’t he? Don’t you worry, ma’am. I’ve made a deep study of the subject, and there isn’t an animal in the country that knows more about detecting than I do. Why, I’ve read a whole book about it.”

Mrs. Winnick seemed satisfied with this and went off home, stopping after every three or four hops to cry a little and blow her nose. Freddy wasted no time, but set out at once for the creek. He found the watercress bed which Egbert had visited with his little brothers and sisters, then went slowly on downstream, keeping a sharp look-out for any signs of the missing rabbit. Once he saw where some wintergreen leaves had been nibbled, and once, in a sandy place, he saw the plain imprint of a rabbit’s foot, so he knew he was on the right track. And then where the stream widened out, just before it took a bend round to the right to join the river, he found another big bed of cress, and in the swampy shore a large number of rabbit’s footprints.

Freddy had been very happy when he started out. Although he had failed to get back Everett’s train of cars, Mrs. Winnick’s visit had cheered him up a lot. Here was a new problem. He would solve it and prove to his friends that he was a real detective after all. But now this problem was just as bad as the other one. What was he going to do? These were Egbert’s footprints all right, but what good did they do him? There ought to be some clue that he could follow up. There always was in the Sherlock Holmes stories. “You can’t solve a case without clues,” he muttered unhappily. “These might be clues to Sherlock Holmes, but to me they’re just a lot of footprints.” And he sat down on the bank to think.

He was thinking so hard that for some time he did not see a small rabbit who hopped down out of the woods to the cress bed, picked a few stalks, then hopped back up among the trees. The rabbit had made several trips before Freddy suddenly caught sight of him.

The rabbit hadn’t seen Freddy either, and when the pig started up suddenly, he dodged quickly behind a bush.

“So you’re the one who made all those footprints in the mud here, are you?” said Freddy.

“Yes, sir,” came a small anxious voice from behind the bush. “Isn’t it all right, sir?”

“Sure it’s all right,” said the pig. “Come out; I won’t hurt you. I’m looking for a rabbit about your size. Haven’t seen one around, have you?”

The rabbit hopped timidly out. “No, sir,” he said. “Who was he, sir?”

“Ah,” said Freddy mysteriously, “I’m the one to be asking the questions. I’m a detective. Just you answer up briskly, young fellow. Haven’t seen any other rabbits around, eh?”

“No, sir—”

“No other footprints in the mud when you came here?”

“I don’t think so, sir. You see, I—”

“How long have you been here?”

“Since last night, sir. You see, I came to get some watercress, and as I was—”

Freddy stopped him. “That’s enough,” he said severely. “Please just answer the questions I ask you, without adding anything of your own. Just answer yes or no. You heard no unusual noises?”

“Yes, sir—I mean no, sir,” said the rabbit, who was getting confused.

“What do you mean—‘yes, sir, no, sir’?” said Freddy. “Please give me a straight answer. Did you or did you not hear any unusual noises?”

“No, sir—I mean—” The rabbit gulped. “—no, sir.”

“Good,” said the pig. “That’s the stuff; a straight answer to a straight question. And—ha, h’m—let me see—” He hadn’t found out anything, and yet he couldn’t think of any more questions to ask. “Well, ah—what are you doing here anyway?”

But the rabbit didn’t answer. “Come, come,” said Freddy sharply. “Answer me! What are you—”

But the rabbit interrupted him by bursting into tears. “You told me to answer yes or no,” he sobbed, “and you can’t answer that question yes or no. I c-came here to get watercress, an’ I was just going home an’ I found a little bird with a hurt wing, and I thought I ought to stay with it, an’ I know my mother’ll worry, b-but I don’t like to leave the bird all alone, an’ now you come an’ ask me a lot of questions I don’t know the answers to, an’—” Here he broke down entirely and cried so hard that he got the hiccups.

Freddy was a kind-hearted animal, but he had been so absorbed in asking questions in a thoroughly detective-like manner that he hadn’t really noticed that he was frightening the rabbit so badly that the poor little creature couldn’t give him any information even if he had it to give. In this Freddy was more like a real detective than he realized. Some detectives will ask a simple question like “What is your name?” in so frightening a voice that the person he asks can’t even remember whether he has a name or not.

“There, there,” said Freddy, patting the rabbit on the back, “I’m sorry I scared you. It’s all right. Where is this bird?”

“Up in a hollow behind that tree,” hiccuped the little animal.

“All right,” said Freddy. “I’ll look after him for you. You run along home. I’ve got to find this other rabbit I was telling you about, but first I’ll see that the bird is taken care of. Run along and tell your mother not to worry any more.”

The rabbit wasted no time, but trotted off, still crying, and hiccuping occasionally through his tears, and Freddy went in search of the bird. He found it presently—a fledgling wood thrush, too young to talk yet. Beside it was a small heap of watercress which the rabbit had evidently been trying to feed it.

“Tut, tut,” said Freddy. “Feeding an infant like that watercress! He’ll be sick. And he’s hidden here so that his mother couldn’t possibly find him. That rabbit has a kind heart, but he certainly isn’t very bright.” He picked up the little thrush carefully in his mouth and carried it, fluttering feebly, out into an open space, then went back into the bushes and sat down. In five minutes there was a rush of wings and the mother thrush alighted beside the hungry fledgling and began consoling him with little chirps. Freddy slipped away without waiting to be thanked.

“Now,” he said to himself, “for Egbert. Though how in the world I’m to find him I don’t know. But I’ve got to or I’ll never dare to show my face in the farm-yard again. I wish I’d never tried to be a detective, that’s what I wish!”

On a chance he decided to go a little farther down the creek, at least as far as the hermit’s house, a deserted cabin which stood on the other side of the stream. Perhaps some of the waterside animals might have seen the missing rabbit.

But he had not gone far before something drove all thought of Egbert from his mind. There were sounds coming from the hermit’s house. Shouts and rough laughter and occasional pistol-shots. What a chance for a detective! Freddy crept forward; then, finding that the bushes on the opposite bank were too high to permit him to see what was going on, he plunged into the water, swam quietly across, and worked his way up toward the house. And this is what he saw:

Hanging from the limb of a tall tree in front of the house was a swing made of two ropes and a board for a seat. A big man with a cap pulled down over his eyes, and his coat collar turned up, was swinging in long, dizzy swoops. He had a revolver in his hand, and at the top of his swing, when he was level with the top of the house, he would shoot the revolver and try to hit the chimney. A smaller man was sitting in a rocking-chair on the porch. He wore a black mask over his face, and no cap, and was knitting busily away at a woolen muffler.

Pretty soon the big man stopped swinging. “Come now, Looey,” he shouted. “It’s your turn now.”

The small man shook his head. “No, Red, I must get this muffler done. We’ll both want to wrap up warm tomorrow night; we’ll be out late.”

“Oh, come on,” said Red. “Take a couple of shots anyway. Bet you can’t beat me. I got two out of seven.”

The other got up rather unwillingly. “Well, all right. But you have got to promise to be more careful. I worry about you all the time. You remember that last bank we robbed; it was a rainy night and you didn’t wear your rubbers, and you caught a bad cold.”

“Yes, yes, Looey,” Red replied. “I’ll be careful. Come on, now. Into the swing.”

“You’ll have to push me, Red,” said Looey, taking a large revolver from the pocket of his coat. He seated himself in the swing, and the big man started him swinging. Higher and higher he went, until at each push Red was running right under him. Then when he was high enough, he aimed the revolver, and bang! a brick flew from the chimney.

“Hooray for Looey!” shouted Red. “A bull’s-eye! Shoot again!”

Freddy, peering out from his hiding-place, was so excited he could hardly breathe. Here was real work for a detective, and no mistake. For these men were certainly robbers. And if he could capture them, his name as a detective was made.

But just then, as Looey was whizzing for the tenth time up into the tree-tops, one of the ropes broke; he let go his hold and went up in a great curve like a rocket, then came hurtling down through the foliage and into the very bush behind which Freddy was hiding.

He wasn’t hurt, for the bush had broken his fall, and he picked himself up immediately, and his eye fell on the amazed pig. Freddy did not wait to see what would happen. With a squeal of fright he bolted.

“A pig! Quick, Red, a nice fat pig!” shouted Looey, and started after him, the other robber close behind. There was much shouting and a great banging of revolvers, and two or three bullets whizzed past Freddy’s head, but he was a good runner and in a very few minutes had left them far behind.

He ran on for a while, then sat down to rest under a beech-tree—and realized suddenly that he didn’t know where he was. The woods on this side of the creek extended for many miles. If he could find the creek, he would be all right—but he did not know where the creek was. And the day was cloudy; he could not tell his direction from the position of the sun. “Well, I suppose the best thing to do is to keep on going,” he said to himself. “May meet a squirrel or a jay who can tell me where I am.” And he started on.

But though he walked and walked, he met no one, and there was no sign of the creek. He had just about decided that he would have to stay out all night when he noticed some footprints. “H’m, someone been along here not many minutes ago,” he said. “Looks like a pig, too. Wonder what another pig is doing in these woods. I guess I’ll follow them and see if I can catch up.”

So he went on, following the footprints, until he came to a place where the other pig had sat down to rest before going on. There was the plain print of a curly tail in the leaf mould under a beech-tree. Freddy sat down too, and then suddenly something about the place seemed familiar to him. This beech-tree, those bushes over there—“Why, this is where I sat down to rest myself a long time ago! Those are my own footprints I’ve been following!”

This realization made him feel very foolish, as well it might, for it is rather silly for a detective to try to shadow himself. Still, he realized that all he had to do was to follow those footprints backward instead of forward, and he would come out by the hermit’s house. Which he did, and presently he heard the sound of voices.

But this time he did not stop to see what the robbers were doing. He gave the house a wide berth, jumped into the creek, swam across, and in a few minutes more was back on familiar ground.

“I’ll just stop in and see if anything has been heard of Egbert,” he said to himself. So he turned down toward the Widow Winnick’s home. Half a dozen small rabbits were playing about on the edge of the woods as he came up, and one of them called down the rabbit-hole: “Mother! Mr. Freddy’s here!”

Almost at once Mrs. Winnick’s head popped up through the opening. But it was a changed Mrs. Winnick that beamed happily at him.

“Oh, Mr. Freddy!” she cried. “How can I ever thank you? My Egbert! You found him for me!”

“But,” stammered the bewildered Freddy, “I didn’t—” And then he stopped. For one of the little rabbits who were standing around him in a respectful and admiring circle hiccuped, and said politely: “Excuse me.” And Freddy saw it all. Of course! That rabbit had been Egbert all the time!

He recovered himself just in time. “Oh, don’t thank me, Mrs. Winnick. Don’t thank me,” he said rather grandly. “It was nothing, I assure you—nothing at all. Indeed, I am very grateful to you for having sent me down in that direction, for I have made some very important discoveries. However, I am glad Egbert got back safely. All the other children are well, I hope. Good, good; I am very glad to hear it. Good evening.” And he went on homeward.

“Well,” he said to himself, “I guess as a detective I’m not so bad after all. Restored a lost child to his mother and discovered a band of robbers, all in one day! Huh, Sherlock Holmes never did more than that, I bet. And now for those rats!”