Chapter 7

A pig in a rather loud checked sports coat trudging along the highway is an unusual sight. Of course the local people all knew Freddy, and they just waved as they drove by. But there were a lot of tourists on the road, and they stared and shouted, and one old lady from California who was going back home after visiting her grandson in Schenectady fainted dead away, and her car ran into the ditch. Freddy helped her get it back on the road, and she was so pleased with his kindness and good manners and with several tricks he performed for her, that she decided to sell her house in California and buy a place in Centerboro and live there. She did, too. Her name is Mrs. Hattie Bland, and she lives in that little white house opposite Mrs. Underdunk’s.

Freddy went to see Mr. Muszkiski, the manager of the movie theatre, and arranged to rent the theatre next Tuesday night for his magic show. Because the theatre was always dark Tuesday evening, and Mr. Muszkiski was glad to get a little money for it. Then Freddy went down to see Mr. Dimsey, who printed the Bean Home News, and had some signs made.

When his business was done, Freddy strolled down Main Street, but he hadn’t gone far when a hand fell on his shoulder and he turned to see a tall man with a straggly moustache who wore no coat or necktie, and had a silver star pinned to his vest. It was his friend the sheriff.

“Is this a pinch?” Freddy asked.

The sheriff grinned. “You can call it that,” he said. “You’re just the party I wanted to contact, as they say in the business world. Come on over to the jail.”

The prisoners were playing ball on the diamond the sheriff had laid out for them back of the jail, and besides the two teams there was quite a crowd in the bleachers.

“Crime on the up-swing?” Freddy inquired, as they stopped to look.

“Had quite a few robberies lately,” said the sheriff. “Of course, we’ve been able to have two full teams all this last year, but it’s nice to have some onlookers.”

“You lost your best pitcher last spring, didn’t you?” Freddy asked.

“Red Mike? Yes, his sentence expired, and he had to go out. But Mike’s a good guy, and he didn’t want to let us down. Day he got out, he went up to Judge Willey’s and stole a hen, and the judge gave him three months—just enough to finish out the ball season.”

After a while they went into the office and the sheriff said seriously: “Freddy, there’s been a robbery in the jail.” He looked at the pig unhappily. “Can’t understand it; such a thing has never happened before in all my years as sheriff. My boys here are better behaved and honester than most of the folks outside, and I know that for a fact.”

Freddy could never quite understand the sheriff’s attitude toward his prisoners. He said impatiently: “How can you say that? They’re criminals, aren’t they? How about Red Mike, who stole a hen as soon as he got out?”

“Pshaw!” said the sheriff; “he didn’t want that hen. He just did it so he could get back in jail. He likes it here.”

“Well, well,” said Freddy, “I suppose you want me to detect the thief. What was stolen?”

“A pie.”

“What kind of pie?”

“What in tunket difference does it make?” said the sheriff. “Pie’s a pie, ain’t it?”

“Not to a detective,” said Freddy. “You take a crime like this, sheriff, and it looks insoluble, doesn’t it? Anybody might have taken the pie. But suppose it’s a pieplant pie. Maybe there’s some of the prisoners don’t like pieplant. So your case narrows down, do you see? And the more facts you get, the more it narrows, until at last you point your finger at one man, and say: ‘There’s the thief.’”

The sheriff said: “Yeah,” and went out to see the cook. “It was a blueberry pie,” he said when he came back, “and all the boys like blueberry. So where does that narrow you down to?”

“You’d be surprised,” said Freddy. “How long ago was it stolen?”

“Not more’n an hour.”

“OK,” said Freddy. “You get all the prisoners lined up out there—the game seems to be over. Tell ’em I want to show ’em a trick.”

So the sheriff called the prisoners together and had them line up out by the baseball diamond, and Freddy stood out in front of them and did one or two simple tricks. “Now gentlemen,” he said, “I have a special trick here which has never before been performed publicly. If you will be so good as all to stick out your tongues—no, not at the sheriff, just at me. Good! Good! Just a little farther. Ah, thank you, gentlemen.” He walked down the line. All the tongues were pink except that of a prisoner called Louie the Lout. His was blue. Freddy touched him on the shoulder. “Here’s your thief, sheriff.”

All tongues were pink except …

“Now, why couldn’t I have thought of that!” said the sheriff admiringly. “Well, Louie, I’m disappointed in you. I guess you’d better go up to your room. I’ll see you later. Freddy, come along back into the office.”

“Well, what are you going to do with Louie?” Freddy asked.

“I guess,” said the sheriff, “he’ll have to go. Can’t have a thief in my jail.”

“My goodness,” Freddy said, “most of ’em are here because they’re thieves, aren’t they?”

The sheriff admitted that was so. “But just the same,” he said—“oh, you know what it is, Freddy. It’s kind of hard to explain.”

“Harder than about the pies,” said the pig. “Yes, but I do know what you mean. He’s being punished for being a thief by being put in jail. But it’s against the rules, kind of, for him to go on being a thief while he’s being punished.”

“That’s right. If he’s allowed to go on stealing here, what becomes of the punishment?”

Freddy grinned. “What becomes of it anyway in this jail?”

“You tell me,” said the sheriff. “Oh, well, it keeps ’em out of mischief. How about splitting one of those other pies before you start back?”

On Tuesday morning Freddy hitched Hank up to the old phaeton, into which he loaded all his magic paraphernalia, and then he and Jinx and Minx and Presto got in and drove to Centerboro. Minx had just come in from the West Coast the night before on a fast freight, and she had kept Jinx up all night telling him about her experiences. In spite of that, she was as fresh as ever, and she chattered and bragged until Freddy, who wanted a little peace and quiet to plan out that evening’s performance, asked her if she didn’t think she ought to sit back and rest a while.

“Mercy, no; I’m not tired!” she said. “And I know how anxious you are to hear about all my wonderful experiences! Hollywood—ah, what a marvelous place, Freddy! You know I was in the movies last winter. I was selected from forty others to play opposite Gregory Peck in one of the big scenes in his new picture. Such a charming man! I sat on his lap and he scratched my ears.”

“Wish he’d pulled out your tongue,” Jinx grumbled.

Minx gave an amused little mew. “That’s my loving brother speaking, Freddy. And yet you are proud of me, aren’t you, Jinxie?—in spite of the awful things you say.”

Jinx gave an exasperated snarl. “Don’t call me Jinxie!” he said. He glared at her for a moment, then jumped over into the back seat and got into the box he was to be sawed in two in and shut the lid.

“Isn’t he cute?” said Minx indulgently. “You know, he’s really awfully fond of me, only he just hates to let anyone see it.”

“Yeah,” Freddy said. “If he was any fonder of you he’d probably cut your throat.”

“Oh, you!” Minx tapped him playfully on his shoulder with her paw. And then she went on with anecdotes of her brother’s cuteness when he was a kitten that made Jinx squirm inside the box almost as much as if he was really being sawed in two.

When they reached the movie theatre, and had unloaded the stuff and carried it back onto the stage, and Minx had gone out to take a walk and look over the town, Freddy said: “You know, Jinx, I’d forgotten what a conversationalist your sister is.”

“Conversationalist!” the cat exclaimed. “You won’t hurt my feelings if you say what you really mean.”

“Well, she is kind of a nuisance,” Freddy said. “But we need her help for the magic performance. And you’ll admit it was nice of her to be so willing to give it.”

“Willing?” Jinx said. “To get out on a stage in front of a lot of people? She’d claw her best friend’s eyes out for the chance. And watch out, Freddy—she’ll steal the show if you aren’t careful.” He sighed deeply. “And I’ve got her on my hands for a week!”

“You know,” said Freddy, “I’ve got an idea. Yes, sir, I believe it will work. I believe I can figure out a scheme to keep her from saying a word all week.”

“If you can do that,” said the cat, “you’re some magician all right. Only I don’t see how …”

But Freddy wouldn’t tell him how. “You leave it to me,” he said.

Freddy and Presto and Jinx worked all day to get the stage set for the show, and Freddy put on his magician’s coat and rehearsed his tricks several times to be sure that they went smoothly. At noon they went to Dixon’s Diner and had lunch. Judge Willey came in just as they were leaving.

The judge shook hands with Jinx, and with Freddy, whom he addressed as “my learned friend,” and then Presto was introduced to him. He looked sharply at the rabbit. “Ah yes, the conjuror’s rabbit,” he said. “And how is the good Signor Zingo?”

“I really don’t know, sir,” said Presto. “We—we had a disagreement; we don’t see each other any more.”

“That’s odd,” said the judge. “Haven’t you called on him recently at the hotel? I saw you coming out through the lobby—let me see, a week ago yesterday, and I naturally assumed you’d been to see him.”

“What’s that?” Freddy asked, turning to frown at the rabbit. “That was the day we found the hat, and you disappeared in the afternoon.”

“It wasn’t me,” said Presto. “Probably he’s advertised that he wants to hire another rabbit to take my place, and this was an applicant for the job.”

“Possibly,” said the judge. He looked hard at Freddy and gave his head a slight shake which said plainly: “No, it was this rabbit all right.” Then he said good afternoon and went on.

Freddy was disturbed. If Presto was seeing Zingo on the sly, there was something very queer going on. Perhaps Signor Zingo had never really fired the rabbit at all; perhaps … But no use thinking about it now. The show, said Freddy to himself like a good trouper, must go on.