Ninth Chapter The Detectives Assemble

They seated themselves on two white benches that stood on the grounds and on the low iron railing surrounding the grass plot and looked solemn. The boy who was called the Professor had apparently been waiting for this day. He took off his spectacles and waved them around as his father, the Judge, did as he sketched out his program. “There is the possibility,” he announced, “that we will have to separate, for practical reasons. Therefore we must have a central telephone station. Which of you has a telephone?”

Twelve boys spoke up.

“And which one of you that owns a telephone has the most sensible parents?”

“I guess I have,” sang out Dienstag.

“Your telephone number?”

“Bavaria 0579.”

“Here are pencil and paper. Krummbiegel, make twenty slips and write Dienstag’s telephone number on each one. But write clearly. And then give each one of us a slip. The telephone central must always know where the detectives are and what’s going on. And whoever wants to get in touch will just call up little Dienstag and get accurate information from him.”

“But I won’t be at home,” said little Dienstag.

“Yes, indeed, you will be at home,” retorted the Professor. “As soon as we are through with this conference you will go home and attend to the telephone.”

“But I’d much rather be around when the criminal is caught. Little boys like me can be very useful at such times.”

“You go home and stay by the telephone. That’s a very responsible position.”

“Well, all right, if you want me to.”

Krummbiegel distributed the slips of paper. And each boy put his away carefully in his pocket. Several of the most thorough learned the number by heart at once.

“We ought to have some sort of reserves, too,” suggested Emil.

“Of course. All who aren’t absolutely needed in the hunt stay here in Nikolsburger Place. You’ll take turns in going home to tell them that probably you’ll be very late in coming home to-night. Some of you might say that you are spending the night with a friend. So that we will have substitutes and reserves if the chase lasts till morning. Gustav, Krummbiegel, Arnold, Mittenzwey, his brother, and I will call up in the meanwhile that we are staying out. Yes, and Traugott will go along to the Dienstags as messenger and will run to Nikolsburger Place if we need anyone. Then we’ll have the detectives, the reserves, the telephone bureau, and the messengers. Those are the most necessary departments, for the time being.”

“We will need something to eat,” suggested Emil. “Perhaps a few of you could go home and bring back some sandwiches.”

“Who lives nearest?” asked the Professor. “Off with you, Mittenzwey, Gerold, Friedrich the First, Brunot, Zerlett. Scoot and bring back some eats.”

The five boys darted off.

“You blockheads, you rattle on all the time about eating and telephones and sleeping out. But how you’re going to catch your man—that you don’t ever mention. You—you—school—schoolteachers,” growled Traugott. He couldn’t think of a deeper insult.

“Have you a machine for taking fingerprints?” asked Petzold.

“Perhaps, if he was very sly, he wore rubber gloves. And if so there would be nothing you could prove against him.” Petzold had been to twenty-two detective-story movies, and you can see they had done him no good.

“You’re simply moth-eaten,” said Traugott, disgusted. “They will just wait for the chance and take back from him the money he swiped.”

“Nonsense,” objected the Professor, “if we steal money from him, we’ll be the same sort of thieves that he is.”

“Don’t be funny,” cried Traugott. “If somebody steals from me and I steal back I’m no thief.”

“Yes, you are too a thief,” the Professor decided.

“Applesauce,” murmured Traugott.

“The Professor is right,” Emil broke in. “If I take anything from anybody secretly then I am a thief. And it is all the same whether it belonged to him or whether he had just stolen it from me.”

“That’s exactly right,” said the Professor. “But please do me the favor of not making wise speeches here that don’t do any good. The business is all arranged. How we are going to get the crook we can’t tell yet. That we must plan out as we go along. One thing is sure—that he must give back the money of his own free will. To steal it would be idiotic.”

“That I don’t understand,” objected the little Dienstag. “I can’t steal what belongs to me! What’s mine is mine, even if it is sticking in someone else’s pocket.”

“Those are differences that are hard to understand,” expounded the Professor. “Morally, you are right, in my opinion, but the Court will decide against you, just the same. Even many grown-ups do not understand it, but it is so.”

“It’s all the same to me,” said Traugott, and shrugged his shoulders.

“And look sharp, now, can you act like a sleuth?” asked Petzold. “Otherwise he’ll turn around and see you, and then good-night!”

“Yes, it will take good sleuthing,” agreed little Dienstag. “That’s why I thought you could use me. I can sneak along wonderfully. And I would be a whiz as a kind of police dog. I can bark, too.”

“Yes, sneak along in Berlin so that no one will see you,” Emil was irritated. “If you want everyone to look at you just begin to sneak along.”

“But you must have a revolver,” cried Petzold. He wasn’t to be squelched for his suggestions.

“You do need a revolver,” agreed two or three others.

“No,” said the Professor.

“The thief surely has one.” Traugott wanted to bet on it.

“This business is dangerous,” declared Emil, “and anyone who is afraid had better go home to bed.”

“Do you mean to say that I’m a coward?” inquired Traugott fiercely as he strode to the center like a professional boxer.

“Order,” called the Professor, “thrash that out to-morrow. What sort of a performance is that? You behave just like—like children!”

“But that’s just what we are,” said little Dienstag, and everybody had to laugh.

“I really ought to write my grandmother a note,” said Emil, “because my relatives have no idea where I am. They might even run to the police. Could anyone take a letter for me while we are chasing the fellow? They live at 15 Schumann Street. That would be very kind!”

“Let me,” said a boy whose name was Bleuer. “But write quickly, so that I can get there before the house is closed. I’ll go as far as the Oranienburger Gate on the subway. Who will stake me?”

The Professor gave him money for the fare. Twenty pennies for going and coming. Emil borrowed pencil and paper and wrote:

Dear Grandmother:

You must be worrying about where I am. I am in Berlin. But I’m sorry I can’t come right now because I have to attend to some important business first. Don’t ask about it. And don’t worry. When everything is settled I’ll be glad to come along. The boy with the letter is a friend and knows where I am. But he can’t tell you. Because it is an official secret. Love to Uncle, Aunt, and Pony Hütchen.

Your faithful grandson, Emil.

P. S. Mummy sent her love. I have flowers for you, too. You’ll get them as soon as I bring them.

Then Emil wrote the address on the other side, folded the paper together and said, “But don’t you tell any of my family where I am and that the money is gone or I’ll be in hot water.”

“O.K. Emil,” said Bleuer. “Give me the telegram. When I come back I’ll ring little Dienstag to hear what has happened meanwhile. And count me in on the reserve staff.” Then he hurried off.

Meanwhile the five boys had returned with packages of sandwiches. Gerold even brought along a whole sausage. He had got it from his mother, he said. Well, maybe.

The five had informed their families that they would be away for a few hours more. Emil divided the sandwiches, and each put one away in reserve in his pocket Emil kept the sausage under his own care.

Then five other boys ran home to see if they too might stay away a while longer. Two of them did not return. Apparently their parents forbade it.

The Professor gave the password, so that they might always know, if anyone came or telephoned, whether he was one of them. The password was “Emil.” That was easy to understand.

Then little Dienstag, with Traugott, the grumbling messenger, went off, saying, “Well, hope you choke, boys.” The Professor called after him to go to his house and tell his father that he had important business to attend to. “Then he’ll be relieved and have nothing against it,” he added.

“My word!” said Emil, “but there are splendid parents in Berlin.”

“Don’t imagine that they are all so nice,” said Krummbiegel, and scratched himself behind his ears.

“Oh, well, the average one is all right,” answered the Professor. “It is the most sensible way to be. This way we don’t lie to them. I’ve promised my parents not to do anything that’s wrong or dangerous. And as long as I keep my word I can do what I want to. He is a splendid fellow, my father.”

“Simply great!” repeated Emil. “But, listen, perhaps it will be dangerous to-day.”

“Well, then, it’s off with the permission,” admitted the Professor and shrugged his shoulders. “He said that I should always see to it that I behave just as if he were with me. And I’m doing that to-day. So now we’ll cut off.”

He planted himself before the band and called out, “The detectives expect you to do your duty. The telephone central is established. I’ll leave my money with you. There is still a mark, fifty pennies. Here, Gerold, take it and count it. Provisions are here. Money we have. Everybody knows the telephone number. One more thing: whoever has to go home, beat it. But at least five people must stay. Gerold, you must be responsible for that. Show that you are real boys. Meanwhile we’ll do our best. When we need substitutes little Dienstag will send Traugott to us. Has anyone another question? Is everything clear? Password, Emil!”

“Password, Emil!” shouted the boys so that Nikolsburger Place shook, and the passers-by looked daggers.

Emil was almost happy that his money had been stolen from him.