“Yeah,” said Freddy and sat up, tears drying. “And it was ole Matlin.”
“Then we have to prove it.”
Miss Lillian Dana saw the boy’s face lock. He didn’t need to prove anything, the look proclaimed. He knew. She leaned over a little and said, “But we can’t make an ugly mistake and put it on Bones’s account. Bones was a fine dog. Oh, that would be a terrible monument.” Freddy’s eyes turned, startled.
“It’s up to us,” said Mike gratefully, “to go after the real facts, with real detective work. For Bones’s sake.”
“It’s the least we can do for him,” said Miss Dana, calmly and decisively.
Freddy’s face lifted.
“Trouble is,” Russell went on quickly, “people get things wrong. Sometimes they don’t remember straight. They make mistakes.”
“Ole Matlin tells lies,” said Freddy.
“If he does,” said Russell cheerfully, “then we’ve got to prove that he does. Now, I’ve figured out a plan, if Miss Dana will help us. You pick a couple of the fellows, Fred. Have to go to all the houses around and ask some questions. Better pick the smartest ones. To find out the truth is very hard,” he challenged.
“And then?” said Miss Dana in a fluttery voice.
“Then they, and you, if you will...”
“Me?” She straightened. “I am a schoolteacher, Mr. Russell. Won’t the police...?”
“Not before dark.”
“What are you going to be doing?”
“Dirtier work.”
She bit her lip. “It’s nosey. It’s... not done.”
“No,” he agreed. “You may lose your job.”
She wasn’t a bad-looking young woman. Her eyes were fine. Her brow was serious, but there was the ghost of a dimple in her cheek. Her hands moved. “Oh, well, I can always take up beauty culture or something. What are the questions?” She had a pad of paper and a pencil half out of her purse, and looked alert and efficient.
Now, as the gang huddled, there was a warm sense of conspiracy growing. “Going to be the dickens of a job,” Russell warned them. And he outlined some questions. “Now, don’t let anybody fool you into taking a sloppy answer,” he concluded. “Ask how they know. Get real evidence. But don’t go to Matlin’s — I’ll go there.”
“I’m not afraid of him.” Freddy’s nostrils flared.
“I think I stand a better chance of getting the answers,” said Russell coolly. “Aren’t we after the answers?”
Freddy swallowed. “And if it turns out...?”
“It turns out the way it turns out,” said Russell, rumpling the tow head. “Choose your henchmen. Tough, remember.”
“Phil. Ernie.” The kids who were left out wailed as the three small boys and their teacher, who wasn’t a lot bigger, rose from the ground.
“It’ll be tough, Mr. Russell,” Miss Dana said grimly. “Whoever you are, thank you for getting me into this.”
“I’m just a stranger,” he said gently, looking down at her face. “But you are a friend and a teacher.” Pain crossed her eyes. “You’ll be teaching now, you know.”
Her chin went up. “O.K. kids. I’ll keep the paper and pencil. Freddy, wipe your face. Stick your shirt in, Phil. Now, let’s organize...”
It was nearly nine o’clock when the boys and the teacher, looking rather exhausted, came back to the Judge’s house. Russell, whose face was grave, leached for the papers in her hands.
“Just a minute,” said Miss Dana. “Judge, we have some questions.”
Ernie Allen bared all his heap of teeth and stepped forward. “Did you see Bones today?” he asked with the firm skill of repetition. The Judge nodded. “How many times and when?”
“Once. Er... shortly before noon. He crossed my yard, going east.”
The boys bent over the pad. Then Freddy’s lips opened hard. “How do you know the time, Judge Kittinger?”
“Well,” said the Judge, “hm... let me think. I was looking out the window for my company and just then he arrived.”
“Five minutes of one, sir,” Mike said.
Freddy flashed around. “What makes you sure?”
“I looked at my watch,” said Russell. “I was taught to be exactly five minutes early when I’m asked to a meal.” There was a nodding among the boys, and Miss Dana wrote on the pad.
“Then I was mistaken,” said the Judge, thoughtfully. “It was shortly before one. Of course.”
Phil Bourchard took over. “Did you see anyone go into Matlin’s driveway or back lot?”
“I did not.”
“Were you out of doors or did you look up that way?”
“Yes, I... When we left the table. Mike?”
“At two-thirty, sir.”
“How do you know that time for sure?” asked Freddy Titus.
“Because I wondered if I could politely stay a little longer.” Russell’s eyes congratulated Miss Lillian Dana. She had made them a team, and on it, Freddy was the How-do-you-know-for-sure Department.
“Can you swear,” continued Phil to the Judge, “there was nobody at all around Matlin’s back lot then?”
“As far as my view goes,” answered the Judge cautiously.
Freddy said promptly, “He couldn’t see much. Too many trees. We can’t count that.”
They looked at Miss Dana and she marked on the pad. “Thank you. Now, you have a cook, sir? We must question her.”
“This way,” said the Judge, rising and bowing.
Russell looked after them and his eyes were velvet again. He met the Judge’s twinkle. Then he sat down and ran an eye quickly over some of the sheets of paper, passing each on to his host.
Startled, he looked up. Lillian Dana, standing in the door, was watching his face.
“Do you think, Mike...?”
A paper drooped in the Judge’s hand.
“We can’t stop,” she challenged.
Russell nodded, and turned to the Judge. “May need some high brass, sir.” The Judge rose. “And tell me, sir, where Matlin plays golf. And the telephone number of the Salvage League. No, Miss Dana, we can’t stop. We’ll take it where it turns.”
“We must,” she said.
It was nearly ten when the neighbors began to come in. The Judge greeted them soberly. The Chief of Police arrived. Mrs. Somers, looking grim and uprooted in a crepe dress, came. Mr. Matlin, Mrs. Page, Mr. and Mrs. Daugherty, a Mr. and Mrs. Raker, and Diane Bourchard who was sixteen. They looked curiously at the tight little group, the boys and their blonde teacher.
Last of all to arrive was young Mr. Russell, who slipped in from the dark veranda, accepted the Judge’s nod, and called the meeting to order.
“We have been investigating the strange death of a dog,” he began. “Chief Anderson, while we know your department would have done so in good time, we also know you are busy, and some of us,” he glanced at the dark window pane, “couldn’t wait. Will you help us now?”
The Chief said, genially, “That’s why I’m here, I guess.” It was the Judge and his stature that gave this meeting any standing. Naive, young, a little absurd it might have seemed had not the old man sat so quietly attentive among them.
“Thank you, sir. Now, all we want to know is what happened to the dog.” Russell looked about him. “First, let us demolish the tramp.” Mrs. Page’s feathers ruffled. Russell smiled at her. “Mrs. Page saw a man go down Matlin’s drive this morning. The Salvage League sent a truck to pick up rags and papers which at ten forty-two was parked in front of the Daughertys’. The man, who seemed poorly dressed in his working clothes, went to the tool room behind Matlin’s garage, as he had been instructed to. He picked up a bundle and returned to his truck. Mrs. Page,” purred Mike to her scarlet face, “the man was there. It was only your opinion about him that proves to have been, not a lie, but an error.”