Chapter XI: A Born Crusader

Judy agreed with her brother. Instead of solving everything, their trip had only deepened the mystery. It was hard for her to concentrate on other things such as the library exhibit. At home, as she sorted the school cards and mementos for September, she pondered over everything that had happened that day and the day before.

First there had been the stolen typewriter. What happened to it and whether or not it really had been stolen remained a mystery. The green car Horace had seen racing through Farringdon wasn’t much of a clue since he hadn’t noticed the license number. He did seem to recollect a couple of sixes in it, but he couldn’t be sure.

“Meta Hanley’s car was green, and her license number started with two sixes,” thought Judy.

It was ridiculous to suppose that Miss Hanley or one of her orphans had stolen Holly’s typewriter. And yet Judy had seen Horace making a note of her license number. He made notes of everything. Even before he became a reporter he had always kept a notebook for his own amusement.

“I ought to keep a notebook or a diary or _something_,” Judy told herself.

She did jot things down on little pieces of paper. An old sales slip had been used to record the license number of that other green car parked alongside Hugh Sammis’ used-furniture shop. Remembering how unfair he had been, Judy decided to call up her father and ask about him. It was Mrs. Bolton who answered the telephone.

“Mother,” Judy asked over the wire, “does Dad have a patient named Hugh Sammis?”

“The used-furniture dealer? His wife is your father’s patient,” Mrs. Bolton said. “She fell on the ice last winter and broke her hip.”

“Does she still use crutches?” asked Judy, thinking of the noises she had heard upstairs in the shop.

“I believe she does. It takes time for bones to knit.”

“Does he owe Dad money?”

“Yes, but your father is willing to wait.”

Judy sighed. “Poor Dad! He always is. If he doesn’t get paid at all I’m afraid it will be my fault. I should have told you about this when we were there, Mother. Mr. Sammis accused me of breaking a table. He says he won’t pay Dad until I give him twenty dollars. I objected because he really broke the table himself. Then he went up to twenty-five.”

“That’s like him.” Mrs. Bolton’s voice was bitter. “I don’t think he intends to pay, anyway. That was just an excuse.”

“Will you tell Dad?”

“Do you think we should?” Judy’s mother asked. “He has so many worries. Probably he’ll just cross off what Mr. Sammis owes as a bad debt. If he hadn’t found that excuse he would have found some other.”

“But that isn’t fair!”

“Judy girl,” her mother said gently, “when you’ve lived as long as I have you will realize that a great many things in this world aren’t fair. You can’t right all the wrongs.”

“I know, Motherkins, but I can try to right a few of them, can’t I?” Judy asked.

Mrs. Bolton gave up. Judy was a born crusader, she said, but there was pride in her voice. She wouldn’t have had it any other way.

They talked for a few more minutes, and then Judy went back to the work of sorting and arranging the things she had collected. Blackberry insisted on helping. There was a faded ribbon dangling from the souvenir booklet she had picked up in Hugh Sammis’ shop. Ribbons always tempted him.

“Stop it, Blackberry!” Judy chided him. “You’re not a kitten any more. Books are to read, not to play with.”

Blackberry turned one of the pages with his paw, and Judy began to laugh. He acted just as if he had understood her. She was still laughing when Peter came in at six o’clock.

“Look at Blackberry!” she pointed out. “He thinks he can read that old souvenir booklet I bought for the library exhibit.”

“So he does,” chuckled Peter. “It must be quite a story if a cat can read it. _Of Mice and Men_—”

“It isn’t a story,” Judy interrupted, laughing. “It’s just a list of names.”

“I see it is.”

Peter read the list and then began questioning Judy. She had wanted to tell him about Hugh Sammis and his queer, sheared-off house. Now she found herself coming to some odd conclusions.

“Peter,” she asked as she hurried to prepare dinner, “do you think he could have been one of the men who did the looting in Roulsville after the flood?”

“Hugh Sammis? I don’t think so,” Peter replied soberly. “He didn’t live in this part of the country then. That house belonged to a family by the name of Truitt.”

“Donna Truitt’s family?”

“I think so. They weren’t as well off then as they are now. Sammis moved in and set up his shop right after the road was widened.”

“Then he was lying!”

Peter looked interested.

“About what?”

“About some furniture that was warped as if it had been in the water. He said—”

Judy paused, trying to remember exactly what the used-furniture dealer had said. He certainly had led her to believe that his house had been sheared in half to make room for the road. But if he had purchased the shop just recently, that couldn’t be true.

“What he said about the furniture couldn’t be true, either,” Judy concluded after telling Peter as much of the conversation as she could remember. “And if it wasn’t left out in the rain it could be furniture damaged in the flood six years ago, couldn’t it?”

“I suppose it could,” Peter admitted.

Judy wanted to ask him about the lady table, but she waited until evening, hoping he would mention it first. Meantime she told him everything that had happened up to the time Danny appeared and warned Horace not to break up the dam.

“You see, Peter,” she ended her story, “Danny was afraid if Horace pulled out that table leg—”

“What table leg?” Peter questioned just as if she hadn’t told him anything.

“The one from our table. You know, with the four ladies holding up the marble top. One of them was in the water. Didn’t you see her?”

“You said you weren’t really sure—”

“Now I am,” she interrupted excitedly. “Horace and I both saw her this morning. Ask him if you don’t believe me, Peter.”

“I believe you, Angel,” he said. “Now I think I understand why Danny had to watch the beaver dam. The table leg must have been removed after you and Horace took him back to the orphanage, and before we got there. We looked, and I’m certain there was no table leg built into that dam. The water had broken through in one place, and we could see plenty of ripples. The beavers were probably working to repair the damage. I told Hank Lawton—”

“The other agent?”

“Yes, he’s new to the territory. Unmarried and willing to date young ladies who will talk.”

“Peter, you don’t mean Honey?”

“No,” he replied mysteriously, “we have another young lady in mind. Donna Truitt, to be specific. Naturally, she won’t know she’s being of any help. It will take time to put together all the pieces of this puzzle, but you’ve supplied quite a few. Have you read the names in this souvenir booklet?”

“I read Hugh Sammis’ name. He was a boy then.”

“So was Joe Mott.”

“The gangster!” Judy exclaimed, snatching the booklet away from Blackberry.

The name, Arthur Joseph Mott, had escaped her notice. Apparently he had dropped the Arthur. But if he and Hugh Sammis had gone to school together they certainly knew each other.

“They were first grade pupils then,” Peter reminded her. “Do you know where all your first grade classmates are?”

“Not half of them,” Judy replied, shaking her head. “I thought not. Well, if Sammis isn’t involved in anything dishonest,” Peter remarked, “he should be willing to answer a few questions.”