Читать книгу Freddy the Detective - Walter Rollin Brooks - Страница 5

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Thunder rumbled distantly, and the orchard trees stood out black against the flickering western sky as Freddy stole into the barn and made his way silently to Hank’s stall.

“Hello,” whispered Hank. “Jinx has gone up to take a turn around the hay-mow. We’ll be getting some rain presently, I expect. I guess Mr. Bean will be glad; everything’s got pretty well burned up this long dry spell. But I’ve known for two days we’d get a storm. I always feel it in that off hind leg of mine. Stiffened up something dreadful today.”

“Sh-h-h!” hissed Freddy. “Mustn’t talk. Rats’ll hear.”

Hank grunted something under his breath and then was silent. Freddy could hear the crisp dry swish as hay was pulled from the rack, and the slow comfortable munching that followed. The flicker of lightning was almost continuous now in the square of the open doorway, and the approaching drums of the thunder shook the windless air. Then something furry brushed against Freddy’s shoulder and he jumped violently and let out a startled squeal.

“Shut up, you idiot,” came Jinx’s whisper. “It’s only me.”

Freddy was so ashamed that he couldn’t think of anything to say. What would Sherlock Holmes think of a detective who jumped almost out of his skin when his friend touched him?

“I thought I heard some gnawing going on,” murmured Jinx, “but I can’t find anything. We’ll just wait awhile.”

Freddy wondered what good he would be if they did find the rats in the hay-mow. Pigs are stout fighters, but they like to fight in the open; and up there in the pitch-dark, floundering about in the hay—well, the idea didn’t appeal to him much. Then he reflected that after all both he and Jinx wanted first of all to find out just what the rats were up to and where they had hidden the train of cars. There probably wouldn’t be any fighting tonight.

The storm came nearer. A puff of cool air came through the doorway and blew chaff in Freddy’s eyes. Between the thunder claps he could hear the thump of windows being put down in the house. And then with a sharp rattle, and then with a roar that was louder than the thunder, the rain came down upon the barn.

Jinx put his mouth close to Freddy’s ear. “They can’t hear us now,” he shouted. “Let’s get upstairs. I have an idea that if anything happens, it will be up there, because that’s where the big feed-box is. They’ll go after those oats, and then—Wham-o!” And the cat gave his friend a joyous whack on the back.

As they reached the top of the stairs, the rain stopped suddenly. There was a moment of silence, and through it the friends heard a queer rattling noise, as if someone was dragging empty tin cans across the floor. A distant flicker of lightning lit the loft dimly, and Freddy saw something that made queer prickles travel up his spine. A long low shape was moving slowly across from the hay-mow toward the feed-box.

If it was an animal, it was the strangest animal Freddy had ever seen. It was nearly four feet long, but not more than four or five inches high. It seemed to glide along like a snake, and as it moved it rattled and squeaked, as if its insides were full of machinery.

“I’m going,” said Freddy firmly, but as he backed toward the stairs, there came a sharper flash of lightning, and he saw what the strange animal was. It was the train of cars.

A train of toy cars that moves all by itself in an empty loft during a thunder-storm would make even a policeman a little uneasy. But though Freddy was scared, like all true detectives he was more curious than frightened, and he stood his ground. For a minute it was dark and they could hear nothing through the crashing thunder. Then came another flash, and as the train of cars was swallowed up again in the darkness, Jinx sprang.

Freddy waited. As the thunder died away again, he heard a rattling and banging in the middle of the floor, and then the loft seemed to be full of the squeaking laughter of rats. “He-he-he!” they giggled. “Smarty-cat Jinx! He can’t catch us now!” Lightning danced over the landscape outside, and for what seemed quite a long time Freddy watched a strange battle between the cat and the train. Jinx leaped upon it, bit it, pounded and slashed at it with his paws, tried to knock it over; and all the time it moved jerkily on toward the feed-box, accompanied by the shouts and jeers of rats. Then as darkness poured into the barn again, Jinx gave up and bounded back to Freddy’s side. “Back downstairs,” he panted. “It’s no use. We’ll have to try something else.”

Back in Hank’s stall again, Jinx stretched out on the floor to rest, and Freddy said: “I’d have tried to help you, Jinx, but I didn’t understand what it was all about or what you were trying to do. And, frankly, that train of cars, moving all by itself, had me scared.”

“It had me scared at first, too,” admitted Jinx. “But my eyes are pretty good in the dark, you know, and I saw what was inside the cars.”

“Inside them! You mean—” A light suddenly burst on Freddy. “The rats!” He saw it all. Those four cars had wheels, but there were no floors in them, and each was big enough to hold a good-sized rat. Easy enough for the rat to get in, and then he was as safe as a turtle inside his shell.

“Of course,” said Jinx. “And you see what it means. They can get from their holes to the feed-box and back, and I can’t stop ’em. Of course if Mr. Bean sweeps up all the grain that’s around on the floor, and stops up that hole in the side of the box, it will be harder for them. Then they’ll have to get out of their armored train. But I don’t want Mr. Bean to find out about it. He won’t know anything about the train, you see, and he’ll just think I’m no good at my job.”

“But what can we do?” asked Freddy.

“Well, you’re the detective, aren’t you?” asked Jinx irritably. “You’ve done a lot of big talk about how you were in charge of the case, and so on. Oh, I admit you did a good job finding out who stole the train—you mustn’t think I’m cross at you. I’m just sore about the whole business. But if you’re going in for being a detective, this is your chance to get a reputation. You’ve got as much at stake as I have.”

Freddy didn’t sleep much that night. He knew what Jinx had said was so. Sherlock Holmes would have rounded up those rats and had them behind the bars in a couple of days. But he couldn’t think of anything to do. He was up early the next morning, reading the stories in the Sherlock Holmes book, but the cases were all so different from his that he found nothing to help him. He went down to the barn.

“They’re up there,” said Hank. “Hard at it since before daylight.” And indeed from where he was, Freddy could hear the rattle of the train being drawn across the floor by its crew of rats. He climbed the stairs cautiously. There it was, moving away from the feed-box. He could see the rats’ feet moving as they pushed it along, and the tender was piled full of yellow oats.

“There’s one thing I can do,” said Freddy to himself, and he made a dash for the train, knocked over the tender, and spilled the grain out on the floor. But the rats only laughed. “Pooh, pooh for Freddy!” they shouted derisively. “We’ll get more than that the next trip. Do you want to know how we work it, silly pig? Four of us go over and eat all we can hold. The next trip, four others go and eat all they can hold. Then, the next trip, four others go and—”

But Freddy was tearing mad. To be mocked at by rats is more than any self-respecting pig can stand. He jumped at the train and tried to get his snout under it and fling it in the air, but it was too low. He did manage, however, to push two cars over on their sides, and while the rats lay there kicking, he tried to bite them. But he only succeeded in breaking one of his front teeth on a car wheel, and before he gave up, one of the rats had nipped him sharply in the ear. Then he went back downstairs, followed by more uncomplimentary remarks than he had ever heard before at one time in his life.

Freddy felt pretty low.