FRISCHETTE’S MONEY BOX
Toma led Sandy and Dick to the seclusion of a poplar grove, a few rods
away from the house. His manner was mysterious. That he had come in
possession of information of extreme importance, neither of his two
friends could doubt. The young Indian’s eyes fairly snapped, as he
motioned Dick and Sandy to be seated, he himself taking a position near
them. Sprawling out on the soft turf, he began eagerly:
“I think better we come to this place, where no one hear us. I just find
out something about Frischette. Fontaine tell me. Good news for the
mounted police.”
“I hope you didn’t tell your friend what we were here for,” interrupted
Dick. “We mustn’t take anyone into our confidence.”
“I no tell him that,” Toma assured him. “All I do is ask once in a while
few questions ’bout Frischette. Then my friend, Fontaine, him talk. Tell
’em me all ’bout murder. He think MacGregor get money all right, an’
hide it away somewhere before police catch him. Never once it come in my
friend’s mind that mebbe Frischette take the money an’ the poke himself.
Frischette, he say, is good man, but very queer fellow. Once in a while
he do queer things—things Fontaine not understand. Every few days he get
out all his money, take it to room where he sleep, lock door, an’ begin
count many, many times. Over an’ over he count all his money ’til he get
tired, then he take an’ put it back in box an’ walk outside an’ find
another good place to hide it.”
“A miser!” gasped Sandy.
“I don’t know what you call him. But Frischette very queer that way.
Fontaine ’fraid to ask him any questions or make talk when Frischette
like that, because he act like crazy an’ swear an’ beat Fontaine with a
big stick if he say too much.”
“The mere fact that Frischette is a miser, Toma,” Sandy pointed out,
“doesn’t necessarily imply that he’s also a thief. If he wants to hide
his money and gloat over it, that’s his own privilege.”
Toma nodded.
“Yes, I know that. But Fontaine tell me something that make me think
that mebbe Frischette steal money too.”
“Is that so? What did he say?”
“He say,” Toma hurried on, “that two times last winter a very queer
thing happen. First time he wake up at night an’ hear someone walking in
room, where all the men sleep. Next morning one man him say he lost all
his money. Frischette feel very bad an’ give man mebbe ten dollars an’
say how sorry he is that once in a while thief comes like that in his
house.”
“So next time,” continued the young Indian, “when Fontaine hear someone
walk again in middle of the night, he go quick as he can to Frischette’s
room, an’ he very much surprise when he see no one sleep in Frischette’s
bed. Quick he go back again to room, an’ all at once he meet Frischette
coming out.”
“‘What you do here?’” Frischette say.
“‘I hear noise,’ Fontaine tell him, ‘an’ I go to wake you up.’
“‘I hear noise too,’ Frischette say, ‘so I come in here to find out
mebbe another bad thief come,’ he say.
“Next morning, sure enough, two men lose all their money, an’ Frischette
very sorry again an’ say bad things ’bout thief an’ give each man ten
dollars.”
“It does look suspicious,” mused Dick.
“Something of a coincidence,” agreed Sandy.
They sat for a short time deep in thought. Sandy got out his knife and
began whittling a stick. Dick’s gaze wandered thoughtfully away to the
fringe of woodland opposite.
“It might not be very difficult,” he broke forth suddenly, “to determine
beyond the shadow of a doubt whether or not Frischette is a thief. In
fact, I have a plan. We might try it.”
“What is your plan?” asked Sandy.
“We’ll lay a trap for him. Between us we can scrape up a little roll of
money, and we’ll use that as bait. I’ll pull it out of my pocket when
he’s looking, and pretend I’m counting it.”
“Yes, yes! Go on.”
“I’ll return the money to the inside pocket of my coat while he’s still
watching me. At night, when he comes into the room, I’ll throw my coat
carelessly over a chair.”
“Look here,” objected Sandy, a wry smile on his face, “I don’t think we
have fifty dollars between us. Hardly an impressive roll, is it?”
Dick grinned. “I can easily remedy that.”
As he spoke, he pulled from his pocket a number of old envelopes,
containing letters, wadded them together and then began wrapping crisp
new bills around them. With the acquisition of the bank notes Toma and
Sandy gave him, the dummy had grown to noble proportions. The boys
laughed gleefully over the subterfuge.
A short time later, returning to the house, Dick awaited his
opportunity. Frischette was nowhere to be seen, when first they entered,
but presently a noise at the back attracted their attention and
immediately afterward Frischette came through the door, leading into the
kitchen, carrying a box under his arm.
Dick and Sandy exchanged significant glances. Both recalled what Toma
had told them regarding that box. Also they observed the inexplicable
change that had come over their host. His animation and vivacity were
gone. From under their shaggy brows his dark eyes darted glances from
right to left—the look of a maniac or insane person. Without even a nod,
he passed by the three boys and entered his own room.
“Got ’em again,” whispered Sandy, much taken aback. “Not a very good
time for the working out of our plan, is it? He’s deeply engrossed in
that mysterious box by this time.”
“We’d better try it out on him tomorrow,” decided Dick. “He’ll be in
there several hours, and it will probably take him another hour to find
a new hiding place for his precious treasure chest. It’s getting late
now. We ought to be in bed.”
The boys went over and sat down on a long bench near the fireplace and
began idly to take mental inventory of the room. Bear skins hung from
the wall. In the center of the room stood a long rough board table,
covered with a somewhat frayed and tattered cloth. Above the mantel were
several firearms of various caliber and design.
Suddenly, Sandy leaned forward and clapped Dick on the knee.
“Dick, I have an idea. Just for the fun of it, let’s follow the old
rascal and find out where he hides that box.”
Dick looked at the other dubiously.
“Well,” he hesitated. “I don’t know. It seems like meddling to me—prying
into something that doesn’t concern us.”
“Wait a moment, Dick. Is it really meddling? For the sake of argument,
suppose that box contained Dewberry’s poke and money. We already have a
suspicion that such may be the case. Why wouldn’t we be justified in
following him, when he leaves his room, and attempt to find where he
hides the box?”
“But surely you wouldn’t open it?”
“Why not? I don’t think I would have any scruples about that. Remember
you are dealing with a crook.”
“Are we?” argued Dick. “What makes you so sure? We have proved nothing
against him. Neither has Corporal Rand. He may be entirely innocent.”
Sandy lifted his shoulders in a gesture of impatience.
“I’m afraid you’d make a poor detective. You’re too honest, too
cautious.” He paused, looked up and grinned. “Can you picture a
case-hardened police officer or the average sleuth passing up such an
opportunity? Candidly now?”
Dick was forced to admit that his chum was right. “I’ll grant you,” he
smiled, “that no one, working on a case like this, ought to have trouble
with his conscience.”
“No, he shouldn’t. As long as we are in the business, we might as well
conduct ourselves like real detectives.”
“All right, you can have your way this time. We’ll follow Frischette.
We’ll even pry open the box if you say so.”
A shadow flickered across Sandy’s forehead.
“But supposing the box is locked. There’s a possibility that hadn’t
occurred to me. We’d be in a difficult position, wouldn’t we, if we
broke it open and found that there was nothing there to incriminate him?
Frischette would see that the box had been tampered with. He’d guess
that one of us, you, Toma or I, had opened it, or possibly he might
suspect Fontaine or Le Sueur.”
“If the box is locked,” reasoned Dick, “there is a key to open it.”
“Yes—and he probably carries it around his neck. Fine chance we’d have
getting it from him.”
Their whispered conversation was interrupted at this juncture by the
creak of a door opening, and the sound of footsteps along the floor.
Startled, the boys looked up, just as Frischette came into the room
where they were, the box under his arm. He had come sooner than they had
expected. Again the boys noticed his strange behaviour. Some sudden
impulse induced Dick to accost him.
“Mr. Frischette, may I trouble you for a moment.” He attempted to
control the quaver in his voice. “We—Sandy, Toma and I—have been
wondering about our bill. If you don’t mind, we’d like to pay you.”
Frischette’s face recovered some of its former cheerfulness.
“Ah, monsieurs, surely you are not to go so soon. Did you not tell me
zat you stay here for three, four day yet. I will be ver’ sorry ef you
go now.”
“But we have no intention of going now,” Dick enlightened him. “We
merely wish to pay you in advance.”
The Frenchman’s dark face brightened. He watched Dick reach in his
pocket and pull forth a huge roll of bills. At sight of it, his eyes
gleamed and sparkled with envy.
“If you weesh, monsieur. But et ees not necessary. Ze amount ees twenty
dollars for ze three of you.”
Dick fondled the heavy roll, slowly peeling off the required amount. He
was watching the roadhouse keeper and noticed with satisfaction the
effect the money had upon him. To his surprise, Frischette said:
“Ees not monsieur leetle careless to carry roun’ so ver’ much money? Are
you not afraid zat thief will take et or else you lose et from your
pocket?”
Dick pooh-poohed the idea, laughed, and with a sly look at Sandy, thrust
the roll carelessly in the inside pocket of his coat. Frischette
followed every move. His eyes seemed to burn into Dick’s pockets. A look
of greed so transformed his features that for a time Dick could scarcely
believe that this was the genial, obliging host of the previous
afternoon.
When he had received the twenty dollars, Frischette had found it
necessary to put down the square box, containing his treasure. He had
placed it on the table at his elbow with his right arm flung out across
it. Not once did he move from this position. While Dick was carrying out
his part of the prearranged plan, Sandy also was busy. He moved to the
opposite side of the table, in order to get a better view of the box.
What he wanted to find out was whether or not it was locked.
Not until Frischette was in the act of picking up the box, preparing to
go, was Sandy able to determine about the lock. A key would not be
necessary. The small but formidable-looking chest could easily be
opened. Sandy smiled to himself.
All that remained to be done now, he reasoned, was to follow Frischette
and learn where he kept his treasure. Then, when the opportunity arose,
they would ransack the box. It would not take long to solve the mystery
surrounding Dewberry’s priceless poke.