turned around to see a boy who stood there laughing at him.
“There, man, don’t get excited,” said the boy.
“Who honked that horn behind me?” asked Emil.
“Why, me, of course. You don’t come from Wilmersdorf, do you? Otherwise
you’d have known long ago that I have a horn in my pants’ pocket.
Everyone around here knows me as well as if I were a freak.”
“I’m from Neustadt. I just came from the station.”
“From Neustadt, eh? That’s why you’ve got such a goofy suit on?”
“Take that back! Or I’ll give you one that’ll lay you out cold.”
“Shucks man,” said the other cheerfully, “are you cross? The weather’s
too excellent for fighting, but it’s O.K. with me.”
“We’ll ’tend to that later,” declared Emil. “I haven’t any time for
such stuff now.” And he looked across at the café to see if Grundeis
was still sitting there.
“I thought you had all the time in the world. Get behind a news-stand
with his bag and his flowers and then start to play hide and go seek
with himself. A fellow must have ten or twenty yards of time left over
to do that.”
“No,” said Emil, “I’m watching a thief!”
“What? Did I understand the first time?” said the other. “Who did he
swipe from?”
“Me!” answered Emil, and was positively proud of it. “In the train.
While I was asleep. A hundred and forty marks. I was supposed to give
them to my grandmother here in Berlin. Then he sneaked into another
compartment and got out at the Zoo Station. Me after him, of course,
you can imagine. Then on the street car. And now he’s sitting over
there in that café, with his stiff hat, patting himself on the back.”
“But, man, that is marvelous,” cried the newcomer. “Just like a movie!
And what are you going to do now?”
“No idea. Keep after him. That’s all I know right now.”
“Tell it to the cop there. He’ll nab him for you.”
“I don’t dare. I pulled a stunt home in Neustadt—not so good—and
they’re after me now. And if I—”
“I get you.”
“And my grandmother is waiting at the Friedrich Strasse Station.”
The boy with the horn thought a bit. Then he said, “this looks like a
swell stunt to me—some class, I’ll say. And, man, I’m with you, if it’s
all right with you.”
“That would be mighty good of you.”
“Oh, cut it out, boy. One thing’s sure. I’m in on it. My name’s Gustav.”
“And mine’s Emil.”
They shook hands, well pleased with each other.
“But let’s get going,” advised Gustav. “If we do nothing but stand
around here the crook will give us the slip. Have you any money?”
“Not a cent.”
Gustav honked softly to stir up his thoughts. It didn’t help.
“How would it be,” asked Emil, “if you got a few of your friends to
help?”
“Man, the idea is superb,” cried Gustav excitedly. “All I have to do
is to dash through the courtyards honking, and we’ll have the whole
outfit.”
“Do it, then, but come back soon,” Emil advised him, “or else that
thief over there will run away. And me after him, of course. And when
you get back I’ll be out of sight.”
“True enough. I’ll hurry! Count on that. Anyhow, the bozo in the
Café Josty there is eating boiled eggs and such things. He’ll stay a
while. So see you later, Emil. Man, I’m crazy about it. This will be a
humdinger.” And with that he tore off.
Emil felt wonderfully relieved. Of course, bad luck is always bad luck.
But to have a few supporters who are on your side of their own free
will is no small comfort.
He kept close watch on the thief, who was doing himself rather well,
probably on Emil’s mother’s savings, too, and Emil had only one
anxiety—that the man might get up and leave. Then Gustav and his horn
and everything else would be of no use.
But Herr Grundeis did him the favor of staying where he was. If
he’d had any idea of the conspiracy that was drawing around him like
a bag he would have hired an airplane, at least. For now things were
getting hot for him.
Ten minutes later Emil heard the horn again. He turned and saw at least
two dozen boys marching down Trautenau Street with Gustav in the lead.
“Everybody halt! There, what do you say?” asked Gustav, his face all
smiles.
[Illustration: “There, what do you say?” asked Gustav, his face all
smiles.]
“It’s great,” answered Emil, and poked Gustav in the ribs in his joy.
“Now, gentlemen, this is Emil from Neustadt. I’ve already told you the
rest. Over across there sits the pig dog who swiped his money. That one
to the right on the balcony with the black melon on his bean. If we let
that brother get away our name is Mud from then on. Understand?”
“But, Gustav, we’ll get him all right,” said a boy with horn spectacles.
“That is the Professor,” explained Gustav.
And Emil shook hands with him.
Then the whole gang was introduced, one after the other.
“There,” said the Professor, “now we’ll step on the gas. Let’s go!
First, the money!”
Everyone gave what he had. The pieces clinked into Emil’s cap.
There was even one whole mark piece there. It came from a very small
boy named Dienstag. He was so excited that he hopped from one foot to
the other, and he was allowed to count the money.
“Our capital amounts to five marks and seventy pennies,” he announced
to the eager listeners. “The best thing to do would be to divide the
money between three people in case we have to separate.”
“Good,” said the Professor. He and Emil took two marks apiece. Gustav
got one mark, seventy pennies.
“Thank you ever so much,” said Emil. “As soon as we get him I’ll pay
you back. What do we do now? First I’d rather take my bag and my
flowers some place. Because when the chase begins they’ll be terribly
in my way.”
“Man, give me the stuff,” demanded Gustav. “I’ll take it right over to
the Café Josty, leave it at the counter, and have a look at Mr. Thief
at the same time.”
“But watch your step,” called the Professor. “The crook need not know
that there are detectives on his trail. That would make it harder to
get him.”
“Do you think I’m loony?” grumbled Gustav and started off.
“A fierce face for the pictures, the man has,” he remarked when he
returned. “And the things are well taken care of. We can get them
when we want them.”
“Now it would be best for us to hold a council of war,” advised Emil.
“But not here. It might be noticed.”
“We’ll go to Nikolsburger Place,” decided the Professor. “Two of us
will stay here at the news-stand and watch to see that the fellow
doesn’t beat it. We’ll appoint five or six as scouts, who will relay
the news. Then we’ll come back on the hot-foot.”
“Leave it to me,” called Gustav, and began immediately to organize his
intelligence men. “I will stay here with the scouts,” he said to Emil,
“don’t worry. We won’t let him get away. And you fellows speed up a
little. It’s a few minutes past seven already. All set, now, and step
on it.”
He appointed the scouts. And the others, with Emil and the Professor in
the lead, streamed off to Nikolsburger Place.
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.
♦ “substitues” replaced with “substitutes”
Tenth Chapter
A Taxi Is Trailed
Three of the staff runners came storming out of Trautenau Street,
brandishing their arms about wildly.
“Off!” said the Professor, and on the second he, Emil, the Mittenzwey
boys, and Krummbiegel ran toward Kaiser Avenue as if they were trying
to break the record for the hundred-yard dash. The last twelve yards to
the news-stand they took very carefully, and held back, because Gustav
motioned to them to stop.
“Too late?” asked Emil out of breath.
“Are you crazy, man?” whispered Gustav. “When I do anything I do it
right.”
The thief was standing across the street in front of the Café Josty,
looking around at the view as if he were in Switzerland. Presently he
bought an evening paper from the newsboy and began to read.
“If he comes across and runs into us now,” murmured Krummbiegel, “it
will be a nasty business.”
They stood behind the news-stand, craning their necks around the
side, and trembled with excitement.
The thief took not the slightest notice, but turned the pages of his
paper with admirable perseverance.
“He must be squinting over the edge, though, to see if anyone is spying
on him,” Mittenzwey the older decided.
“Has he looked over toward you often?” asked the Professor.
“Not a blink. He gobbled as if he hadn’t eaten for three days.”
“Attention!” called Emil.
The man in the stiff hat folded up his paper, glanced over the
passers-by, and then like lightning beckoned to an empty taxi that was
passing. The taxi stopped, the man got in, and the taxi rolled off.
But, presto, there sat the boys in another taxi, and Gustav was saying
to the driver: “Do you see that car that’s just turning into Prager
Place? Yes? Drive behind it, please. But be careful, so that he won’t
notice.” The car started up, crossed Kaiser Avenue, and traveled along
at a safe distance behind the other taxi.
“What’s up?” asked the chauffeur.
“The fellow ahead there pulled a raw one, and we’re sticking to him
like burrs,” explained Gustav. “But that’s just between ourselves,
understand?”
“Just as you gentlemen wish,” answered the chauffeur, and inquired
further: “But have you any money?”
“What do you take us for?” called the Professor reproachfully.
“Oh, well,” grumbled the man.
“I A. 3733 is his number,” Emil informed them.
“That’s important,” decided the Professor, and made a note of the
figures.
“Not too near to the fellow,” warned Krummbiegel.
“All right,” mumbled the chauffeur.
So they went down Motz Street, down Viktoria-Luise Place and on down
Motz Street again. Some people stopped on the sidewalk and laughed at
the strange company of gentlemen in the taxi.
“Duck,” whispered Gustav. The boys threw themselves on the floor of the
cab and lay huddled together like cabbages and turnips.
“What’s the matter?” asked the Professor.
“There’s a red light at Luther Street, man! You’ve got to stop there,
and the other car won’t get across, either.”
Sure enough both cars stopped and waited, one behind the other, until
the green light came on and gave the right of way again. But no one
could have told that the second car was occupied. It seemed empty.
The boys crouched down to give it that appearance. The chauffeur
turned around, saw the performance, and had to laugh. As the car drove
on they all bobbed up cautiously again.
“If only the trip doesn’t last too long,” said the Professor, as he
inspected the meter. “This joy ride has cost eighty pfennigs already.”
The journey was even then coming to an end. At Nollendorf Place the
first taxi stopped right in front of the Hôtel Kreid. The second car
put on its brakes at the same moment and waited outside the danger zone
for whatever might happen next.
The man in the stiff hat got out, paid his fare, and disappeared into
the hotel.
“Gustav, after him!” commanded the Professor anxiously. “If that place
has two entrances he is off.” Gustav vanished.
Then the other boys got out. Emil paid. It cost one mark. The Professor
led his followers through a gate leading past a movie theater into a
great courtyard that stretched behind the theater to Nollendorf Place.
Then he sent Krummbiegel out to catch Gustav.
“Lucky for me if the guy stays in the hotel,” decided Emil. “This
courtyard makes a wonderful headquarters.”
“With all the modern conveniences,” added the Professor, “subway
station over there, telephone booths, and places to hide. It couldn’t
be better.”
“Hope Gustav will get out of it all right,” said Emil.
“Trust him,” answered Mittenzwey the younger. “He’s not so dumb as he
looks.”
“If only he’d come soon,” worried the Professor, and seated himself in
a chair that had been left in the courtyard. He looked like Napoleon
before the battle of Leipzig.
And then Gustav came back.
“We’ve got him!” he said, and rubbed his hands together. “He is really
staying in the hotel. I saw the elevator boy take him upstairs. There
isn’t any other entrance, either. I looked the joint over from all
sides. If he doesn’t go off over the roof, he is trapped.”
“Krummbiegel is keeping watch?” asked the Professor.
“Of course, man!”
Then Mittenzwey the elder got a nickel, ran into a café, and telephoned
little Dienstag.
“Hello! Dienstag?”
“Yes, speaking,” crowed little Dienstag at the other end.
“Password, Emil. This is Mittenzwey, senior. The man in the stiff hat
is staying at Hôtel Kreid in Nollendorf Place. The headquarters is
located in the courtyard of the West-movie, the left entrance.”
Little Dienstag noted it all down conscientiously, repeated it, and
then asked, “Do you need any reinforcements, Mittendurch?”
“No!”
“Was it hard up to now?”
“Oh, so-so. The guy took a taxi, and we took another, you understand,
and kept right behind him until he got out. He’s taken a room and is up
there now. Probably looking to see who’s under the bed and playing skat
with himself.”
“What’s the room number?”
“We don’t know yet. But we’ll get it soon.”
“How I wish I were there with you! Do you know, the first time after
vacation that we can choose our own theme subjects I’m going to write
it up.”
“Any of the others called up yet?”
“No, no one. It makes me sick.”
“Well, so long, little Dienstag.”
“Success to you, gentlemen. What else did I want to say?... Password,
Emil!”
“Password, Emil,” replied Mittenzwey, and reported back to headquarters
in the courtyard of the West-movie. It was already eight o’clock. The
Professor went to check up on the guard.
[Illustration: Little Dienstag noted it all down conscientiously.]
“We won’t get him to-day, that’s sure,” said Gustav fretfully.
“Still, it will be lucky for us if he goes right to bed,” Emil
explained. “For if he runs around for hours more in an auto and goes
to restaurants, or to dance, or to the theater, or all together, we’ll
have to dig up a little foreign credit beforehand.”
The Professor came back, sent the two Mittenzweys as communication men
to Nollendorf Place, and was very preoccupied. “We must plan some way
to keep a closer watch on the man,” he said. “Everybody think hard,
please.”
So they all sat for a long time and pondered heavily.
Just then a bicycle bell tinkled through the yard, and into the court
rolled a small nickel-plated bicycle. Seated upon it was a small girl,
and on the wheel stood Comrade Bleuer, and both sang out, “Hurrah!”
Emil jumped up, helped them both off the wheel, shook hands with the
little girl enthusiastically, and announced to the others, “This is my
cousin, Pony Hütchen.”
The Professor politely offered his chair to Pony, and she seated
herself.