hunting dog. Gustav stood behind the man and had his hand in his pocket
all ready to honk his horn.
Then the cashier came to the window and asked the Professor what he
wanted.
“Thank you,” he said, “this gentleman was here before me.”
“What do you wish?” the cashier asked Herr Grundeis.
“Will you please change a hundred-mark note for two fifties and
give me forty marks silver?” asked the latter as he reached into his
pocket and laid a hundred-mark note and two twenties on the counter.
The cashier took the three notes and turned with them to his cash
drawer.
“One moment!” cried the Professor loudly. “That money is stolen!”
“Whaaat?” asked the bank clerk, astonished, and turned about. His
colleagues who occupied other offices, working at their mental
arithmetic, stopped working and poked up their heads as if a snake had
bitten them.
“That money does not belong to that man at all. He stole it from a
friend of mine, and now he wants to change it so that no one can prove
it,” declared the Professor.
“Such impudence I’ve never met in all my whole life,” said Herr
Grundeis. Then he turned back to the cashier: “Pardon me!” and gave the
Professor a ringing box on the ear.
“That will not change the affair in the least,” declared the Professor,
as he gave Grundeis in return such a sound punch that the man had to
hang on to the counter. And now Gustav honked three times frightfully
loud. The bank clerks all jumped up, consumed with curiosity, and ran
to the cashier’s cage. The vice president, head of the deposit
department, came storming out of his office.
And—through the door came ten boys on the run, Emil in the lead, and
surrounded the man with the stiff hat.
“What in thunderation is the matter with the young imps?” cried the
vice president.
“The young imps think that I stole from one of them the money that I
just gave to your cashier to change for me,” answered Herr Grundeis,
and trembled with rage.
“That’s just what it is!” called Emil, and sprang up to the cage. “A
hundred-mark note and two twenty-mark notes he stole from me. Yesterday
afternoon. On the train from Neustadt to Berlin. While I was asleep!”
“Can you prove that?” asked the cashier sternly.
“I have been in Berlin for a week, and yesterday was in the city from
morning till night,” said the thief, and laughed politely.
“What a dirty lie!” shouted Emil, and almost wept with rage.
“Can you prove that this is the man who sat with you in the train?”
asked the vice president.
“Of course he can’t do that,” said the thief carelessly.
“Because if you say you were alone with him on the train, then you
have no witnesses,” remarked one of the onlookers. And Emil’s comrades
looked worried.
“No!” cried Emil. “No, I have too a witness. It’s Frau Jakob from
Gross-Grünau. She sat in the compartment at first and got out later.
And she told me to take her very best regards to Herr Kurzhals in
Neustadt.”
“It looks as though you’d have to produce an alibi,” said the head of
the deposit department to the thief. “Can you do that?”
“Naturally,” he declared. “I live over at the Hôtel Kreid—”
“But only since last night,” cried Gustav. “I got myself in there as
elevator boy and I know, man!”
The bank clerks smiled at that and began to be more interested in the
boys.
“For the present we had best keep the money here, Herr—” said the vice
president, and tore off a memorandum slip on which to write his name
and address.
“Grundeis is his name!” called Emil.
The man in the stiff hat laughed out loud and said, “There, you see
there must be a mistake. My name is Müller.”
“Oh, how well he lies! He told me in the train that his name was
Grundeis,” cried Emil, furious.
“Have you identification papers?” asked the cashier.
“Unfortunately, not with me,” answered the thief. “But if you will
just wait a minute I’ll bring them over from the hotel.”
“The fellow is just lying. And it is my money. And I must have it
back,” cried Emil.
“But even if that’s true, my boy,” explained the cashier, “it isn’t as
simple as all that. How can you prove that the money is yours? Is your
name on it, perhaps? Or did you write down the numbers on the notes?”
“Of course not,” said Emil. “Who thinks that he’s going to be robbed?
But, anyway, it is my money, do you hear? And my mother gave it to me
for my grandmother, who lives here at 15 Schumann Street.”
“Was there a corner torn on one of the notes, or something else that
wasn’t just as usual?”
“No, I don’t know.”
“Really, my good sirs, I declare, on my honor, the money is mine. I
wouldn’t rob small children, would I?” asked the thief.
“Wait!” shouted Emil, and suddenly he was so happy that he jumped for
joy. “Wait! In the train I fastened the notes into my coat with a pin.
So there must be pinholes in the notes.”
The cashier held the notes up to the light. The others held their
breath.
The thief took a step back. The vice president drummed nervously
on the counter.
“The boy is right,” cried the cashier, pale with excitement. “There are
actually pinholes in the notes.”
“And here is the pin, besides,” said Emil, and laid the pin proudly on
the counter. “I pricked myself, too.”
At that the thief turned like lightning, shoved the children right and
left so that they fell over each other, ran across the room, tore open
the door, and was off.
“After him!” shouted the vice president.
Everybody ran for the door.
When they got to the street they found the thief already hemmed in by
at least twenty small boys. They held onto his legs. They hung on his
arms. They pulled at his coat. He thrashed around as if he were crazy,
but the children did not loosen their hold.
And then came a policeman on the run, whom Pony Hütchen had brought
with her little wheel. And the vice president asked him earnestly to
arrest the man that was named Grundeis as well as Müller, as apparently
he was a train thief.
The cashier asked for time off, took the money and the pin, and went
with them. Well, it was a funny procession. The policeman, the bank
clerk, the thief in the middle, and after them ninety or a hundred
children! So they streamed to the station house.
Pony Hütchen rode near by on her little nickel-plated wheel, waved
to the elated Emil, and called, “Emil, my boy! I’ll hurry home and tell
them the whole story.”
The boy nodded back and said, “I’ll be home for lunch! Give them my
love!”
Pony called again, “Do you know what you look like? Like a big school
picnic!” Then she curved around the corner, ringing loudly.
Fifteenth Chapter
Emil Visits Police Headquarters
The procession marched to the nearest police station. The
policeman informed a captain what had happened. Emil filled in the
report. Then he had to tell them when and where he was born, who he
was, and where he lived. And the captain wrote it all down. In ink.
“And what is your name?” he asked the thief.
“Herbert Kiessling,” answered the rascal.
That made the boys—Emil, Gustav, and the Professor—laugh out loud. And
the bank clerk, who had given over the hundred and forty marks to the
captain, joined in with them.
“Man, what a turnip!” cried Gustav. “First he is Grundeis. Then he is
Müller. Now he is Kiessling. Now I am just crazy to know who he really
is!”
“Silence!” growled the captain. “We’ll find that out too.”
Herr Grundeis, Müller, Kiessling, gave his temporary address as
the Hôtel Kreid. Then he gave the date of his birth and his home.
Identification papers he had none.
“And where were you until yesterday?” questioned the captain.
“In Gross-Grünau,” declared the thief.
“That is certainly lying again,” called the Professor.
“Silence!” growled the captain. “We’ll find that out too.”
The bank clerk wondered whether he might leave. Then information about
him was noted down. He patted Emil kindly on the shoulder and departed.
“Did you yesterday afternoon steal a hundred and forty marks from the
schoolboy, Emil Tischbein, on the train coming from Neustadt to Berlin,
Kiessling?” questioned the captain.
“Yes,” said the thief gloomily. “I don’t know how—it happened very
suddenly. The boy was sleeping in the corner. And then the envelope
fell out. And then I picked it up and just wanted to look to see what
was inside. And as I had absolutely no money at the time—”
“What a swindler,” cried Emil. “I had the money pinned tight in my
jacket pocket. It could not have fallen out.”
“And he wasn’t in such great need of it either, or he wouldn’t
have had Emil’s money untouched in his pocket. Meanwhile he had to pay
for taxi, boiled eggs, and beer,” remarked the Professor.
“Silence!” growled the captain. “We’ll find that out too.”
And he wrote down everything that was told.
“Could you let me go now, officer?” asked the thief, and squinted
out of very politeness. “I’ve admitted the theft. And you know where
I live. I have business in Berlin and would like to ’tend to a few
errands.”
“Don’t make me laugh,” said the captain sternly, and called the police
headquarters to have them send the patrol over, because a railway thief
had been arrested in his district.
“When do I get my money?” inquired Emil anxiously.
“At police headquarters,” said the captain. “You will go right there,
and there everything will be arranged.”
“Emil, man!” whispered Gustav, “now you’ll have to go to ‘Alex’[2] in
the Black Maria.”
“Stuff and nonsense,” said the captain. “Have you any money, Tischbein?”
“Yes, indeed,” answered Emil. “The boys took up a collection yesterday.
And the porter of Hôtel Kreid lent me ten marks.”
“Genuine detectives! Confounded rascals!” scowled the captain. But
the scolding sounded very good-natured. “Well, then, Tischbein, you
take the subway to Alexander Place and announce yourself to Criminal
Sergeant Lurje. Anything further you will soon find out. And you’ll get
your money back there.”
“Could I first take the ten marks back to the porter?” Emil wanted to
know.
“Of course.”
In a few minutes the police van came. And Herr Grundeis Müller
Kiessling had to climb in. The captain gave the policeman seated inside
the written report and the hundred and forty marks. Also the pin. And
then the Black Maria rumbled off. The boys who stood in the street
jeered at the thief. But he paid no attention. Probably because he was
too proud of having the privilege of riding in a private car.
Emil shook hands with the captain and thanked him.
Then the Professor informed the children who had waited before the
station that Emil would get his money at “Alex,” and the chase was
over. The children streamed off home in great crowds. Only the intimate
friends took Emil to the hotel and to the Nollendorf subway station.
And he told them to telephone little Dienstag at noon. So he would
know how everything had come out. And he hoped very much to see them
again before he went back to Neustadt. And he thanked them all
from the bottom of his heart for their help. And they’d get their money
back too.
“If you dare to give our money back you’ll get it in the neck, man!”
cried Gustav. “And, besides, we have to fight—on account of your funny
suit.”
“Oh, man!” said Emil, and grabbed Gustav and the Professor by the hand.
“I feel so good. We’d better let the fight go. It would break my heart
to knock you down for the count.”
“You wouldn’t succeed in that, even if you were in a bad humor, you
fathead!” cried Gustav.
And then the three went to Alexander Place to police headquarters, and
they had to go through many corridors and past countless rooms. And at
last they found Criminal Sergeant Lurje. He was just eating breakfast.
Emil introduced himself.
“Aha,” said Herr Lurje and chewed busily. “Emil Stuhlbein, our youthful
amateur detective. Already announced by telephone. The commissioner
awaits you. He wants to talk to you. Come with me now.”
“Tischbein is my name,” corrected Emil.
“Six of one and half a dozen of the other,” said Herr Lurje, and took
another bite of roll.
“We’ll wait here for you,” the Professor decided. And Gustav
called after Emil, “Make it snappy. When I see anybody chewing I always
get hungry myself.”
Herr Lurje walked through more halls, left, right, left again. Then he
knocked on a door. A voice called, “Come in!” Lurje opened the door a
crack and said, chewing, “The little detective is here, Commissioner,
Emil Fischbein. You know.”
“Tischbein is my name,” Emil explained emphatically.
“Fine name too,” said Herr Lurje, and gave Emil a shove so that he
tumbled into the room.
The commissioner was a very nice man. Emil had to be seated in a
comfortable armchair and tell the whole story, every bit, from the
beginning. At the end the commissioner said solemnly, “So, and now
you’ll get your money back.”
“Praises be!” Emil took a long breath and put his money away. And most
carefully.
“But don’t let it be stolen again!”
“No! Impossible! I’ll take it right to Grandmother.”
“Right! I had almost forgotten. You must give me your Berlin address.
Are you staying a few days?”
“I’d like to,” said Emil. “I live at 15 Schumann Street with the
Heimbolds. That’s my uncle’s name. My aunt’s, too.”
“It’s wonderful how you children did it,” commented the commissioner
as he stuck a big cigar into his mouth.
“The fellows worked wonderfully, that’s true,” cried Emil excitedly.
“This Gustav with his horn, and the Professor, and little Dienstag, and
Krummbiegel, and the Mittenzwey brothers—all of them, in fact. It was a
pleasure to work with them. Especially the Professor. He is an ace!”
“Well, yes, you yourself are not exactly made of mush,” remarked the
man as he puffed out a cloud.
“What I’d like to ask, Herr Commissioner, what will they do to
Grundeis, or whatever my thief is called?”
“We have taken him to the Identification Bureau. There he will be
photographed. And his fingerprints taken. And after that we will
compare the picture and the fingerprints with the photographs in our
Rogues’ Gallery.”
“What is that?”
“There we have pictures of all the convicted criminals. And there we
have the fingerprints, footprints, and such of the criminals that we
haven’t caught yet but that we are hunting. It might be possible that
the man who stole from you had committed other thefts and burglaries
before he helped himself to your money. Isn’t that true?”
“That’s so. I hadn’t thought of that at all!”
“Just a moment,” said the nice commissioner as the telephone rang.
“Yes, indeed ... something interesting for you ... come right up to my
room,” he spoke into the transmitter. Then he hung up and said, “Now a
few men from the papers will be along to interview you.”
“What is that?” asked Emil.
“Interviewing means asking questions.”
“It can’t be!” cried Emil. “Will I be in the paper, then?”
“Apparently,” said the commissioner. “When a schoolboy catches a thief
he becomes famous.”
There came a knock, and four men walked into the room. The commissioner
shook hands with them and told them briefly about Emil’s experience.
The four men busily wrote it down.
“Wonderful,” said one of the reporters at the end. “The country boy as
detective.”
“Perhaps you’ll engage him for a plain-clothes man,” advised another
laughing.
“Why didn’t you go right to a policeman and tell him all about it?”
asked a third.
Emil was embarrassed. He thought of Policeman Jeschke in Neustadt and
of his dream. And his throat felt very dry.
“Well?” queried the commissioner.
Emil shrugged his shoulders and said, “Well, all right! Because in
Neustadt I had painted a red nose and a big mustache on the monument of
the Grand Duke Karl. Please, arrest me, Herr Commissioner!”
Then the five men laughed instead of drawing long faces. And the
commissioner cried, “But, Emil, we couldn’t afford to put our best
detective in jail.”
“No? Truly? Oh, I am glad of that,” said the boy, much relieved. Then
he turned to one of the reporters and asked, “Don’t you know me?”
“No,” said the man.
“You paid for my ticket yesterday on Line 177 because I didn’t have any
money.”
“Sure enough,” exclaimed the man. “Now I remember. You wanted to know
my address so that you could send back my groschen.”
“Will you take it now?” asked Emil, and took ten pfennigs out of his
trousers pocket.
“But, nonsense,” answered the man. “You had even introduced yourself.”
“Surely, I often do,” explained the boy. “Emil Tischbein is my name.”
“My name is Kästner,” said the journalist, and they shook hands.
“Splendid,” cried the commissioner. “Old acquaintances.”
“And now, Emil,” said Herr Kästner, “will you come with me for a bit
to the editor’s office? First we’ll go somewhere and have cake with
whipped cream.”
“Couldn’t I invite you?” asked Emil.
“What a proud rascal!” The men were very much amused.
“No, you must let me pay,” said Herr Kästner.
“I’d like to,” answered Emil, “but the Professor and Gustav are waiting
outside for me.”
“Of course, we’ll take them with us,” declared Herr Kästner.
The other journalists still had all kinds of questions to ask. Emil
gave them an exact statement. And they took notes again.
“Is the thief really a new one?” asked one of the men.
“I think not,” answered the commissioner. “Perhaps we are due for a
great surprise. Call me up anyway in an hour, gentlemen, all of you.”
Then they all departed. And Emil went with Herr Kästner back to
Criminal Sergeant Lurje. He was still chewing and said, “Aha, the
little Überbein!”
“Tischbein,” said Emil.
[Illustration: The reporters had many questions to ask.]
Then Herr Kästner took a taxi for Emil, Gustav, and the Professor,
and they went first to a pastry shop. On the way Gustav honked. And
they were delighted when Herr Kästner jumped. In the pastry shop the
boys were very jolly. They ate cherry tart with much whipped cream
and told whatever occurred to them.
They told about the council of war in Nikolsburger Place, about the
taxi chase, about the night in the hotel, about Gustav as the bell boy,
about the excitement in the bank. And at the end Herr Kästner said,
“You are certainly three wonderful boys.”
At that they were very proud of themselves, and each ate another piece
of cake.
After that Gustav and the Professor climbed into a motor bus. Emil
reminded them to call up little Dienstag in the afternoon, and then he
went with Herr Kästner to the newspaper office.
The newspaper building was huge. It was almost as big as the police
headquarters at Alexander Place. And in the corridors there was such a
rushing and bustling that you might think there was an obstacle race
going on.
They came to a room in which a pretty blonde lady was sitting. And Herr
Kästner walked up and down and dictated to the lady for her typewriter
everything that Emil had told him. Every once in a while he would stop
and ask Emil, “Is that right?” And when Emil nodded Herr Kästner would
start dictating again.
Then he called up the police commissioner.
“What’s that you say?” cried Kästner. “Well, if that isn’t
absurd.... I mustn’t tell him anything about it yet? Soooo, that too?
Well, I _am_ glad.... Thank you very much! That will be a real scoop.”
He hung up, looked at the boy as if he had never seen him before, and
said, “Emil, come with me quick! We must have your picture taken.”
“Good gracious!” said Emil, astonished. However, he submitted to
everything, went up three stories higher with Herr Kästner, and entered
a very bright room with many windows. First he combed his hair, and
then he had his picture taken.
Finally Herr Kästner took him into the composing room—there was a
clatter, like that of a thousand typewriters—Herr Kästner gave a man
the sheets that the lovely blonde lady had typed and said that he’d be
right back up because the stuff was very important, but first he had to
send the youngster back to his grandmother.
Then they took the elevator to the ground floor and walked out to the
entrance. Herr Kästner beckoned to a taxi, seated Emil, gave money to
the chauffeur, although the boy did not want him to, and said, “Take my
young friend to Number 15 Schumann Street.”
They shook hands heartily. And Herr Kästner added, “My compliments to
your mother when you get home. She must be a very dear woman.”
“Indeed she is,” said Emil.
“One thing more,” called Herr Kästner as the car started off,
“read the paper this afternoon. You’ll be surprised, young man.”
Emil turned and waved. And Herr Kästner waved back.
And then the taxi swung round a corner.
Sixteenth Chapter
The Police Commissioner Sends His Regards
The automobile had already reached Unter den Linden. Emil knocked
three times on the window back of the driver. The car stopped. And the
boy asked, “Are we almost there?”
“Sure,” said the man.
“I’m sorry to make you trouble,” said Emil, “but first I must go to
Kaiser Avenue. To the Café Josty. There is a bouquet for my grandmother
there. And my suitcase, too. Would you please be so kind?”
“What do you mean—kind? Have you some money in case what I’ve had isn’t
enough?”
“I have money, Driver. And I must have the flowers.”
“All right,” said the man, turned left, went through the Brandenburger
Gate and down the green, shady Zoölogical Gardens to Nollendorf Place.
That place seemed to Emil much more harmless and friendly now that
everything had turned out all right. But, anyway, he reached carefully
into his inside breast pocket. The money was there.
Then they went up Motz Street to the very end, turned right, and
stopped before the Café Josty.
Emil climbed out, betook himself to the counter, asked the maid to
please give him his bag and his flowers, got them, thanked her, climbed
up into the car again, and said, “There, Driver, now to Grandmother.”
They turned around, traveled the long way back, over the river Spree,
through old streets with gray houses.
The boy would have liked to observe the neighborhood. But his things
seemed bewitched. The suitcase kept toppling over. And if the suitcase
stood still for a minute, then the wind seized the white paper around
the flowers so that it rustled and tore. And Emil had to watch out to
keep the bouquet from flying away.
At last the driver put on the brakes. The car stopped. It was Number 15
Schumann Street.
“Well, here we are,” said Emil and got out.
“Do you want any more money from me?”
“No, instead you get back thirty pfennigs.”
“Zat so?” said Emil. “Get yourself a few cigars with it.”
“I chew, my boy,” said the driver, and went off.
Then Emil climbed to the third floor and rang the bell at the
Heimbolds’ door. There was a great cry behind the door. Then it was
opened. And there stood the grandmother. She grabbed Emil by the
collar, gave him a kiss on the left cheek and a clap on the right cheek
at the same time, dragged him into the room by his hair, and cried,
“Oh, you young rascal, oh, you young rascal!”
“Fine stories we hear about you,” Aunt Martha said smiling, as she gave
him her hand. And Pony Hütchen offered him her elbows. She was wearing
one of her mother’s aprons and she squeaked, “Careful, my hands are
wet. I’m washing dishes—we poor women!”
Then they all went together into the living room. Emil had to take the
place of honor on the sofa. And his grandmother and Aunt Martha beamed
upon him as if he were a very valuable painting of Titian’s.
“Have you the loot?” asked Pony.
“Of course,” said Emil, took the three notes out of his pocket, gave
one hundred and twenty marks to his grandmother, and said, “Here,
Grandmother, here is the money. And Mother sends her best love. And
you mustn’t blame her because she hasn’t sent you anything these last
months. Business wasn’t so very good. And so this time she’s sending
you more than usual.”
“Thank you, my dear,” answered the old woman, gave back a
twenty-mark note and said, “That is for you because you are such a fine
detective.”
“No, I can’t take it. You see I still have twenty marks from Mother in
my pocket.”
“Emil, a boy must obey his grandmother. Put it in your pocket at once.”
“No, I shan’t take it.”
“What a boy!” cried Pony. “Nobody’d have to ask me twice!”
“Oh, no, I don’t want it.”
“Either you take it or I’ll get the rheumatism, I’ll be so angry,”
declared the grandmother.
“Quick, put the money away,” said Aunt Martha, and poked the note into
his pocket.
“Well, if you really want me to,” stammered Emil. “I thank you,
Grandmother.”
“I am the one to be thankful,” she answered, and smoothed back Emil’s
hair.
Then Emil handed over his bouquet of flowers. Pony brought a vase. But
when the flowers were unwrapped they didn’t know whether to laugh or
cry.
“Just dried vegetables!” said Pony Hütchen.