DANNY AGAIN

Danny Again!

I

HOW IT BEGAN

It all began the morning after a Zepp raid. The village of Dutton had

had a very narrow escape. Six bombs had been dropped in the night, but

not a single person had been hurt. One sad thing had happened, however,

and Danny Moor was the first one to make it known in the village, and

the first one to decide how the damage should be put right. The Huns had

dropped a bomb thirty yards from the little grey church, and a great

piece of metal had smashed to fragments a beautiful stained-glass

window. Danny was sad, for the Cubs loved that window very much. It

represented the shepherds at Bethlehem on the first Christmas morning,

and the Cubs had discovered to their delight that the Child Christ in

His Mother's arms had His two fingers raised, as if in the Cub salute!

So they looked upon the little chapel where the window was as their

special corner of the church, and it was there that the monthly church

parade took place. Now, the window lay in splinters of shimmering glass

upon the floor, and the morning sun streamed through a jagged hole where

before used to be the little figure of the Holy Child, smiling down upon

the Cubs. But as Danny stood looking sadly at the blue sky through the

hole, a bright idea came to him, and he made a vow that before long a

new window should be put up in the place of the broken one, and that he

and the Cubs would pay for it.

After school that morning he got the other Sixers and Seconds to come

and hold a special council in the corner of his garden, and then he told

them the sad news. "But I've vowed we'll put up a new window," he said;

"will you help?" They all agreed at once, and Fred Codding, practical as

usual, began to count the cost. "It'll cost an awful lot," he said, "I

should think nearly a pound." "Oh!" said the others. "Well," continued

Fred, "there's eighteen of us; say we each gave sixpence, that would be

9s. Then my six has got 2s. we saved up for buying a bat--we'll give

that." "Eleven bob," said Danny, "good." "I say," said Freckles, "what

about asking Mr. Fox to give that 5s. the squire gave him for our picnic

next Saturday?" "Good idea," said one of the others, "that's sixteen

bob. I bet we can raise four more somehow."

So directly school was over that afternoon they dashed down to their

chaplain to tell him the splendid good turn they were going to do. He

was very pleased. But he said he thought _L_1 would not do it. He looked

up the cost of stained-glass windows in a big book. "I'm afraid it will

be _L_20," he said. The Cubs did not gasp nor show what they felt.

"All right, sir," said Danny. "We'll get _L_20, somehow--won't we,

boys?--'cos we've promised to."

They were rather silent as they walked home. And yet they felt sure

something would turn up to enable them to keep their promise. As they

parted they promised each other to think out a good idea, and never to

give up till they had earned enough money for the window.

. . . . . . . .

The next day Danny had a bright idea. It was this: that the Pack should

start wastepaper collecting. "I've been doing sums all the morning,"

said Danny, "and I've found out that we could get _L_20 in seven months

if we worked hard. Of course it would take all our Saturdays."

"I suppose you are going round with your baby's pram," said Freckles.

Danny punched his head for him, and then explained proudly that the

Scoutmaster had promised the use of the trek cart. At that the Pack gave

a howl of delight, and the waste-paper scheme was passed unanimously by

the council. The _L_20 began to seem more possible now; and the Pack

meant to do its best.

. . . . . . . .

It was a month later that something happened which set Danny's

detective's heart beating fast with hope and excitement. The Pack had

been slaving hard at waste paper, and had already collected and sold

_L_3 worth. Danny, tired with the day's work, was leaning against his

garden gate in the cool of the evening when his old friend, the village

policeman, sauntered up.

"Hello, Danny the Detective," he said, "come and have a look at my old

sow--she's got a litter of ten little 'uns, born this morning." Danny

loved baby pigs, and so he went with Mr. Bates at once. But as soon as

Mr. Bates had him in his own yard, and out of earshot of other people,

he forgot about the pigs, and turned to Danny with a solemn look on his

face. "I want a conversation with you, private-like," he said. "I'm

going to tell you something, if you'll promise never to speak a word to

any other folks about it." "I promise on my honour as a Wolf Cub," said

Danny. "Go ahead, guv'nor." "Well," said Mr. Bates, "you done good work

with them German spies last autumn. You've got a proper detective's

brain, you have. I want you just to keep your eyes on Mr. Bulky, him

what goes round tuning up the rich folks' pianers. I don't say as how I

have anything at all against him at present, but I don't like the looks

of him. Don't you say a word, but just you keep your eyes open, and poke

about, careful-like, round his place, and let me know if you find out

something. I'm afraid to say anything at the police station, for fear he

finds out he's being watched. So I says to myself, 'I'll put Danny the

Detective on his tracks.'"

II

THE SUSPECTED PERSON

Mr. Bulky was a man with a fat, pale face and shifty little eyes. He

bicycled about all over the neighbourhood with a small black bag, and

tuned the pianos in the big houses. When he was not out tuning pianos he

would always be found either playing pieces by Mendelssohn in his front

parlour, or attending to his famous prize fowls. These he was very proud

of, and would often travel to distant parts of the country with a hen in

a basket to exhibit her at some poultry show. He even went to the

Continent, sometimes, to buy poultry and pigeons. No one in Dutton liked

him. He had lived there only about five years. His sister, a very stout

person, called Miss Bulky, kept house for him. He had a large cottage on

the outskirts of Dutton. And now Mr. Bates, the policeman, suspected

him, and had put Danny on his track! Danny, of course, was delighted.

For one thing, it was an honour to have a policeman ask his help like

that. But most of all he was pleased because he had begun to thirst for

another adventure, and he was afraid, having had such a glorious one

before, it could never be his luck to have another. "Poke about his

place careful-like," the policeman had said. But Danny found it no easy

job. If you crept up at the back of the house, all the horrid hens in

the long runs began cackling (like the geese on the Capitol), and if you

went up by the front, a beastly mongrel suddenly leapt out of his kennel

with a yell, and made a row like several dog fights. This brought Miss

Bulky out of the house, looking as fearsome as "Mrs. Bung," of the Happy

Family Cards.

So Danny had to content himself with making sketches of Mr. Bulky's

footmarks and bicycle tracks, and taking notes as to what time he went

out and what time he came in.

. . . . . . . .

It was a glorious Saturday in June. A team of Cubs had worked hard all

the morning and collected more sacks of waste paper than usual. They had

also made a more than usually ghastly mess with it in Pack headquarters.

And they had, I am sorry to say, played "trench warfare" and "bayonet

charges" with last week's load. They were just going home, at 1 o'clock,

to get dinner and a wash, before starting out for a long-promised

expedition to the river, when Mr. Fox, the Cubmaster, arrived on the

scene. "My word," he said, "what a frightful mess! It's a pity you've

done that, because the paper has all to be sorted and packed this

afternoon, ready to be called for very early on Monday morning. I had

hoped you would have got on with it this morning. Now I'm afraid I shall

have to tell off three boys for the job this afternoon."

"But, sir, we are going to the river this afternoon," they said.

"Yes," said Mr. Fox, "that's just why it was a pity you were such little

asses as to upset the sacks already packed, and not have got on with

to-day's sorting. Three boys must stay behind and do the work, and when

they have done, they can follow on."

Someone murmured something sulky about its not being fair. Someone else

said he would do it to-morrow. "No," said Mr. Fox, "to-morrow's Sunday,

remember." "Who's got to stay, sir?" asked Danny, thinking how cool the

river would be this afternoon, and how nice tea in the old punt would be

after a swim.

Mr. Fox looked at the team. "Well," he said, "judging by the filthy

condition of your face, young Danny, I should think you'd done a lot of

rolling about in the 'trenches' yourself. You might have known better,

being a Sixer. You must be one. Then this Second, here, is the next

dirtiest; you've had your play, so it's only fair you should have the

clearing up. And Ginger hasn't had a fatigue for a long time! I shall

expect the waste paper properly packed, and all the newspaper sorted

from it and tied in bundles, and this hut quite clean and ready for

Sunday."

In a chastened mood the team went home to dinner. They knew Mr. Fox was

in the right, so there was nothing to grumble about.

At 2 o'clock the Pack went off, towels round necks, and a cheery whistle

to keep everyone in step. Three sorrowful Cubs watched them go, and then

turned into the hut to face a hot and dirty job.

Thicker and thicker flew the dust. "Talk about germs," said Danny; "it's

all very well to teach us hygiene, and then ask us to swallow germs by

the pound."

"Waste paper!" said Ginger, "I call it just dust-bins."

"There are more sacks than usual this week," said Danny.

"Yes," replied Philip, the Second of the Blacks. "We got one from old

Bulky's. They won't generally give us any paper, but we saw his servant

carrying it down to the rubbish heap. She said she had orders to burn

every scrap herself. But we got her to give it to us."

"Oh," said Danny, thoughtfully.

"I vote we don't open any of those sacks," said Ginger. "Mr. Fox won't

ever know they weren't sorted. It would save heaps of time."

"It wouldn't be fair," said Danny. "He's trusted us to do it--we must do

it properly. Besides, we get more money if it's properly sorted, and we

want that twenty quid for the window." And so an argument began.

Everybody was hot when it started, but they got hotter and hotter.

Ginger said he would not do a stroke of work unless Danny agreed not to

sort the sacks that were not open. Philip was so offensive that Danny

had to smack his head for him. And so it happened that these two young

slackers departed for home and tea, and Danny found himself faced with

the entire job alone. At first he thought he would chuck it up and go

home, too. Then he decided not to "give in to himself." And finally he

remembered that every minute he worked he was serving the Holy Child, by

earning money for the window, and he began to take a delight in getting

as hot as possible, and almost relished the mouthfuls of dust he had to

swallow. He battled with the sacks with the ardour of a Crusader

fighting for the great cause, and suffered the discomfort in the spirit

of a martyr. And when he came to the last sack, he was truly rewarded.

. . . . . . . .

It was long past tea time, for sorting the paper unaided was a long job.

But Danny was determined he would not leave the hut until he had

completely finished the job, and got the place swept clean and the room

arranged for Sunday. It would be a surprise for the boys and Mr. Fox

to-morrow morning, for he knew the Pack would not be coming back to

headquarters that evening, but would dismiss in the village and go

straight home. He was nearly tired out by the time he got to the last

sack. Untying the string, he emptied the dusty contents on the floor,

and picked out the newspaper, waste paper, and cardboard. He was about

to shovel back the waste paper when his eyes fell on a scrap of a torn

letter covered with curious writing that was certainly not English; the

very characters were different. Picking it up, he looked at it

carefully. Yes, they were the same funny characters as those on many of

the letters that had been found in the possession of the German spies he

had caught last autumn. "A German letter!" he said, "in one of our

sacks! Of course ... Philip said they had got a sack from old Bulky.

This is a clue; or rather it will be a strong piece of evidence if I can

find the whole letter." Eagerly he bent down and began searching about

in the pile of waste paper. But it was at that moment that he heard the

outer gate click and steps coming along the path. Glancing through the

window, he saw to his dismay that it was the very last person in the

world he wanted to see just then. It was Mr. Bulky!

III

THE LOCKED DOOR

When Danny saw Mr. Bulky coming down the path, he thought quick as

lightning, and decided what to do, at once. Stepping out of the door, he

slammed it after him, so that it locked itself. (The key was in his

pocket.) Then he pretended he was off home, and, putting on his cap,

began walking down the path towards Mr. Bulky.

"Evening, sir," he said as he passed. "Hullo, boy," said Mr. Bulky. "Why

did you come to my house this morning and take away my waste paper? I

told you I would not give it to you. You must give me back my sack at

once. Do you hear?" He scowled angrily.

"I am sorry, sir," said Danny. "I am afraid I can't, this evening. I

shall have to get leave from our Cubmaster. I am sure he will say yes,

and I will bring it back to you on Monday morning."

"No," said the man, "you shall give it to me now."

He walked towards the door and tried to open it. Whilst his back was

turned, Danny took the key from his pocket and flung it into a patch of

young potato plants.

"Give me the key," said the man, turning round.

"I haven't got it on me," said Danny.

"Little liar," said the man, and turned out Danny's pockets. Then he

swore hard, and gave Danny's ear a nasty twist. "I promise to bring you

back the sack on Monday," said Danny. "Very well," growled Mr. Bulky,

and he walked out of the gate. Danny followed him out, and then ran down

the road in the opposite direction till he was out of sight round the

corner. Then he got through a gap in the hedge and ran back under cover

of it. When he had made sure that Mr. Bulky was well on his way home he

got back into the garden and found the key. It was after six, and he

still had a long job before him, so he went back to tea.

. . . . . . . .

It was past seven when Danny once more set to work. Taking up every

scrap of paper he examined it carefully. Before long he had found

another scrap covered with the same writing. He put it in a box with the

first. It was a slow job, but gradually he found more and more pieces.

They fitted together like a jig-saw puzzle. Luckily they were only

written on one side.

"I know what I'll do," said Danny to himself, "I'll stick them on a

sheet of white paper, and then when I have them all it will make a

complete letter, and I can take it to Mr. Bates, as evidence against old

Bulky."

It was getting dark, so he lit the lamp and drew the curtains across the

window. Going into the Sixers' room he took the paste pot off Mr. Fox's

desk, and also a sheet of foolscap paper. Then, squatting on the ground

by the sack of paper, he laid all the precious pieces out, fitting them

together. Another half-hour's search had revealed the rest of the

scraps, and with a wriggle of delight Danny added the last piece. It

made a long letter--nearly the size of the foolscap sheet. It was dated

and signed, and Danny felt sure it was in German. Taking the paste

brush, he pasted them all down, making a very neat job of it.

"Now I must clear up," he said to himself as he knelt up admiring his

work. "It must be jolly late."

[Illustration: "His eyes met a pair of watching eyes fixed on him

through the crack of the curtains"]

He glanced up at the curtained windows to see if any light showed

through the cracks, or if it was quite dark, and his heart seemed to

stop, and then go on at a furious pace. His eyes had met full a pair of

watching eyes fixed on him through the cracks of the curtains. The

glimpse he had caught of the eyes and white face filled him with

fear--but he was a born Scout, a true wolf of the jungle. He dropped his

eyes again immediately to the letter, and pretended he had seen nothing.

Not by a tremor did he give away that he knew he was being watched.

Taking up the letter he fixed his eyes on it as if he were trying to

read it, and while his heart beat like a hammer against his sides he

thought quickly what he must do.

The man was Mr. Bulky, of course. He had come back to try and break into

the hut, and seeing the light had looked through the window. He had

watched Danny paste his letter on the paper. He had seen the complete

letter. He knew exactly what Danny was up to. Why was he waiting there

so quietly? He was waiting for Danny to come out, with the precious

letter on him. He would then kidnap him, and take away the letter, and

keep him a prisoner, so that he could not give any information to the

police. What on earth should he do? The one thing he must be careful

about was not to let the man suspect he had seen him. And so, making a

very great effort, he managed to compose himself completely, not

allowing his hand so much as to tremble, and even managing to raise a

cheerful whistle. He folded the letter and put it in the back pocket of

his shorts, and then set to work clearing up. This gave him time to

think. He shovelled back the paper into the sack. He went into the

Sixers' room and tidied that. He came back and swept the floor. He dared

not look at the window, but he felt that the watching eyes were fixed

upon him, like those of a tiger crouching in the darkness ready to

spring on its prey.

As he worked he thought and thought. The man was guarding the door, and

there was no hope of getting out of any of the windows, for he could see

them all. In the little inner room there were no windows, it was lighted

by a skylight. Of course it would be possible to climb up through this

on to the roof, and then drop on to the ground; but the ground was

covered with new gravel, and the man would be certain to hear; also

there was no way out of the garden except by the gate guarded by Mr.

Bulky, for it would be impossible to get over the high fence without

making a noise.

The tidying up of the room was finished. If he stayed there much longer

the man would begin to suspect that he had been seen. Besides it was

getting very late.

Suddenly an intense feeling of horror came over Danny. He was like a rat

in a trap. The moments were slipping by; those silent eyes were

watching; before long something must happen, and he was too far from any

house to be heard if he shouted for help. His heart began to sink, and

then, suddenly, just as if his Guardian Angel had whispered in his ear,

a splendid idea came to him, which quickly unfolded itself into a scheme

by which he felt sure he would be able to escape, himself, and take the

spy prisoner, as well.

But if his plan was to succeed it was most important that he should know

if Mr. Bulky was alone, or if he had an accomplice. Also, exactly where

he was. Going into the Sixers' room Danny took his boots off, then

climbing on to the top of the bookcase, softly opened the skylight, and

drew himself up on to the roof. Creeping along the tiles as silently as

a cat, he peered down through the darkness. There, sure enough, stood

Mr. Bulky, exactly outside the door of the hut. He was alone.

IV

A GERMAN SAUSAGE

Creeping softly back, Danny let himself down through the skylight once

more. Whistling loudly, he went into the big room, just to show that he

was there, and, taking up the spare bundles of newspapers, pretended to

be putting them away in the other room. This he did simply to put the

man off his guard, if he was still watching through the crack in the

curtains. Then, while the spy imagined he was packing away the papers in

the Sixers' room, he began to make his arrangements for capturing Mr.

Bulky.

First of all he took the two trek cart ropes, and making them into coils

slipped them round his arm. Then from the week-end camp cupboard he took

the large travelling rug belonging to Mr. Fox. It was heavy and

cumbersome, and climbing out of the skylight with it was no easy job,

but somehow Danny managed to do it and to get along the roof until once

more he was exactly over the head of Mr. Bulky.

The great moment had come. If only the spy did not chance to look up all

would be well. Balancing himself carefully, Danny stood up and opened

wide the folds of the heavy rug. Then with great care he flung it

completely over the figure of the man below, at the same time jumping

down himself straight on to the smothered head of the terrified Mr.

Bulky, and knocking him down like a ninepin. Hopelessly tangled in the

rug, Mr. Bulky's struggles were of no avail. Danny, kneeling on his

chest, quickly wound one of the ropes about his feet, and secured it

with a clove-hitch. The other rope he wound round and round the unhappy

man's body and arms, finishing up with a bow-line round his neck, so

that his struggles only made matters worse for him. The language of Mr.

Bulky was probably very strong, but fortunately his mouth was so full of

rug that Danny did not understand a word.

As he stood there in the semi-darkness, Danny could not help laughing.

Mr. Bulky looked so exactly like a chrysalis; he curled about just as

they do when you hold them in your warm hand, or poke them with your

finger. But what to do with the chrysalis was more than he could decide.

At last an idea struck him: he would cart him off to the police station

in the trek cart!

With some difficulty he managed to put together the cart, and then with

much hauling and pushing, and the help of a strong plank, he managed to

hoist the bundle that was Mr. Bulky into the cart. Then, whistling a

cheerful tune, he trundled it down the road towards Mr. Bates's house.

Mr. Bates was just helping Mrs. Bates wash up when Danny knocked at his

door. He came out in his shirt-sleeves, a large carving fork in his

hand. "Hello, Danny," he said, "what brings you here so late?"

"I have come," said Danny with a tone of high importance in his voice,

"to deliver into your hands a document, written in German, and found in

the possession of Mr. Bulky."

The constable gasped.

"Here it is," said Danny, handing him the letter.

Mr. Bates examined it carefully. "That's German, sure enough," he said,

trying to read it aloud, and only succeeding in making a series of

noises very much like his old sow. Danny laughed. "Well," said Mr.

Bates, "how did you get this? Old Bulky don't know you've got it, do

'e?"

"Yes," said Danny, "he knows I have got it. And what's more, he knows I

have brought it to you."

Mr. Bates said something strong. "That's done it," he added. "He'll be

gone away to London by now, and no more shall we see of him. Couldn't

you have managed to let me know quicker?"

Danny was chuckling to himself.

"I knew you'd be disappointed when I told you, so I've brought you

something in the trek cart to cheer you up."

Mr. Bates grunted. He did not sound very grateful.

"Come and see," said Danny. Mr. Bates walked up to the trek cart and

looked at the bundle. He gave it a poke with his carving fork, whereupon

the bundle emitted a yell of pain and a torrent of German abuse. Mr.

Bates, frightened out of his wits, was half across his little garden in

one bound.

"What is it?" he asked, wiping the perspiration from his brow.

"Only Mr. Bulky," said Danny, doubled up with laughter. "You've hurt

him, I'm afraid, with your fork."

Mr. Bates, still half afraid of the uncanny bundle in the trek cart,

drew near, somewhat gingerly. Then, as the situation dawned on him, he

gave vent to a roar of laughter like a bull. He laughed so much that he

had to sit down on a seat. At last he got up and went over to the trek

cart.

"I think we had better take this 'ere German sausage to the police

station, just as it is," he said. "I don't fancy opening it myself."

So together Danny and Mr. Bates trundled the cart the two miles into the

little country town, and made over its contents to the inspector who

also laughed.

And Danny went home that night feeling that he had done a good day's

work.

. . . . . . . .

The cheque he received for his good work more than paid for the new

window in the Cubs' chapel; and by Danny's special request an Angel was

put into the picture by the artist, because Danny was quite sure it was

his Guardian Angel who had whispered to him the suggestion how he could

escape, when he had given up hope.