Emil and the Detectives (6 page)

T
HEY SAT DOWN ON TWO WHITE BENCHES IN THE GRASSY
area, and on the low iron railing surrounding it, and furrowed their brows. The boy known as the Professor seemed to have been waiting for this day. He kept taking off his horn-rimmed glasses, just like his father the judge would do, and fiddling with them as he devised his plan.

“There is a distinct possibility,” he began, “that we will have to separate later on for practical reasons. That's why we need a telephone operator. Who here has a phone?”

Twelve boys raised their hands.

“And of those who have telephones, who has the most levelheaded parents?”

“Probably me!” shouted little Tuesday.

“Your phone number?”

“Bavaria 0579.”

“Here's some paper and a pencil. Crumbagel, please prepare twenty strips of paper and write Tuesday's phone number on each one. But make sure it's legible! And make sure we each get one. The telephone operator will always know where the detectives are and what is going on. If any of you need information, then just call up little Tuesday and he'll give it you.”

“But I won't be there,” said little Tuesday.

“Yes, you will,” replied the Professor. “As soon as we're finished with our council meeting here, you're going home and manning the telephone.”

“Oh, but I'd rather be out here with you guys when that guy gets caught. Little kids can come in handy with things like that.”

“You're going home and staying by the phone. It is an important job and a big responsibility.”

“Oh all right, if you say so.”

Crumbagel distributed the telephone numbers. And the boys all carefully put the strips of paper away in their pockets. A few particularly diligent ones learned the number by heart.

“We should have some backups, too,” said Emil.

“Naturally. Anyone who isn't absolutely necessary for the chase will stay here at Nikolsburg Square. You'll take turns going home. Tell your parents you might be out late tonight. A few of you might even say you're spending the night at a friend's. This is so we'll have substitutes and reinforcements in case we don't catch him before tomorrow morning. Gus, Crumbagel, Arnold Middleday, his brother, and I will all call our parents and tell them that we'll be home late…. And Truegut will go with Tuesday as a go-between and run to Nikolsburg Square when we need someone. So that gives us detectives, reinforcements, a telephone operator, and a go-between. All the basic divisions are taken care of.

“We'll need something to eat,” Emil pointed out. “Maybe a few of you could run home and get some sandwiches.”

“Who lives closest to here?” asked the Professor. “Middleday, Gerold, Freddie the Great, Brunot, Zerlett! Get moving—and bring back some chow with you!”

The five boys jumped up and raced off.

“You knuckleheads! You keep going on about food and telephones and sleeping in shifts. But you haven't given a thought to how you're going to catch the thief. You're a bunch of …a bunch of schoolteachers!” growled Truegut. He couldn't think of anything worse to call them.

“Do you have a machine for reading fingerprints?” asked Petzold. “If he was really sly, he might have had gloves on. And then you won't have any evidence.” Petzold had already seen twenty-two detective films, and anyone could see they hadn't done him much good.

“Give me a break!” said Truegut, rolling his eyes. “We'll just wait for the right moment, then steal back the money he stole from Emil!”

“No way!” said the Professor. “If we steal the money from him, then were just as much thieves as he is!”

“Oh, right!” retorted Truegut. “If someone steals something from me, and I steal it back, that doesn't make me a thief!”

“Yes it does,” insisted the Professor.

“You don't know what you're talking about,” grumbled Truegut.

“I think the Professor is right,” Emil broke in. “If I take something away from someone in secret, then I'm a thief. It doesn't matter if it belongs to him or if he stole it from me first.”

“Exactly,” said the Professor. “Do me a favor and lay off the clever speeches. They're not helpful. So, it looks like we're ready for the hunt. We still can't know how we'll bag our quarry. But we'll figure something out. In any case, he has to give up the money voluntarily. To steal it would be idiotic.”

“I don't understand,” said little Tuesday. “If it already belongs to me, then I can't steal it. If it belongs to me, then it's mine, even if it's in someone else's pocket!”

“Those are finer points that are hard to understand,” the Professor lectured. “Morally you may be right. But the court will condemn you anyway. Many adults don't understand this either. But that's how it is.”

“Have it your way,” Truegut said and shrugged.

“And make sure you're sneaky! Are you good at sneaking?” asked Petzold. “If you're not, he'll turn around and see you. Okay, so long!”

“Yeah, it's important to know how to sneak,” little Tuesday confirmed. “That's why I was thinking you could use me. Boy, can I ever sneak! I'd make a really great police dog. I can even bark.”

“Try sneaking in Berlin and see if no one notices you!” Emil exclaimed. “If you really want everyone to notice you, all you need to do is start sneaking around.”

“But you'll need a pistol!” Petzold advised. He just wouldn't let up with the suggestions.

“Yeah, a pistol!” shouted two or three others.

“No,” said the Professor.

“The thief has one for sure,” Truegut wanted to bet.

“The situation is dangerous,” Emil confirmed. “So anyone who's scared should go home and go to bed.”

“Are you calling me a coward?” Truegut asked and stepped into the middle like a boxer entering the ring.

“Order!” shouted the Professor. “You can clobber each other tomorrow! What is this? You're acting like… like children!”

“Well, we are children,” said little Tuesday. And everyone laughed.

“Actually, I should write a note to my grandmother. My relatives have no idea where I am. They might even go to the police. Could someone deliver a letter for me while we're going after that guy? They live at 15 Schumann Street. I'd really appreciate it.”

“I'll do it,” said a boy named Bleuer. “But write fast! So I can make it there before they lock the building door.

I'll take the subway to Oranienburg Gate. Who'll spot me the cash?”

The Professor gave him money for the fare. Twenty cents, there and back. Emil borrowed a pencil and sheet of paper, and wrote:

Emil wrote the address on the other side, folded the sheet, and said, “Just make sure you don't tell my relatives where I am or that the money's out the window. If you do, I'm done for.”

“No problem, Emil!” said Bleuer. “Give me the telegram. When I get back, I'll call up Tuesday to find out what's happening. Then I'll report to the backup team.” Then he raced away.

In the meantime the five boys had returned, bringing bags full of sandwiches with them. Gerold produced a whole sausage. His mother gave it to him. Or so he claimed.

The five boys had told their parents they might be out for a few more hours.

Emil distributed the sandwiches, and everyone stuck one in his pocket for reserve. Emil himself took responsibility for the sausage.

Then five other boys ran home to ask if they could stay out late. Two of them didn't come back. Their parents probably wouldn't let them.

The Professor gave them the code word. So that when anyone came or called on the phone, the others would know right away if he was one of them. The code word was “Emil!” That was easy to remember.

At that point little Tuesday told the detectives to break a leg, and he and Truegut, the grumpy go-between, took off. The Professor shouted after him, asking him if he would call his, the Professor's, house and tell his father that he had an urgent matter to attend to. “That will reassure him, and he'll be fine with it,” he added.

“Unbelievable,” said Emil. “Berlin parents are so cool!”

“Don't kid yourself. They're not all so wonderful,” said Crumbagel, scratching behind his ear.

“No, it's true. On average they're all right,” said the Professor. “It's also very smart of them. That way they don't get lied to. I promised my father that I would never do anything immoral or dangerous. And as long as I keep my word, I can do whatever I want. My father's a good guy.”

“That's great!” Emil said again. “But hey, what if things do get dangerous tonight?”

“Then the permission is cancelled,” said the Professor and shrugged. “He told me I should always ask myself if I would act any differently if he were there with me. And I know I wouldn't tonight. Anyway, let's get this show on the road.”

He planted himself in front of the group of boys and exclaimed, “The detectives expect you to do your job. We've set up the telephone hub. I'm leaving you my money. There's a mark and fifty cents left. Here, Gerold, take it and count it. We have provisions. We have money. Everyone knows the phone number. One more thing: If anyone needs to go home, then beat it! But we need at least five people to stay. Gerold, you'll be responsible for that. Show us that you're real boys! In the meantime, we'll be doing our best. If we need replacements, little Tuesday will send Truegut to you. Any questions? Have I made myself clear? Code word Emil!”

“Code word Emil!” the boys all shouted so loudly that Nikolsburg Square began to rumble and the people walking by all glared.

Emil was downright glad that he'd been robbed.

S
UDDENLY THREE MESSENGERS CAME RUSHING OUT OF
Trautenau Street, waving their arms.

“Let's go!” shouted the Professor. And he, Emil, the Middleday brothers, and Crumbagel all sprinted to Emperor Avenue as if they were trying to break the world record for the hundred-yard dash. Then Gus signaled to them to slow down, and they took the last thirty feet before the newspaper stand at a walk, trying to be careful.

“Too late?” asked Emil, out of breath.

“Are you crazy, bud?” whispered Gus. “When I do a job, I do it right.”

The thief was standing on the other side of the street in front of Café Josty, looking around like a tourist in Switzerland. Then he bought the evening newspaper from a newspaper vendor and began to read.

“If he comes over here and sees us, it'll be messy,” said Crumbagel.

They stood behind the kiosk, stuck their heads out around the side, and trembled with excitement. The thief didn't notice them in the slightest. He was doggedly turning every page of the newspaper.

“I bet he's looking out the corner of his eye to see if anyone's on his trail,” was the elder Middleday's assessment.

“Did he look over this way often?” asked the Professor.

“Not at all, bud! He kept chowing down like he hadn't eaten in three days.”

“Hey, look!” exclaimed Emil.

The man in the bowler hat folded up his newspaper and eyed the people walking past him. Then out of the blue he waved down a vacant taxi driving by. The car stopped. The man got in. The car drove on.

But by then the boys were already sitting in another taxi, and Gus was telling the driver, “See that cab turning now onto Prague Place? You do? Then please follow it. But make sure he doesn't notice you.”

The car sped up, crossed Emperor Avenue and followed the other taxi at a safe distance.

“What's going on?” asked the driver.

“Man, this guy up there pulled a fast one, and we're not letting him out of our sight,” Gus explained. “But keep it to yourself, all right?”

“As you wish,” replied the driver, then asked, “Do you even have money?”

“What do you think we are?” said the Professor reproachfully.

“Easy now,” grumbled the man.

“IA 3733 is the license plate number,” Emil announced.

“That's important,” said the Professor and wrote down the number.

“Don't get too close to them!” warned Crumbagel.

“Don't worry about it,” murmured the driver.

So they drove down Motz Street, past Victoria Louisa Square, and then down more of Motz Street. A few people stopped on the sidewalk, stared after the car, and had a laugh over the strange company in it.

“Duck!” whispered Gus. The boys threw themselves to the floor and lay there like a heap of cabbages and turnips.

“What is it?” asked the Professor.

“There's a red light at Luther Street, dude! We'll have to stop there, and the other car won't make it through either.”

Both cars did stop and wait, one behind the other, until the light turned green and they continued through the intersection. But no one could tell that the second taxi was occupied. It looked empty. The boys were crouching down like pros. The driver turned around, saw the lot of them back there, and had to laugh. Once the taxi started moving, they carefully crept back up onto the seat.

“Hopefully it won't take much longer,” said the Professor, eyeing the taxi meter. “This little ride has already cost us eighty cents.”

But as it turned out the little ride was soon over. The first taxi stopped at Nollendorf Square, right in front of Hotel Kreid. The second taxi stopped just in time and waited, outside the danger zone, for whatever would happen next.

The man in the bowler hat got out of his cab, paid, and disappeared into the hotel.

“Follow him, Gus!” said the Professor anxiously. “If that place has a back door, we'll lose him.” Gus took off.

The other boys piled out. Emil paid. It cost one mark. The Professor quickly led his group into the entryway of a building that led past a cinema and into a large courtyard stretching out behind both the cinema and the Nollendorf Square Theater. He sent Crumbagel ahead to catch up with Gus.

“We'll be lucky if the guy stays in the hotel,” Emil determined. “This courtyard would make a great headquarters.”

“With all the modern conveniences,” agreed the Professor. “Subway across the street, bushes for hiding, cafés for making phone calls. It doesn't get any better.”

“Hopefully Gus will be on the ball,” said Emil.

“You can depend on him,” said Middleday Senior. “He's not as dumb as he looks.”

“If only he would get here soon,” said the Professor, sitting down on a chair that had been left out in the courtyard. He looked like Napoleon at the Battle of Leipzig.

Then Gus came back. “I think we got him,” he said, rubbing his hands. “He parked right in the hotel. I saw the bellboy taking him up to his room. And they don't have a back door; I cased the joint from all sides. If he doesn't get out over the roof, we've got him trapped.”

“Crumbagel's standing guard?” asked the Professor.

“Of course!”

Then Middleday Senior got some change, ran into a café and called up little Tuesday.

“Hello, Tuesday?”

“Yep, I'm here!” little Tuesday crowed on the other end of the line.

“Code word Emil! Middleday Senior here. The man in the bowler is staying at Hotel Kreid on Nollendorf Square. Our headquarters is in the courtyard of Cinema West, left entrance.”

Little Tuesday wrote down all the details, repeated them back to him, and asked “Do you need any backups, Middleman?”

“Nope!”

“Has it been hard so far?”

“It's been okay. The guy took a cab, and we trailed him the whole time in another one, see, and then he got out here. He got a room and is up there now. Probably checking to see if the monsters are playing solitaire under his bed.”

“What's the room number?”

“We don't know that yet. But we'll find out soon.”

“Oh, I really wish I could be there! You know, after summer vacation is over and we have to write our first essays, I'm going to write about this.”

“Did anyone else call yet?”

“No, nobody. It stinks.”

“Well, so long, little Tuesday.”

“Good luck, gentlemen! Oh, I just remembered: Code word Emil!”

“Code word Emil!” replied Middleday and reported back at the courtyard of Cinema West. It was already eight o'clock. The Professor left to check on the look-outs.

“Well, we're definitely not catching him tonight,” said an irritated Gus.

“We're still better off if he goes to sleep right away,” Emil pointed out, “than if he races around all night in a taxi, going out to eat, or dancing, or to the theater, or all three. If he does that, we'll have to apply for foreign aid just to keep up with him.”

The Professor came back, sent the two Middleday brothers off to Nollendorf Square as go-betweens, and seemed lost in thought. “We'll have to figure out a better way to keep tabs on him,” he said. “Put your heads together and think.”

So they sat there for a while and brooded.

A bell rang in the courtyard, and in rolled a little nickel-plated bicycle. A little girl was sitting on it, and behind her, standing on the wheel, was their friend Bleuer. The two shouted, “Yippee!”

Emil jumped up, helped them off the bike, excitedly shook the little girl's hand, and said to the others, “This is my cousin, Pony the Hat.”

The Professor politely offered the Hat his chair, and she sat down.

“Emil, you shark!” she said. “Comes to Berlin and starts shooting a movie! We were about to go back to Frederick Street Station for the New Town train, when your pal Bleuer came with your letter. Nice guy, by the way. Good work!”

Bleuer blushed and puffed out his chest.

“Anyway,” Pony continued, “Mom and Dad and Grandma are sitting at home knocking themselves out, trying to figure out what happened to you. We didn't tell them anything, of course. I just took Bleuer out in front of the house and showed him what's what. I have to go right back home, though. If I don't, they'll call the National Guard out. Two kids missing in one day, their nerves couldn't handle it.”

“Here, we saved the ten cents for the ride back,” said Bleuer proudly. The Professor put the money away.

“Were they mad?” asked Emil.

“Not in the least,” said the Hat. “Grandma kept galopping around the room, saying, ‘My grandson Emil went to pay a visit to the president!' until Mom and Dad calmed her down. But do you think you'll get that guy tomorrow? Who's your Sherlock Holmes?”

“Here,” said Emil. “This is the Professor.”

“Pleased to meet you, Professor,” said the Hat. “Finally—a real detective!”

The Professor laughed nervously and stuttered a few incomprehensible words.

“Well then,” said Pony, “here's my allowance, twenty-five cents. Buy yourselves a few cigars.”

Emil took the money. Pony sat on the chair like a beauty queen, and the boys stood around her like the judges.

“And now I'll make myself scarce,” said Pony the Hat. “I'll be back tomorrow morning. Where will you all sleep? God, wouldn't I love to stick around and make coffee for you. But what can I do? A good girl's place is in her cage. Well, so long fellas! Good night, Emil!”

She gave Emil a jab on the shoulder, jumped up on her bike, cheerfully rang the bell, and rode off.

The boys stood for a long while without saying a word.

Then the Professor opened his mouth and said,

“Damn!”

And the others completely agreed.