Lantern Sam and the Blue Streak Bandits (8 page)

“It was closed. No, that’s not right. It was halfway open.” I reached up and pulled the curtain partially shut. “About like this.”

“That’s right,”
said Sam.
“And then you stayed with me until the train stopped in Albany.”

“Did anybody go past you into the baggage area?” Clarence asked.

I shook my head. “No. I’m positive. I would remember.”

“So, Sam, how about you? What about the two or three minutes right before Henry showed up?” said Clarence. “You say the curtain was half open. Did you see anybody?”

“Yes,”
said Sam.
“A porter, going in to get baggage ready for the Albany stop. It was Donnie, the one with all the muscles. And that’s it. I never saw—or heard—Ellie or any other passengers.”

“Sorry, Sam, old boy, but I’m afraid the sworn testimony of a cat doesn’t count for much. Not everyone is as enlightened as Henry and I,” said Clarence. “I suppose I should talk to Donnie, anyway. Maybe he noticed something. At the very least we’ll get a description of the salesman, and we can send it to the police in Albany.”

My head was spinning as I tried to keep up. “But … if Ellie didn’t go in … and nobody moved the trunk
out
 … then how did the kidnapper … And where is Ellie?”

Sam squeezed his eyes shut. “
Shhh. I’m
thinking.”

“It’s best if we leave him alone for a while to think,” said Clarence, pulling the curtain closed.

“Before we go, I … um, there’s something else I forgot to mention. Something Ellie said. I didn’t really believe her, but she was sure there were
criminals
on the train. Supposedly, she recognized them from their pictures in the post office—a man and a woman.”

“How sure was she?” Clarence asked.

“She
said
she was positive. She swears that she has a photographic memory. But she couldn’t remember their names, just their faces. When I asked her what they looked like, she said they were ordinary. That’s what we were talking about that first time we met you. She thought we would be famous if we caught them. But we never got the chance to talk about them again.”

“Mrrraaa,”
said Sam, opening the eye in the center of his “patch.”
“Criminals, you say. Plural. Most interesting.”

Judge Ambrose, who had taken over the back end of the observation car for his investigation, chewed noisily on a soggy cigar and sneered at me the way I imagined he sneered at career criminals in his courtroom.

“And you’re certain—absolutely certain—that the last place you saw Miss Strasbourg was in the club car,” he said after listening to my story.

“Yes, sir.” It was killing me to address him as
sir
, but I could hear my father’s voice in my head reminding me that there would be times in my life when I would have to swallow my pride.

“I’m having a hard time understanding one thing, Mr.… Shipley, is it? Maybe you can explain to me what a girl like Ellie Strasbourg was doing with the likes of you. You’ve seen how her family lives. Now take a good look at yourself. I’ll bet your dear old mother makes all your clothes for you, doesn’t she? And those shoes—how many times have they been resoled?”

I shifted nervously in my seat. Ambrose was right on both counts—lucky guess, the big baboon. Mother
did
make our clothes, and she was proud of it. My shoes were hand-me-downs from my cousin Arnold, who was a year older.

“You see what I’m getting at, don’t you?” Ambrose continued. “It seems hard to believe that she would
want
to spend time with a boy so … well, like you. Why were you pestering her? Did someone put you up to it? Are you involved in this? What did they offer you?”

“What? No!” I protested. “I wasn’t bothering her. We were friends. For your information, I was minding my own business when
she
started talking to
me
. She told me that she was going to Conneaut Lake Park to ride the Blue Streak. She wasn’t bragging or anything—she just, you know, talked … a
lot
. She told me that there were criminals on board.”

“Criminals!” said Ambrose, spitting slimy bits of tobacco into my face. “Come now, surely she was pulling your leg.”

I wiped the spit and tobacco from my face and shook my head firmly. “She recognized their pictures from the post office. She said she checked the photos there every week. It was a man and a woman.”

Ambrose leaned in and asked, “Did you ever see these so-called criminals?”

“No. We were going to look for them when she … disappeared.”

“Did she describe them to you?”

“Not really. She just said they were ordinary.”

Ambrose eyed me even more skeptically. “So, these
ordinary-looking criminals, who are wanted by the FBI, just walked up to the counter in Grand Central Station and bought tickets on the Shoreliner—that’s what you’re saying?”

“No, that’s what
Ellie
said.”

“I’m done with you for now,” said Ambrose, dismissing me with a wave. “I’ll probably need to talk to you again.”

“Gee, I can’t wait,” I muttered. “I just love it when people spit tobacco juice on me.”

While the Shoreliner raced westward at sixty miles per hour, Judge Ambrose questioned everyone who had seen Ellie, along with a few others who “looked suspicious” to him. Then, after examining the baggage room and the compartment where the salesman had left the ransom note and other clues behind, he invited Clarence to the observation car, where, he said, he would announce his findings.

Clarence joined Mrs. Strasbourg, her maid Julia, and Reverend Perfiddle in the seats at the back of the train, which the judge and the good reverend had cleared. Sam and I hid in the vestibule between cars, waiting for the judge to turn his back to us. The moment he did, we scampered down the aisle and ducked behind the bar that divided the rear half of the car.

“After investigating this incident thoroughly,” the judge
began, “it is abundantly clear what happened, ma’am. Apparently, your daughter wandered up into the dormitory area, which is in the car directly behind the locomotive. She was, as I understand it, going there in order to visit the conductor’s
cat
, which remains on board with the conductor—against regulations, I believe. But that is another matter, for another day. The safe return of Ellie Strasbourg must be our number one priority. I believe that this traveling salesman—we don’t know his name yet—was lying in wait for her somewhere nearby. It would seem that he surprised her as she was petting the cat and took her into the baggage area, which is separated from the dormitory area by a kind of cloth wall, with a door that snaps shut.”

Judge Ambrose produced the handkerchief that I had discovered from his pocket and continued. “He then used
this
—soaked in ether, or perhaps chloroform—to subdue her, and then put her into the sample case that he had emptied. When the train arrived in Albany, the porters unknowingly helped him with the case, and off he went. I sent a telegram to the police there, and they’ll be checking the roads between Albany and Dunkirk, but it’s a long shot at best that they’ll turn anything up. The kidnapper has a good head start.”

Once again, Mrs. Strasbourg wailed loudly. “Where would they take her? Will they harm her? There must be
something
we can do. I can’t just sit here and wait—I’ll lose my mind with worry.”

Clarence did his best to calm her. “Don’t you worry, Mrs. Strasbourg. Your little Ellie will be fine, mark my words. And the police will catch the people who are responsible.”

With the slimy stub of a cigar clenched in his teeth, Judge Ambrose twirled the ends of his mustache between his fingers. “Yes, yes, indeed they will. But you’re right, Mrs. Strasbourg. We need to talk about what to do next. With the kidnapper and your daughter already off the train, and no police at hand, I don’t see that we have much choice here. We need to make preparations to follow the kidnapper’s instructions and pay the ransom, I’m afraid.”

“Whatever you think is best, Judge,” said Mrs. Strasbourg. “I don’t care about anything except getting my Ellie back.”

“Pardon me,
Mr
. Ambrose,” said Clarence, “but don’t you think it’s a little soon to be talking about that? It’s still a long way to the Dunkirk station, and, well, I’m not sure that all the questions have been answered. I’ll admit that I’m no expert, but there’s still a great deal that we can—and
should
—do.”

“Way to go, Clarence!”
said Sam.
“Don’t let him bully you. It’s your train, after all. He’s just a passenger. A planet-sized passenger, but still just a passenger.”

Judge Ambrose scoffed. “What would you have me do, Mr. Nockwood?”

Reverend Perfiddle, who had been listening intently, lit another cigarette and addressed Mrs. Strasbourg directly. “My dear Mrs. Strasbourg, I’m afraid that Judge Ambrose is right. In times like these, you can’t afford to quibble. I don’t mean to sound callous, but your daughter’s life is at stake here. The conductor, Mr.… Nockley, was it?”

“Nock
wood
,” said Clarence.

“Yes, yes. My apologies. Interesting name. As I was saying, Mr. Nockwood seems to be forgetting what is on the line here.”

Clarence stood up in protest and pointed his finger at the judge. “You’ve only talked to a handful of people on the train—there still may be someone who saw, or heard, something important. Someone who saw the salesman talking to another passenger. For instance, the young man that you spoke to—”

“The Shipley kid? Why should we believe anything he says?” the judge blustered. “Boy like that, he’d say anything to get his name in the papers, I’ll bet.”

Reverend Perfiddle touched Mrs. Strasbourg on her arm. “The boy’s story is a bit fishy. I wasn’t present for the interview, but Judge Ambrose filled me in on the important details. Claims to have been a friend of your daughter’s.”

“A bit
fishy
!” I hissed at Sam, struggling to keep my voice down. “Say anything to get my name in the papers! I never—”

“Easy, kid,”
said Sam.

Clarence, biting his lip in frustration, sat back down. He took a deep, calming breath and continued. “Well, then, what about the criminals that she recognized? Don’t you think that could be important? Have you even considered the possibility that she was right?”

Mrs. Strasbourg pulled her arm away from Reverend Perfiddle. “Wh-what … criminals? Ellie recognized someone? How? Who?”

“According to young Mr. Shipley,” Ambrose said, “your daughter told him that she recognized two criminals, a man and a woman, from their photographs in the post office. I think he’s lying, trying to put us off the trail of the real kidnapper. It’s obvious that he’s protecting someone. As a judge, I see cases like this all the time. Young man from … well, the wrong side of the tracks meets a pretty little girl from a good family …”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. That behemoth was accusing me of helping the kidnappers! Just as I was about to leave my hiding place and defend my honor, Sam reached up and put a paw on my leg, extending a single
claw into the first few layers of skin.
“Don’t. It’s not worth it. Not yet, anyway.”

“Now wait just a second,” said Clarence. “Surely you don’t suspect the boy merely because he’s not from a wealthy family. And I don’t think it’s fair—or accurate—to say that he’s from ‘the wrong side of the tracks.’ He simply reported what his friend told him. We should be praising him for coming forward, rather than questioning his character.”

“Perhaps,” said Ambrose, chomping on his soggy cigar.

“But what if Ellie was right,” Mrs. Strasbourg argued, “and she
did
recognize these people? She does have a remarkable memory. Perhaps she did see a picture of them somewhere. One of them might still be on the train. I think that Mr. Nockwood is right. We have to keep looking. Please, Judge Ambrose—for Ellie.”

Clarence nodded, pleased that she was taking a firm stand.

Julia looked at Mrs. Strasbourg. “Excuse me, ma’am.”

“What is it, Julia? Do you know something?”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s true … what the judge said about Ellie seeing the pictures at the post office. I’m sorry; I let her go inside every week, right after her piano lesson. She said it was for a game she was playing. I didn’t think there was
any harm in it.” She started to cry, and Mrs. Strasbourg touched her gently on the arm.