The Black Dog Mystery (27 page)

“That’s the tide current,” answered Aunt Patty. “It runs a little faster, going out between these two islands, because the channel is so narrow. It carries things along with it. See those gulls over there? They’re watching for any scraps of food they can find floating in the tide. They’re always around here at this time of the tide.”

Djuna had already noticed the big gray and white sea gulls which were circling back and forth over the narrow strip of water separating the two islands. Now and then one of them would make a sudden swoop downward and pick up a bit of floating seaweed, or anything else that looked as if it might be good to eat; and usually two or three other gulls would chase after the first and try to take it away from him. They were fun to watch.

Aunt Patty steered the
Patagonia
past the entrance to the channel and continued on around the edge of Sixpenny Island, keeping in the deeper water off shore and stopping the boat whenever she came to another of her lobster-pot markers. One by one, they hauled up the lobster pots, and although a few of them were empty, most of them had trapped one or two lobsters. By the time they had finished, both Aunt Patty and Djuna were pretty well soaked with water that had dripped from the lobster pots as they lifted them in and out of the boat. But, scuttling around in the bottom of the boat, safely under cover, were fifteen fine big lobsters!

“We can’t eat
that
many, can we?” asked Djuna, wonderingly.

“Mercy, no!” exclaimed Aunt Patty. “We’ll keep out a couple for our dinner tonight, and I’ll sell the rest to Mr. Truelove. He’s got plenty of customers for ’em.”

As they sailed on around the islands, Djuna glanced at them longingly, thinking to himself what fun it would be to land on them and explore them. The smaller one, Haypenny Island, had no trees on it. Only a few low bushes and some long marsh grass grew on the middle of it. High above the bushes towered the big bare rock which Aunt Patty had said was called Eagle Rock. But on the other little island, he could see the walls of a small wooden cabin, whose roof timbers were outlined against the blue sky. Most of the shingles were gone from the roof. Big lilac bushes grew around the deserted cabin. Djuna wondered how long it had been since anyone lived there. But he saw that Aunt Patty was too busy with the lobster pots to talk, so he didn’t bother her with any questions.

“Sixpenny Island!” he thought to himself. “What a funny name! I guess it’s because it’s so small, and almost round, like a penny.”

When the last lobster pot had been dropped overboard, with its marker buoy floating to show how it could be found when they came back the next time, Aunt Patty turned her boat around and headed its nose for Stony Harbor. The engine chugged away steadily, the blunt bows of the boat scattered the spray, a fresh breeze blew from the southwest and ruffled Djuna’s hair, and Djuna took deep breaths of the cool salty air. In half an hour they were back at the dock; but before they tied the boat, Aunt Patty steered it slowly alongside of the big floating box, the lobster pound, in which Phinny Truelove kept the live lobsters for sale. She stopped the engine and shouted for the storekeeper, and soon the old man came out of the store and to the dock, where he stood looking down at them with a grin on his face.

“Well, what luck did you have?” he asked.

“Count ’em yourself, when you take ’em out,” retorted Aunt Patty. “You can put a dozen of ’em in the pound, and the rest I’ll take home with me.”

Mr. Truelove climbed down the perpendicular ladder that was fastened to the dock, stepped on board the floating box, and came over to the boat. With a heavy leather glove on his hand, he fished out a dozen of the lobsters one by one from the hold of the boat and dropped them into the opening on top of the lobster pound.

“All good big ones,” he said. “Guess I’ll have to allow you twenty cents apiece for ’em, Aunt Patty. That makes two dollars and forty cents I’ll credit you with. That all right?”

“That’s right,” Aunt Patty nodded. “Now, if you’ll just rubber the other three, I’ll take them along for our supper. I clean forgot to bring any rubbers with me.”

Djuna wondered what on earth Aunt Patty meant by saying that she had forgotten her rubbers, when she was already wearing rubber boots. But before he could ask, he found out what she meant. Mr. Truelove fished a handful of strong rubber bands from his pocket. Then he picked up one of the lobsters. It waved its big claws around and tried its best to pinch Mr. Truelove’s fingers. But he deftly snapped one of the rubber bands over each claw, and that finished the lobster’s attempt to pinch. The claws of all three lobsters were quickly fastened in this way, and although their legs still moved around angrily, they were helpless to do any harm. Aunt Patty thanked Mr. Truelove. A vigorous shove sent her boat across the narrow strip of water to the other dock, and there she and Djuna climbed out.

Carrying the three squirming lobsters in the big brown paper bag which Mr. Truelove had supplied, Aunt Patty and Djuna hurried on home. Djuna’s first care was to let Champ out of the woodshed in which he had been locked up. Champ jumped all around him, wild with joy. It took him ten minutes to quiet down enough to be given his dinner.

In the meantime, Aunt Patty put some water on the stove to boil, in a big pot, and started to get dinner ready. While she was taking down some salt and pepper from the pantry shelf, she noticed that her jar of mayonnaise was almost empty.

“Djuna,” she said, “would you mind running down to Mr. Truelove’s store and getting a jar of mayonnaise? I think we’ll need more than there is here, for the lobsters.”

“Sure!” said Djuna. Taking the money she handed him, he called to Champ and they scampered off together to the wharf. As he hurried into the store he saw that Mr. Truelove was waiting on another customer, so he stood quietly waiting by the counter until Mr. Truelove finished what he was doing.

The customer was a man Djuna had never seen before, but as Djuna had not been in Stony Harbor long enough to know much about the village, he supposed the man had always lived there. He was dressed in a summer suit of light gray cloth, and wore a fine straw Panama hat, jauntily perched on his thick curling black hair. He was not very tall. His hands and face were very dark, almost like a Spaniard’s.

“Well, now, let’s see,” Mr. Truelove was saying, “them overalls will be two dollars and twenty-three cents.”

The man took out his wallet and handed Mr. Truelove a twenty-dollar bill.

“That the smallest ye got?” said Mr. Truelove. “Well, never mind, guess I can change it, but I know I ain’t got but seven dollars in paper.”

He reached into the iron safe behind the counter, brought out the leather pouch in which he kept coins, and untied the string around it. Fishing around in it, he brought out five coins, and then took two one-dollar bills and a five-dollar bill from his pocketbook, and pushed all the money across the counter.

The man picked up one of the coins and looked at it curiously.

“Haven’t got any more like this, have you?” he asked, turning it over in his dark fingers and looking at both sides of it carefully.

“No, sir, that’s the only one I’ve got,” said Mr. Truelove. “Only one I ever saw, far as I can remember.”

“Do you remember who gave it to you?” asked the man.

Mr. Truelove rubbed his chin. “No, can’t say that I do,” he replied slowly.

The man looked at him for a moment, and then laughed. “Well, if you can’t, you can’t,” he said pleasantly. “But if you happen to run across any more of them in the next few days, let me know, will you? My name’s Patina. I’ll be stopping at the Harbor House for the next few days. Good-bye, sir.”

He picked up the rest of his change and the bundle that Mr. Truelove had put on the counter and strolled out, giving Djuna and Champ a friendly smile as he passed them.

“Now, son, what can I do for
you?
” asked Mr. Truelove, as he tied up the leather bag again and put it back in the safe.

Djuna told him, got the jar of mayonnaise, paid for it, and hurried home. He was feeling especially hungry, after the afternoon’s fishing trip, and he was anxious to learn what lobster was going to taste like.

Aunt Patty had already put the three lobsters in the boiling water before he got back, and in a few minutes she announced that they were cooked.

“Why, look!” exclaimed Djuna, as she took them out of the pot, “they were dark green when you put them in, and now they’re bright red!”

“That’s what always happens,” said Aunt Patty, with a twinkle in her eye.

“I think one apiece will be enough, plenty,” she added. “I’ll put the other in the icebox, and we’ll have a cold lobster salad for lunch tomorrow.”

Then she showed Djuna how to crack the hard shells of the other two, so that the white meat could be easily taken out with a fork, and soon they sat down to dinner. Djuna thought he had never tasted anything so delicious as that lobster, along with ears of fresh corn, covered with melted butter.

When they had finished supper, Djuna gave a sigh of contentment.

“My gollies, that was marvelous!” he exclaimed.

After playing around the yard with Champ for a while, Djuna decided that he had better write a letter to Miss Annie Ellery, to tell her what a nice time he was having, and about Billy Reckless and his wonderful dog, Alberto, and the sail out to Sixpenny Island, and how he had helped Aunt Patty haul up the lobster pots. But when he asked Aunt Patty if she had any paper to write the letter on, she looked bewildered.

“My sakes, now what did I do with that writing paper?” she said. “I had some, somewhere, but I hardly ever write a letter. Let’s see, what did I do with it? Seems to me, I put it away up in the attic. You just wait a minute, I’ll go up and see.”

Djuna decided he would like to see what was up in the attic, too, so he followed Aunt Patty up the narrow stairs. Champ had the same idea, so he followed Djuna. They made quite a parade.

The floor of the attic was bare, but all around the edges, close to the walls, which sloped inward to the ridgepole of the little house, were boxes and bundles that Aunt Patty had stored up there. There were only two windows in the attic, one at each end, but both of them were open. Outside one of the windows, Djuna could see the branches of a big elm tree, almost touching the house.

“I think I put that paper in the sea chest,” said Aunt Patty, as soon as she had got her breath after climbing the stairs. She pointed at a big wooden box, with wooden handles at each end, that stood close to the sloping ceiling. “Help me pull it out, Djuna, so I can see.”

Together they dragged the box out into the middle of the floor, and Aunt Patty lifted the lid. Djuna noticed that on the front of the chest was painted the picture of a sailing ship, and, under it, the letters, “B. G.”

“This sea chest belonged to my great-grandfather,” said Aunt Patty. “His name was Benjamin Greene. That’s a picture of his ship, the last one he commanded. He was drowned in a storm off Cape Hatteras.”

“Was the ship wrecked?” asked Djuna, staring at the picture of the ship.

“No, it got home safe,” said Aunt Patty. “Captain Greene was the only one lost. He had been washed overboard.”

She rummaged around in the sea chest, which was filled mostly with folded blankets, on which powdered camphor had been sprinkled, to keep the moths away.

From beneath the blankets she pulled out a small cardboard box labelled, “Writing Paper.” She opened it.

“No, that’s not it,” she said disappointedly. It contained only a small bundle of old letters, and she put it down on the floor beside her. Hunting still further in the sea chest, she found what she wanted—the package of blank paper.

“Here it is!” she announced triumphantly. “I was sure I put it here.”

She closed the lid of the sea chest and stood up.

“Now let’s push this back,” she said. But Djuna looked around the attic.

“Where’s Champ?” he said.

Champ had disappeared. But just then they heard him scuffling and snuffling around somewhere behind the boxes against the wall. He had trotted into the narrow space behind the other boxes and bundles and was having a fine time investigating the tunnel.

“Come out here, Champ!” commanded Djuna, getting down on his hands and knees to see where the dog had gone.

Champ came out reluctantly. There was dust all over his black whiskers.

Djuna shooed him on down the stairs and then helped Miss Patty push the big sea chest back into place against the wall.

“Oh, I forgot to put those letters back in!” exclaimed Miss Patty, noticing the package of old letters still lying on the floor. “Well, never mind, I might as well keep them downstairs. I’ve forgotten what’s in them, but if they’re not worth saving any longer, I might’s well throw them away.”

“Shall I shut these windows before we go?” asked Djuna, hurrying over to the one nearest him.

“No, never mind,” said Aunt Patty as she started downstairs. “I always leave them open in hot weather. It gets too stuffy up here if I shut ’em.”

So Djuna followed her downstairs.

By the time he had finished writing his letter to Miss Annie Ellery, the sun had gone down, and it was beginning to get dark. It wasn’t long before he began to yawn, and Aunt Patty said she guessed it was time for him to go to bed, because he had had a very busy day.

“Can Champ sleep up in my room?” asked Djuna. “He might get lonely, out in the woodshed by himself.”

“Why, yes,” said Aunt Patty. “Take him along if you want to.”

In a few more minutes Djuna was sound asleep in his room, with Champ curled up on the floor, under the bed.

But in the middle of the night Djuna suddenly woke up. He didn’t know what had awakened him, and for a minute he couldn’t think where he was. The room was pitch dark. He sat up in bed. Then he heard Champ moving around in the dark. He whispered to him, and Champ jumped up on the bed and began to try to tell him something.

Just then Djuna heard a distinct thump on the ceiling just over his head.

His heart jumped. What could it be?

Champ wriggled in his arms, trying to get free. Djuna held him tight, while he listened, hardly daring to breathe.