Lantern Sam and the Blue Streak Bandits (14 page)

“Mr. Nockwood,” said Ambrose through gritted teeth. “I see you still have your friends with you.” He nodded toward Sam and me.

The fur on Sam’s back stood straight up, and he began to growl, a deep, frightening sound that made me take a step backward.

“Come on, Sam. Let’s get out of here,” I said, heading for
the front of the car, where Sam joined me. To Clarence, I added, “We’ll meet you up in the dormitory.”

I made lots of noise as I pretended to stomp out of the car, heading toward the front of the train, but that’s all it was: pretending. There was a small storage area near the front of the car, and Sam and I ducked into it so we could hear what was being said.

Clarence took a deep breath before addressing the two men. “Mr. Ambrose. Reverend Perfiddle. Is your wife resting comfortably?”

“Yes, yes she is,” said the reverend, raising his drink to Clarence. “Thank you for your assistance.”

Judge Ambrose snapped at Clarence, “Why were you in Mrs. Strasbourg’s room? I hope it was nothing to do with her daughter. Haven’t I made it clear that I’m in charge of that situation?”

“My, my,”
said Sam.
“The judge certainly is jumpy. Why is he so worried that Clarence might be talking to Mrs. Strasbourg? What does he think is going to happen?”

“Absolutely clear, Mr. Ambrose,” said Clarence. “Her maid had asked a porter to bring some food back, and I was merely checking to ensure that she was in need of nothing further.”

“I see. Have you anything else to report? Any news about our salesman friend?”

“No,” Clarence lied, probably a bit too quickly. “How about you? Anything you’d care to share? I take it that you have completed your investigation?”

“Humph,” said Ambrose. “Yes, I have. My conclusions haven’t changed one bit. I still believe exactly what I believed five minutes after this case landed in my lap: a criminal, pretending to be a traveling salesman working by himself, abducted that little girl and carried her off the train with the help of an emptied-out sample case … and a conductor and porters too blind—or lazy—to see what was right under their noses. You see, Mr. Nockwood, these criminal types aren’t as clever, or industrious, as the newspapers would have you believe. In my experience, the average criminal is both stupid and lazy.”

“Well, I suppose that when it comes to criminals, you’re the expert,” said Clarence.

“Nice one, Clarence,”
said Sam.
“It went right over his head.”

Reverend Perfiddle snubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and then raised his eyebrows at Clarence. “I believe that Judge Ambrose has done all that can be done … under the circumstances. We owe him—and dear Mrs. Strasbourg, of course—our loyalty and, perhaps, our prayers. Mrs. Strasbourg has received her instructions regarding this Blue Streak necklace; our job is to support her, to help her in any way we can.”

“Smooth, Reverend Piddlepot, very smooth,”
murmured Sam.
“What is your angle?”

“What do you mean?” I whispered.

“I mean, why is he in such a hurry to help out Judge Hambone? They’re awful cozy—I wonder if they knew each other before this trip.”

“Maybe the judge goes to Reverend Perfiddle’s church,” I suggested.

Sam scoffed.
“Ha! Pardon me for not believing that the judge is a regular churchgoer. Unless they have a buffet table set up in the back of the church.”

“Hey, that
would
be pretty nice. If the minister was really boring, you could go back and make yourself a sandwich.”

“Would there be sardines in this buffet?”

“Boy, you
really
like sardines, don’t you? Okay, fine, we’ll have sardines.”

Luckily, that silly conversation was cut short when a woman got up from her seat in the very back of the observation section—the same seat I’d been in when Ellie first spied on me—and started making her way toward us.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” she said as she passed Clarence, Judge Ambrose, and Reverend Perfiddle.

Clarence tipped his cap at her, and all three men chanted, “Evening, ma’am.”

And then I saw it: the hat to end all hats! A pair of realistic-looking goldfinches perched on twigs that wrapped around a yellow brim, which was so bright it glowed. It was the wackiest,
yellowest
hat I’d ever seen. She just had to be the lady that the guy in the gray suit was talking about, because there’s no way there were
two
hats like that in the whole world.

Sam couldn’t take his eyes off it, either.
“What the—? Are those
real
birds?”
he asked, licking his lips as she walked by. Maybe there
was
something he liked as much as sardines, after all.

“Let’s follow her,” I said. “I want to ask her something.”

“Mrrraaa. So do I.”

“No, Sam, you can’t have her birds. Besides, I doubt if they’re real.”

“We’d better get a closer look … just to be sure.”

We followed the hat, stalking our prey like a hunter and his trusty hound—except I didn’t have a shotgun over my shoulder, and Lantern Sam was a cat. When we got to the dining car, it had been transformed into a miniature nightclub (or a miniature version of ones I’d seen in the movies, anyway). The lights were dimmed and every table was filled with people listening to the music of Gladys and Gwendolyn Henshaw—the sisters who had spoken to the marble salesman. They sat side by side on the piano bench,
Gladys’s fingers racing over the keys while Gwendolyn sang “Rock and Roll,” a song made famous by the Boswell Sisters. What I didn’t know about music was a lot, but they sounded pretty good to me.

Sam was not quite as impressed.
“Ouch. Make them stop. They’re hurting my ears. They’re worse than Clarence in the bathtub. Believe me, you do not want to hear that.”

“Shhh!” I said, forgetting for a second that I was the only one who could hear Sam. In front of me, a man who was in the middle of whispering something in his wife’s ear thought I was talking to him. He turned and shot me a dirty look.

“Nice going, kid,”
said Sam.
“Pick a fight with the meanest-looking guy here.”

“Shut up!”

“Do you have a problem, kid?” the man asked, his eyes boring into my head.

“What? No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Sam chuckled to himself as I retreated to a safe spot on the other side of the room, next to the lady in the bird hat. She was singing along with Gladys and Gwendolyn, and she smiled at me as I elbowed my way into the narrow space between her and the window.

The song ended and everyone clapped loudly. “They’re
so
good,” she said. “They sound just like the Boswell Sisters!”

“So, let’s get this straight: she wears dead birds on her head
and
she’s tone-deaf,”
sniped Sam.
“Gee, do you suppose there are any more at home like her?”

I gave him the stink eye; I had learned my lesson about shushing him the usual way.

“I know! I thought they were the Boswell Sisters,” I said, pretending to be starstruck. “Do you think they’re famous?”

Crazy-hat lady shook her head, and the two goldfinches bobbed back and forth. “Oh, I don’t think so, but you never know, do you? Last week on the train from Chicago, who do you think sat down to breakfast right across from me? Mr. Gary Cooper, that’s who. He was
so
handsome. Even more than he is in the pictures.”

“Do you think there’s anybody famous on
this
train?” I asked, as wide-eyed and innocent-looking as I could make myself.

She bent down and tried to look me in the eyes, but I couldn’t take mine off those stupid goldfinches!

“Can you keep a secret?” she whispered.

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t want to mention any names, because everyone
knows
they’re not married and it’s absolutely
scandalous
that they are sharing a compartment, but there is a certain famous couple in drawing room B-3. After the outrage they committed last week, it’s no wonder that they’re in hiding! Everyone is after them!”

“Really? Room B-3, you say?”

She nodded, then put her index finger to her lips as Gladys and Gwendolyn broke into “The Object of My Affection,” another big hit for the Boswell Sisters.

I motioned to Sam, who was sniffing around the entrance to the kitchen, to follow me into the sleeper right behind the dining car.

“That woman with the sunglasses was right!” I exclaimed. “The crazy-hat lady
did
recognize her! And not only that, she knows what compartment they’re in—B-3! What should we do? Ellie could be in there right now!”

“Slow down, kid. Take a breath. That’s better. B-3, you say? Let’s have a look.”

“Just like that? Shouldn’t we … talk about it or something?”

“What is there to talk about? C’mon! Shake a leg, kid.”
He trotted down the corridor in the direction of the drawing room.

“Wait up! What am I supposed to do—just knock on the door?”

“Works for me.”

“What if somebody answers?”

“That’s easy. Just play dumb. That shouldn’t be too hard for you.”

“Heyyy!”

“Oh, relax, kid. I’m just pulling your tail … a little. Look, these compartments are small. When they open the door, poke your nose right in there and see what you can see.”

“And then what?” I asked. As I traced my finger over the brass
B-3
on the door, my pulse quickened.

“Apologize. Tell them you must have the wrong room, that you were looking for your friend … Bobby, or Teddy. And then run like the dickens. You can do it, kid.”

I pinched myself on the arm to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. “Great. I’m taking advice from a cat.”

“You could do worse. Knock, knock.”

“Okay, okay.” I took a breath, then rapped softly on the door and pressed my ear to it. “I don’t hear anything.” I knocked again, louder. Still nothing. “Now what?”

A porter I hadn’t seen before came toward me, his arms full of blankets.

“Quick—ask him to let you in,”
said Sam.
“Tell him you forgot your key.”
Sensing my hesitation at telling such a blatant lie, he added,
“We don’t have much time, kid. If Ellie’s in there, we need to help her.”

The porter stopped a few feet in front of me, smiling broadly. “Did you forget your key, young man?”

“Um, yes, yes, that’s it. My mother’s back in the club car listening to the music … she’s making me go to bed.”

“Here, let me help you,” he said, taking out his passkey. He unlocked the door and opened it just a crack for me.

“Thanks. Thanks a lot,” I said.

The porter nodded and left us.

“The coast is clear,”
said Sam.
“Inside, quick!”

I pushed the door open the rest of the way, hit the light switch, and stepped inside with Sam one step behind me.

Staring up at me from the floor, her eyes squinting at the bright light, was Ellie, gagged and handcuffed to the steel handrail next to the seat.

“Holy macaroni! Ellie! Are you okay?” I asked.

“ ’Elp ’e! ’Et ’e out of ’ere!” she tried to shout, but the cotton handkerchief absorbed all but the tiniest bit of the sound.

“What do I do, what do I do?” I asked Sam. “She’s handcuffed. We have to get Clarence.”

“ ’On’t ’eave ’e!” cried Ellie.

“We’ll be right back,” I said.

Ellie’s eyes looked as if they would pop out of her head. “ ’Atch out!”

And then the lights went out.

I stayed on with Billie at Twin Elms Farm through the long winter, but as the last of the snow melted, those old feelings of wanderlust sprouted along with the first spring crocuses and daffodils. Meanwhile, news about Daisy’s sudden transformation spread through the area, and other cats began to show interest in the barn at Twin Elms. When an old friend of Billie’s—a dapper tuxedo named Alistair—appeared late one night, I knew that the time had come for me to move on.

Daisy escorted me to the stream that marked the boundary of the farm and showed me where I could cross without getting my paws wet. For a few seconds, we stared at each other from opposite sides of the stream; we then barked and
meowed our goodbyes, and I struck out on a path heading east. Ten minutes later, I reached the top of a ridge overlooking Twin Elms Farm and saw that Daisy hadn’t moved from her spot—she was still watching me.

It had been nearly eight months since I’d left the Dillys, and I was a little homesick. I had heard snippets of news about my siblings through the cat channels (the cat-news grapevine) but I was eager to see them all, so I began to work my way east toward the Pennsylvania border.

Well, that was my plan, anyway.

Two days after saying goodbye to Billie and Daisy, I stepped onto a train platform from a boxcar that I had shared with a stinky-but-friendly hobo named Franklin. The town was Andover, Ohio, just across the border from my hometown of Linesville. There was no train between the two towns, but I figured that I could make it the rest of the way on paw once I’d rustled up a little something to eat and a comfortable spot to sleep for the night. I turned west toward the town square as a warm spring breeze rattled my whiskers, stirring happy memories in my gut.