A Brainwave
Jean said slowly, “Could at 1 mean at 1 O’ clock?”
“A good idea, but not good enough, I think. If it’s an appointment, then at 1 would mean the time. But we’re looking for the location, not the time,” said June.
“Is there any place called 1?” Jean wondered.
“There could be, in their code. If they had preplanned some locations for hiding the loots, and agreed to designate them with serial numbers, then at 1 would refer to a place,” said June.
“They must be super-planners, if they had prepared a ready list of places for hiding the loot. Is it their first robbery?” asked Jean.
June had no idea, but once again she telephoned the inspector’s son. She returned with the information that they had committed two more robberies previously, and the loot of the first robbery was as yet untraced. The gang was arrested, but three men were acquitted for want of evidence – while the others were still in prison.
“The first hiding place must have really been a clever one. They should bury any loot there every time,” said Jean.
June gave a shriek, and Jean was frightened. “Do you have a toothache or something?” he asked, totally mystified.
She suddenly hugged an astonished Jean and said, “You’ve hit the nail on the head, Jean. That’s what it means. I’m almost sure that we have struck the right solution! Thanks for your smashing idea.”
“But I haven’t said anything clever, June. Are you being funny, or are you pulling my leg?” he asked, completely bewildered.
“You’ve suggested a marvelously unique solution, Jean. It is extremely possible – even probable – that 1 means the place where the first loot was hidden.”
“And which hasn’t been traced yet!” bemoaned a pessimistic Jean. “But if that’s found, then 3 rt might mean 3 feet or 3 meters right of that spot.”
“Let’s see. Of the gang members, only three were freely roaming, others were in jail,” reasoned June. “Again two among them, our pleasant friends, are in police custody. So only one man is now at large. If we could see the photos of all the members who were arrested and of those who were convicted, we could identify the one remaining man who was entrusted with the task of safely concealing the booty!”
“And so, back to your goldmine of resource – the inspector’s son!” said Jean.
“Not necessarily,” said June. “We could search out from the old newspapers at the public library.”
“Nothing like the present – let’s go now!” said an impatient Jean.
They went, after casually ascertaining from their parents the approximate dates of the earlier robberies. And after more than two hours of intense research work, they got what they wanted.
“So, they were a gang of six. And these two are our friends, now in custody. These men are serving their sentences. So this man is the one who is free; he is the one who has hidden the wealth, and written that message on the wall under a layer of soot!” said June.
“And notwithstanding all this brainwork, we’re no nearer to getting even a sniff of the loot or the man!” lamented Jean.
Suddenly June took out her cell-phone, and clicked a snap of the man who was still at large.
Jean was startled. “What’s the big idea, June? Want to roam the town all over and track him down?”
June smiled. “I vaguely seem to remember having seen the face somewhere – though I can’t guess where.”
They returned home, and had a wonderful tea. Then they went to their studies and began to discuss.
“Jean,” appealed his sister, “please help me recall where we’ve seen that face.”
“I’m hardly the right person for this job!” said Jean apologetically. “You’re good at remembering faces, I’m not!”
“Well, let’s proceed methodically. First, have we seen this face anywhere near our school?” asked June.
“Not likely. For in that case you must have seen the face quite a number of times, and you wouldn’t be so muddled about it,” said Jean.
“Wonderful, Jean. Really brilliant,” said June. “I can’t have seen them on way to school, for the same reason.”
“What’s left? They can’t be one of our relations, surely, for nothing has disappeared from our home,” said Jean with a chuckle.
“Definitely not! It’s somewhere we have gone only once or twice – and the person was someone unimportant – such as the bus driver or a beggar by the street, of whom we wouldn’t take much notice,” said June, her reasoning as clear as usual.
“I would say he was probably a vendor from whom you bought some tit-bits. It is quite natural that you would notice the eatables – and not the man!” teased Jean.
“You’ve got something there. It’s quite possible, distinctly possible,” agreed June, quite failing to see the humor in it. “It can’t be a place from where we buy regularly, and it can’t be …. Gosh, I’ve got it!”
“You always make me jump with strange noises. What did you get, June?” asked the perplexed boy.
“It could have been someone in the open ground by Steeple Street. Remember, we went there last year – and before that we may have gone there as toddlers, for all I know!” said June.
“Then it was the pop-corn man,” surmised Jean. “He gave me pop-corns in a packet which had a hole in it; and each time I took one from the top, one fell out from the bottom.”
“Probably you’re right! Whoever said you can’t remember faces? You are simply scintillating!”
“I don’t remember his face, but I definitely remember how much pop-corn I lost. It was just a wild shot!” said Jean.
“You’re none the worse for having consumed a few calories less,” said June teasingly. “But I just want to make sure it is he.”
“But, look here – surely a robber need not earn his living by selling pop-corns,” said Jean in disbelief.
“Not necessarily,” explained June. “Robberies are committed months apart, and in the interval they need to do something simple so that policemen won’t suspect and common folks won’t gossip about their source of livelihood. This could be a cover up to make people believe in their innocence.”
“Yes, you’ve a point there. Now, do we go and see our man? If he again gives me a packet with a hole, I’d punch a few holes in him, for sure!” said Jean in a sudden flare-up.
“We could buy pop-corns, that would give us a chance to look at his face more closely,” suggested June.
So the twins set off for the ground which was always full of vendors, one of whom was a member of a dangerous gang.
Off to the Steeple Grounds
They reached the ground, planning very earnestly how they should approach the matter. Since he was known to the police, having been arrested and subsequently acquitted on an earlier occasion, it would be useless to inform the police that the man was selling pop-corns or something else on the ground. Most probably the police knew it, but did not want to arrest him for some reason. They couldn’t very well go and ask him where he had buried the ill-gotten treasure. The affair bristled with difficulties!
Well, they would at least go and satisfy themselves as to whether he was the same man whose photograph was published as one of the accused in the old newspaper and which June had captured in her cell-phone. The next step could be decided later.
They came to the ground, bustling with vendors. Every conceivable item was being sold by hawkers on that vast stretch of uneven terrain.
“Have you got enough money to buy something from every suspicious stall?” asked Jean. “I’ve a little – but it may not be enough.
“Oh, we don’t really need much,” June assured him. “We need not approach the stalls run by women or even aged people. We need a young man below thirty. And even then we can always pretend to examine the goods and decide to move on without buying any.”
“That would look more natural,” agreed Jean, “even if it’s a bit unkind.”
They moved casually along the neatly lined stalls, but could not find their quarry anywhere. They emerged into a vast open space, dimly lit, with no stalls or hawkers.
Suddenly Jean clutched her hand. “Did you see the H,” he asked
“What H?” exclaimed June, not quite comprehending.
“See the pattern of stalls,” explained Jean at length. “The two lines, starting from the ice-cream vendor to the bracelet-selling girl on the left, and from the chop-seller to the ribbon-seller on the right, these form the vertical limbs of the letter H. Again, the line of five hawkers, from the woman selling pizzas to the man selling chicken-rolls, form the horizontal cross-line connecting the limbs of H. A perfect H, if there was one.”
June stared open-mouthed. So that was the mystery of H. Whether they said H or etch, the smear of soot covering the strange message was distinctly an H.
But they could not find their man anywhere. Nor could they see any pop-corn stall.
After roaming aimlessly, they asked the woman selling hot noodles, “We want to buy some pop-corns, but can’t find pop-corns anywhere.”
“Ah, that man – he hasn’t been here for the last three days – maybe he’s ill. Never mind, noodles are better than pop-corns any day!”
June ordered two plates of noodles. When Jean nudged her, she took him aside and told him, “First, I’m hungry, and I expect you’re hungry too. Secondly, if we buy noodles from her, we may gossip with her and she may be more forthcoming. There’s no better way to open up business people than purchasing something from them.”
While she prepared the noodles with great energy, she talked endlessly about foolish children preferring pop-corns, mutton-chops and pizzas over the plain, wholesome and tasty noodles.
Jean said casually, “I wanted to see that man for a different reason. Last time, he gave me a packet with a hole at the bottom, and half of the corns fell out!”
“It’s just like him!” she retorted. “Never pays for the half-plate noodles he has every Sunday. Says he can compensate with some pop-corns. Who would want his accursed pop-corns? And he has popped out of business these last few days.”
“Is he a bit dishonest?” asked June, seizing the golden opportunity.
“What do you mean by a bit, my child?” asked the woman somewhat annoyed. “He is out-and-out dishonest. And I hear he’s mixed up in some curious business, and is on the run. But I can’t say really – he was yonder there yesterday.”
“Oh! Does he ever sell anything else?” asked Jean, a bit emboldened, now that some useful information was flowing.
“Not that I know of. But who knows what dark deeds go in people’s evil minds these days? That’s a good lad – here’re your noodles. Very specially made, with the best of spices and herbs!” said the woman, quickly diverting from the rival popcorn-vendor’s criticism to a liberal advertisement of her noodles.
So they ate the noodles, and tried to digest what the woman had divulged about the pop-corn man. There was a general air of suspicion about him, but that could be because he had once been arrested. But the woman had seen him nearby, and if he was up and about – and not ill or out of town – it was strange that he did not put up his stall.
“Shall we go over yonder – whatever she meant by that?” asked a well-fed Jean.
“Let’s explore a bit – it may help us digest the noodles, if not her information,” said June.
So they rambled along keeping a sharp lookout for the unknown yonder, where lurked the pop-corn man, who seemed to have popped out of business.
Comfortably ambling along, Jean asked his sister, “Where do you get so much detecting ideas? How many novels did you read this month?”
June was trying to focus her eyes on a shadowy figure seated a few meters away on the dimly lit ‘yonder’. But she did not want to rivet her eyes on him, for it would be rude in case it was someone else; and it might make him suspicious if he was the pop-corn man. So, somewhat absent-mindedly, she raised her fore-finger to say that she had read only one novel that month.
But as soon as she raised her finger, a strange thing happened. The shadowy finger half raised his hand, indicated one with his fore-finger, suddenly got up, and walked off. He stumbled on a stone a few feet away, and a packet of pop-corns dropped from his pocket. He looked at it ruefully, and then continued his journey and soon disappeared.
June was momentarily astounded, and then clutched Jean. “Did you see?” she asked.
“He had a hole in his pocket, and he lost his pop-corns. If it’s the same pop-corn man, I’m glad. It serves him right to lose his pop-corns just the way I did!”
“You and your pop-corn!” said June, half in disgust and half in jest. “No, I mean, he flashed one with his hand, dropped his pop-corn at a spot, and then went out of sight. I think when I showed one with my finger, he interpreted it as a signal and responded in like. And, very possibly, the spot he showed us is where the wealth is hidden.”
“Perhaps,” said Jean, half in excitement and half in disbelief. “But why should he show you the spot where the money is buried? Surely, you’re not one of his gang – or have you joined them recently?”
“Don’t be an idiot, Jean,” said June. “The two men whom we met that day were supposed to read that clue on the wall. But they were arrested, and this pop-corn man has no way of knowing whether they had read the thing at all.
So, he waits for an unknown messenger to whom he could tell the secret. And since all other gang-members are in detention, he expects an outsider, who will identify himself with this signal.”
“And you give him the signal,” said Jean in glee. “Still, he ought to know that a school-girl couldn’t be a messenger.”
“Their brains work differently. First, he may not have had a clear view of us both in this dim light. Even I couldn’t see his face properly. Also, criminals employ all tactics – if they wanted to send someone whom no would suspect, a school student is the obvious choice.”
“So what do we do? Go and dig?” asked Jean, not relishing the prospect of excavating gold from an unknown place.
“No, that may not be legal. It could also be unsafe. Moreover, I’m sure our parents wouldn’t approve of any such foolhardy venture. We just turn the matter over to the police,” said June sensibly.
“Let’s go then,” said Jean, greatly relieved that he was not asked to take up an axe or a spade.
“No, we can’t leave the spot,” said the ever-cautious June. “Just in case he realizes that he has accidentally spilled the secret to wrong persons and decides to come back and remove the thing. We will keep the vigil and telephone the police.”
The Quest Ends
June spoke to the police, and they rushed a huge force immediately to the spot. In less than half-an-hour, they were digging the area. After some false starts, they managed to lay their hands on the gold and cash, wrapped in a waterproof bag, secreted a few feet below the ground.
But before they could congratulate the kids and get details as to how they performed the miracle, June had another idea. She took the chief aside and said, “I’ll tell you the story later, but what led us into the whole affair was a secret message. We interpreted it to mean that this loot was concealed 4 meters or 4 feet or 4 yards from the spot where they had buried their first loot. So, I think, the first loot must be somewhere near.”
The police chief agreed, “We had an idea that it was somewhere on this ground, but we couldn’t possibly dig up the whole area. Now we have narrowed it down to this patch, we can definitely dig and see.”
As the police began their work, the twins returned home. They recounted their adventure to their parents, who were both surprised and pleased.
The next day, they had a call from the police saying that they had recovered the loot of the first robbery as well. They were called to the police HQ, where reporters were eagerly waiting to hear all about their smart deductions to solving a mystery that had baffled the police.
“What do you attribute your success to?” asked a young reporter.
“Partly, plain luck. If our parents had been at home, we wouldn’t have ventured out or met the men. Secondly, it was just a chance that at the critical moment my brother asked me how many novels I had read – and an even greater coincidence is that the answer was one.”
“Anything else?” persisted another reporter.
“The obvious fact that we – my brother and I – trust each other and share everything. I don’t ignore him, thinking that boys are silly, and he doesn’t ignore me, thinking girls are stupid. Also, I have a knack for remembering faces and he has a knack for observing places.”
At last, the police chief announced: “They definitely deserve a reward. Very systematically and sensibly they worked out the clue, and what’s more, they did not dig the place, but informed us –a matured decision indeed. So, I ask them what reward they would like…”
The twins winked at one another and said, “A packet of pop-corns, without a hole at its bottom!”
The reporters and the policemen stared at them open-mouthed.
__END__
