Chapter II: Part 2

For a long time he stood leaning against the door, not daring to move. Just over there that man Grundeis had sat and slept and snored. And now he was gone. Of course, everything might be all right. It was absurd to be suspicious right away. Just because Emil was going to Friedrich Strasse Station in Berlin was no reason why everyone else had to go there too. And the money, of course, was safe in its proper place. First, it was in his pocket. Second, it was in the envelope. And third, it was fastened to the lining with a pin. And then he reached slowly into his right inside pocket.

The pocket was empty! The money was gone!

Emil burrowed around in his pocket with his left hand while he pushed and poked at it from the outside with his right hand. There was no doubt about it—the pocket was empty and the money was gone.

“Ouch!” Emil pulled his hand out of his pocket. And not only his hand, but in it the pin with which he had pinned the notes. Nothing but the pin was left. And that was pricking his left forefinger so that it bled.

He wound his handkerchief around the finger and began to cry. Naturally, not for that tiny bit of blood. Two weeks before he had run into a lamp pest so hard that it was almost broken off, and Emil still had the bump on his forehead from it. And he hadn’t cried one second.

He wept now about the money. And he wept because of his mother. Anyone who can’t understand that, no matter how brave he may be, is beyond help. Emil knew how his mother had economized for months to save the hundred and forty marks for his grandmother and for his trip to Berlin. And hardly was her young Mr. Son in the train before he settled himself back in the corner, dreamed a crazy dream, and allowed himself to be robbed by that pig of a man. Wasn’t it enough to make him cry? What was he to do now? Get off in Berlin and say to his grandmother, “Here I am, but you might as well know you’ll get no money? Instead you had better give me my train fare back to Neustadt. Otherwise I’ll have to walk.”

That was splendid! His mother had economized for nothing. His grandmother would not get a penny. He couldn’t stay in Berlin. He dared not go back home. And all because of a rascal who gave chocolate to children and pretended to be asleep. And then he robbed them. Boy, oh, boy! what a swell world it was!

Emil dried his tears and looked around.

If he pulled the bell cord the train would stop at once. And then a brakeman would come, and another, and still another. And they would all ask, “What’s the matter?”

“My money is stolen,” he would say.

“Another time take better care of it,” they would answer. “Please get on again. Who are you? Where do you live? To pull the bell once costs a hundred marks. The bill will be sent.”

In the express trains there are corridors so that you can run through the whole thing from one end to the other, even to the caboose, and report a burglary. But not in the third class! In such a stupid train! Here you must wait till the next station because you have to step off one car and walk along outside to get to the next car. And meantime the man with the stiff hat could be miles and miles away. Emil did not even know at what station he had got off. How late was it, anyway? When would they reach Berlin? Great houses and villas with gay gardens and then high dirty red chimneys ambled past the windows. Apparently this was Berlin already. At the next station he would have to call the guard and tell him all about it. And he would promptly notify the police.

Now, to top it all, he had to get mixed up with the police, and naturally Officer Jeschke could keep silent no longer but would have to admit officially, “I don’t know why, but that schoolboy, Emil Tischbein of Neustadt, doesn’t quite please me. First he daubs up noble monuments. And then he allows himself to be robbed of a hundred and forty marks. Perhaps they weren’t stolen at all?

“A boy who daubs up monuments will tell lies. I have had experience with that. Probably he has buried the money in the woods or has swallowed it and plans to go to America with it? There’s no sense trying to capture the thief, not the slightest. The boy Tischbein himself is the thief. Please, Mr. Chief of Police arrest him.”

Horrible! He could not even confide in the police!

He took his bag out of the rack, put on his cap, stuck the pin back in his coat lapel, and got ready to go. He had not the slightest idea what he would do. But stay another five minutes in this compartment he would not. That was certain.

Meanwhile the train was slowing down. Emil saw rows of tracks shining outside. Then they came into a station.

Some porters ran along by the car to get the baggage.

The train stopped!

Emil looked out of the window and saw a sign high up over the tracks. It said “Zoölogical Gardens.” The doors flew open. People climbed out of the compartments. Other people were waiting for them with outstretched arms.

Emil leaned ’way out of the window looking for the conductor. Some distance off and almost hidden in a crowd of people, he saw a stiff black hat. If that were the thief? Perhaps after he stole Emil’s money he did not get off the train but just went into another car?

In the next second Emil was standing on the platform. He put down his bag, climbed back into the train, because he had forgotten his bunch of flowers in the baggage rack, got out again, picked up his bag in a hurry, and ran as fast as he could to the exit.

Where was the stiff hat? The boy stumbled over people’s legs, banged into someone with his suitcase, and ran on. The crowd was getting thicker and harder to press through.

There! There was the stiff hat! Good heavens, over there was another! Emil could hardly carry his bag. He wished he could leave it right there. But if he did probably that too would be stolen.

Finally he got up close to the stiff hat.

That must be the one. Was it?

No.

There was the next one.

No. That man was too small.

Emil wound himself in and out of the crowd like an Indian.

There, there!

That was the fellow. Thank goodness! That was the Grundeis. He was just pushing through the gate and seemed to be in a hurry.

“Just wait, you beast,” growled Emil, “we’ll get you!” Then he gave up his ticket, took his bag in the other hand, clamped his flowers under his right arm, and ran downstairs behind the man.

Now it’s do or die!

Sixth Chapter

Street Car Line 177

Emil wished he could run up to the fellow, post himself in front of him, and shout, “Give me my money!” But he didn’t look as though he would answer, “Gladly, my good boy. Here it is. I will surely not do it again.” The affair was not as simple as that. For the moment the most important thing was not to let the man out of his sight.

Emil hid himself behind a tall and ample woman who was walking ahead of him and peered out from behind her, now to the right, now to the left, to make sure that the man was still in sight and not suddenly running off in another direction. Meanwhile the man had reached the main entrance of the station and was looking around him, scanning the crowd as if he were trying to find someone. Emil kept close behind the large lady and came nearer and nearer. What would happen now? Soon he would have to pass the man, and there would be an end to all the secrecy. Perhaps the lady would help him? But she surely would not believe him. And the thief would say, “Pardon me, madame, what gives you such an idea? Do I look as if I had to rob little ♦children?” And then all the people around would look at the boy and cry, “That is the limit! Lies about the grown-ups. Boys to-day are altogether too impudent.” Emil’s teeth were chattering already.

♦ ‘children? And’ replaced with ‘children?” And’

Fortunately, just then the man turned his head away again and stepped out into the open. Quick as a flash Emil jumped behind the door, put down his bag, and peered out of the window grating. Heavens! how his arm ached!

The thief crossed the street slowly, looked backward once more, and then walked on, apparently reassured. Then from the left came a street car and trailer, Number 177, and stopped. The man hesitated a second, stepped into the front car, and seated himself at a window.

Emil grabbed his bag again, ducked past the door, down the corridor, out of another door onto the street and reached the trailer from behind just as the car was starting again. He threw his bag up, climbed after it, shoved it into a corner, placed himself in front of it, and took a deep breath. So that was over!

But what now? If the other got off on the way the money would be gone for good. Because it wouldn’t do to jump off with his bag. That would be too dangerous.

These autos! They rushed past the street car, honked and squeaked, signaled for left turns and right, and swung around corners; other autos pushed right after them. What a jam! And so many people on the sidewalks! And from every side street, cars, delivery carts, double-decker busses! News-stands on every corner. Wonderful show windows with flowers, fruits, books, gold watches, clothes, and silk underwear. And tall, tall buildings.

So that was Berlin.

Emil would have liked to observe it all in peace. But there was no time for that. In the forward car sat a man who had Emil’s money, who might get off at any moment and disappear in the crowd. Then Emil might as well give up. Because out there among the cars and the people and the motor busses you couldn’t find anyone again. Emil stuck his head out. What if the fellow were gone already? Then he alone would be riding on—he didn’t know where, he didn’t know why. And meanwhile his grandmother was waiting at the Friedrich Strasse Station at the flower stall and had no notion that her grandson was careering across Berlin on Line Number 177 and was in great trouble.

It was maddening.

The car stopped for the first time. Emil kept his eyes on the forward car. But no one got off. Just a crowd of new passengers streamed into the car. They tramped past Emil too. One man grumbled because the boy had his head stuck out in the way.

“Don’t you see that people want to get on?” he growled.

The guard who was selling tickets in the car pulled a cord. The bell rang. And the cars went on farther. Emil got back in his corner, was squeezed and had his feet stepped on, and all of a sudden was terrified to think, “I have no money! When the conductor comes back here I’ll have to buy a ticket. And if I can’t buy one he’ll put me off. And then I might as well be buried.”

He looked over the people standing around. Could he twitch one of them by the coat and say, “Please lend me money for my fare”? Oh, dear, they all had such solemn faces. One was reading a paper. A couple of others were talking about a great bank robbery. “They dug a regular tunnel,” one of the men was saying, “and working from that they cleared out all the bank vaults. The loss probably amounted to several millions.”

“It’s almost impossible to determine what was really in the vaults” said the second, “because the people who rent the safety deposit boxes do not have to tell the bank what is locked up in them.”

“Yes, some people would declare that they had diamonds worth a hundred thousand marks when in reality they had only a bunch of worthless paper or a dozen plated spoons.” And both of them chuckled.

“That’s just what will happen to me,” thought Emil sadly. “I will say, ‘Herr Grundeis stole a hundred and forty marks from me’—and nobody will believe me. The thief will say I am just being impudent and it was only three marks and a half! What a nasty fix!”

The conductor was coming nearer and nearer the door. He was already standing in the doorway and calling, “Tickets?”

He tore off long white strips of paper and made rows of holes with a punch. The people on the platform gave him money and got their tickets.

“Now, you?” he questioned the boy.

“I lost my money Mr. Conductor,” answered Emil. Because no one would have believed about the robbery.

“Lost your money? I know that one. And where do you want to go?”

“I—I—don’t know yet,” stammered Emil.

“So? Well, you get off at the next station and find out where you want to go.”

“Oh, no, that won’t do. I must stay here, Mr. Conductor, please.”

“If I tell you to get off, you get off. Understand?”

“Give the youngster a ticket!” said the man who had been reading the paper. He gave money to the conductor. And the conductor gave the ticket to Emil, saying to the man, “If you only knew how many young ones get on here every day with a story of forgetting their money. And then they laugh at us behind our backs.”

“This one won’t laugh at us,” answered the man.

The conductor stepped back inside the car.

“Thank you very, very much,” said Emil.

“Oh, that’s all right!” answered the man and buried himself in his paper again.

Then the cars stopped once more. Emil leaned out to see if the man in the stiff hat got off. But there was nothing to see.

“Might I ask you for your address?” Emil asked the man.

“What for?”

“So I can give you back your money when I get some. I’m staying about a week in Berlin, so I could bring it to you. Tischbein is my name. Emil Tischbein from Neustadt.”

“No,” said the man. “The fare was a present, of course. Do you need anything more?”

“Oh, no, indeed,” exclaimed Emil. “I couldn’t take anything more.”

“All right,” said the man and turned back to his paper again.

And the car went on. And stopped. And went on farther. Emil read the name of the beautiful broad street. Kaiser Avenue, it was. He went on without knowing where he was going. In the other car sat a thief. And perhaps there were other thieves sitting or standing in the car. No one paid any attention to him. To be sure, a stranger had given him a ticket. But now he was just reading his paper again!

The city was so big, and Emil was so small. And no one cared to know why he had no money and why he didn’t know where he had to get off. Four million people lived in Berlin, and not one of them was interested in Emil Tischbein. No one wants to know about other people’s troubles. Everyone is busy about his own cares and joys. And when anyone says, “I’m really sorry about that,” he usually doesn’t mean anything more than, “Oh, leave me alone!”

What was going to happen? Emil swallowed hard and felt very very much alone.

Seventh Chapter

Great Excitement in Schumann Street

While Emil was standing on street car Number 177, riding down Kaiser Avenue without knowing where he would land, his grandmother and Pony Hütchen, his cousin, were waiting for him at the Friedrich Strasse Station. They were standing at the flower stall, according to the agreement, and kept looking at the clock. Many people passed by, with trunks and chests and satchels and pocketbooks and bouquets. But Emil was not among them.

“Probably he’s grown to be a big boy, don’t you suppose?” asked Pony and pushed her shiny little bicycle back and forth. She really shouldn’t have brought it. But she had teased about it so long that her grandmother had finally consented. “All right, take it along, you silly goose.” So now the silly goose was in a good humor and thinking happily of Emil’s respectful glance when he should see her wheel. “He’ll think it’s pretty grand,” she said, and was perfectly certain she was right.

The grandmother was getting worried. “I wish I knew what the matter is. It’s already twenty minutes past six, and the train must have come in long ago.”

They waited a few minutes more, and then her grandmother sent the little girl to inquire.

Of course, Pony Hütchen took her wheel with her. “Can you tell me where the train from Neustadt is?” she asked the guard, who stood at the gate with a punch to see that everyone who wanted to pass had a ticket.

“Neustadt? Neustadt?” he considered. “Oh, yes, six-seventeen! That train came in long ago.”

“Oh, dear, that’s a shame! You see, we’re waiting at the flower stand for my cousin Emil.”

“That’s fine, that’s fine,” said the man.

“Why should it be fine, Mr. Inspector?” asked Pony curiously, and played with the bell on her wheel.

The guard said nothing but turned his back on the child. “Aren’t you the bright boy?” said Pony, offended. “I hope I’ll meet you again.”

Several people laughed. The guard bit his lips angrily. And Pony trotted back to the flower stand.

“The train came in long ago, Grandmother.”

“What could have happened?” worried the old woman. “If he hadn’t started his mother would have telegraphed. Do you suppose he got off at the wrong station? But we wrote so carefully just what to do.”

“I can’t make head or tail of it,” Pony declared, and looked important. “He surely got off at the wrong station. Boys are so stupid. I’ll bet on it. You’ll see that I’m right.”

And because there was nothing else to do they waited again. Five minutes.

Another five minutes.

“But there is really no sense to this,” Pony told her grandmother. “We can stand here till we’re black in the face. I wonder if there’s another flower stand?”

“You go look around, but don’t stay long.”

Pony took her wheel again and inspected the station. There was no other flower stand. Then she pestered two innocent guards with questions and came back proudly.

“There,” she said, “there are no more flower stands. That _would_ be funny. What was I going to say? Oh, yes, the next train arrives from Neustadt at a little after half-past eight. We might just as well go home. And on the stroke of eight I’ll ride back here. If he isn’t here by then, he’ll get a red hot letter from me.”

“Pony, be more careful of your speech.”

“Well, you might say, he’ll get a cool letter from me.”

The grandmother looked anxious and shook her head. “I don’t like it, I don’t like it.” When she was excited she always said things twice over.

They went home slowly. On the way over the Weidendammer Bridge Pony asked, “Grandmother, would you like to sit on the handlebars?”

“Stop such silly talk.”

“Why? You aren’t a bit heavier than Arthur Zickler, and he often sits there when I ride.”

“If that happens just once again your father will take your wheel away for good.”

“Oh, dear, I can’t tell you a thing,” scolded Pony.

When they came to the Heimbolds’ house, 15 Schumann Street, there was great excitement. Everyone wanted to know where Emil was, and nobody knew.

The father suggested telegraphing Emil’s mother.

“For heaven’s sake!” cried his wife, Pony’s mother. “She’d be frightened to death. About eight o’clock we’ll all go to the station again. Perhaps he’ll come on the next train.”

“I hope so,” mourned the grandmother, “but I can’t help feeling—I don’t like it. I don’t like it.”

“I don’t like it,” said Pony Hütchen, and thoughtfully wagged her small head to and fro.

Eighth Chapter

The Boy with the Auto Horn Turns Up

At Trautenau Street on the corner of Kaiser Avenue the man with the stiff hat got off the car. Emil saw him, took up his bag and his bouquet, and said to the man reading the paper, “Thank you again and again, sir,” and climbed off the platform.

The thief went in front of the car, crossed the tracks, and headed for the other side of the street. The car went on, and when the way was clear Emil noticed that the man stopped, hesitated a moment, and then walked up the steps to an outdoor café.

Now again it was necessary to be very cautious. Like a detective that follows a clue, Emil sized up the situation, looked quickly around, noticed a news-stand on a corner, and ran as fast as he could to hide behind it. His hiding place was perfect. It lay between the stand and a post. The boy put down his baggage, took off his cap, and peeked out.

The man had seated himself on the terrace close to the railing. He was smoking a cigarette and seemed very pleased with himself. Emil was disgusted that a thief could be so thoroughly satisfied while the fellow who was robbed had to be so gloomy and not know what to do.

What a silly idea to hide behind a news-stand as if he himself were the thief instead of the other. What point was there in knowing that the man was sitting in Café Josty on Kaiser Avenue and that he was drinking light beer and smoking cigarettes? If the fellow would get up, then the chase could go on. But if he stayed there then Emil might hide behind the stand until he grew a long gray beard. Nothing was wanting now but for a policeman to come along and say, “My son, you look suspicious. Come, follow me of your own accord, now, or I’ll have to put the handcuffs on you.”

Suddenly a horn tooted right behind Emil. He jumped aside in fright and turned around to see a boy who stood there laughing at him.

“There, man, don’t get excited,” said the boy.

“Who honked that horn behind me?” asked Emil.

“Why, me, of course. You don’t come from Wilmersdorf, do you? Otherwise you’d have known long ago that I have a horn in my pants’ pocket. Everyone around here knows me as well as if I were a freak.”

“I’m from Neustadt. I just came from the station.”

“From Neustadt, eh? That’s why you’ve got such a goofy suit on?”

“Take that back! Or I’ll give you one that’ll lay you out cold.”

“Shucks man,” said the other cheerfully, “are you cross? The weather’s too excellent for fighting, but it’s O.K. with me.”

“We’ll ’tend to that later,” declared Emil. “I haven’t any time for such stuff now.” And he looked across at the café to see if Grundeis was still sitting there.

“I thought you had all the time in the world. Get behind a news-stand with his bag and his flowers and then start to play hide and go seek with himself. A fellow must have ten or twenty yards of time left over to do that.”

“No,” said Emil, “I’m watching a thief!”

“What? Did I understand the first time?” said the other. “Who did he swipe from?”

“Me!” answered Emil, and was positively proud of it. “In the train. While I was asleep. A hundred and forty marks. I was supposed to give them to my grandmother here in Berlin. Then he sneaked into another compartment and got out at the Zoo Station. Me after him, of course, you can imagine. Then on the street car. And now he’s sitting over there in that café, with his stiff hat, patting himself on the back.”

“But, man, that is marvelous,” cried the newcomer. “Just like a movie! And what are you going to do now?”

“No idea. Keep after him. That’s all I know right now.”

“Tell it to the cop there. He’ll nab him for you.”

“I don’t dare. I pulled a stunt home in Neustadt—not so good—and they’re after me now. And if I—”

“I get you.”

“And my grandmother is waiting at the Friedrich Strasse Station.”

The boy with the horn thought a bit. Then he said, “this looks like a swell stunt to me—some class, I’ll say. And, man, I’m with you, if it’s all right with you.”

“That would be mighty good of you.”

“Oh, cut it out, boy. One thing’s sure. I’m in on it. My name’s Gustav.”

“And mine’s Emil.”

They shook hands, well pleased with each other.

“But let’s get going,” advised Gustav. “If we do nothing but stand around here the crook will give us the slip. Have you any money?”

“Not a cent.”

Gustav honked softly to stir up his thoughts. It didn’t help.

“How would it be,” asked Emil, “if you got a few of your friends to help?”

“Man, the idea is superb,” cried Gustav excitedly. “All I have to do is to dash through the courtyards honking, and we’ll have the whole outfit.”

“Do it, then, but come back soon,” Emil advised him, “or else that thief over there will run away. And me after him, of course. And when you get back I’ll be out of sight.”

“True enough. I’ll hurry! Count on that. Anyhow, the bozo in the Café Josty there is eating boiled eggs and such things. He’ll stay a while. So see you later, Emil. Man, I’m crazy about it. This will be a humdinger.” And with that he tore off.

Emil felt wonderfully relieved. Of course, bad luck is always bad luck. But to have a few supporters who are on your side of their own free will is no small comfort.

He kept close watch on the thief, who was doing himself rather well, probably on Emil’s mother’s savings, too, and Emil had only one anxiety—that the man might get up and leave. Then Gustav and his horn and everything else would be of no use.

But Herr Grundeis did him the favor of staying where he was. If he’d had any idea of the conspiracy that was drawing around him like a bag he would have hired an airplane, at least. For now things were getting hot for him.

Ten minutes later Emil heard the horn again. He turned and saw at least two dozen boys marching down Trautenau Street with Gustav in the lead.

“Everybody halt! There, what do you say?” asked Gustav, his face all smiles.

“It’s great,” answered Emil, and poked Gustav in the ribs in his joy.

“Now, gentlemen, this is Emil from Neustadt. I’ve already told you the rest. Over across there sits the pig dog who swiped his money. That one to the right on the balcony with the black melon on his bean. If we let that brother get away our name is Mud from then on. Understand?”

“But, Gustav, we’ll get him all right,” said a boy with horn spectacles.

“That is the Professor,” explained Gustav.

And Emil shook hands with him.

Then the whole gang was introduced, one after the other.

“There,” said the Professor, “now we’ll step on the gas. Let’s go! First, the money!”

Everyone gave what he had. The pieces clinked into Emil’s cap. There was even one whole mark piece there. It came from a very small boy named Dienstag. He was so excited that he hopped from one foot to the other, and he was allowed to count the money.

“Our capital amounts to five marks and seventy pennies,” he announced to the eager listeners. “The best thing to do would be to divide the money between three people in case we have to separate.”

“Good,” said the Professor. He and Emil took two marks apiece. Gustav got one mark, seventy pennies.

“Thank you ever so much,” said Emil. “As soon as we get him I’ll pay you back. What do we do now? First I’d rather take my bag and my flowers some place. Because when the chase begins they’ll be terribly in my way.”

“Man, give me the stuff,” demanded Gustav. “I’ll take it right over to the Café Josty, leave it at the counter, and have a look at Mr. Thief at the same time.”

“But watch your step,” called the Professor. “The crook need not know that there are detectives on his trail. That would make it harder to get him.”

“Do you think I’m loony?” grumbled Gustav and started off.

“A fierce face for the pictures, the man has,” he remarked when he returned. “And the things are well taken care of. We can get them when we want them.”

“Now it would be best for us to hold a council of war,” advised Emil. “But not here. It might be noticed.”

“We’ll go to Nikolsburger Place,” decided the Professor. “Two of us will stay here at the news-stand and watch to see that the fellow doesn’t beat it. We’ll appoint five or six as scouts, who will relay the news. Then we’ll come back on the hot-foot.”

“Leave it to me,” called Gustav, and began immediately to organize his intelligence men. “I will stay here with the scouts,” he said to Emil, “don’t worry. We won’t let him get away. And you fellows speed up a little. It’s a few minutes past seven already. All set, now, and step on it.”

He appointed the scouts. And the others, with Emil and the Professor in the lead, streamed off to Nikolsburger Place.

Ninth Chapter

The Detectives Assemble

They seated themselves on two white benches that stood on the grounds and on the low iron railing surrounding the grass plot and looked solemn. The boy who was called the Professor had apparently been waiting for this day. He took off his spectacles and waved them around as his father, the Judge, did as he sketched out his program. “There is the possibility,” he announced, “that we will have to separate, for practical reasons. Therefore we must have a central telephone station. Which of you has a telephone?”

Twelve boys spoke up.

“And which one of you that owns a telephone has the most sensible parents?”

“I guess I have,” sang out Dienstag.

“Your telephone number?”

“Bavaria 0579.”

“Here are pencil and paper. Krummbiegel, make twenty slips and write Dienstag’s telephone number on each one. But write clearly. And then give each one of us a slip. The telephone central must always know where the detectives are and what’s going on. And whoever wants to get in touch will just call up little Dienstag and get accurate information from him.”

“But I won’t be at home,” said little Dienstag.

“Yes, indeed, you will be at home,” retorted the Professor. “As soon as we are through with this conference you will go home and attend to the telephone.”

“But I’d much rather be around when the criminal is caught. Little boys like me can be very useful at such times.”

“You go home and stay by the telephone. That’s a very responsible position.”

“Well, all right, if you want me to.”

Krummbiegel distributed the slips of paper. And each boy put his away carefully in his pocket. Several of the most thorough learned the number by heart at once.

“We ought to have some sort of reserves, too,” suggested Emil.

“Of course. All who aren’t absolutely needed in the hunt stay here in Nikolsburger Place. You’ll take turns in going home to tell them that probably you’ll be very late in coming home to-night. Some of you might say that you are spending the night with a friend. So that we will have substitutes and reserves if the chase lasts till morning. Gustav, Krummbiegel, Arnold, Mittenzwey, his brother, and I will call up in the meanwhile that we are staying out. Yes, and Traugott will go along to the Dienstags as messenger and will run to Nikolsburger Place if we need anyone. Then we’ll have the detectives, the reserves, the telephone bureau, and the messengers. Those are the most necessary departments, for the time being.”

“We will need something to eat,” suggested Emil. “Perhaps a few of you could go home and bring back some sandwiches.”

“Who lives nearest?” asked the Professor. “Off with you, Mittenzwey, Gerold, Friedrich the First, Brunot, Zerlett. Scoot and bring back some eats.”

The five boys darted off.

“You blockheads, you rattle on all the time about eating and telephones and sleeping out. But how you’re going to catch your man—that you don’t ever mention. You—you—school—schoolteachers,” growled Traugott. He couldn’t think of a deeper insult.

“Have you a machine for taking fingerprints?” asked Petzold.

“Perhaps, if he was very sly, he wore rubber gloves. And if so there would be nothing you could prove against him.” Petzold had been to twenty-two detective-story movies, and you can see they had done him no good.

“You’re simply moth-eaten,” said Traugott, disgusted. “They will just wait for the chance and take back from him the money he swiped.”

“Nonsense,” objected the Professor, “if we steal money from him, we’ll be the same sort of thieves that he is.”

“Don’t be funny,” cried Traugott. “If somebody steals from me and I steal back I’m no thief.”

“Yes, you are too a thief,” the Professor decided.

“Applesauce,” murmured Traugott.

“The Professor is right,” Emil broke in. “If I take anything from anybody secretly then I am a thief. And it is all the same whether it belonged to him or whether he had just stolen it from me.”

“That’s exactly right,” said the Professor. “But please do me the favor of not making wise speeches here that don’t do any good. The business is all arranged. How we are going to get the crook we can’t tell yet. That we must plan out as we go along. One thing is sure—that he must give back the money of his own free will. To steal it would be idiotic.”

“That I don’t understand,” objected the little Dienstag. “I can’t steal what belongs to me! What’s mine is mine, even if it is sticking in someone else’s pocket.”

“Those are differences that are hard to understand,” expounded the Professor. “Morally, you are right, in my opinion, but the Court will decide against you, just the same. Even many grown-ups do not understand it, but it is so.”

“It’s all the same to me,” said Traugott, and shrugged his shoulders.

“And look sharp, now, can you act like a sleuth?” asked Petzold. “Otherwise he’ll turn around and see you, and then good-night!”

“Yes, it will take good sleuthing,” agreed little Dienstag. “That’s why I thought you could use me. I can sneak along wonderfully. And I would be a whiz as a kind of police dog. I can bark, too.”

“Yes, sneak along in Berlin so that no one will see you,” Emil was irritated. “If you want everyone to look at you just begin to sneak along.”

“But you must have a revolver,” cried Petzold. He wasn’t to be squelched for his suggestions.

“You do need a revolver,” agreed two or three others.

“No,” said the Professor.

“The thief surely has one.” Traugott wanted to bet on it.

“This business is dangerous,” declared Emil, “and anyone who is afraid had better go home to bed.”

“Do you mean to say that I’m a coward?” inquired Traugott fiercely as he strode to the center like a professional boxer.

“Order,” called the Professor, “thrash that out to-morrow. What sort of a performance is that? You behave just like—like children!”

“But that’s just what we are,” said little Dienstag, and everybody had to laugh.

“I really ought to write my grandmother a note,” said Emil, “because my relatives have no idea where I am. They might even run to the police. Could anyone take a letter for me while we are chasing the fellow? They live at 15 Schumann Street. That would be very kind!”

“Let me,” said a boy whose name was Bleuer. “But write quickly, so that I can get there before the house is closed. I’ll go as far as the Oranienburger Gate on the subway. Who will stake me?”

The Professor gave him money for the fare. Twenty pennies for going and coming. Emil borrowed pencil and paper and wrote:

Dear Grandmother:

You must be worrying about where I am. I am in Berlin. But I’m sorry I can’t come right now because I have to attend to some important business first. Don’t ask about it. And don’t worry. When everything is settled I’ll be glad to come along. The boy with the letter is a friend and knows where I am. But he can’t tell you. Because it is an official secret. Love to Uncle, Aunt, and Pony Hütchen.

Your faithful grandson, Emil.

P. S. Mummy sent her love. I have flowers for you, too. You’ll get them as soon as I bring them.

Then Emil wrote the address on the other side, folded the paper together and said, “But don’t you tell any of my family where I am and that the money is gone or I’ll be in hot water.”

“O.K. Emil,” said Bleuer. “Give me the telegram. When I come back I’ll ring little Dienstag to hear what has happened meanwhile. And count me in on the reserve staff.” Then he hurried off.

Meanwhile the five boys had returned with packages of sandwiches. Gerold even brought along a whole sausage. He had got it from his mother, he said. Well, maybe.

The five had informed their families that they would be away for a few hours more. Emil divided the sandwiches, and each put one away in reserve in his pocket Emil kept the sausage under his own care.

Then five other boys ran home to see if they too might stay away a while longer. Two of them did not return. Apparently their parents forbade it.

The Professor gave the password, so that they might always know, if anyone came or telephoned, whether he was one of them. The password was “Emil.” That was easy to understand.

Then little Dienstag, with Traugott, the grumbling messenger, went off, saying, “Well, hope you choke, boys.” The Professor called after him to go to his house and tell his father that he had important business to attend to. “Then he’ll be relieved and have nothing against it,” he added.

“My word!” said Emil, “but there are splendid parents in Berlin.”

“Don’t imagine that they are all so nice,” said Krummbiegel, and scratched himself behind his ears.

“Oh, well, the average one is all right,” answered the Professor. “It is the most sensible way to be. This way we don’t lie to them. I’ve promised my parents not to do anything that’s wrong or dangerous. And as long as I keep my word I can do what I want to. He is a splendid fellow, my father.”

“Simply great!” repeated Emil. “But, listen, perhaps it will be dangerous to-day.”

“Well, then, it’s off with the permission,” admitted the Professor and shrugged his shoulders. “He said that I should always see to it that I behave just as if he were with me. And I’m doing that to-day. So now we’ll cut off.”

He planted himself before the band and called out, “The detectives expect you to do your duty. The telephone central is established. I’ll leave my money with you. There is still a mark, fifty pennies. Here, Gerold, take it and count it. Provisions are here. Money we have. Everybody knows the telephone number. One more thing: whoever has to go home, beat it. But at least five people must stay. Gerold, you must be responsible for that. Show that you are real boys. Meanwhile we’ll do our best. When we need ♦substitutes little Dienstag will send Traugott to us. Has anyone another question? Is everything clear? Password, Emil!”

“Password, Emil!” shouted the boys so that Nikolsburger Place shook, and the passers-by looked daggers.

Emil was almost happy that his money had been stolen from him.

♦ “substitues” replaced with “substitutes”

Tenth Chapter

A Taxi Is Trailed

Three of the staff runners came storming out of Trautenau Street, brandishing their arms about wildly.

“Off!” said the Professor, and on the second he, Emil, the Mittenzwey boys, and Krummbiegel ran toward Kaiser Avenue as if they were trying to break the record for the hundred-yard dash. The last twelve yards to the news-stand they took very carefully, and held back, because Gustav motioned to them to stop.

“Too late?” asked Emil out of breath.

“Are you crazy, man?” whispered Gustav. “When I do anything I do it right.”

The thief was standing across the street in front of the Café Josty, looking around at the view as if he were in Switzerland. Presently he bought an evening paper from the newsboy and began to read.

“If he comes across and runs into us now,” murmured Krummbiegel, “it will be a nasty business.”

They stood behind the news-stand, craning their necks around the side, and trembled with excitement.

The thief took not the slightest notice, but turned the pages of his paper with admirable perseverance.

“He must be squinting over the edge, though, to see if anyone is spying on him,” Mittenzwey the older decided.

“Has he looked over toward you often?” asked the Professor.

“Not a blink. He gobbled as if he hadn’t eaten for three days.”

“Attention!” called Emil.

The man in the stiff hat folded up his paper, glanced over the passers-by, and then like lightning beckoned to an empty taxi that was passing. The taxi stopped, the man got in, and the taxi rolled off.

But, presto, there sat the boys in another taxi, and Gustav was saying to the driver: “Do you see that car that’s just turning into Prager Place? Yes? Drive behind it, please. But be careful, so that he won’t notice.” The car started up, crossed Kaiser Avenue, and traveled along at a safe distance behind the other taxi.

“What’s up?” asked the chauffeur.

“The fellow ahead there pulled a raw one, and we’re sticking to him like burrs,” explained Gustav. “But that’s just between ourselves, understand?”

“Just as you gentlemen wish,” answered the chauffeur, and inquired further: “But have you any money?”

“What do you take us for?” called the Professor reproachfully.

“Oh, well,” grumbled the man.

“I A. 3733 is his number,” Emil informed them.

“That’s important,” decided the Professor, and made a note of the figures.

“Not too near to the fellow,” warned Krummbiegel.

“All right,” mumbled the chauffeur.

So they went down Motz Street, down Viktoria-Luise Place and on down Motz Street again. Some people stopped on the sidewalk and laughed at the strange company of gentlemen in the taxi.

“Duck,” whispered Gustav. The boys threw themselves on the floor of the cab and lay huddled together like cabbages and turnips.

“What’s the matter?” asked the Professor.

“There’s a red light at Luther Street, man! You’ve got to stop there, and the other car won’t get across, either.”

Sure enough both cars stopped and waited, one behind the other, until the green light came on and gave the right of way again. But no one could have told that the second car was occupied. It seemed empty. The boys crouched down to give it that appearance. The chauffeur turned around, saw the performance, and had to laugh. As the car drove on they all bobbed up cautiously again.

“If only the trip doesn’t last too long,” said the Professor, as he inspected the meter. “This joy ride has cost eighty pfennigs already.”

The journey was even then coming to an end. At Nollendorf Place the first taxi stopped right in front of the Hôtel Kreid. The second car put on its brakes at the same moment and waited outside the danger zone for whatever might happen next.

The man in the stiff hat got out, paid his fare, and disappeared into the hotel.

“Gustav, after him!” commanded the Professor anxiously. “If that place has two entrances he is off.” Gustav vanished.

Then the other boys got out. Emil paid. It cost one mark. The Professor led his followers through a gate leading past a movie theater into a great courtyard that stretched behind the theater to Nollendorf Place. Then he sent Krummbiegel out to catch Gustav.

“Lucky for me if the guy stays in the hotel,” decided Emil. “This courtyard makes a wonderful headquarters.”

“With all the modern conveniences,” added the Professor, “subway station over there, telephone booths, and places to hide. It couldn’t be better.”

“Hope Gustav will get out of it all right,” said Emil.

“Trust him,” answered Mittenzwey the younger. “He’s not so dumb as he looks.”

“If only he’d come soon,” worried the Professor, and seated himself in a chair that had been left in the courtyard. He looked like Napoleon before the battle of Leipzig.

And then Gustav came back.

“We’ve got him!” he said, and rubbed his hands together. “He is really staying in the hotel. I saw the elevator boy take him upstairs. There isn’t any other entrance, either. I looked the joint over from all sides. If he doesn’t go off over the roof, he is trapped.”

“Krummbiegel is keeping watch?” asked the Professor.

“Of course, man!”

Then Mittenzwey the elder got a nickel, ran into a café, and telephoned little Dienstag.

“Hello! Dienstag?”

“Yes, speaking,” crowed little Dienstag at the other end.

“Password, Emil. This is Mittenzwey, senior. The man in the stiff hat is staying at Hôtel Kreid in Nollendorf Place. The headquarters is located in the courtyard of the West-movie, the left entrance.”

Little Dienstag noted it all down conscientiously, repeated it, and then asked, “Do you need any reinforcements, Mittendurch?”

“No!”

“Was it hard up to now?”

“Oh, so-so. The guy took a taxi, and we took another, you understand, and kept right behind him until he got out. He’s taken a room and is up there now. Probably looking to see who’s under the bed and playing skat with himself.”

“What’s the room number?”

“We don’t know yet. But we’ll get it soon.”

“How I wish I were there with you! Do you know, the first time after vacation that we can choose our own theme subjects I’m going to write it up.”

“Any of the others called up yet?”

“No, no one. It makes me sick.”

“Well, so long, little Dienstag.”

“Success to you, gentlemen. What else did I want to say?... Password, Emil!”

“Password, Emil,” replied Mittenzwey, and reported back to headquarters in the courtyard of the West-movie. It was already eight o’clock. The Professor went to check up on the guard.

“We won’t get him to-day, that’s sure,” said Gustav fretfully.

“Still, it will be lucky for us if he goes right to bed,” Emil explained. “For if he runs around for hours more in an auto and goes to restaurants, or to dance, or to the theater, or all together, we’ll have to dig up a little foreign credit beforehand.”

The Professor came back, sent the two Mittenzweys as communication men to Nollendorf Place, and was very preoccupied. “We must plan some way to keep a closer watch on the man,” he said. “Everybody think hard, please.”

So they all sat for a long time and pondered heavily.

Just then a bicycle bell tinkled through the yard, and into the court rolled a small nickel-plated bicycle. Seated upon it was a small girl, and on the wheel stood Comrade Bleuer, and both sang out, “Hurrah!”

Emil jumped up, helped them both off the wheel, shook hands with the little girl enthusiastically, and announced to the others, “This is my cousin, Pony Hütchen.”

The Professor politely offered his chair to Pony, and she seated herself.

“There, now, Emil, you villain,” she said. “Come to Berlin and immediately act like a movie. We were just going back to the Friedrich Strasse Station to meet the next train from Neustadt when your friend Bleuer came with the note. A nice boy too. Congratulations.”

Bleuer stuck out his chest and blushed.

“Now, then,” continued Pony. “Mother and Father and Grandmother are waiting at home, having brainstorms trying to figure out what really is the matter with you. Of course, we didn’t tell them anything. I just stopped Bleuer in front of the house and skipped off a little. But I must go right back home. Or else they’ll be calling the police. Because, another child lost on the self-same day—that would be more than their nerves could stand.”

“Here is the groschen for the return trip,” said Bleuer, very proud. “We saved it.” The Professor put the money away.

“Were they cross?” asked Emil.

“Not a bit,” answered Pony. “Grandmother galloped around the room crying, ‘Grandson Emil has just gone to make a call on the President,’ until Mother and Father quieted her down. But you’ll have the guy by to-morrow, I hope? Who is your Sherlock Holmes?”

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

“So pleased, Professor,” declared Pony, “to meet a real detective at last.”

The Professor laughed sheepishly and stuttered a few unintelligible words.

“And now,” said Pony, “here is my pocket money, fifty-five pfennigs. Buy yourself some cigars.”

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

“And now I must make myself scarce,” said Pony Hütchen. “I’ll be here early to-morrow. Where are you going to sleep? Gee, but I’d like to stay here and make your coffee in the morning. But what can you do? A woman’s place is in the home. So long. See you later, gentlemen. Good-night, Emil!”

She gave Emil a clap on the shoulder, jumped on her wheel, tinkled the bell gayly, and rolled away.

The detectives stood for some time speechless.

Finally the Professor opened his mouth and said, “Great gosh!”

And the others agreed heartily.

Eleventh Chapter

A Spy Slips into the Hotel

Time passed slowly.

Emil visited the three outposts and wanted to relieve one of them. But Krummbiegel and the two Mittenzweys announced that they were staying. Whereupon Emil ventured very cautiously to the Hôtel Kreid, picked up the latest bulletins, and returned to the courtyard in great excitement.

“I have the feeling,” he said, “that something must be done. We can’t leave the hotel all night without anyone to watch. To be sure, Krummbiegel is standing at the corner of Kleist Street. But he only has to turn his head, and Grundeis can go flying off in the other direction.”

“That is all very well,” returned Gustav. “But we can’t just run to the porter and say, ‘Listen, we’re just going to sit here on these steps.’ And you yourself certainly can’t go into the building. If the guy should poke his head out of his door and recognize you, the whole performance so far would be no good.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” answered Emil.

“What then?”

“Well, there’s a boy in the hotel. The one who runs the elevator and such. If one of us should go to him and tell him what’s up—he knows the hotel like his own vest pocket. He’ll surely have a good idea.”

“Good,” said the Professor, “that’s fine.” He had a comical habit of acting as though he were giving out marks to the others. That was why he was called the Professor.

“This Emil—another hunch like that and we’ll make him the mayor. As smart as a Berliner,” cried Gustav.

“Don’t imagine that you’re the only smart ones!” Emil was emphatic. He felt his pride in Neustadt wounded.

“Anyway, we still have a fight to finish.”

“What for?” asked the Professor.

“Well, he made fun of my best suit.”

“The fight can come off to-morrow,” the Professor decided, “to-morrow or not at all.”

“Oh, the suit isn’t so bad. I’m getting used to it,” Gustav declared good-naturedly. “But we can fight, anyway. Only you might as well take notice that I am the champion of the gang. So watch out!”

“And in school I am the best of any weight,” boasted Emil.

“It’s terrible the way you brag of your muscles,” said the Professor. “I’d really like to go over into the hotel myself. But I can’t leave you two alone a minute, because you always start a fight.”

“Then I’ll go!” broke in Gustav.

“Right,” said the Professor, “you go! And talk to the boy. But be careful! Perhaps something can be done. Find out for sure what room the fellow is in. In an hour come back and bring the information.”

Gustav vanished.