Morgan said. "Let's get up on that balcony over there. We'll get a great view."
They scrambled up the stairs of the house next to the jewelry store, just as two police cars, sirens sounding, came whizzing up to the curb. Uniformed policemen and one plainclothes detective leaped out of the cars.
"What are you kids doing up there?" the detective called out. "Get down!" As the boys started down the stairs, he strode off to the shop door. "Somebody get in there and shut off that noise," he said grumpily. "Now get back, everybody. Move along."
He elbowed Leonard out of the way. "Dust this door for prints," he ordered. Striding past Alfie and Morgan, he went back to the patrol car and picked up the radio mike. "I've got a 459 here," he said. "Code 4." He put down the mike. "Any prints?" he called over to the officers.
"No prints, sir. But I think I've got something else — fibers," one of the men answered.
Leonard, standing off at one side, watched carefulIy. He loved detectives as much as he hated monsters. The detective flipped out a magnifying glass. He examined the rough edges of the broken glass around the lock. Then taking a pair of tweezers, he picked off some fibers and placed them in a plastic envelope.
From the other side of the door, the policeman who had gone into the shop to turn off the alarm called out: "The safe's been blown, sir."
Just then a long dark car swept up behind the parked police cars. A dignified white-haired man stepped out onto the sidewalk. "I'm Flack," he said. "This is my store. What's happened?"
The detective turned. "Mr. Flack? Well, your safe has been blown, sir."
Mr. Flack's eyes widened. He made no reply but pushed past the boys and the police and hurried into his shop. In seconds he was back, holding an empty velvet-lined tray. "It's gone! Gone!" he cried.
"What's gone, sir?"
"The Daumier jewels!" Mr. Flack gasped.
"What are the Dawm-yay jewels?" the detective asked.
Mr. Flack groaned. "Only one of the most beautiful choker necklaces in the world!" he exclaimed. "Pigeon's-blood rubies set in gold!"
"Let's go into the shop, Mr. Flack," the detective said, taking the jeweler by the arm. "Don't worry — we'll find out who did it."
"Find out who did it!" Mr. Flack cried. "Find my necklace! That's what I want!"
The door closed behind them and Leonard moved over to the window to peer after them.
"Come on, Leonard," Alfie said. "We've got to get on home."
"Yeah. Come on," Morgan added. "They're never going to find the person who did it."
Leonard didn't budge. He watched the detective inside examining the big safe through his magnifying glass. "If I were a detective, I'd find out who did it," he said.
Alfie chuckled. "You a detective!"
Leonard turned around. "Yeah — me. Why not? I've got a magnifying glass."
Alfie held his sides laughing. "You've got to have more than that to be a detective."
Morgan grinned. "You have to have
courage
, Leonard. You have to have nerve."
"And that lets you out," Alfie said. "You'd better stick to
pretending
."
But the next day Alfie realized that his young brother was taking the detective business seriously. Instead of helping to pack the car for the trip to the beach house, Leonard was examining everything in sight through a big, round magnifying glass. Alfie looked on silently as Leonard bent over the chrome doorhandle of their mother's car.
"Instead of searching for clues for some unknown crime, Leonard, why don't you do something useful — like searching for a place to put these?" Alfie held out a hammer and a two-foot long stake.
Just then, Marsha Booth, the boys' pretty mother, came out of the house carrying a battered old typewriter. "Alfie!" she exclaimed. "Are those things absolutely necessary? We're already loaded down."
"Yep, they're necessary," Alfie replied. "They're props for my new movie. I've decided to film
Dracula
this summer."
His mother frowned. "Does it have to be so realistic?" she asked. "Oh, well — okay. Throw
They scrambled up the stairs of the house next to the jewelry store, just as two police cars, sirens sounding, came whizzing up to the curb. Uniformed policemen and one plainclothes detective leaped out of the cars.
"What are you kids doing up there?" the detective called out. "Get down!" As the boys started down the stairs, he strode off to the shop door. "Somebody get in there and shut off that noise," he said grumpily. "Now get back, everybody. Move along."
He elbowed Leonard out of the way. "Dust this door for prints," he ordered. Striding past Alfie and Morgan, he went back to the patrol car and picked up the radio mike. "I've got a 459 here," he said. "Code 4." He put down the mike. "Any prints?" he called over to the officers.
"No prints, sir. But I think I've got something else — fibers," one of the men answered.
Leonard, standing off at one side, watched carefulIy. He loved detectives as much as he hated monsters. The detective flipped out a magnifying glass. He examined the rough edges of the broken glass around the lock. Then taking a pair of tweezers, he picked off some fibers and placed them in a plastic envelope.
From the other side of the door, the policeman who had gone into the shop to turn off the alarm called out: "The safe's been blown, sir."
Just then a long dark car swept up behind the parked police cars. A dignified white-haired man stepped out onto the sidewalk. "I'm Flack," he said. "This is my store. What's happened?"
The detective turned. "Mr. Flack? Well, your safe has been blown, sir."
Mr. Flack's eyes widened. He made no reply but pushed past the boys and the police and hurried into his shop. In seconds he was back, holding an empty velvet-lined tray. "It's gone! Gone!" he cried.
"What's gone, sir?"
"The Daumier jewels!" Mr. Flack gasped.
"What are the Dawm-yay jewels?" the detective asked.
Mr. Flack groaned. "Only one of the most beautiful choker necklaces in the world!" he exclaimed. "Pigeon's-blood rubies set in gold!"
"Let's go into the shop, Mr. Flack," the detective said, taking the jeweler by the arm. "Don't worry — we'll find out who did it."
"Find out who did it!" Mr. Flack cried. "Find my necklace! That's what I want!"
The door closed behind them and Leonard moved over to the window to peer after them.
"Come on, Leonard," Alfie said. "We've got to get on home."
"Yeah. Come on," Morgan added. "They're never going to find the person who did it."
Leonard didn't budge. He watched the detective inside examining the big safe through his magnifying glass. "If I were a detective, I'd find out who did it," he said.
Alfie chuckled. "You a detective!"
Leonard turned around. "Yeah — me. Why not? I've got a magnifying glass."
Alfie held his sides laughing. "You've got to have more than that to be a detective."
Morgan grinned. "You have to have
courage
, Leonard. You have to have nerve."
"And that lets you out," Alfie said. "You'd better stick to
pretending
."
But the next day Alfie realized that his young brother was taking the detective business seriously. Instead of helping to pack the car for the trip to the beach house, Leonard was examining everything in sight through a big, round magnifying glass. Alfie looked on silently as Leonard bent over the chrome doorhandle of their mother's car.
"Instead of searching for clues for some unknown crime, Leonard, why don't you do something useful — like searching for a place to put these?" Alfie held out a hammer and a two-foot long stake.
Just then, Marsha Booth, the boys' pretty mother, came out of the house carrying a battered old typewriter. "Alfie!" she exclaimed. "Are those things absolutely necessary? We're already loaded down."
"Yep, they're necessary," Alfie replied. "They're props for my new movie. I've decided to film
Dracula
this summer."
His mother frowned. "Does it have to be so realistic?" she asked. "Oh, well — okay. Throw
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