ENCYCLOPEDIA BROWN CARRIES ON Read online

  ENCYCLOPEDIA BROWN CARRIES ON

  by DONALD J. SOBOL

  illustrations by IB OHLSSON

  NEW YORK

  FOUR WINDS PRESS

  Contents

  The Case of the Giant Mousetrap

  The Case of Bugs Meany, Thinker

  The Case of the Grape Catcher

  The Case of the Left-Handers Club

  The Case of the Diving Partner

  The Case of the Upside-Down Witness

  The Case of the Marvelous Egg

  The Case of the Overfed Pigs

  The Case of the Ball of String

  The Case of the Thermos Bottle

  Solutions

  The Case Of the Giant Mousetrap

  Idaville!

  Crooks turned pale at the mention of the town. They knew what to expect there — a fast trip to jail.

  No one. grown-up or child, got away with breaking the law in Idaville.

  Police across the nation wondered. How did Idaville do it? What was the secret behind its record of law and order?

  Idaville looked like many other seaside towns. It had lovely beaches, three movie theaters, and four banks. It had churches, a synagogue, and two delicatessens.

  And. of course, it had a police station. But that was not the real headquarters of the war on crime. A quiet red brick house on Rover Avenue was.

  In the house lived Encyclopedia Brown. Americas Sherlock Holmes in sneakers.

  Mr. Brown. Encyclopedia s father, was chief of police. He was brave and smart. But once in a while he came across a case that no one on the force could crack.

  When that happened, Chief Brown knew what to do. He went home.

  At the dinner table he told the facts to Encyclopedia. One telling was enough. Before the meal was over, Encyclopedia had solved the mystery for him.

  Chief Brown was proud of his only child. He wanted it written in every school book: “The greatest detective in history wears sneakers to work.”

  But who would believe such a statement?

  Who would believe that the brains behind Idaville’s crime clean-up was ten years old? History wasn’t ready for that.

  So Chief Brown said nothing.

  Encyclopedia never let slip a word about the help he gave his father. He didn’t want to seem different from other fifth graders.

  But there was nothing he could do about his nickname. He was stuck with it.

  Only his parents and his teachers called him by his real name, Leroy. Everyone else called him Encyclopedia.

  An encyclopedia is a book or set of books filled with all kinds of facts. Just like Encyclopedia’s head.

  Encyclopedia had read more books than anyone in Idaville, and he never forgot what he read. You might say he was the only library in America whose steps left footprints with a saw-toothed tread.

  At the dinner table one Friday night, Chief Brown stirred his soup slowly. It was a sign that Encyclopedia and his mother knew well. A case was troubling him.

  After a moment Chief Brown put down his spoon and said, “Salvatore Custer is at it again/'

  “Oh, no/' groaned Encyclopedia.

  Salvatore was an unemployed inventor and artist. He lived in Idaville six months of the year. The rest of the time he spent hanging his paintings in museums. Authorities removed them the instant they were discovered.

  “Do you know the old saying, ‘Build a better mousetrap and the world will beat a path to your door?” asked Chief Brown. “Salvatore thought it said bigger mousetrap.”

  Chief Brown explained. Salvatore had built a mousetrap eight feet long, six feet wide, and five feet high. It had a motor and wheels, and it could go faster than a speeding mouse.

  A museum of art in New York City had been interested for a while. But the museum had wounded Salvatore's pride. It had asked him to pay the shipping cost.

  Next he had tried an exterminating company. He had thought the mousetrap would make good advertising. Turned down, he had parked his creation on the front lawn at City Hall.

  "The problem,” said Chief Brown, “is that no one wants it there, and yet no one wants to move it. Salvatore won’t drive it off—or rather, he’s unable to. He hid the key and now he can’t find it.”

  “How absolutely wild,” said Mrs. Brown. “Why did he hide the key?”

  “He was angry at the world for refusing his art,” said Chief Brown, taking a notebook from his breast pocket. “Maybe you can help, Leroy. I wrote down everything Salvatore told me.”

  Using his notes, Chief Brown related what had happened.

  About one o’clock that afternoon, Salvatore left the mousetrap in front of City Hall. “It’s my gift to Idaville,” he announced bitterly.

  Just then a police car pulled up. Salvatore thought he was about to be arrested. Frightened, he fled into City Hall, hoping to escape through the rear exit.

  In the lobby, he slipped on the marble floor. His head banged against a pillar. Dazed, he made his way unsteadily to the bank of elevators, which was nearer than the rear exit.

  He remembered that in the subbasement there was a stairway that led up to Fourth Street at the side of the building. It seemed to him the best means of getting away.

  As he rode dizzily down in the elevator, he grew angry. People had laughed enough at his art and inventions. He decided to strike back.

  When he got off the elevator, he hid the ignition key to the mousetrap. He put it in one of the trash boxes standing in a corner. If the police caught him, they would not find it.

  The elevator car he had ridden was one of two that serviced the underground floor. He had just hidden the key when he saw the other elevator coming down. The police, he thought, were in full chase.

  He was still dizzy, and he realized that he had no chance of outrunning his pursuers. So he decided not to use the stairs to Fourth Street.

  He pressed the “up” button on the wall. The doors of his elevator opened, and he took it to the second floor. From there he hurried down the fire stairs to the ground floor and escaped out the rear exit.

  Chief Brown closed his notebook. “That’s about all of it,” he said. “I found Salvatore at his sister’s house. He was sorry about hiding the key, but it is too late.”

  “Why?” asked Mrs. Brown.

  “The subbasement is the only floor that’s cleaned out on Fridays. All the trash there —including the box with the key —was trucked to the dump and burned.”

  “Is the key really so important?” said Mrs. Brown. “Why can’t the mousetrap be pushed off the lawn?”

  Chief Brown chuckled. “When Salvatore hid the key, he may have been dizzy. But he was clearheaded about city government.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Mrs. Brown.

  Chief Brown took a deep breath. ‘‘The police department won’t touch the mousetrap. We claim it’s the job of the department of parks. They say it’s the job of the department of roads. It may be the job of the fire department or the dog pound. The mayor is looking up the law.”

  ‘‘Then the mousetrap will stay on the lawn for weeks,” said Mrs. Brown.

  Chief Brown nodded. ‘‘There the thing sits, right in the middle of town, waiting for a mouse the size of a dragon. It’s Salvatore’s revenge.”

  A long silence fell upon the room. Mrs. Brown glanced at Encyclopedia. He had not asked his one question. Usually he needed but one question to solve a case.

  He had closed his eyes. He always closed his eyes when he did his heaviest thinking.

  Suddenly his eyes opened. He asked his question.

  “How many floors are there in City Hall, Dad?”

  Chief Brown thought for a moment. “There’s the subbasement at the bottom . . . and
then the basement. Above ground are five floors.”

  “What does that have to do with the problem, Leroy?” asked Mrs. Brown. “The problem is to get the mousetrap moved.”

  “I just wanted to be certain there wasn’t another floor below the subbasement,” replied the boy detective. His parents looked at him, puzzled.

  “The key wasn’t taken to the dump,” said Encyclopedia. “It’s still where Salvatore put it.”

  WHAT MADE ENCYCLOPEDIA SO SURE?

  (Turn to page 61 for the solution to “The Case of the Giant Mousetrap.”)

  The Case of Bugs Meany, Thinker

  During the summer, Encyclopedia solved cases for the children of the neighborhood.

  As soon as school let out, he set up a detective agency in the garage. Every morning he hung out his sign:

  BROWN DETECTIVE AGENCY 13 Rover Avenue Leroy Brown, President No Case Too Small 25c Per Day Plus Expenses

  The first customer on Monday morning was Winslow Brant. Winslow was Idaville's master snooper. He snooped in trash piles all over town.

  If he found something old and interesting, he fixed it up. Then he sold it at a flea market. “I want to hire you,” he said to Encyclopedia. “I think Bugs Meany smooth-talked me out of a cut- glass lamp.”

  Bugs Meany was the leader of a gang of tough older boys. They called themselves the Tigers. They should have called themselves the Elbow Bands. They were always up to something crooked.

  “I found the lamp in Mrs. Bailey’s trash last week,” said Winslow. “It must be seventy-five years old and worth a lot to anyone who likes old lamps.” “Bugs stole it?” asked Encyclopedia.

  “In a way,” said Winslow. “I was taking it home when I met him. He told me he’d give me a Doctor of Philosophy diploma for it —if I was smart enough.” “Come again?” said Encyclopedia.

  “Bugs tested my brains,” Winslow went on. “He asked me: ‘If Y equals Z times X, how long would it take a woodpecker to drill a hole through a kosher pickle?’ I got the answer.”

  “You did?”

  “I said the problem couldn’t be solved without knowing the thickness of the pickle and the length of the woodpecker’s beak. Bugs shook my hand. He said I could take his course in deep thinking.”

  Encyclopedia groaned. “On graduation, you’d get a Doctor of Philosophy diploma. And all Bugs wanted in return was the lamp.”

  “Right,” said Winslow. “I thought of how proud my folks would be of their nine-year-old son the

  doctor. But I think Bugs put one over on me.”

  He laid twenty-five cents on the gas can beside Encyclopedia. “I want you to get back my lamp. Bugs said he’d return it if I wasn’t completely satisfied with my progress.”

  “In that case, I’ll see what I can do,” replied Encyclopedia. He had handled Bugs and his Tigers in the past.

  The Tigers’ clubhouse was an unused toolshed behind Mr. Sweeney’s Auto Body Shop. On the way there, Winslow explained about the deep-thinking course.

  Bugs had told him to start slowly —say, one thought a day. After six weeks, a student should be having two-and-a-half thoughts a day. Even if they were always the same thoughts, they would be enough to earn a diploma as a Doctor of Philosophy.

  When Encyclopedia and Winslow arrived at the Tigers’ clubhouse, they found Bugs inside practicing his penmanship. He was learning to write excuse notes in his mother’s handwriting.

  “We came for Winslow’s lamp,” said Encyclopedia.

  “Your thinking course is a big fat fake,” added Winslow.

  “What? What is this I hear?” gasped Bugs. “How is it possible? I myself got into deep thinking only three months ago. Already I am a new man.”

  “It hasn’t done a thing for me,” said Winslow.

  “Perhaps you didn’t heed my advice, dear lad,” said Bugs, in a hurt voice. “If you put your mind to it, it will change your entire life and earn you a diploma.”

  “Just give me back my lamp,” insisted Winslow.

  Bugs lifted his gaze as though praying for patience.

  “Did I try to sell you one of those new thinking caps, the ones with the orange and white racing stripes?” he asked. “No, no, no! All I asked was that you wear loose, comfortable clothes. And avoid tight shoes at all costs.”

  “You didn’t have to sell me anything,” said Winslow. “You took my lamp.”

  “Lamp?” exclaimed Bugs. “What lamp?”

  “The cut-glass lamp I traded for your phoney course,” said Winslow. “Maybe you forgot Mr. Stevens. He was cutting his grass when I handed the lamp to you. He saw us.”

  Bug’s eyes squinted shut as though he’d been whacked on the nose.

  “Don’t faint on me,” said Winslow.

  “I was merely pausing in memory of all the sardines caught off the coast of Alaska,” explained Bugs calmly.

  “Huh?” muttered Winslow.

  “Wait a second.... I seem to recall such a lamp,” said Bugs. He breathed a sigh of regret. “Alas, it is no more.”

  “What happened to it?” demanded Encyclopedia.

  “Sunday I was taking it to the flea market,” said Bugs. “I was sitting with it in the cargo space of my uncle’s truck. Suddenly the truck stopped for a traffic light—screech! The lamp flew back over the tailgate. It landed on the street—smash!

  Bugs grinned at Encyclopedia, double-daring the boy detective to prove the story untrue.

  Encyclopedia grinned back.

  “Sorry, Bugs,” he said. “You won’t get me to fall for that one. Better take another course in deep thinking.”

  WHAT WAS BUGS’S MISTAKE?

  (Turn to page 62 for the solution to “The Case of Bugs Meany, Thinker.”)

  The Case of the Grape Catcher

  Bugs Meany thought a great deal about Encyclopedia’s teeth.

  The Tigers’ leader longed to knock them so far that people a mile away would start dressing Christmas trees, thinking it was snowing.

  Bugs hated being outsmarted time after time. He wanted to get even. But he didn’t dare use muscle. Whenever he had that urge, he remembered Sally Kimball.

  Sally was Encyclopedia’s junior partner. She was also the prettiest girl in the fifth grade and the best athlete. More than once she had done the impossible. She had punched out Bugs Meany!

  Because of Sally, Bugs never dared hit Encyclopedia. He never stopped planning his revenge, however.

  “Bugs won’t rest till he gets back at you, Encyclopedia,” warned Sally.“And at you,” added Encyclopedia. “He tells everyone that he won’t hit a girl. He says that he lets you win.”

  “Sour grapes,” snorted Sally. “Speaking of grapes —my goodness! —I’m due at Edsel Wagon- bottom’s house right now. He wants me to pitch grapes to him.”

  Encyclopedia went with her. There was no way he would be left behind.

  The Wagonbottoms owned a fruit company and lived in a large house on three acres. Edsel, a cocky fifth grader, met the detectives by the front steps. He held a bowl of grapes.

  “I want to hire you for three or four hours,” he said to Sally. “You have the best arm in school, and I use only the best.”

  He took the detectives around to the backyard. It was enclosed by thick hedges. In one corner stood a tennis court. Near the house was a swimming pool. Enough space was left over for a football field.

  Edsel handed the bowl to Sally. “Throw me a grape,” he said.

  He jogged out twenty feet, hands at his sides, and turned. Sally forward-passed a green grape. Too low. Edsel lunged, missed.

  “Don’t throw on a straight line,” he called impatiently. “Get more height.”

  Sally obeyed. After a few throws, she got the hang of it. Edsel caught every one in his mouth —glop, schlurp, swallow.

  The day was very hot, and they took several breaks. “I’d invite you to swim, but we just had the pool repaired,” said Edsel. “It’s still being filled.”

  Water was pouring from a pipe at one end
of the pool and from a garden hose. The three children ran the cold water from the hose over their heads to cool off.

  Then Sally resumed throwing. Edsel would race across the grass, turn, and wait for the throw, mouth open. He always made the play.

  At the end of two hours, they stopped for lunch.

  “The maid is off and my folks are away,” said Edsel. “You’ll have to eat frozen dinners.”

  While Sally and Encyclopedia fixed the meal, Edsel explained about his gifted mouth.

  For two years he had performed at outings for the employees of his father’s fruit company. But he had really come into his own earlier in the summer. The mayor had thrown out a grape to start the midget baseball league. It was a bad throw, but Edsel had caught it, no-handed.

  “I’m ready to go nationwide,” he boasted. “I’ll be at the Fruit Growers meeting in Chicago next month. I Figure to set an American record for boys — two hundred feet, hand to mouth.”

  After lunch, Edsel let Sally clean up the kitchen, and then they continued practicing. At two o’clock he brought out more grapes.

  “Let’s drill for quickness,” he said. He turned off the garden hose and pulled the free end from the pool.

  “Tie me up,” he directed Encyclopedia. "I want to practice catching without using my legs.”

  Encyclopedia tied Edsel with the hose. For a few minutes Sally threw from ten feet. Unable to move, Edsel missed frequently.

  Suddenly Officer Carlson stepped into the backyard. Bugs Meany dashed out of the house.

  “You see it, officer!” he screamed. “They’re torturing this poor boy!”

  The policeman looked uncertain.

  “I came over to visit my pal, Edsel,” Bugs went on. “What did I find? He was tied up like that. These two were hitting him with grapes and laughing. I had to call the police.”

  Officer Carlson untied Edsel. “Is this true?” he asked.

  “It’s true, I swear it!” gasped Edsel. He fell on the ground as if too weak to stand. “They tied me up and threw grapes at me for hours and hours.”