earth-shattering BOOM.
In one glorious burst of fireworks and one terrible blast of dynamite, the old lantern gallery blew sky-high!
When the last thudding blast died away, Watson scrambled up from the huddled group, shook off a small cloud of sand, and sneezed briefly. Ready for more action, he trotted off as the others were just getting to their feet.
"Alfie — Leonard! You could have been killed!"
Marsha Booth brushed the tears off her cheeks and hugged her sons.
In the moonlight, Sheriff Wyndham looked from the tattered, smoke-smudged boys and his own smudge-streaked daughter, to Keith and Noah. "Will someone kindly tell me what's going on around here?" he asked.
Leonard pointed to Keith and Noah. "They've got my necklace."
"Your
necklace? What
necklace?"
"They're jewel thieves, Dad," Jean Wyndham said hotly. "Arrest them!"
"
Jewel thieves
!" Keith Raynor exclaimed. "Nonsense! I never heard anything so silly in — "
His words ended as Watson, who had been tearing at a knapsack on the front seat of Noah's car, skidded to a halt in front of Leonard.
"Watson!" Leonard cried. He bent down and took the necklace from Watson's jaws. "
This
isn't nonsense, Sheriff Wyndham. It's the Daumier jewels. And they're worth one hundred thousand dollars — Mr. Raynor and Mr. Baxter said so. They stole it, and Mr. Wasdahl is their
fence
."
Sheriff Wyndham's jaw dropped. "Bill Wasdahl! A crook!" The Sheriff's hand went to his gun holster and Keith and Noah backed up. "Okay, you two. We'll clear this up back in town. Get going."
CHAPTER 10
Sheriff Wyndham and Jean were helping Alfie and Marsha Booth lash the bicycles onto the back of the Booths' car.
"I'll never forget this summer," the sheriff said. "Bill Wasdahl mixed up with jewel thieves." He shook his head. "You folks coming back next summer?"
"We haven't missed a summer yet," Mrs. Booth replied gaily. She stowed her typewriter into one last space. "Alfie — where's Leonard? We're all set to go."
"I was going to ask the same thing," the sheriff said. "I've a little something here for him."
Alfie looked up interestedly. "What?"
Just then Leonard came around the corner of the cottage. He was walking very slowly and looking down at his sneakers.
"I can't find Watson anywhere," he said sadly.
"Oh, he'll show up," Sheriff Wyndham smiled. "Look, Leonard. I want you to have this." He held out a real deputy sheriff's badge and bent down to pin it on Leonard's shirt. "There now. It's official. You're my Special Deputy Sheriff. I couldn't have cracked this case without you."
Leonard's face brightened, but only for a second. Once again he looked down at his sneakers. "Thanks, but half of it belongs to Watson."
Alfie stared at his brother as though he were seeing Leonard for the first time. "
Half
the credit!" he thought. And suddenly he could see the credits at the beginning of his film — "Written by, produced by, photographed by,
everything
by Alfred Booth."
"All the time I was laughing at him, he was sticking to being a detective and
he's
the one who really cracked the case. He hasn't said once, 'I told you so.' And now here he is saying he should get only
half
the credit!"
Alfie cleared his throat. "Leonard— no wonder I call you 'dumb' sometimes! Can't you remember?
You're
Sherlock Holmes. And I bet Mr. Flack will be wanting to talk with you. Boy! Getting his jewels back and everything! That was something!"
Leonard still looked miserable. He shook his head.
"We'll have to go now, Leonard," his mother said gently. "We can't wait any longer for Watson." She turned to Sheriff Wyndham. "He's been gone since we started packing last night. I guess he is the town dog. We can't expect him to leave just because we have to go."
"Don't worry, Leonard," Jean said kindly. "I'll take good care of him while you're gone, and he'll be right here waiting for you next summer."
Marsha Booth got into the car. "Jump in, boys. Time to say good-bye."
Alfie climbed in and, slowly,
In one glorious burst of fireworks and one terrible blast of dynamite, the old lantern gallery blew sky-high!
When the last thudding blast died away, Watson scrambled up from the huddled group, shook off a small cloud of sand, and sneezed briefly. Ready for more action, he trotted off as the others were just getting to their feet.
"Alfie — Leonard! You could have been killed!"
Marsha Booth brushed the tears off her cheeks and hugged her sons.
In the moonlight, Sheriff Wyndham looked from the tattered, smoke-smudged boys and his own smudge-streaked daughter, to Keith and Noah. "Will someone kindly tell me what's going on around here?" he asked.
Leonard pointed to Keith and Noah. "They've got my necklace."
"Your
necklace? What
necklace?"
"They're jewel thieves, Dad," Jean Wyndham said hotly. "Arrest them!"
"
Jewel thieves
!" Keith Raynor exclaimed. "Nonsense! I never heard anything so silly in — "
His words ended as Watson, who had been tearing at a knapsack on the front seat of Noah's car, skidded to a halt in front of Leonard.
"Watson!" Leonard cried. He bent down and took the necklace from Watson's jaws. "
This
isn't nonsense, Sheriff Wyndham. It's the Daumier jewels. And they're worth one hundred thousand dollars — Mr. Raynor and Mr. Baxter said so. They stole it, and Mr. Wasdahl is their
fence
."
Sheriff Wyndham's jaw dropped. "Bill Wasdahl! A crook!" The Sheriff's hand went to his gun holster and Keith and Noah backed up. "Okay, you two. We'll clear this up back in town. Get going."
CHAPTER 10
Sheriff Wyndham and Jean were helping Alfie and Marsha Booth lash the bicycles onto the back of the Booths' car.
"I'll never forget this summer," the sheriff said. "Bill Wasdahl mixed up with jewel thieves." He shook his head. "You folks coming back next summer?"
"We haven't missed a summer yet," Mrs. Booth replied gaily. She stowed her typewriter into one last space. "Alfie — where's Leonard? We're all set to go."
"I was going to ask the same thing," the sheriff said. "I've a little something here for him."
Alfie looked up interestedly. "What?"
Just then Leonard came around the corner of the cottage. He was walking very slowly and looking down at his sneakers.
"I can't find Watson anywhere," he said sadly.
"Oh, he'll show up," Sheriff Wyndham smiled. "Look, Leonard. I want you to have this." He held out a real deputy sheriff's badge and bent down to pin it on Leonard's shirt. "There now. It's official. You're my Special Deputy Sheriff. I couldn't have cracked this case without you."
Leonard's face brightened, but only for a second. Once again he looked down at his sneakers. "Thanks, but half of it belongs to Watson."
Alfie stared at his brother as though he were seeing Leonard for the first time. "
Half
the credit!" he thought. And suddenly he could see the credits at the beginning of his film — "Written by, produced by, photographed by,
everything
by Alfred Booth."
"All the time I was laughing at him, he was sticking to being a detective and
he's
the one who really cracked the case. He hasn't said once, 'I told you so.' And now here he is saying he should get only
half
the credit!"
Alfie cleared his throat. "Leonard— no wonder I call you 'dumb' sometimes! Can't you remember?
You're
Sherlock Holmes. And I bet Mr. Flack will be wanting to talk with you. Boy! Getting his jewels back and everything! That was something!"
Leonard still looked miserable. He shook his head.
"We'll have to go now, Leonard," his mother said gently. "We can't wait any longer for Watson." She turned to Sheriff Wyndham. "He's been gone since we started packing last night. I guess he is the town dog. We can't expect him to leave just because we have to go."
"Don't worry, Leonard," Jean said kindly. "I'll take good care of him while you're gone, and he'll be right here waiting for you next summer."
Marsha Booth got into the car. "Jump in, boys. Time to say good-bye."
Alfie climbed in and, slowly,
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