“Borgville doesn’t have any suspicious-looking characters,” Grandfather said.
“They’re all suspicious-looking to me. Look — I know you can come up with information I can’t touch. Let me know if you find out anything.”
Grandfather nodded. “I’ll go have a talk with Elizabeth, and look around.”
So Grandfather went to Peterson’s, and I went to school. Miss Borg intercepted me in the hallway, and asked me if I’d heard the news. She seemed excited about it — in fact, until I could get to a dictionary I thought she was excited to the point of being sick, because she said she felt vindicated.
I didn’t go home for lunch, so I don’t know how Grandfather spent the day. Sheriff Pilkins passed the time working, which is something he has no natural aptitude for, and when he came to see Grandfather that evening he was looking glum.
“I have a list of suspects,” he announced.
“Good,” Grandfather said. “Then you’re further along than I am.”
Normally it would cheer the Sheriff up to find he’s ahead of Grandfather in anything, but this time it seemed to make him mad. “Lucy Borg,” he said, “was pretty irked at what Gardner said about the violin. She could have taken it with the idea of getting another expert opinion on it.”
“Somehow I can’t see Lucy burgling a house. And where would she get a thousand dollars?”
“Then there’s this Gardner — he could have lied about the violin, and then stolen it so he could sell it himself. Elizabeth favors this theory.”
“Why?”
“Who knows why a woman thinks anything? Gardner supports a big family on a schoolteacher’s salary, and he wouldn’t have been able to lay his hands on a thousand dollars on a Sunday night. Then there’s Pete Wilks, who lives on Maple Street right behind Peterson’s. He took an unusual interest in that violin.”
“He had an old violin of his own,” Grandfather said. “He was interested in finding out if his might be valuable. There is also the question of where he would get a thousand dollars. The money complicates things.”
“It sure does. My favorite would be Mark Hanson. It’s common knowledge that the Hansons tried to give Elizabeth money for the wedding, and she wouldn’t take it. Mark could have used this as a back-handed way of making her take the money, and the Hansons are one family that could come up with a thousand dollars in a hurry. The only trouble is, they didn’t do it. Mark was with Ellie until nearly midnight, and then his folks drove him back to Ann Arbor and stayed there overnight.”
“So where does that leave you?” Grandfather asked.
“Nowhere!”
“I have an idea or two. Let’s go see Elizabeth.”
Mrs. Peterson met us at the door, and she didn’t waste any time showing what was on her mind. “Did you get it back?” she asked the Sheriff.
Sheriff Pilkins sputtered all over the place. I guess law officers don’t like blunt demands for quick results. They’d rather talk about all the progress they’re making, which they can do without getting any results at all.
“Did you think over what we talked about this morning?” Grandfather asked.
“I certainly did,” Mrs. Peterson said. “I want the violin.”
“Give me the money, then, and I’ll try and get it back for you.”
The Sheriff stared at Grandfather. “Where are you going to get it?”
“The law isn’t involved in this,” Grandfather said. “Party unknown bought Elizabeth’s violin for a thousand dollars. The transaction isn’t satisfactory to her, so she’s going to take the violin back and return the money — if I can arrange it, that is.”
“Baloney!” the Sheriff shouted.
“I don’t see that there’s much you can do about it.”
The Sheriff didn’t seem to, either, and he stood there glaring at Grandfather. I’m not one who cares much for art, but I never get tired of watching the way his face changes color when he and Grandfather meet head-on.
Finally he stomped down off the porch, muttering something about accessories, and withholding information, and interfering with legal processes. Mrs. Peterson came back with an envelope and handed it to Grandfather.
“You understand,” Grandfather said, “that if Gardner turns out to be right about the violin you’ve made a bad deal for yourself.”
“We went through all that this morning,” she said. “I want the violin.”
“I’ll get it for you if I can.”
Grandfather stuffed the envelope into his shirt pocket, and the two of us went home.
I’d like to tell you all about Grandfather’s system for tracking down a thief, but I can’t. I expected him to make a mysterious telephone call as soon as it got dark, and then head for a meeting in some alleyway. Instead, he sat down and read all evening, and he was still reading when I went to bed.
In the morning, when I went down to breakfast, the violin was lying on our dining-room table.
“Where’d you get it?” I asked.
“You’re most as bad as Pilkins. What difference does it make? Elizabeth will be satisfied, the person who took it is satisfied, and beyond that what happened is nobody’s business.”
After breakfast he took the violin over to Elizabeth Peterson, who was very happy to have it back — that is, she was happy until later that day, when Mr. Hanson drove her to Jackson to see a violin repair man there. This man told her even more emphatically than Mr. Gardner that the violin was nothing but junk, and he didn’t think it would be worth twenty-five dollars even if it was fixed up.
The violin went back to the Peterson attic, and Mrs. Peterson started all over again to try to figure out how to pay for a big wedding and reception without any money, and Sheriff Pilkins stopped by three times a day the rest of the week in the hope of prying the name of the violin thief out of Grandfather.
Other than that, nothing happened. That is, I thought nothing happened, but on Friday, Jimmy Edwards, whose mother works in the telephone office at Wiston, asked me how come Grandfather was getting all those long distance telephone calls.
“What long distance telephone calls?” I asked.
“How would I know if you don’t?” Jimmy said. “All I know is, Mom said your Grandfather has been getting calls from all over — New York, Los Angeles, Chicago...”
“I don’t know,” I said, “but I’m sure going to find out.”
But I didn’t. All Grandfather did when I asked him was grunt and shrug. All Friday evening he grunted and he shrugged, and all Saturday morning, until about ten o’clock. Then a big limousine such as had never before been seen in Borgville drove up in front of our house. A chauffeur in a fancy uniform popped out and opened the rear door, and a tall, gray-headed man got out and walked up to our house.
Grandfather met him on the porch.
“You’re Mr. Rastin?” the man asked.
Grandfather nodded, and shook hands with him.
“Where is it?” the man asked.
“Across the street,” Grandfather said.
They headed for the Peterson house, with me tagging along, and Grandfather introduced the man to Mrs. Peterson — his name was Edmund Van Something-or-other — and sent Ellie chasing up to the attic after the violin.
We sat down in the parlor and waited.
“Has it been in your family for a very long time?” Mr. Van asked.
“It belonged to my husband’s great-great-grandfather,” Mrs. Peterson said.
“You don’t say. Treasures are often preserved in this way. My first Stradivarius violin...”
Ellie bounced in, all out of breath, and carefully placed the violin on a coffee table beside Mr. Van. She untied the knots and took off the top of the case, and then she scooted back out of the way, as if she expected Mr. Van would be throwing the violin at someone as soon as he saw it.