CHAPTER 5 Two Claimants

Dan was midway through breakfast the next morning when the telephone rang.

“Will you answer it, please?” his mother called from the kitchen where she was frying ham.

Absently, Dan reached for the instrument which was tucked into a shelf nook beside the breakfast table.

“Hello,” he half-mumbled, his mouth filled with toast.

“Is that you, Dan?” asked a familiar voice.

Dan came to life then, for it was Sam Hatfield at the other end of the line. Something must be up, else the Cub leader wouldn’t call him so early in the morning! Like as not the police were wanting to question him about the money box.

“Dan, can you come over right away?” Mr. Hatfield asked.

“Why, sure. That is, I guess so, unless Mom’s got work lined up for me. Anything wrong?”

Dan was certain from Mr. Hatfield’s tone that something urgent had come up. More than ever, he was convinced the matter concerned the money box.

“Well, yes, I am a little disturbed,” the Cub leader answered his question. “I’m asking all the boys to come over to my place as soon as possible.”

“The money box hasn’t been taken?”

“Oh, no! Nothing like that Dan. Just come over as soon as you can.”

Completely mystified, Dan bolted the remainder of his breakfast.

Fifteen minutes later he presented himself at the Hatfield home where Chips and Red already had gathered.

“What’s up?” Dan asked the pair.

“Search me,” Chips shrugged. “Mr. Hatfield asked us to come over right away, so we did.”

“He hasn’t explained yet,” Red added in an undertone, “but he seems plenty worried.”

In a few minutes Babe Bunning arrived at the house. Close upon his heels came Brad, who reported that Midge Holloway would be a little late.

“He told me to report he has to do some work at home,” the Den Chief told Mr. Hatfield.

“We’ll go on without him,” the Cub leader said. “Boys, now don’t get me wrong. I didn’t call you here to make accusations or scold. I’m not blaming anyone—”

“What’s wrong, Mr. Hatfield?” Brad cut in anxiously.

“Well, somehow the news leaked out about us finding the money box.”

The Cubs were dumbfounded.

“Then someone must have babbled!” Chips exclaimed. “It sure wasn’t me!”

“Or me,” echoed Red.

“I can’t understand how anyone would blab the secret,” said Brad slowly. “Every Cub has real ideals or he wouldn’t be in the organization. Cubs are Square—they keep their promises. And we all promised not to mention the box until after you had time to talk to the police about it.”

“That’s right,” Mr. Hatfield agreed. “You put it well, Brad. I can’t believe, either, that anyone would tell—at least not intentionally.”

“How do you know the information got out?” Dan asked thoughtfully.

“Through a visitor. I was eating breakfast this morning when Everett Wilson, owner of the Elite Dry Cleaning Co., came to the door. He’s not a member of the church, but does attend irregularly. Any of you fellows know him?”

All of the Cubs except Babe shook their heads.

“I know him when I see him,” Babe said. “We take our dry cleaning to his place. We’re quitting though. Last time my Dad left a pair of trousers there, he shrunk ’em an inch and wouldn’t make good.”

“You say Mr. Wilson heard about us finding the money box?” Dan asked the Cub leader.

“It’s worse than that. He not only heard about it, but he’s put in a claim for the money.”

“But how did he happen to hide it in the coal bin?” Dan demanded in perplexity.

“That’s what I asked him. He didn’t have a very satisfactory answer. Furthermore, he wasn’t able to tell me how much he had in the box.”

“Then maybe it wasn’t his!” Chips exclaimed.

“I thought of that right away, Chips. I had a feeling that perhaps he was putting in a false claim. At any rate, I refused to turn the money over to him.”

“Have you called the police yet?” Dan questioned.

“Yes, I telephoned the station immediately after Mr. Wilson was here. A man is on his way out now. I’ll turn the money over when he comes, and be glad to get rid of it.”

“It’s sure funny about Mr. Wilson claiming the cash,” Dan remarked. “How could he have known about us finding the box?”

“Someone must have told,” Chips replied before the Cub leader could speak.

His gaze fastened hard upon Babe, who unconcernedly was chewing a gumdrop.

The other Cubs looked at Babe too. He had been in the Den only a few weeks and as yet hadn’t been promoted from a Bobcat to a Wolf.

True, he had repeated the Cub Promise: “I promise to do my best, to be SQUARE, and OBEY the law of the Cub Pack.”

Also, he had learned the Cub sign and the handclasp, the salute and the Law of the Cub Pack. At least, he had said the words correctly. But had they really burned in?

“Babe, did you tell anyone about the money box?” Chips demanded bluntly.

Babe swallowed the gumdrop and stared. “Who, me?” he asked.

“Yes, you! You’re the only one who knew Mr. Wilson.”

“I didn’t tell him. I didn’t tell anyone!” Babe’s blue eyes flashed angrily.

“Never mind, Chips,” Mr. Hatfield said. His tone made it clear that the discussion must end. “We’re not accusing anyone. A Cub’s word is good enough for me.”

“Remember that face at the window?” Dan reminded the group. “Someone saw us looking at the money. Maybe that’s how the story got out!”

“It’s very possible, Dan,” agreed Mr. Hatfield. “Anyway, it’s a relief to know that the Cubs all kept their promises. If Mr. Wilson can establish his claim, he’s welcome to the money.”

“He must have been dizzy to hide the box in a coal bin,” Brad said, getting up from the davenport. “It doesn’t make sense to me.”

Mr. Hatfield told the Cubs that he considered it most important that no one reveal the exact amount of cash that had been found.

“Brad, Dan, Fred and myself are the only ones who know the correct total,” he said. “But the rest of you have a pretty fair idea. The thing is—keep it to yourselves. If the amount should become known, well, it might make it easier for Mr. Wilson to prove a claim.”

“You can depend on us, Mr. Hatfield,” Brad said, speaking for the others. “How about you, Babe?”

“Oh, sure,” the youngest member of the Den returned carelessly. “I forget now how much it was we counted at the church.”

“Midge isn’t here, but I’ll stop at his house and warn him,” Dan offered.

The matter of the cash box having been thoroughly discussed, Mr. Hatfield told the boys his real purpose in calling them was to remind them to start working on the church building fund pledge cards.

“Call on your prospects as soon as you can,” he advised. “Today if possible. We want to get that money rolling in.”

“What about our plans for the Crusade?” Brad reminded him.

“You’ll hear more about that at our next meeting,” Mr. Hatfield promised. “Meanwhile, dig up anything you can for costumes.”

“I have an idea—” Dan began.

What it was no one learned, for just then the front doorbell rang.

“That must be Midge,” Brad said. “Or maybe the police.”

But it was neither.

Instead, when Mr. Hatfield went to the door he found Edgar Brakschmidt standing there, hat in hand.

The Cub leader knew the man only slightly, having seen him occasionally at church services.

“I beg your pardon—you’re Mr. Hatfield,” the visitor asked.

“Yes, I am.” The Cub leader moved aside so that the man might enter. “Come on in. We’re having a Cub meeting.”

“Oh, I don’t want to break it up,” the visitor apologized. “Nevertheless, the matter I came to talk about happens to concern the Cubs.” Mr. Brakschmidt laughed self-consciously.

“They haven’t been in any mischief, I trust.”

“Oh, no! Nothing like that. May I speak with you in private, Mr. Hatfield?”

“We can go into the study if you like. However, if the matter concerns the Cubs, why not tell them about it also?”

“Well—all right, I may as well come right out with it. I lost some money recently—a rather large sum. Information has come to me that this money contained in a metal box, was found at the church by one of the Cubs.”

The boys were listening intently, amazed expressions mirrored on their faces. First Mr. Wilson, and now a second claimant!

“How much did you lose, Mr. Brakschmidt?” the Cub leader asked.

“I can’t rightly say. For months I had been saving it. The amount was considerable.”

“And where was this money lost, Mr. Brakschmidt?”

“Why, in the church. I—I went in there a few days ago—day before yesterday to be exact—to see the pastor. I was taking the money with me to deposit in the bank. The minister wasn’t there. I must have put the box down and forgot it, because I didn’t discover my loss until later.”

“Really, Mr. Brakschmidt, I never knew you to be so careless with money,” remarked the Cub leader. “Where did you think you left the box?”

“In one of the seats,” the visitor replied after a slight hesitation.

“That wasn’t where we found the box!” Chips exclaimed. “Dan found it—”

Brad gave him a kick in the ankle, a warning not to tell everything he knew.

“May I ask how you learned that the Cubs had come upon a box of money?” Mr. Hatfield inquired.

“Why, the news is everywhere.”

Brad was disgusted. So were the other Cubs, who couldn’t imagine how the word had spread.

“Babe, ’fess up,” Red whispered in the younger boy’s ear. “Did you spill it?”

“I did not,” he retorted indignantly. “Cross my heart and hope to die!”

“Midge wouldn’t tell,” Red said. “All the other Cubs have given their word. It’s mighty funny—”

Mr. Hatfield was speaking again. “Since the news is everywhere as you say, Mr. Brakschmidt, I may as well admit that the Cubs did find a little money. We expect to turn it over to police. If you have any claim, you’ll have to take it up with them.”

“You still have the money here in the house?”

“Yes,” the Cub leader admitted reluctantly.

“Then why put me to the trouble of having to go through the police and perhaps the courts to prove my claim? The money is mine. If you return it to me, I’ll give the Cubs a suitable reward, a very generous one in fact.”

Mr. Hatfield had begun to lose patience.

“I am sorry, Mr. Brakschmidt,” he said. “You’ll have to take the matter up with police.”

Mr. Brakschmidt argued for a while longer. Then, convinced that he was making no headway, he rather angrily departed.

“That’s the limit!” Fred sputtered. “Two claimants for the money. What did you think of him, Dad?”

“I barely know either Mr. Brakschmidt or Mr. Wilson,” his father replied. “Obviously, both can’t own the money. Before the real owner of that box is found, I’m afraid we’re in for an unpleasant time.”