Jake felt his eye tenderly. “There was some commotion in the night, and I got up and must have walked into something,” he said, with due regard for the truth. “You better shut up,” he added belligerently, “if you don’t want to carry around one just like it.”
Sherlock said nothing, but smiled to himself. He had already decided to refer to his latest case under the resounding title of “The Clue of the Black-and-Blue Eyebrow.”
CHAPTER IV
THE ARM
Sherlock’s opportunity to learn the results of his night’s work did not come until the middle of the morning. The Lenape program gave no freedom for detective labors until the period after squad-work had been completed. Tent Ten had been assigned to policing the lodge, and as Sherlock bent over his broom he cast many a dark glance at the busy Utway brothers, fretting until the moment came when he would be able to take his exposed film to the dark-room and discover the results of his snapshotting expedition. At last Assembly sounded, and he headed for his tent, carefully removed the film, and made his way to the small dark-room that had been built under the lodge for the convenience of camper photographers.
As he shut the door, turned on the red electric bulb, and began laying out hypo and the rest of the developing kit, he heard voices from the kitchen directly overhead. Ellick was superintending the preparations for lunch, and from his tone it was evident that his temper was not as genial and kindly as usual. Ellick, it would seem, had a grievance.
“Ah don’t no-how likes to think of a thief about de camp, Leggy,” he complained. “Ah gives de boys and de councilors all dey can eat. Whaffor dey want to come stealin’ around in de night to get bread and such?”
Sherlock pricked up his ears. Here was another case for a bright detective! Stealing from the kitchen! He awaited Leggy’s reply.
“Don’t know, Chef!” the assistant answered. “You-all figure, maybe dey gets hongry in de night, and a chunk o’ bread look mighty nice.”
“Don’t talk foolishment! Whaffor dey have to bust de lock on de pantry window jest ’cause dey gets a cravin’ for a snack? And what about de ax? Suppose dey wakes in de middle o’ de night and gets a cravin’ to chop down a few trees? Mah best hand-ax, stole right off de woodpile! No suh, I don’t like to think any Lenape fellow goes about bustin’ into windows and swipin’ dangerous wood-axes when folks is sleepin’.”
“How much grub did dey-all take, Chef?” came a question in the voice of Howard Chisel, the squat, bow-legged, ebony-faced lad who presided over dishwashing operations. “Jest bread?”