Judy listened a moment. She had never heard a sweeter sound.
“That brother of mine!” she said with tears in her eyes. “I guess he’s polishing up that story he had in his pocket.”
“Wrong again, Angel!” Peter was smiling at her now and holding her hand. “That story is already spread all over the front page of the paper. You’ll read it as soon as your father thinks you’re strong enough. You have a lot of catching up to do.”
“I know. I still feel weak when I think of it. Falco said something about two dead men, and I guess I fainted or something. Peter, he’s hiding in the water tower—”
“Not any more,” Peter broke in gently. “He was fished out of the tank, half drowned himself. Edith Cubberling told us where he was, but not until after she’d turned on the pump and the tank started to fill up. He had a taste of his own medicine. She was following his orders, she says, when she turned on the fountain. If it hadn’t been for you and that blessed cat of yours, Angel—”
“Please,” Judy stopped him, laughing a little and feeling more like herself. “Angels don’t keep black cats, or go exploring under fountains.”
“Your kind of angel,” Peter told her, “goes wherever she’s needed. I ought to scold you for rushing headlong into danger. I’ve warned you again and again that the FBI deals with dangerous criminals and that I don’t want you involved—”
“Please, Peter, believe me. I didn’t know it was dangerous. I didn’t know you were investigating anything at the Brandt estate until I found Blackberry and heard Stanley say two government men had been there. Then it made sense. I thought you had brought him.”
“And I thought you had.”
Judy sighed and gave up. “I guess Blackberry himself is the only one who really knows why he went there. You did let him out of the attic, didn’t you? I hope he’ll forgive me for shutting him up there. I thought you’d find him.”