The Mystery of the Invisible Dog - M. V. Carey [4]
A pair of patrolmen were searching inside, bending to peer under pews.
Jupe went quietly through the crowd and up two steps into the church. He saw candles glimmering in racks in front of the altar—red and blue and green vigil lights. He saw motionless figures — statues on pedestals and statues on the floor, in corners and against the walls. He also saw a police sergeant confronting a stout, red-faced man who had a sheaf of booklets in his hands.
“I tell you, nobody came in here,” said the stout man. “I was here the whole time. I’d have seen if anybody came in.”
“Sure, sure,” said the sergeant. “Now if you don’t mind, please leave. We have to search the building.”
The sergeant looked around at Jupe. “You, too, kid,” he said. “Out!”
Jupe retreated along with the irate man, who still clutched his booklets. Outside, a thin, rather young man dressed in black with a round white collar — obviously a priest —
had joined the spectators. So had a short woman whose grey hair was twisted into a bun at the back of her neck.
“Father McGovern!” cried the man with the booklets. “You tell them. I was in the church the whole time. Whoever they’re looking for, he couldn’t have got in without my seeing him.”
“Ah, now, Earl!” said the priest. “They must look, you know.”
“What?” Earl put a hand up to his ear.
“They must look,” the priest repeated in a louder tone. “Where were you just now?”
“In the choir loft, picking up the hymn booklets, like always,” said Earl.
“Hah!” The grey-haired woman laughed. “A herd of elephants could stampede in there and you’d not hear them. Deaf as a post you are, and getting deafer every day.”
Someone in the crowd chuckled.
“Now, Mrs. O’Reilly,” said the priest, gently chiding. “Come along. We’ll go to the rectory and you’ll make us a nice cup of tea, and when the police have finished, Earl can come back and lock up. It’s not really our concern, you know.”
The crowd parted to make way for Earl, the priest, and the woman. When they had disappeared into the stucco house next door, one of the onlookers grinned at the boys.
“You live around here?” asked the man, raising his voice to be heard above the circling helicopter.
“No,” said Bob.
“Never a dull moment.” The man nodded toward the rectory. “Earl’s the caretaker, and he thinks he runs the parish. Mrs. O’Reilly’s the housekeeper in the rectory, and she thinks she runs the parish. Father McGovern’s got his hands full keeping the two of them from running him right into the ground.”
“More than a pastor should have to put up with,” put in a woman. “An old-country Irishwoman who sees spooks in every corner and a stubborn janitor who thinks the church would fall down if he weren’t there to hold it up.”
The sergeant and the patrolmen emerged from the church. The sergeant scanned the crowd on the pavement. “Okay!” he called. “Where’s the guy who’s supposed to be in charge here?”
“He’s having a cup of tea with the pastor,” volunteered the man who had spoken to the Investigators. “I’ll get him.”
The police helicopter made one last pass above the neighbourhood, then disappeared towards the north.
The lieutenant who had been talking to Mr. Prentice’s friend came down the street.
“Nothing in the church,” reported the sergeant.
The lieutenant sighed. “Beats me how he got out of the neighbourhood so fast,” he said. “The helicopter usually spots them, unless they’ve got a place to go to ground.
Okay. We can’t do anything more tonight.”
Earl the caretaker bustled up from the parish house and stamped into the church, slamming the door behind him.
In a few minutes, the police cars had pulled away. The spectators drifted back to their homes.
Jupiter, Pete, and Bob walked back to the apartment house. Fenton Prentice was still there talking to the grey-haired man.
“Mr. Prentice,” said Jupiter, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but—”
“It’s quite all right.” Mr. Prentice looked very weary. “I have just learned from Charles — from Mr. Niedland here — what this furor is about.”
“My brother’s home was broken into,” said Prentice’s