Freddy and the Flying Saucer Plans by Walter R. Brooks Page B

carried them in his beak over to the back porch, beside the saucer of milk. “How you can eat those things!” Jinx said. “But anyway I don’t have to watch you.” And he turned his back to the mole.
    Mr. Bean came out on the porch. “Jinx,” he said, “what’s this business that’s just come over the radio about Freddy stealing Uncle Ben’s saucer plans?”
    It shows how upset Mr. Bean was that he would ask the cat anything. Like many old-fashioned people, he became nervous when he heard animals talk.
    Jinx of course didn’t know anything about the scheme Freddy had cooked up. So he said: “Don’t believe it. Don’t believe it for a minute. Freddy’s no thief.”
    â€œI dunno,” said Mr. Bean. “It come over the radio—‘Freddy, a pig belonging to Mr. William F. Bean, and well known and respected throughout the state.’ Seems he tried to smother Uncle Ben with a pillow, and then tied him up and stole the plans. Ben says himself it was Freddy.”
    Jinx started to say: “But the plans Uncle Ben had—” And then he stopped. A number of the other animals had come up—Charles, the rooster, and his wife Henrietta, Mrs. Wiggins and Mrs. Wurzburger, two of the cows, and the two dogs. He felt that the fact that the stolen plans were false ones was too important a secret to mention except in confidence to one or two of the most reliable of his friends. “If Freddy did it he must have had a good reason,” he said.
    â€œI expect he meant all right,” Mr. Bean said. “But you know yourself, Jinx, that he usually gets in a mess when he means well.”
    â€œHe usually gets out of it again,” said the cat.
    â€œUsually. But this time it’s a serious crime. You don’t suppose he really would sell those plans to spies, do you?”
    Of course that was exactly what Freddy wanted to do, as Jinx had guessed. He didn’t know what to answer. It was an unwritten rule among the animals that none of them would tell even the whitest of white lies to Mr. Bean. Fortunately at that moment they were interrupted by a cavalcade of cars that swept up the road and in at the gate. The spies had come back.
    The first one that reached the porch was the dapper little man with the beard whom Freddy had squirted with perfume. He bowed to Mr. Bean. “Estimable sir,” he said, “I believe you have in your employ one Freddy, a pig, an old acquaintance of mine. I have traveled many miles to see him—”
    The big man with black curling eyebrows pushed up beside the speaker. “I am seeing here yesterday leetly boy in cow-punch uniform. Now I find is not leetly boy but big pig. You can telling me where is pig-house? I bring him present.”
    But by now the space in front of the porch was crowded with jostling figures, all claiming friendship with Freddy, all wanting to tell him something important. Only one of them seemed to be given elbow room by common consent—the little bearded man, who still smelt dreadfully of perfume. Even Mr. Bean moved away from the part of the railing under which the man stood.
    Suddenly Mr. Bean took in a deep breath. “Shut up!” he roared.
    The gabble dropped to a murmur. “Yesterday you were all here asking for Mr. Benjamin Bean,” he said. “You wanted his saucer plans, but he wasn’t here. Well, today he is here, but he hasn’t the plans. The radio says my pig, Freddy, stole them. Well, the pig isn’t here today, and where the plans are I don’t know. But one thing I do know: you’re not going pokin’ round in any of these buildings. You’re going to get off the premises quick, immediate and pronto. Mrs. B.,” he called, “bring my shotgun. Uncle Ben! Take your gun and plug the first man that sets foot on those stairs to the loft.”
    Jinx watched while the men slowly backed away from the porch. He saw