Get Smart 9 - Max Smart and the Ghastly Ghost Affair Page 12

  “You still don’t understand!” 99 said woefully. “Honest, we’re not after your gold. All we want is that Coolidge-head penny.”

  “You’re wasting your time. I been in every tunnel in this mine—almost—and not once have I ever seen a Coolidge-head penny.”

  “We know that,” Max said. “We only lost it a couple days ago.”

  “Please!” 99 begged.

  “Welllllllll . . .” the old prospector said. “It’ll take a little while for you to turn to ghosts. I suppose, just to kill a little time—if you’ll pardon the expression—I could show you around the mine. You’ll be interested in seeing where you’ll be living—though, that’s not exactly the word for it—the rest of your life—though, that’s not the word for it, either.” He motioned. “Come on.” Then, followed by Madame DuBarry and Max and 99, he led the way deeper into the mine. “Now, on your right,” he said, “you’ll see a long scratch along the wall about belt buckle high. There’s a very interesting story that goes with that scratch. It seems that one day—”

  “You can just skip the commentary that goes along with the tour,” Max said. “We’ll be looking for the Coolidge-head penny, and we don’t want to be distracted.”

  “Oh, there’s no commentary,” the old prospector said. “I just want you to hear about that scratch on the wall about belt buckle high. It’s an interesting story, and you’d be after me to tell it to you sooner or later. This way, if I tell it to you now, you won’t have to ask later. It seems there was this nosy old prospector who came wandering in here one day, looking for a long lost gold mine, more than likely, and what did he run into but the ghost of the previous old prospector—him and his mule and his lantern. Well, this trespassin’ old prospector got so all-fired scared that he didn’t even take time to turn around and run. No, sir. He only took time to half-turn. And that put him facing the wall. And that’s how he run out, too—facing the wall. That’s how come that wall’s got that long scratch on it belt-buckle high. It was made by that old prospector’s belt buckle. Now, coming up on the left here, you’ll see an entrance to another tunnel. The history of the mine would not be complete without the telling of the story connected with this here tunnel. It has to do with a love story. I recall the incident as clear as if it’d only happened maybe twenty or thirty years go. There was this rich old man that lived in a big white house on the hill. He went by the initials of A. S. He was the fella in the story. The girl in the story was a woman that went by the initials of M. M. Well—”

  “Her initials were M. W.,” Max corrected.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” the old prospector nodded. “I have a little trouble remembering all the details, it happened so long ago. Be that as it may, though, this couple, this crazy old man that had his mind set on inventin’ the railroad steam engine, and this beautiful young lady that lived in the hovel in the valley, they—” He halted and looked questioningly at Max. “You know this story, do you?” he said.

  “No. But, frankly—”

  “If you don’t know it, how come you know it’s about Albert Senagalese and Marybelle Wastehanger?”

  “I don’t,” Max replied. “I thought it was about Abe Shuster and Mable Wamsutter.”

  “It is,” the old prospector said. “You don’t think I’d use their right names, though, do you? We don’t mention them around here any more—not since the tragedy.”

  “That’s understandable, I suppose,” Max said. He pointed ahead. “That tunnel up there,” he said, “have you ever explored in there? If my calculations are correct, that’s the direction we should go to get to the spot under the saloon.”

  “The saloon is the other way,” the old prospector said.

  Max pointed in the opposite direction. “That way?”

  The old prospector shook his head. “Nope—the other way.”

  Max pointed forward. “That way, you mean, then?”

  “Keep trying,” the old prospector said.

  “The only other way is the way we just came,” Max pointed out.

  “Right. You go back to the entrance and, by super-human strength, you move all them big rocks out of the way, then you walk back to town and just on the other side of the bakery you’ll find—”

  “Max, he’s stalling!” 99 said. “He has no intention of trying to help us.”

  Max peered at the old prospector challengingly. “For your information,” he informed him, “I happen to think you’re trying to stall us. Furthermore, I’m beginning to suspect that you have no intention of trying to help us.”

  The old man sighed. “You seen through me like a brick wall,” he said. “I confess—you’re right. The truth is, it’s been so long since I had anything like human company that I was just stringing you along to keep you from leaving. But, I can see it won’t work any more. Why, a couple of young, handsome folks like you can’t be expected to stand around in a dark and dank old mine and listen to an old prospector like myself run off at the memory for very long. You got things to do. You got corn to plant. You got ears to shuck. You got grain to grind. You got flour to bag. You got cakes to bake. You got icing to mix. You got coffee to brew. You got a sugar bowl to get down off the cupboard shelf. You got a cow to milk. You got—”

  “A cow to milk?” Max broke in.

  “Oh . . . you want that coffee black? I thought you’d take cream in it. But, in that case, you got—”

  “Hold it!” Max broke in again. “Look, old prospector, we’ve wasted enough time. Unless you cooperate, I’m afraid I’m going to have to get nasty.”

  The old man glared at him. “You threatening me, boy?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m doing,” Max said threateningly. “Either you cooperate, or I’m going to stop believing in you. Do you have any idea what happens to ghosts when people stop believing in them?”

  The old prospector snapped to attention. “At your service, sir! Anything you want, sir! Where to, sir!”

  10.

  WITH THE OLD prospector and his mule guiding them, Max and 99 explored tunnel after tunnel. They found a number of things. They found all the instruments of a brass band that had marched into a tunnel and had been unable to get out because it had never learned to march backwards. They found the remains of a newsreel photographer who had entered a tunnel to film the remains of a newsreel photographer who had been trapped in the tunnel earlier. They found a pile of old and young bones and near them, scratched on the wall, the message: “All things considered, A.S. is relatively fond of M.W., and vice versa.” But they did not find the Coolidge-head penny.

  “How many more tunnels to search?” Max asked the old prospector glumly.

  “Depends,” the old man replied. “Are we going to stop with this mine or go on to other mines? There’re about a hundred, I reckon, in all, in them thar hills—mines, that is. And every mine has about a hundred tunnels, in all, I reckon. So, when you say, ‘How many—’ ”

  “In just this mine,” Max broke in.

  “Well, speaking in a general way, I’d say I couldn’t say. I run across new tunnels almost every day. It wouldn’t surprise me to discover that we’ve got a tunnel-laying chicken down here with us.”

  “Max, remember,” 99 said, “Arbuthnot was making a farewell speech. We don’t know how long those assassins will still be here. We better find out some way to eliminate some of these tunnels from our search.”

  “Old prospector,” Max said to the old prospector, “when I saw that Coolidge-head penny it was shining in the light that reached it through the crack in the floor. Now, from down here, it seems to me, that penny would have a shaft of light beaming down on it from above. Can you recall ever seeing anything like that down here?”

  The old prospector thought for a few minutes then shook his head. “No. But there are some dandy cave carvings on the wall of the tunnel that’s next in line to search,” he said. “Let’s just mosy on and take a look at them. This one carving has been kind of a source of inspiration to me while I been down here
. It’s a How To. It shows in minute detail how to hitch a musk ox to a four-bladed plow. Why the insinuation in that carving—you wouldn’t believe it. The fella that carved it must’ve had a mind like—”

  “Will you concentrate on the Coolidge-head penny, please?” Max broke in. “Now, think again. There is a shaft of light. It penetrates the darkness like—”

  “Don’t waste your time,” the old prospector said. “I been in every tunnel in this mine but one and I never seen anything like that in any of them.”

  “Oh. Well . . .”

  “Max,” 99 said, “if he’s been in every tunnel but one and hasn’t seen anything like that, then isn’t it logical that perhaps it’s in the one tunnel he hasn’t been in?”

  “Yes . . . that is logical, 99. After all, everybody knows that whatever you’re looking for you always find it in the last place you look. So, instead of searching all these other tunnels, and then searching the last tunnel last, let’s search the last tunnel now, and save all the others for later.” He faced the old prospector again. “Where is this tunnel you’ve never been in?” he asked.

  “We’re in it,” the old man replied.

  Max looked around. “Oh, yes, I see—we’re in the entrance to another tunnel. All right, this time, I’ll lead the way. Onward!”

  With Max in the lead and 99 right behind him they moved deeper into the tunnel.

  “You won’t find anything,” the old prospector said. “If this tunnel was that important, I’d’ve been in here before. I’ve never been down this way because all I had to do was look at the entry and I could see it wasn’t worth looking into. When you’ve been looking for long lost gold as long as I have, you get a feeling for that kind of thing. I can look at the entry to a tunnel and size it up in the wink of an eye. Why, I remember back in ’89 when I’d only been in this tunnel a few—”

  “Max!” 99 cried out. “Look! Ahead!”

  “Where’s a head?” the old prospector asked, maneuvering to see around Max and 99. “It’s probably just the left-over from some newsreel photographer. I remember— By Golly!” he suddenly shouted, having finally caught a glimpse of what had attracted 99’s attention. “It’s it! It’s my long lost gold!”

  Several yards ahead, a shaft of light was shining down from above, focused on what appeared to be a huge pile of gold coins.

  “Finders keepers!” the old prospector shouted. He rushed forward and dived head-first into the pile of gold, and began flinging coins in all directions, driven to a frenzy by elation.

  “Did you see how he ran over there, 99,” Max said. “That’s what’s known as a gold rush.”

  “I saw it, Max.”

  Max and 99 approached the spot where the old prospector was still celebrating his find. He was scooping up coins and letting them filter through his fingers, meanwhile crying, “Gold! Gold! Gold! Mine! Mine! Mine! Gold Mine! Gold Mine! Gold Mine!”

  “He’s a little excited,” Max commented.

  “I’m not surprised . . . after all these years,” 99 replied. She picked up one of the coins. “It’s funny how when they’re not directly in the light these gold coins don’t look as shiny and as much like— Max! Look at this!” She handed the coin to Max.

  He peered at it closely. Then he picked up another coin and looked at it closely, too.

  “Is it the same, Max?” 99 asked.

  “Yes, 99. Pure copper. These aren’t gold coins, they’re copper coins. They only looked gold in the light. What the old prospector has found is a pile of pennies.”

  “Gold! Gold! Gold!” the old prospector was shouting. “All mine! Gold mine! All—” He suddenly interrupted himself and glared at Max. “What was that unpatriotic thing you just said?” he asked.

  “Unpatriotic?”

  “I don’t think I like it,” the old prospector said. “And if I don’t like it, it’s unpatriotic. Now, what was it?”

  “All I said was—”

  “Pennies!” the old prospector cried, appalled. He looked at the coins he was clutching in his hands. “You’re right! Pennies! I’ve been wiped out! The whole round trip—from the big white house on the hill to the hovel in the valley—in the flick of an eyelash! I’m a ruined man. Being a ghost, I can’t even take comfort in the fact that I still got my health! Oh, woe!”

  “Well, it’s not really as bad as all that,” Max said. “Even if it had turned out to be gold, where would you have spent it?”

  “Over at the general store,” the old prospector replied. “I could’ve bought myself a new lantern—a real one this time.”

  “Well, if it’s any consolation,” Max said, “you have the satisfaction of knowing that, although you didn’t find the long lost gold, you did deliver us to our hoped-for-destination.”

  “It’s no consolation,” the old prospector said bitterly.

  “And, as a consequence—”

  “It’s no satisfaction, neither,” the old man added.

  “Max,” 99 said, “do you mean—”

  “Yes, 99, we have found the Coolidge-head penny,” Max informed her. He pointed upward. “Do you see where the shaft of light is coming from? It’s coming from a crack in the ceiling. But if we were up there instead of down here that crack in the ceiling would be a crack in the floor.”

  “You’re right, Max. That’s a marvelous deduction.”

  “Your frankness is refreshing, 99. Now, taking the deduction a bit further, we learn that what appears to be a crack in the ceiling, but which is actually a crack in the floor, is, to be even more specific, a crack in the floor of the saloon. So, if we were able to rise up out of this mine, and go straight up, where would we find ourselves?”

  “Back at them pearly gates,” the old prospector said.

  “I didn’t have in mind going quite that far,” Max said. “What I was trying to explain was that the saloon is directly overhead.”

  “A lot of good that’ll do,” the old man said. “You couldn’t even reach it standing on a mule.”

  “That’s correct,” Max replied. “You’re missing the important point, however. What is important is that if that is the saloon up above, and that crack in the ceiling is actually the crack in the saloon floor, and if the Coolidge-head penny dropped through the crack in the saloon floor and fell into a tunnel of the mine below, then all I have to do to retrieve the Coolidge-head penny is bend down and pick it up from . . . oh, my, those pennies really are scattered around, aren’t they?”

  “Max,” 99 said gloomily, “it could take us days or weeks or months to find that Coolidge-head penny.”

  “Even decades,” the old prospector smiled.

  “Where did all these pennies come from, Max?” 99 asked.

  “Obviously, 99, they dropped through the crack in the floor in the saloon. Pennies have probably been dropping through that crack for dec— For a long time. Haven’t you ever noticed, 99, that pennies always drop through the same crack? The next time you drop a penny and it falls down a crack, mention it to the next person you meet. He’ll tell you that just the day before he lost a penny down that very same crack. It’s the way the pennies are trained, I think. I’ve known of pennies to roll for miles just to fall down a certain crack.” He looked around at the pennies that were scattered all over the tunnel. “Well, I suspect that we have a long, arduous task ahead of us,” he said. “We’ll have to inspect every one of these pennies, penny by penny, until we find the Coolidge-head penny. Naturally, it will be the last one we look at.”

  “Then,” the prospector began, “why don’t we start with—”

  “Forget it,” Max told him. “I used that line when we were discussing tunnels.” He looked up toward the ceiling—or floor—again. “Finding that penny and signalling to the Chief is the only way we’ll ever get out of here,” he said. “The old prospector is right—even standing on a mule I couldn’t reach that floor.”

  Max, 99 and the old prospector began inspecting the pennies.

  “It’s not this one,” Max said
, tossing the first penny aside.

  “Nor this,” 99 said, doing the same to the first penny she had picked up.

  “I got it!” the old prospector shouted.

  Max took the penny from him. “That’s Lincoln upside-down,” he said.

  “Oh. Sorry. Sure looked like Coolidge right-side-up to me.”

  The search for the special penny continued. Max, 99 and the old man inspected coin after coin after coin after coin after coin, tossing each one aside after looking at it. Several hours later, Max halted because his vision was blurring. While he rested his eyes, he watched 99 and the old prospector as they continued the sorting.

  “Hold it,” Max said wearily after a few minutes.

  “What’s the matter, Max?”

  “99, the old prospector is looking at coins and tossing them into one pile, and you are taking from that pile and tossing them into another pile. I have been taking from the pile that you’ve been tossing them into, and I’ve been tossing them into another pile—the pile that the old prospector has been taking from. Do you realize what we’ve been doing?”

  “We’ve all been looking at the same coins. Max, over and over again.”

  “I’m afraid so, 99,” Max nodded. “We’ll have to start again.”

  The three moved farther apart, then resumed the search. For hours and hours they inspected coin after coin, and found nothing that even closely resembled a Coolidge-head penny. Eventually, Max stopped again. He looked at his watch.

  “It’s dawn,” he announced.

  99 sighed defeatedly. “And we still have thousands of pennies to look at,” he said. “Max, if Arbuthnot and those other assassins are leaving today, our mission will be a failure. We’ll still be sorting pennies for days yet.”

  “You’re right, 99. I think we’ll have to find some other way to escape. Old man,” he said to the old prospector, “what’s the chance of finding another exit from this mine? I’ve seen a lot of movies with long lost mines in them, and in some of them a secret exit has been found. Nobody knew anything about it until the hero and heroine blundered upon it by chance. Have you by any chance blundered upon anything like that?”