The Sheriff’s head felt as if it were going to explode. All morning, Thimble Downers had been assailing him at the gaol with details of the items stolen by the thief. Mrs. Fowl had just lost two more shepherd’s pies, and Dowdy Cray had lost an axel, two oak wheels, and a steering board.
Poor, ailing Mrs. Tunbridge was heartbroken that an intricately beaded dress had been taken from a rack right inside her burrow. It had been intended as a gift for a young girl about to come out in society, and had taken one hundred hours to make.
About twenty-five Halflings filled Forgo’s office, all of them shouting and making a ruckus, while his deputy, Gadget Pinkle, using parchment and a lead pencil, was furiously keeping track of the missing items. The ruckus subsided when Osgood Thrip entered the room, looking fit to be tied. “This is outrageous!” he fumed. “I’m holding you personally responsible, Sheriff.”
“You too? Good grief!” moaned the seated Sheriff, his face buried in his hands. “What did he get?”
“My gold-plated inkwell! Right off my burl writing desk. The impunity of it all!” Thrip bellowed for another few minutes, but Forgo ignored him, concentrating on more relevant matters, such as who would do this and how could they hit so many targets at once. It was inconceivable that any one criminal could be so proficient; perhaps it was a gang working Thimble Down over. Whatever the answer, the crook or crooks were brilliant in their execution, and Forgo had nothing in the way of clues.
“Well?” barked Osgood. “Are you just going to just sit there like a buffoon or are you going to do something? This pinch-thief infiltrated Thrip Manor and committed a crime! My poor Lucretia is not well, you know, and this has set her over the edge.” (Indeed, Osgood’s wife was not completely balanced, as we’ve learned in the past.)
“The only thing that’s going to bring in this thief—or perhaps, thieves—is having him caught in the act or offering a reward. I would suggest we talk to the Mayor about coughing up a few gold pieces, and I’ll write up a few wanted posters. Gadget can distribute them around the village taverns.”
“See that it’s done, Forgo—or else!” Osgood grimaced and turned to leave, but stopped cold. There, standing in the doorway, was his frequent nemesis—Mr. Dorro.
“I’m sorry to hear you’ve lost something to this nefarious crook, Osgood,” said Dorro with cold courtesy. “I’m afraid that I’ve been victimized as well. Twice, in fact.”
“Well, that’s your problem, Winderiver,” and out strode Osgood Thrip, verily pushing Dorro out of the way.”
“Charming as always,” purred the bookmaster with rueful sarcasm. “Mr. Pinkle, you may write down the following items that have been purloined from me: one basket of Candleberry apples, one basket of Green Gem apples, a jug of last year’s apple brandy, and two freshly baked apple-crisps.”
“That’s all?” croaked Forgo.
“Hardly, my dear Sheriff. “We’ve also had several books and scrolls removed from the library. You may find it interesting that they all have to do with thievery. Apparently, our thief stole books about thieving in order to become better at it. It’s quite uncanny. Got that, Gadget?”
The red-haired deputy was scratching away furiously. “Yessir, Mr. Dorro. A right shame, that is! It’s like we’re teaching the villain to become a better villain!”
“Very astute, young Mr. Pinkle. Forgo, I think you have yourself a very promising deputy here.”
The deputy blushed a color of pink that clashed horribly with his fiery locks, but there was nothing to be done about that. The lad’s grin, however, was worth a hundred gold pieces.
“Folks, you’ll have to go home now. We have all your information, and honestly, I don’t see how this can continue without anyone seeing anything. Keep your eyes open and let me know if you see even the strangest little thing. It could break this entire case wide open!”
At that, the grumpy victims shuffled out the door, muttering to themselves, but also clearly titillated to be involved in a real case involving a real thief. They would surely tell their friends and neighbors about it all day and night.
To help with his headache and growling gut, once alone, Forgo sent Gadget out to get him some grub from the Bumbling Badger. He was further instructed to go to the stable and give his pony, Tom, some fresh oats and a bucket of water.
“Now what, Dorro? I’m stumped, and frankly, I’m not feeling so well at the moment.”
“You don’t have the Grippe, do you? We can’t afford to lose you, Forgo.”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” lied the Sheriff. “But we need to catch this crook—it’s out of control.”
“Our next step is perfectly clear, dear Sheriff.” The lawman looked up bleary eyed. “We need to set a trap and a damn good one at that!”
“Okay, I’ll tell Gadget and begin to set things up. You, of course, might have a plan …?”
Dorro paused. “Forgo, I wouldn’t tell Gadget about it, nor shall I tell Cheeryup or Wyll. We trust these young folks, but we don’t know whom they talk to. For the moment, let’s hold this between ourselves.”
Forgo nodded groggily in agreement. “In the interim, Sheriff, you should take a nap and see Nurse Pym. You look like death!”
No sooner had Dorro had uttered these words than he instantly regretted them.