Free The Case of the Jumping Frogs by Donald J. Sobol Page A

“Why, yes, there are.”
    “Then,” said the boy detective, “Mrs. Cushman’s jewelry won’t be hard to find.”
    Where was it buried?
    (Turn to this page for the solution to
The Case of the Rhyming Robber.)

The Case of the Miracle Pill

    E ncyclopedia helped his father all year round. During the summer he helped the children of the neighborhood as well. He opened his own detective agency in the garage.
    Every morning he hung out his sign:
    Brown Detective Agency
    13 Rover Avenue
Leroy Brown, President
    No Case Too Small
25¢ a Day Plus Expenses
    To handle the tough kids, he took in a hard-punching fifth grader, Sally Kimball, as his junior partner. Sally was the prettiest girl in the fifth grade. She was also the best athlete.
    One morning Encyclopedia and Sally had just opened the Brown Detective Agency for the day when Marsha Murphy stepped in.
    “Take a look,” she said. “This may be your last chance to see the old me. Soon I’ll be in the money.”
    “Who says?” Sally asked.
    “Wilford Wiggins,” replied Marsha.
    The detectives groaned.
    A teenager, Wilford was as lazy as a time-out. Resting was what he did best. Whenever he got to his feet, he tried to fast-talk the little kids of the neighborhood out of their savings.
    He never did. Encyclopedia always stopped his shady deals.
    “Wilford has called a secret meeting for five o’clock today in the city dump,” Marsha said. “He promised to make us little kids so rich we’ll be the talk of the continent.”
    “What’s he selling now,” Encyclopedia asked, “a breakfast shake made of yeast and car polish for people who want to rise and shine?”
    “Wilford’s changed,” Marsha said. “He told me so himself. He’ll never tell another lie.”
    “Don’t worry,” Sally said. “You always know when Wilford is lying. His lips move.”
    Marsha’s faith seemed to waver. She laid a quarter on the gas can beside Encyclopedia. “I want to hire you. Maybe Wilford isn’t as honest as he says.”

    “We’re hired,” Sally said. “See you at the city dump at five o’clock.”
    When the detectives arrived, Wilford was standing behind a broken table.
    On the table were an empty clear plastic bottle, an ice pick, a small jar, a drinking glass, and a pitcher filled with clear liquid.
    Wilford started his big sales pitch.
    “Gather around,” he bellowed at the crowd of little kids waiting for him to fulfill their dreams of untold riches. They edged closer.
    “Don’t leak a word to any grown-up about the wonder I’ve got for you,” he warned out of the side of his mouth. “They’ll take over and cheat you out of every cent.”
    “Stop beating your gums and get to the big bucks,” a boy shouted.
    “You’re keen for the green, eh, kid?” Wilford purred. “What I have for you today is Antiflow, the world’s greatest gift to mankind! The savior of nations, the scientific marvel of the age! Remember the name:
Antiflow!
”
    He unscrewed the cap on the plastic bottle and passed the bottle around. Next he took the ice pick and punched a tiny hole in the side of the bottle about an inch from the bottom. Then he filled the bottle from the pitcher. The liquid streamed out of the tiny hole.
    Quickly he took a white pill from the jar. He held it up. “Observe:
Antiflow!
”
    He dropped the pill into the bottle and screwed on the cap.
    Although the bottle was still almost full, liquid stopped streaming out of the hole.
    “Baloney!” a girl snapped. “It’s a trick. There’s something else in there.”
    “Oh, ye of little faith!” Wilford exclaimed. He filled the water glass from the pitcher and handed it to the girl. “Drink!”
    She drank. “It’s just water,” she said, puzzled.
    “Would Wiggins fool you?” Wilford cried. “The secret is the Antiflow. It was invented by Professor Stubblehauser of Germany. He doesn’t trust anyone but straight shooters like yours truly. That’s why he granted me the rights to sell the miracle pill