Free Watson's Case by F.C. Shaw

take a look at the hole on the second floor again. Who or what had made them, and why? The more he studied it, the more convinced he was that a person had made it. There was no trace of animal claw marks. The culprit must have used a tool, perhaps a . . .
    â€œHammer,” Rollie breathed to himself.
    Was it a coincidence that Miss Gram’s hammer was missing at the same time holes were being knocked in the walls? One thing Rollie had learned long ago from Holmes was that events were rarely coincidences, especially when crimes were afoot. Rollie did not know if the missing hammer and the holes were linked, and he still did not know the relevance of either. He grunted in frustration and hurried to Observation class.
    * * * *
    When Thursday afternoon rolled around again, Wesley invited Rollie to join the study group. Rollie agreed and met the older boys in the library. They sat in a circle on the floor with books in laps and pencils in hand. They worked silently for a good fifteen minutes before Wesley looked up at Rollie.
    â€œAre you going home for the weekend?” he asked.
    â€œI go home every weekend,” said Rollie. “Don’t you?”
    â€œOnly when my parents are home. They travel a lot. This weekend my father and mother are on a business trip to Belgium. So I’ll be staying here.”
    Todd yawned and stretched. “Wish I could keep you company, but my mum would kill me if I stayed. She acts like I’ve been gone a month when I go home every weekend. She’s mad at Headmaster’s new rules about using the telephone. ‘I can never get a hold of you!’ she screams.”
    Jimmy snorted.
    â€œWatch it. My mummy loves me,” Todd teased.
    â€œMy mum loves me too—when she remembers,” Jimmy joked. “She’s so absentminded. She calls me Jolly all the time.”
    The older boys laughed together.
    â€œWho’s Jolly?” Rollie wanted to know.
    â€œOur bulldog,” Jimmy replied between laughter.
    Rollie thought Jimmy rather resembled a bulldog, being squat with pudgy cheeks and a flat nose. He did not dare voice this opinion.
    â€œWhat’s your family like, Rollie?” Wesley inquired.
    â€œBig and loud. I have older twin brothers and younger twin sisters.”
    â€œReally? That’s peculiar!” Todd commented.
    â€œThey are peculiar.” Rollie nodded.
    â€œCan you stay the weekend?” asked Wesley. “We could hang out.”
    â€œThat would be fun!” Rollie agreed. “What do you do around here?”
    â€œWe sleep in, play games, go on outings with Mr. Chad. Nothing much.”
    Rollie’s brown eyes widened. “Nothing much? Sounds like fun!”
    â€œActually it is.”
    â€œStop rubbing it in,” Todd grunted.
    â€œCan you?” Wesley repeated.
    â€œI’ll ask Headmaster if I can phone my parents,” promised Rollie.
    Before dinner Rollie went to the headmaster’s office to telephone his parents about staying the weekend. After making the call, which lasted longer than Rollie had anticipated because his older twin brothers kept cutting in with stupid detective jokes, Rollie lingered a minute longer.
    â€œHeadmaster, sir?” he started. “I have a lead on Zilch’s mole.”
    Yardsly’s eyes brightened. “REALLY!”
    â€œRupert.”
    Yardsly’s face fell. “Rupert?”
    â€œHe’s always missing class and disappearing then showing up,” rattled Rollie, trying to recall everything mysterious about his roommate. “Oh! And last week he said that he had an important assignment to get to. He’s our chief suspect at this point.”
    Yardsly leaned his elbows on his desk. “No, he’s not.”
    Rollie was taken aback. “But what about being absent and what if he really does have an assignment and—”
    â€œAll those facts about Rupert are true,” agreed Yardsly. “But for other