Free Lantern Sam and the Blue Streak Bandits by Michael D. Beil

quiet, rumors about a missing rich girl from the deluxe Commodore Perry suite spread like a grassfire from one end of the train to the other. By the time passengers returned to their rooms to dress for dinner, virtually everyone on the Shoreliner had heard
something
about a kidnapping, and those who were parents demanded to speak to the conductor about what was being done to ensure their children’s safety.
    Clarence knew that he needed to reassure the passengers, especially those traveling with children. In order to keep the situation under control, he and the two porters he trusted most set out to knock on every compartment door and explain what had happened.
    “You do what you have to do,”
Sam told Clarence.
“Henry and I’ll be snooping on His Immenseness.”
    When no one was looking, Clarence led Sam and me into the dining car, where the upright piano had been pushed against a wall to make room for another table. Clarence pulled it out a few inches and motioned for us to squeeze behind it.
    “Mrrraaa. Not much room back here,”
complained Sam.
    “What about me?” I said. “I’m a lot bigger than you.”
    “Are you going to be all right?” Clarence asked.
    “There’s only one problem,”
said Sam.
“We can hear people but we can’t see them. How are we supposed to know who’s talking?”
    “How about a big vase of flowers to hide behind?” Clarence suggested. “That’s what they always do in the pictures. Let me see what I can find.”
    “While you’re at it, how about a little something to eat? I’m famished,”
said Sam.
“What’s that I smell, pork chops?”
    “You’re just going to have to wait.”
    “Oh, fine. You’ll get the boy genius everything he asks for, but I ask for one little pork chop and suddenly you’re too busy. If I die of starvation back here, please don’t tell my mother I went like this. She had such great expectations where I was concerned. It would break her poor, weak heart.”
    “Oh no,” I said, suddenly remembering the promise I’d made to my mother.
    “You have to go to the bathroom, don’t you?”
Sam asked.
“I
told
you to go before we came back here.”
    “It’s not that. My mother—she’ll be looking for me. She said she wanted to treat us to a nice meal in the dining car for a change, instead of stale sandwiches.”
    “Leave it to me,” said Clarence. “I’ll take care of everything. Now, shhh! Someone’s coming.”
    It didn’t take us long to figure out who that someone was, even though we couldn’t see anything from behind the piano. The heels of a pair of sturdy men’s shoes (custom built in a factory in Hoboken, New Jersey, to withstand forces no ordinary shoe could handle)
clacked
loudly, and the floorboards beneath them creaked in protest with every step. When Judge Ambrose finally came to a stop and lowered himself onto a chair, its wooden frame groaned so noisily that I cringed, waiting for its imminent collapse.
    “Fee-fie-fo-fum,”
said Sam.
“I smell the blood of a half-ton bum.”
    I had to cover my mouth to keep myself from laughing out loud.
    “Waiter!” shouted the judge. “Bourbon, and make it snappy.”
    When the waiter returned less than a minute later, Ambrose complained about how long it had taken and told him to leave the bottle.
    “Glad to see he’s taking this investigation so seriously,”
said Sam as we listened in awe to the
glug-glug-glug
of liquor splashing into a glass.
    And Sam’s eyes were wider than mine when, seconds later, Ambrose slammed that glass down onto the table and refilled it!
    “He drinks like the sailors on Father’s ship,” I noted. “Father says they have hollow legs.”
    “Based on the sound that chair made when he sat in it, I don’t think any part of him is hollow,”
said Sam.
    Clarence walked past, placing a vase filled with colorful flowers on top of the piano before checking up on Judge Ambrose.
    “Everything all right here, Judge? You should be able to observe everyone