What's So Funny Read Online Free

said.

    “Most haven’t.”

    Eppick said, “It was news to me, too, and I thought I knew some history.”

    “American soldiers,” Mr. Hemlow said, with what sounded like satisfaction, possibly even pride, “are a light–fingered group, always have been. Over many a mantel in America hangs stolen goods.”

    “Spoils of war,” Eppick explained.

    “That’s what they call it,” Mr. Hemlow said. “Now, near the end of the invasion, a platoon of American soldiers, nine lads including my father, and their sergeant, Alfred X. Northwood, came across a surprising item in a port warehouse in Murmansk. It was a chess set, a gift for the czar, from I don’t know whom, which had been shipped in by sea just in time to meet the Bolshevik Revolution, and it was the most valuable thing those boys had ever seen in their lives.”

    Dortmunder said, “A chess set.”

    “The pieces were gold, inlaid with jewels. It was too heavy for one man to lift.”

    “Oh,” Dortmunder said. “That kind of chess set.”

    “Exactly. It was worth millions. In the chaos of war and revolution, nobody even knew it existed, packed away in a wooden crate.”

    “Pretty good,” Dortmunder said.

    “Most of the boys in that expeditionary force,” Mr. Hemlow said, “were from Ohio and Missouri, so they made an agreement. They would take that chess set back to the States and use it to finance a dream they’d been sharing, to open a chain of radio stations across the Midwest. If they’d done it, they would’ve died rich men.”

    “Uh huh,” Dortmunder said, noticing that “if”.

    “Sgt. Northwood,” Mr. Hemlow went on, “took the ivory–and–ebony chessboard. One of the lads took the teak box that held the pieces. The other eight, including my father, took four chessmen each, knowing each of them could smuggle that much home.”

    “Sounds good,” Dortmunder agreed.

    “Back in the States,” Mr. Hemlow said, “out of the army at last, they met with ex–Sgt. Northwood in Chicago, and all gave him their part of the loot, for him to convert into the loans they needed.”

    “Uh huh,” Dortmunder said.

    “They never saw Northwood or the chess set again.”

    “You know,” Dortmunder said, “I kinda saw that coming.”

    “They searched for him, for a long while,” Mr. Hemlow said. “Fewer and fewer of them over the years. Finally just my father and three of his friends. Their sons all were told the story, and when we seven boys were grown we took what time we could from our regular lives to look for Northwood and the chess set. But we never found either one.” Mr. Hemlow shrugged, which was more like a generalized tremor. “The generation after us didn’t care,” he said. “It was all ancient history. Two of the boys from my generation are still alive, but none of us is in any condition to go on with the search.”

    Delicately, Dortmunder said, “This Sgt. Northwood, he probably isn’t around any more either.”

    “The chess set is,” Mr. Hemlow said. “The boys were going to call their company Chess King Broadcasting. One of them drew up a very nice logo for it.”

    “Uh huh,” Dortmunder said, hoping Mr. Hemlow wasn’t about to show him the logo.

    He wasn’t. Instead, he lowered his head, those watery eyes now turning to ice, and he said, “I am a wealthy man. I am not in this for the money. Those boys were robbed of their dreams.”

    “Yeah, I get that,” Dortmunder agreed.

    “Now, unexpectedly,” Mr. Hemlow said, “I seem to have an opportunity, if I live long enough for it, to right that wrong.”

    “You know where the chess set is,” Dortmunder suggested.

    “Possibly,” Mr. Hemlow said, and sat back in his wheelchair to fold his chicken feet over his paunch. “But for a moment,” he said, “let us talk about you. What did you say your name was?”

Chapter 4
----
    “Diddums,” Dortmunder said, and winced, because that was an alias he loathed that nevertheless bounced out of