Mad Scientists' Club by Bertrand R. Brinley, Charles Geer

Sharples looked down. Then he looked up at the Council. Then he looked down again. He turned the satchel around. There were no initials. There wasn't even a nameplate. Abner's face fell. He looked toward Harmon, who made a helpless gesture with his hands.
    "I could have sworn there were some initials on this bag," said Abner. "However, there doesn't seem to be now. But what is important is what's inside it!" Whipping a penknife out of his pocket he snapped the lock off the rotten leather. With a dramatic movement he upended the satchel and dumped its contents onto the council table. Hundreds of red, white, and blue campaign buttons cascaded from the satchel and clattered onto the table top. A roar of laughter shook the room. Abner Sharples' chin shook with rage as he picked up one of the buttons and read, "Scragg for Mayor."
    Mayor Scragg's eyes were popping out of his head as he reached out from the head of the council table and fingered one of the buttons.
    "How on earth did these get inside a bag that has been hidden for years in that old cannon?" he asked.
    "I suspect that some nefarious schemer got there before me, and is trying to make a laughing-stock of this august Council," said Abner Sharples, in his best oratorical style. He was purple with rage.
    "Appears to me the joke's on you, Abner," said Mr. Snodgrass.
    Mr. Willis, the president of the bank, rose from his place at the council table. "Gentlemen, if you will permit me, I believe I can clear this matter up," he said. "A few hours ago I had a visit from young Henry Mulligan and two other members of a group of young men who call themselves the Mad Scientists of Mammoth Falls. I believe you are all familiar with the group and with some of the, er -- let us say -- some of the exploits they have been connected with. In this case, however, I believe they have done the town a service."
    Mr. Willis reached under the council table and produced the original brown satchel.
    "I believe this may be the bag you were hoping to find in the old cannon," he said, as he placed it on the table. "Henry Mulligan brought it to me late this morning. I am told that it contains the seventy-five thousand dollars that has been missing from the bank for fifty years. I have not opened it myself, since I do not have the key. I think it is best if we open it here in the presence of the Council, so there can be no misunderstanding as to its contents."
    Abner Sharples grabbed the bag. "This is the satchel I was speaking of," he said, excitedly. "You can see the initials EMS on the nameplate.... I wonder! Could those be the initials of our illustrious townsman Elijah Scragg? Could this bag have been his property? Is it possible that after fifty years this inoffensive little satchel should comeback to haunt his descendants and throw a cloud upon his memory?"
    Mayor Scragg had turned scarlet, and was gripping the edge of the council table so hard you could hear his knuckles crack.
    "Seems to me they could also be the initials of Emory Sharples," said Mr. Snodgrass placidly.
    Just then there was a commotion at the door of the council room. Dinky Poore and Freddy Muldoon were elbowing their way through the crowd. Behind them loomed the spare and weathered figure of Elmer Pridgin. He wore a tattered hunter's cap, and his long squirrel ride was clutched in a strong right hand.
    Dinky squeezed through the press of spectators to Jeff Crocker's side and whispered in his ear. Jeff reached out and plucked the sleeve of Mr. Willis, and the banker bent down to consult with the new arrivals. Abner Sharples started complaining loudly about the interruption. Mayor Scragg, still flushed, pounded his gavel on the table for quiet.
    Finally Mr. Willis came forward to the council table once more. "Gentlemen," he said, "I believe we have some important evidence here. I think you all know Elmer Pridgin. He has a story to tell. But since he has had little experience in public speaking, he has asked me to tell it for