Chapter Four: The Mystery Is Solved

Matters went from bad to worse in the days following the market excursion. Mushrooms continued to disappear at Netherfield Farm, and a petition demanding Frodo’s immediate departure from Hobbiton was presented to Bilbo by the shirriff. Signed by many of the local farmers, it was supposedly authored by Farmer Broadfoot…a neat trick for an unlettered hobbit. "That’s Otho’s hand, without a doubt," I confirmed when Bilbo showed it to me. My line of work had made me something of an expert on handwriting.

"Just as I thought!" said Bilbo, angrily tearing it up.

By now I was all but convinced that the Sackville-Bagginses were stealing the mushrooms in order to turn public feeling against Frodo, maybe even cause Bilbo to disown him. But I had no idea how to prove it…nor indeed how they were managing it. In fact, I felt no closer to solving the mystery than I had on the day that Sam and Bilbo first had asked for my help. Once again, I was ready to admit defeat. But once again, fate took a hand—in the unlikely guise of the Sackville-Bagginses themselves.

* * *

"This time they’ve gone too far, Abelard!" Miss Dora looked up from the mail I had just delivered, her expression grim.

"Who have?" I inquired, though it wasn’t hard to guess.

"Otho and Lobelia, that’s who!" she snapped, passing me the document. It was an official notice requiring Dora, as Frodo’s closest kin in Hobbiton, to appear at Bag End on the morrow, when Farmer Broadfoot and Shirriff Tom would present "proof positive" of the lad’s guilt. Most surprising—and suspicious—was the news that the Sackville-Bagginses would be accompanying them. The notice was signed by Otho; at least he had used his own name this time.

I stopped at Bag End a short while later with Bilbo’s copy of the notice. "Well, Abelard, we have come to the point at last," he said with weary resignation. "I can’t imagine what ‘proof’ the S.-B.s have trumped up, but I shan’t be sorry to hear it. The situation has become intolerable, and now Frodo will have to explain himself! You’ll come, I hope? Since you were here when this trouble began, it seems only fitting that you should be present at the end as well."

"Of course I’ll come," I promised, wondering uneasily if he would expect me to pull the real thief out of my mail pouch.

* * *

At the appointed hour Dora and I climbed the Hill and entered Bilbo’s front garden. A large black dog was frisking about Sam as he weeded, trying to coax him into a game. Sam, under the disapproving eye of his da, giggled at the dog’s antics. I recognized the hound as Bane, and wondered why the farmer had brought him along.

When he saw me, Sam hurried over and whispered, "I did it, Mr. Archer—I kept watch, just like you said I should, and last night I saw something I think you should know about. I can’t say as I understood it, but I think it might be important!"

There was no time to hear more; Bilbo was already at the door to meet us. "You’d best join us then, Sam," I said.

Overhearing this, the Gaffer frowned. "’Tain’t his business to be in there, for all he’s been fretting over the young master!"

"But Sam may be needed for questioning," I hastened to explain, catching Bilbo’s eye.

"Quite right, Abelard," he said with a brisk nod. "Master Hamfast, by your leave we will borrow your son for a short while."

"Very well, Mr. Bilbo," said the gardener reluctantly. "He ain’t much use this morning anyhow, yawning and half asleep as he’s been though he won’t say why. Mind you behave yourself, Samwise, and wipe your feet on the mat!"

Bilbo now showed us into the parlor, where the others were already gathered: Frodo, Merry, Shirriff Tom, Farmer Broadfoot, Otho and Lobelia, and their scrawny son Lotho. That made eleven of us in all, not counting the Gaffer, who was pruning the lilacs under the open parlor window with special care…such care, in fact, that the task proved to require his presence in that spot for the whole of our meeting.

Merry was fidgety, Frodo strangely calm. Lotho appeared more nervous than either of them, I noted with interest, though with that one it was hard to know if it meant anything in particular…he always had a furtive air about him.

Lobelia strutted over to us, wielding her umbrella like a scepter and making no effort to hide her triumphant glee. "Well Dora, come to see this young scoundrel get his comeuppance, have you? Or perhaps you’re here to help him pack his belongings? It’s clear he’ll never fit into proper Hobbiton society!"

"Don’t be a fool, Lobelia, Frodo’s not going anywhere," Dora shot back. "I’m well aware of your ambitions, but let me assure you that it will be Highday the First of Summerfilth before I see you mistress of Bag End!"

I hid a grin. Score one for Dora the Dragon-eater.

Lobelia and Dora were now standing nose-to-nose on the hearth rug, and for one wild moment I thought they were going to have at it on the spot with umbrella and cane. I, for one, would have been hard put to predict the outcome of such a duel. Lobelia was younger and meaner, but Dora was more agile, and considerably angrier.

Bilbo jumped between them. "Now now, dear ladies…let us all compose ourselves!" They rounded on him with identical glares so fierce that the bold adventurer actually stepped back a pace or two.

"You keep out of this, Bilbo!" growled Dora. "As for Frodo’s shortcomings," she continued, turning back to her adversary with a zealous gleam in her eye, "if it’s anyone’s place to speak of them, that would be Bilbo’s or mine—most certainly not some meddling upstart from Hardbottle!"

Frodo rolled his eyes, plainly wishing his family wasn’t quite so keen on their criticizing rights to him.

"Let’s get on with this," cut in Otho. "Shirriff, I believe you have something to announce?"

"For once we’re in agreement, Otho," said Bilbo. "Sit down everyone, please, so that the shirriff may proceed with his duty!"

Standing in the center of the room, Tom cleared his throat. "Good hobbits," he solemnly declaimed, "you have been summoned here today to hear formal charges of mushroom thievery brought against Master Frodo Baggins, who since the 22^nd of September, 1389, has been living at Bag End under the guardianship of Mr. Bilbo Baggins, his uncle…that is, his cousin…" He trailed off and appealed to Bilbo. "Beg pardon, sir, but I’ll be blessed if I can ever keep straight just what exactly is your relationship to the lad!"

‘Look here, it’s very simple," said a gruff voice. We turned toward the window in surprise: it was the Gaffer. "Master Frodo’s ma, poor Mistress Primula, was Mr. Bilbo's first cousin on his mother's side; and Mr. Drogo, Master Frodo’s da, was his second cousin on his father’s side. So Master Frodo is Mr. Bilbo’s first and second cousin, once removed either way, as the saying is."

Dora and Lobelia looked impressed, and not a little envious. It was one thing for a hobbit to know the lineage of his own extended family for umpteen generations back…in fact, it was expected. But it was quite another for a gardener to have memorized not only his own, but his master’s family-tree as well.

Bilbo beamed. "Right you are, Master Hamfast. Couldn’t have said it better myself!"

Dora gazed pointedly at Frodo, who blushed and slid down in his seat.

"Er…yes, thank you, Gaffer," said the shirriff with some chagrin. "As I was saying, under the guardianship of Mr. Bilbo Baggins, his cousin. I will now submit to you undeniable proof that this young miscreant has been boldly and wantonly stealing mushrooms for the past fortnight. All that remains is to bring him to justice!" he finished with a theatrical flourish.

Merry, who had been growing more and more agitated as the shirriff spoke, suddenly burst into tears. "Please don’t punish Frodo for what I did!"

"Merry, no!" cried Frodo.

But there was no stopping him. "I’m sorry, Uncle Bilbo!" he sobbed. "I promise I’ll pay you back from my pocket money for every mushroom I ate!"

"Pay…me? Whatever for, Merry-lad?" said Bilbo, taken aback.

"For—for the mushrooms I’ve been pinching from your cellar," he quavered.

"What!?" Bilbo leapt to his feet.

"From the cellar?" said Frodo in confusion. "But—you acted so frightfully guilty, Merry, when I found you with those mushrooms. So when the shirriff and Farmer Broadfoot showed up here the very next day, and you never said anything, I thought…"

Merry hung his head. "I was afraid you’d tell Uncle Bilbo, and then I’d be sent home," he sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. Dora tsked, and passed him a handkerchief. "But then…when Farmer Broadfoot thought it was you taking his mushrooms, I hoped—I hoped maybe you’d be sent home."

"But he is home!" said Bilbo with a puzzled frown.

"To Buckland," explained Frodo. "O Merry! After all this time, does it still hurt that much?" He swept up his cousin in a fierce hug.

"Apparently you’re not the only one who thought he’d be sent back to Buckland," remarked Dora, glaring at the Sackville-Bagginses.

Shirriff Tom scratched his head. "I don’t understand."

"I believe I do," I said. They all stared at me. "Master Merry wouldn’t tell his cousin where he had gotten the mushrooms. So when Farmer Broadfoot’s mushrooms went missing, and suspicion naturally—if, perhaps, unjustly—fell on Master Frodo, he spoke not a word of denial because he was trying to cover up for his young cousin, whom he believed to be the culprit. Have I got it about right?"

Frodo nodded reluctantly.

I turned to Merry. "And you, Master Meriadoc…you continued to let Frodo catch you with Bilbo’s mushrooms, rightly guessing that if he thought your ill-gotten treasure was from Netherfield Farm, he would continue taking the blame for you…and perhaps, as a result, be sent away from Hobbiton—back to his Brandybuck kin."

"Very touching," sneered Otho. "But all it proves is that there are two mushroom thieves in this smial! Must be a Brandybuck family trait."

Frodo sprang up, eyes flashing, but Bilbo clamped a hand on his shoulder and dragged him back down again. "The only real thief here is me," he said firmly, "and I’m not referring to mushrooms. But come, Frodo, why didn’t you defend yourself? Once you had Merry confined to your room at night and knew he could not possibly be stealing Farmer Broadfoot’s mushrooms, why in the name of wonder did you remain silent? Surely you must have realized that by doing so you were feeding all the rumors and suspicion!"

Now it was Frodo’s turn to hang his head. "I wanted to find out what I was going to do next," he admitted.

Bilbo looked startled. "What do you mean?"

"Everyone was telling such splendid tales about me—how I was such a clever, daring thief and a master of escape. I hadn’t done anything like that since leaving Buckland, you know, and, well…it was rather exciting to hear all the talk. I hated to own up that it wasn’t me after all," he ended sheepishly.

Bilbo shook his head, a wry smile on his lips. "So you fancied yourself a character in a story, did you? Stick to your books, Frodo my lad, that’s a safer way to go adventuring!" Suddenly he frowned. "But Frodo! What if I had sent you away?"

"I knew you would never do that, Uncle Bilbo!" said Frodo, his voice sweet and trusting.

For a heartbeat Bilbo seemed torn between throttling Frodo and embracing him. Then he melted, throwing his arms about the lad and blinking back sudden tears. "My dear boy!"

"But it was Frodo, I tell you, I’m sure of it!" insisted Otho, unmoved by this tender scene.

Dora’s eyes narrowed. "Just why are you so sure?" she demanded. "Shirriff, you said you had proof. Let us hear it!"

"Er, yes, of course," faltered Tom, gamely trying to shake off his befuddlement. "I hereby call as witness Master Lotho Sackville-Baggins!"

Lotho rose, and stood awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I overheard those two talking last market day," he mumbled, jerking his head toward Frodo and Merry. "I was hiding behind the apple stall, listening to every word they said, though the fools never knew it."

That I believed…Lotho had a reputation as a sneak.

"Frodo was bragging to that Brandybuck about stealing mushrooms from Farmer Broadfoot," he continued, eyes fixed on the floor, "and—and how he had hidden a bunch where no one would ever think to look: in a hole in the garden outside his window!"

Frodo stared in astonishment at his accuser.

"He never did!" shouted Merry.

"What sort of proof is that?" sniffed Dora. "It’s just Lotho’s word"—and it was plain how much stock she put in that—"against theirs."

But I suspected that the tale wasn’t all told…and it seemed Bilbo did too. "The claim is easy enough to prove or disprove," the old hobbit remarked with a shrewd glance at Otho, "if we knew where to search."

"That’s where my dog comes in," said Farmer Broadfoot eagerly. "Bane has the keenest nose for mushrooms this side of the Brandywine! You saw how he sniffed out the one Tom pinched from my field," he said to me. Tom turned bright crimson. "Bought him from old Maggot himself, I did, seeing as Nipper was getting on in years."

So we all trooped outside. Bane was sitting amongst the lilacs, studying the Gaffer’s every move with great interest and not at all deterred by the scowls and mutters directed at him. On seeing us, he came loping over at once. Frodo shrank away from the huge beast—recalling, I imagined, unpleasant encounters with Maggots’ dogs.

"Find the mushrooms, Bane!" ordered his master.

At the word mushrooms the hound’s ears pricked. He bounded forward a few paces, then put his nose to the ground and began sniffing purposefully, advancing on the flower beds below the bedroom windows. Suddenly his whole body stiffened. Giving one short, excited bark, he commenced digging frantically in the loose, dark soil.

"He’ll ruin the roses!" cried the Gaffer in horror, lunging after him.

Bilbo put out a restraining arm. "Wait," he said, intent on the dog.

Now Bane was whining and worrying at something in the dirt. Farmer Broadfoot strode forward and, stooping, lifted a bundle wrapped in sackcloth out of the hole. We eagerly crowded round and watched him unfold the muddy parcel, then gave a collective gasp. There, nestled in the folds of cloth, were some dozen large, plump mushrooms!

My heart sank. Had Frodo been lying all along—playing us for fools? And yet his bewilderment now, as he stood blinking at the cache, surely seemed genuine. Was he really that cunning?

"There’s your proof, Bilbo!" crowed Otho. "Satisfied at last?"

Bilbo paled, but his voice was steady. "Let us go back inside and discuss this in a civilized manner."

In silence we filed back into the parlor, where Farmer Broadfoot set the confiscated mushrooms on a table by the hearth. Once all were seated, Bilbo turned a grim face to his ward. "Very well, Frodo," he said heavily, "what do you know about these mushrooms?"

Frodo hesitated, stealing a glance at Merry. But his cousin only shrugged and shook his head. The tween took a deep breath, then lifted his chin and squarely met Bilbo’s gaze. "I know this looks bad, Uncle, but upon my honor as a Baggins—"

Dora perked up at this and leaned forward in her seat. But to her obvious disappointment, Frodo’s heartfelt speech was abruptly cut short.

"That’s what I saw, Mr. Archer!"

Startled, I looked down at Sam, who had seated himself next to me and was now tugging urgently at my sleeve. "Sorry for speaking out of turn, sir, but I saw someone digging in that very spot last night, then putting summat in the hole and covering it up again. Only…it weren’t Master Frodo as did it."

"Well, who was it then?"

"Master Lotho!"

"He’s a lying brat!" yelled Lotho.

A loud, vicious snap made everyone jump. The Gaffer was glowering at us from the window, pruning shears in hand. Lotho scurried behind his mother.

"I have never known Samwise to be anything but honest," declared Bilbo, turning a cold eye on the Sackville-Bagginses.

"Honest, eh? What honest lad would lurk outside his master’s smial in the dark?" blustered Otho, but I noticed sweat breaking out on his brow.

Sam went red to the roots of his hair. "Begging your pardon sir, I didn’t mean no harm by it!" he said to Bilbo. "But seeing as…well, Mr. Archer did say as how I was to keep a sharp eye out for anything queer and all…"

"Pay no heed to Otho, lad…your vigilance has proven invaluable!" Bilbo reassured him.

"Thanks, Sam," said Frodo, smiling at the youngster. "I can always count on you, can’t I?"

Sam smiled back shyly.

Bristling with indignation, Dora confronted Otho and Lobelia. "So it was you all along! Putting your son up to stealing the mushrooms, and planting them here to discredit Frodo…I never thought even you would stoop so low!"

But while she was speaking and the Sackville-Bagginses were stammering their denials, my attention was drawn back to the mushrooms. I walked over to the table and picked one up to examine it more closely. "Just a moment, Miss Dora!" I exclaimed. "If I’m not mistaken, these mushrooms prove that while the Sackville-Bagginses may be guilty of falsely implicating Frodo, they are innocent of thievery."

Dora frowned. "Whatever do you mean, Abelard?"

"Yes, what?" echoed Lobelia anxiously.

I confess I was enjoying the moment. "Take a good look at this mushroom," I continued, holding it up and turning it slowly before my fascinated audience. "Note its smooth, unblemished appearance…so typical, of course, of wild mushrooms—but not of the cultivated variety!" I moved to the window and handed the mushroom to the Gaffer. "Am I right, Hamfast?"

"Aye," he confirmed. "A farm-grown mushroom would be bruised all over by so much handling, and being buried and all. This beauty’s wild, all right!"

"But…that doesn’t make sense," objected Bilbo. "Why use wild mushrooms? If one were trying to cast suspicion on Frodo, the best way to do it would be with mushrooms bought at market—if possible, Farmer Broadfoot’s own."

"True enough," I agreed. "But you fail to take into account one important fact: the Sackville-Bagginses would never spend good money on mushrooms they wouldn’t be eating themselves…what hobbit would, after all?" I glanced at Otho for confirmation and he grudgingly nodded, relieved to be cleared of the theft.

"Oho, penny-wise and pound-foolish!" chuckled Bilbo. Lobelia stirred angrily, but for once had nothing to say.

"We seem to be going in circles," complained Dora. "If not Merry, or Frodo, or even the Sackville-Bagginses…then who WAS stealing the mushrooms?" She looked at me expectantly, but having just absolved the chief suspects, I was fresh out of ideas.

The shirriff cleared his throat. "I’ve been thinking…" he announced.

I winced. Now we’re in for it.

"…about what Abelard here said to me the other day," Tom continued, "about the dogs in the night and all, and realized that he was on to something. Now at last I know who did it!" He paused dramatically, gazing at each of us in turn, then raised his arm and pointed…straight at Farmer Broadfoot!

A stunned silence filled the room, then it was broken by a sudden, violent wheezing and choking. Whirling toward the window in alarm, I saw the Gaffer doubled over, gasping for breath.

"Someone help him!" cried Dora.

"No ma’am, he’s all right," said Sam quickly. "He’s just laughing, is all."

"Oh!" Dora’s bemused expression was mirrored by the rest of us. The Gaffer being such a dour old chap, I reckon no one could recall seeing him laugh before.

I was hard put to suppress my own rising hilarity at the farmer’s outrage over Shirriff Tom’s remarkable pronouncement. "Oh, why don’t you go out and hunt for stray cows, Tom," he said disgustedly, regarding the shirriff with profound contempt. Even Lotho was snickering now.

But despite the absurdity of the shirriff’s accusation, there was something about it that nagged at me…something about the dogs. Suddenly the last piece of the puzzle clicked into place. "Wait!" I cried. "I believe that Shirriff Tom is not so far off the mark as you might suppose."

"Now just a—"

"Hear me out, Elmo. As Tom said, I did remark on the dogs’ curious silence on the nights your mushrooms disappeared. And, I believe that he is quite right in surmising that the thief had to be someone quite well known to them."

"Well known…?" said the bewildered farmer.

"Yes indeed, none better. But there is one test to make before we can be sure. Elmo, call in your dog, please."

Farmer Broadfoot stepped out of the hole and whistled, and in short order returned with the hound at his heels. Bane was panting with excitement at being indoors, his claws skittering on the polished floor.

"Now offer him a mushroom."

"Are you daft, Abie?" Elmo exclaimed, but nonetheless he held out a mushroom to his dog. The beast just gazed up at him, unmoving.

I guessed the problem straight away. "Elmo, would you set the mushroom on the floor and leave the room for a moment?"

The farmer shook his head and muttered, but did as I requested. No sooner had he left the parlor than Bane pounced on the mushroom and devoured it, then sniffed hopefully at those remaining on the table. Without a doubt, this was a highly intelligent animal.

Elmo now rejoined us, and his eyes widened in shock as I described Bane’s behavior. "When did you say you acquired this dog?" I asked the farmer gently.

"Well, let’s see now…I reckon it was a fortnight last Hensday."

"And when did your mushrooms begin to disappear?"

"Why, it was—that is—you don’t mean…?" The farmer’s jaw dropped. "This is the mushroom thief!? A watch dog what likes mushrooms? Then…Maggot knew! He said he would let me have him for a song, as a token of his regard and to promote goodwill between the East and West farthings, or some such claptrap. Why, that double-crossing snake…I’ll kill him, and the dog too!"

Sam threw his arms around the hound protectively. Bane licked his face.

Frodo burst out laughing, then joined Sam on the floor and gingerly patted the dog.

Merry began edging toward the mushrooms.

"Very clever, Abie," remarked Bilbo. "However did you deduce it?"

"Well," I said, thinking back over all that had happened, "once Frodo and Merry were confined to Bag End, their innocence was clear…for despite popular opinion Frodo could not sprout wings or walk through walls! My suspicion then fell on the Sackville-Bagginses, until the mushrooms proved their innocence. I admit I was completely stumped after that…before Tom mentioned the dogs. I had seen first-hand that no one could get past them without setting them off. And as my da always said, if you toss out all that couldn’t happen, whatever’s left, no matter how far-fetched, must have happened."

"Your father was a very wise hobbit," observed Bilbo thoughtfully.

Dora rose, tucking her cane under her arm. "Thank goodness that’s all cleared up!" she said briskly. "Well done, Abelard! Although I must confess I don’t understand all this fuss over moldy, unhealthful mushrooms—no offense, Elmo!" She kissed Frodo and Bilbo, patted Merry on the head—nearly causing him to choke on a mushroom—and nodded to the others. Pausing in the doorway, she issued a parting shot at Lobelia: "Oh, and I wouldn’t go measuring your furniture just yet, Lobelia dear!" and swept out of the smial.

Tom chuckled.

"Stop your sniggering, young fellow," Lobelia snapped. She rapped him sharply on the head with her umbrella, then stormed off down the Hill, husband and son in tow.

Tom rubbed his head and glared at me, as if daring me to say something. Well, I’m always game for a dare…

"Never laugh at live dragons," I offered.

"Your daddy again?" said the shirriff dryly.

"Nay," I grinned, "that’s one of Mr. Bilbo’s."

Editor’s notes:

"Look here, it’s very simple," said a gruff voice…
The Gaffer said much the same thing in "A Long-expected Party," FOTR:
"You see: Mr. Drogo, he married poor Miss Primula Brandybuck. She was our Mr. Bilbo's first cousin on the mother's side (her mother being the youngest of the Old Took's daughters); and Mr. Drogo was his second cousin. So Mr. Frodo is his first and second cousin, once removed either way, as the saying is, if you follow me."

"…it will be Highday the First of Summerfilth before I see you mistress of Bag End!"
As explained in a footnote to Appendix D, LOTR, Highday (Friday) is the only weekday on which no month begins in the Shire Calendar. Summerfilth is a non-existent month, a play on Winterfilth (October). Therefore to say that something will happen on Highday the First of Summerfilth is akin to saying "when pigs fly."

"And as my da always said, if you toss out all that couldn’t happen, whatever’s left, no matter how far-fetched, must have happened."
Regarding the astounding similarity of this remark to that of Sherlock Holmes in The Sign of Four ("How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?"), please see editor’s notes, chapter three.

Mushroom notes:

The meadow mushroom, Agaricus campestris, is a beautiful white edible that is closely related to the cultivated "button mushrooms" (Agaricus bisporus) sold in grocery stores. As its common and Latin names suggest, it comes up in meadows, fields, and grassy areas after rain. It is recognized by its habitat, its pink gills (covered up by a thin white membrane when the mushroom is young), which become chocolate brown as the mushroom matures, its quickly collapsing white ring, and the fact that it does not discolor when bruised.

Agaricus bisporus, like most cultivated foods, is not nearly as flavorful as its wild relatives. Stem: 2-8 cm long; 1-3 cm. thick; sturdy; more or less equal; smooth or with small scales below the ring; white, often bruising brownish; with a ring that sometimes disappears in maturity. Flesh: White and firm; usually bruising and staining brownish.

Source: http://www.mushroomexpert.com/agaricus_campestris.html

Next week: Another mystery is solved.