A sleuth is born

Jalaluddin was twelve when he went to the best
school in town. He was not very clever at studies but
was smart. 
When he was in the sixth class and his exams were
only two months away, some of his classmates found
that their books were missing. The thefts continued
for some days. Initially the boys suspected one another.

But, as the days passed, more and more boys started 
losing their books. They got worried because the exams
were fast approaching.

Some of the boys were afraid of telling their parents
about the loss of books for fear of punishment. They
might even be suspected of having sold the books for
a little extra spending money. 

They also thought it prudent not to report the loss
to their class teacher. "How come so many books have
been lost?" the teacher would have asked. "And who
can steal them anyway since all of you were in school
all the time?" 

To such queries, the boys had no answer. So every
one suffered in silence, hoping and praying that the
lost books might miraculously reappear. 

One day Jalaluddin found his English grammar
book missing. His parents were not rich enough to
buy him another book. He had to have the grammar 
book because his English teacher had always been
admonishing him, "Improve your English or you will
never pass." 

So Jalaluddin was determined not only to pass in
English but to top the class. Therefore, he had to regain
the grammar book. He saved his pocket money, borrowed
small amounts from some of the boys and bought a
second-hand grammar book.

When he went to school the next day, instead of
keeping his books in the desk, Jalaluddin kept his
books on top of the almirah, which stood in a corner
and in which the class teacher kept the attendance
register, books and papers. But, when he returned
from the assembly, the book was gone, as if it had
vanished into thin air. Jalaluddin was in a quandary. 

He thought and thought. It suddenly occurred to
him that for the past few days, he had been seeing a
stranger, a boy about their age, hanging about in the
school. 

'Come to think of it,' he said to himself. 'He's not
a regular student. He is there some times and not at
other times. How can that be?' 

So far Jalaluddin had paid no attention to him,
but now he was assailed with doubts. Who was this
boy? Why was he around? So preoccupied was he

with thoughts of the stranger that his teacher pulled

him up for not paying attention to him. 

The next morning, Jalaluddin entered his class

room as usual, deposited the books in his desk and

ran out for assembly as usual. But, instead of attending

assembly, he came back by a circuitous route and

hid himself in a corner of the verandah from where

he could see his class room.

As soon as assembly started, he saw the stranger 

enter the class room stealthily, pick up a book each

from three or four desks and slip out of the school

premises by the back gate. 

'So that's it', said Jalaluddin to himself.

Having found the thief, Jalaluddin was not going 

to let him escape. He followed the boy, keeping a safe

distance. The boy walked on and on and Jalaluddin

followed him. When he crossed the road, Jalaluddin

also crossed the road. Whenever he stopped, Jalaluddin

stopped too, making sure not to arouse any suspicion.

The boy entered a tall building and climbed the stairs.

Jalaluddin did not follow him lest he should be noticed.

So he waited outside the building. After what seemed

hours he started getting worried.

Perhaps the boy lives in this building, he thought.

'I can't possibly knock at every door enquiring about

a boy whose name I do not know.'

Just as he was about to give up the chase, the boy

emerged from the building, carrying a small packet

tied up in a newspaper. But Jalaluddin was not

deceived. He had no doubt that the packet contained

the books. 

Following the boy, Jalaluddin quickened his pace.

The boy sensed he was being trailed. He quickly

entered another building in an effort to dodge his

pursuer. Then, coming out, he went back in the direction

 he had come from. But, as he turned the corner

to go to the back of the tall building, he bumped right

into Jalaluddin! 

Jalaluddin pretended it was an accident and

hurried off. The boy was relieved. He was wrong he

felt in thinking that some one was shadowing him. 

That was exactly what Jalaluddin wanted and, sure

enough, the boy had fallen into the well-laid trap. 

Seeing Jalaluddin walk off, he boldly walked on to

the bazaar and entered a shop that sold second-hand 

books. Jalaluddin watched the boy from the other

side of the road and noted the name of the shop he

had entered. 

Then he rushed to the police station nearby and so

excited was he that he almost barged into the Inspector's

room. The policeman standing outside caught him by the

arm.

"Who do you think you are, barging in like this?"

Hearing the commotion, the Inspector came out.

"What's going on?" he demanded to know. "What

has this fellow been up to?" 

Jalaluddin was past caring. "There is a thief in

that bookshop, Sir," he screamed, pointing in the

direction of the bazaar. "That boy has stolen our

school books. Please, Sir, catch him before he runs

away." The words came tumbling out of his mouth.

"I followed him all the way from school, Sir. Please,

Sir, hurry or he will run away!" 

Jalaluddin was straining at the leash, as it were,

the policeman holding him firmly. 

The Inspector realised the urgency of the situation.

He sent a policeman with Jalaluddin and they reached

the shop in the nick of time. 

"There he is!" cried Jalaluddin as the boy came out. 

Seeing the policeman, the boy took to his heels.

But the constable sprinted after him and caught him

by the scruff of his neck. 

"I'm not a thief," wailed the boy. "I have not

stolen anything." "Then why were you running away?"

asked the policeman. 

They took the boy to the police station, where he

denied that he had stolen and sold any books. So the

Inspector sent for the shop-keeper. He too denied

having bought any books from the boy. 

"Let's take him to the school, Sir," pleaded Jalaluddin. 

The Inspector called for the police van and they all

went to the school. 

At the school, Jalaluddin told the Principal how

so many boys had been losing their books, but were

afraid to report the loss for fear of being reprimanded.

The Principal nodded sympathetically as he heard the

story. 

The shop-keeper kept denying that he had bought

the stolen books from the accused boy. So the Principal

and the Police Inspector took him from class to class. 

"Look at those boys," thundered the Inspector.

"Can you identify the boy who sold you the books?" 

The boys were scared. What if the shop-keeper

accused any of them? What could they say in their

defence? Wliat proof had they that they had not stolen

the books? They might even be rusticated. The prospect

was too alarming to contemplate.

As they went from one class to another thirty pairs

of frightened eyes seemed to pierce right through the

shop-keeper. He could stand the strain no longer. He

broke down and confessed that he did buy the books

from the boy. He volunteered to return the books and

even forego the money he had paid for them. 

Jalaluddin became a hero in the school. The Principal 

asked him to tell the whole story to a hastily summoned assembly. 

Jalaluddin's proudest moment was when the

Principal announced that he would be made a Prefect

even though he was only in the sixth class, the Prefects

were normally chosen from class seven and above. 

Jalaluddin's parent^ were indeed proud of him,

more so when he received a letter of Commendation

from the Police Department.