His father was finishing his breakfast when Bob came to the table. He nodded to Bob, then glanced at his watch.
“Good morning, son. Did you have a good time with your friends last night?”
“Yes, Dad,” Bob answered. “Kind of.”
His father stood up, dropping his napkin on the table. “That’s fine. By the way, I don’t know if it’s important, but you seemed interested in the Seaside tunnel yesterday, and after you left, I happened to recall the name of the man who had lost his fortune building it.”
“Oh?” Bob asked. “Who was it, Dad?”
“Labron Carter.”
“Carter?” Bob instantly thought of the Mr. Carter they had met. The one with the bad temper and big shotgun.
“Yes. He lost his vigorous health, too, once the Seaside Town Council turned away from his plans to make Seaside the resort city he had envisaged. The combination of losing his health, fortune and reputation was too much for him — he killed himself.”
“That’s too bad. Did he have a family?”
Mr. Andrews nodded. “His wife died shortly afterwards. His son is the sole survivor.” Mr. Andrews looked thoughtful for a moment. “That is, if he is still alive,” he added. “Remember this all happened over fifty years ago.”
Bob waved goodbye as his father left for the newspaper office where he worked. He added this latest information to his notes. He wondered what Jupe would say when he presented his own evidence. Proof that somebody was still alive who knew about the original tunnel. Somebody with a grudge to bear against the city that had broken his father’s heart. Somebody who had a very nasty disposition.
Bob couldn’t imagine how the present Mr. Carter might try to get even. He put his notes in his pocket, finished his breakfast and hurriedly left.
Perhaps Jupe would be able to tie things up later at the Jones Salvage Yard.
“Golly,” Pete Crenshaw said, an apprehensive note in his voice. “What Bob’s told us about the Carter family sure makes sense, Jupe. More than your remark about the dragon being fake,” he added.
The Three Investigators were gathered together again at Headquarters. Bob had started the meeting by reading his notes, as usual, and had first mentioned Labron Carter. But he had even more surprises for his friends.
“I remembered what you said last night about the dragon,” Bob said. “And I went straight from my house to the library this morning and did a lot of research before our meeting.”
Jupiter glanced at the papers in Bob’s hand.
“I believe it would be most constructive to our meeting this morning, Bob, if you came directly to the point,” Jupe said. “To wit, are there dragons living today, or not?”
Bob shook his head. “Not. No dragons. Not a single book gave any evidence of dragons living today.”
“That’s crazy!” Pete exploded. “Those guys just don’t know where to look. If they spent a little time around a certain cave in Seaside at night, they’d find one, all right. A nice big one!”
Jupe held up his hands. “I suggest we listen while Bob reads his report. Then we’ll discuss it. Continue, Bob.”
Bob looked down at his notes. “The closest thing I found to a dragon is a huge lizard called the Dragon of Komodo. It’s large for a lizard — grows up to ten feet long — but nowhere near as big as the dragon we saw.”
“Maybe one of them got some extra vitamins,” said Pete. “Maybe that’s our dragon.”
“No,” said Bob. “The Dragon of Komodo doesn’t breathe smoke, and it only lives on one small island in the East Indies. And it doesn’t look much like that creature in the cave. I think we can safely say there are no dragons living today.
“But I did find a lot of living creatures that attack, kill and even eat man!” He glanced at his companions. “Do you want me to continue?”
Jupe nodded. “Certainly. We must know our natural enemies — as well as the ones intending to fool us by pretending to be natural. Read your list, Bob.”
“Here goes,” Bob said. “One million people killed each year by disease-carrying insects; forty thousand die of snakebite; two thousand from tigers; one thousand are eaten by crocodiles, and another thousand are food for sharks.” He looked up.
“Notice if you will, Pete,” Jupe said, “no mention so far of any statistics covering the incidence of dragons and humans. Continue, Records.”
“Those are the big numbers,” Bob said. “There are also a lot caused by elephant, hippo, rhino, wolf, lion, hyena and leopard. Some of these are accidents. There are man-killers and man-eaters. A lot are intentional ‘rogue’ killers.
“But according to this book — Man Is the Prey by James Clarke — the dangers from some beasts are greatly exaggerated. Like polar bears, pumas, eagles and alligators. He said tarantulas are absolutely harmless, that grizzly bears do very little real damage, and that the apes have enough intelligence to stay away from man. Also that the most likely places you can go if you want to be eaten are central Africa and the Indian subcontinent. The safest place, he says, is Ireland, with nothing there more dangerous than the bumblebee!”
Bob folded his notes. There was silence in the little room.
“Any comment?” Jupe asked Pete.
Pete shook his head. “Seaside sounds pretty safe after that,” he said smiling. “All you have to do now is convince me that dragon last night wasn’t real.”
“Well, to begin with,” Jupe said. “We didn’t see — ”
He was interrupted by the telephone ringing.
Jupe reached for it, and then hesitated.
“Go ahead. Pick it up,” Pete said. “It might be another call from that dead guy — or ghost. He probably tried to tell that dragon to keep out of his cave, too.”
Jupiter smiled and picked the telephone up. “Hello?” he said.
As usual, he held the telephone close to the microphone so Bob and Pete could hear the conversation.
“Hello,” said a familiar voice. “Alfred Hitchcock here. Is that young Jupiter?”
“Yes. Hello, Mr. Hitchcock. I suppose you’re calling to find out how we’re doing with our investigation for your friend?”
“Yes,” the hearty voice replied. “I had assured Allen you boys would clear up the mystery of his missing dog with dispatch and ingenuity. I’m calling now to verify my own assurances. Have you found the dog yet?”
“Not yet, Mr. Hitchcock,” Jupe said. “We’ve got another mystery to solve first. A mystery of a coughing dragon.”
“A coughing dragon?” Mr. Hitchcock repeated. “You mean there actually is one? It coughs, you say? How odd! There is seemingly no end to life’s mysteries. However, I would suggest if the appearance of a dragon confounds you, that you discuss it with the man who is considered the world’s living expert on them.”
“Who it that, sir?” Jupiter asked.
“Why, my old friend Henry Allen,” Mr. Hitchcock answered. “I’m surprised he didn’t tell you. He used more dragons in his work than anyone before or since.”
“Yes, he did mention he’d used dragons,” said Jupiter, “but apparently they didn’t prepare him for seeing one on his beach. Well, thank you for checking with us, Mr. Hitchcock. I think we’d better report our progress to Mr. Allen. I’ll give him a call.”
“No need to,” Mr. Hitchcock said surprisingly. “I have him on another line at my office. He just telephoned to tell me he was quite impressed with you boys. One moment, and I’ll ask my secretary to switch him over.”
There was a moment’s pause, and then the boys heard the voice of the old film director.
”Hello, is that you, young Jones?” he asked.
”Yes, Mr. Allen. I’m sorry to say that so far we haven’t found a clue to your missing dog. But we aren’t giving up.”
”Good lad,“ Mr. Allen said. ”Actually I didn’t expect results so soon. It’s possible that my dog was simply picked up by a stranger and taken away. As I told you, he is an extremely friendly animal.”