“We’re fed up with you kids coming over the fence and wrecking stuff,” he said. “This time we’re not just going to toss you out the gate. This time you’re going to stay for a while and find out what happens to vandals.”
“We are not vandals!” Jupe was indignant. “We are here at the request of Miss Marilyn Pilcher. We signed in properly. Ask the man at the gate.”
The men looked at one another doubtfully, none willing to admit he might be making a mistake.
“If any harm comes to us, you’ll have to answer to Miss Pilcher,” said Jupe.
“And that’s just for openers,” Pete declared.
“We’re friends of Police Chief Reynolds,” added Bob. “Go ahead! Call the Rocky Beach Police Department and tell them you’ve got Jupiter Jones and Pete Crenshaw and Bob Andrews. See what they say!”
“What do you think, Bo?” said one of the men.
“They’re snowin’ us,” said the man who had the book. Just the same, he looked back toward the gate where the boys had checked in.
“I’m goin’ to make sure,” said the third man. He set out at a trot for the gate.
The others waited, and in minutes the big man was back. The gateman was with him. He looked at the boys, gave a quick nod, and said, “Yeah, that’s them. I let ’em through myself not half an hour ago.”
“Oh.” The fellow with the book seemed very disappointed. “Okay, you can go back to whatever you were doing,” he said.
“I’d like that book, if you don’t mind,” said Jupiter.
The man handed it over. “Sorry, kid, but we’ve had a lot of trouble here.”
The men drifted off and the security guard returned to his post. Jupe and his friends watched them go. When they had disappeared into the jungle of beached yachts that covered the quay, Jupe took a deep breath and looked at the book in his hands.
“You’re shaking,” Pete accused.
“Nonsense!” said Jupiter, mentally telling his hands to hold steady. “Those men were bluffing. They wouldn’t have done anything.”
He pried open the catch that held the book closed and lifted the front cover. The spine creaked as if it might split and send pages raining down onto the deck. But the book didn’t come apart, and Jupe began to turn the pages. They felt as fragile as autumn leaves, dry, ready to crumble. A gap in the middle of the book showed where some pages had been cut out.
“It’s a diary, or something like a diary,” said Jupe. “It’s handwritten, and there are dates. It starts with ‘Enero.’ That’s Spanish for January. On January first the bishop — if he’s the one who wrote the book — he was at… at a place called Santa Fe de Bogotá.”
“Bingo!” cried Bob. “Bogotá’s in Colombia. So there’s the link with Sogamoso. Sogamoso is in Colombia too.”
“Right!” Jupe was trying to appear calm, but his eyes sparkled. “So we may assume that the computer message has something to do with Jeremy Pilcher’s kidnapping. In fact, it may have everything to do with it.”
“But what about that book?” said Pete. “Jupe, you can read Spanish. What’s it all about?”
Jupe frowned. A lot of the words were unfamiliar. And the ink was faded and brown. The writing was crabbed and the pages were crowded with the old script — so crowded that lines ran together. “I don’t think I can read this,” Jupe confessed. “I’m not sure I could read it even if it were in English.”
Bob looked over his shoulder. “Yeah!” he said. “It looks like one of those old documents where they made all the s’s look like f ’s.
“So what are we waiting for?” Pete demanded. “I’ll bet if we ask Dr. Barrister, he’ll know somebody who reads that stuff.”
He was speaking of Dr. Henry Barrister, a professor of anthropology at Ruxton University in the nearby San Fernando Valley. Dr. Barrister had helped the boys in the past when they needed information on folk medicine and magic and witchcraft. He had many friends on the Ruxton faculty, and their specialized knowledge was a boon to the young investigators.
“Dr. Barrister might save us a lot of time,” Jupe conceded. “We can’t take the book to Ruxton, however, before we talk to Marilyn Pilcher. She asked us to find the bishop’s book so that she could use it to ransom her father. Perhaps she doesn’t care why the kidnapper wants the book, just so long as her father is safe.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Pete. “Sometimes I forget about the kidnapping. I mean, it doesn’t seem like anybody really likes old Pilcher. It’s easy to get carried away solving the puzzle and forget why we’re on the case!”
Jupe nodded, and locked the door of Pilcher’s cabin. Then the boys turned in the keys at the gate and located a pay phone. First they tried to call Marilyn Pilcher at her mother’s house in Santa Monica again, but this time they only reached the answering machine. Jupe left a message, then called the Pilcher house in Rocky Beach.
Mrs. McCarthy picked up that phone. “Wait a minute and I’ll get her for you.”
When Marilyn came on the line, Jupe told her about finding what appeared to be the journal of a bishop. Marilyn said nothing for a moment, but Jupe heard her draw in a deep breath. She was like a swimmer who had been too long underwater; now she had come to the surface and could breathe again.
“Thank goodness!” she said at last.
“We wondered,” said Jupe. “Do you want to find out why the book is so important, or do you want to turn it over to the kidnapper and just not worry about it?”
Marilyn hesitated. “We have a little time,” she said. “That man called again. I told him we were still trying to find the book, only it was hard when we don’t know exactly what we’re looking for, and he said, ‘One more day. You have one more day. I will not wait longer.’ ”
“So we have until tomorrow,” said Jupe. He then explained about Dr. Barrister. “He must know people who can read old manuscripts. Shall we take the book to Ruxton?”
“Maybe you’d better,” said Marilyn after a pause. “If we give away something that my dad really wants, he would have a fit. Even if we save his life, he could have a fit. He’s like that. So go ahead. We’ve got nothing to lose because I have no way to contact this guy, whoever he is, to let him know we’ve got the thing.”
She stopped for a second, then went on, “I probably shouldn’t have the book here in the house anyway. Somebody was here while I was with my mom last night. Somebody searched my room. I could see that my bureau drawers were different, like somebody took stuff out and then put it back. If it was the man who has Dad, he’s also got Dad’s keys, doesn’t he? He can come and go as he pleases.”
“Call a locksmith,” said Jupe. “Have the locks changed. Okay, we’ll try Dr. Barrister and we’ll let you know.”
Next, Jupe phoned Dr. Barrister at Ruxton. He was in luck. Even though summer vacation had started, the professor was still coming into his office every day. He promised to wait for the boys.
The Investigators hurried back to the salvage yard and begged Uncle Titus for a ride.
“You need a lift out to Ruxton?” said Uncle Titus. He grinned and pulled at the end of his big mustache. “I promised your Aunt Mathilda I’d deliver some bricks to a man in North Hollywood,” he said. “I’ll have to pass right by Ruxton. The truck is loaded already. Come on. Don’t dillydally. Let’s go!”
The three boys scrambled into the back of the smaller salvage-yard truck, and they were off down the highway. In less than an hour Uncle Titus deposited them on the Ruxton campus, promising to return a little later.
Dr. Barrister was in his office with a friend — a skinny man with a very bald, very shiny head. “This is Dr. Edouard Gonzaga,” said Dr. Barrister. “Dr. Gonzaga heads up our Department of Romance Languages. He has a special interest in old Spanish manuscripts.”