“Give it to me!” Black Moustache snarled. He gave an extra-hard jerk just as Jupiter, obeying his aunt, let go. The man staggered backwards, tripped over a rock, and fell to the ground. The bust rolled out of his arms and cracked into a dozen pieces.
The boys stared at the pieces with mouths open.
Mrs. Jones was too far away to see, but Jupiter and Gus and Pete and Bob saw it plainly. A red stone the size of a pigeon’s egg, shimmering in the centre of the broken plaster head!
For a moment no one moved. Then Black Moustache scrambled to his feet, picked up the red stone and jammed it into his pocket.
He turned to Mrs. Jones. “Entirely my fault,” he said. “I accept full responsibility. Now if you will excuse me, I must go. I won’t want any more busts.”
He leaped into his car and drove swiftly out of the salvage yard while the boys watched him go in despair.
“He’s got it,” Pete groaned. “He’s got The Fiery Eye!” Then he remembered their earlier conversation. “But I thought we decided there wasn’t any man with a black moustache. Mr. Dwiggins made him up.”
“Obviously we were wrong in some way,” Jupe said. His body slumped, his face drooped; he looked very depressed.
“Black Moustache was at the library earlier today,” Bob put in. “He was looking up The Fiery Eye.”
“This is an upsetting turn of events,” Jupiter said slowly. “We no sooner find The Fiery Eye than we lose it again. I’m sorry, Gus.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” the English boy said stoutly. “Please don’t blame yourself.”
“I was so sure Black Moustache didn’t exist — ” Jupiter began. He was interrupted by his aunt.
“Well, Jupiter, I’m glad he took the blame,” she said, nodding towards the lumps of plaster that had been Augustus of Poland. “It was his fault, actually, because he dropped it, but people aren’t always reasonable. However, no harm done. Just clean up those pieces and put them in the trash barrel.”
“Yes, Aunt Mathilda,” Jupiter said.
Mrs. Jones looked at the clock over the door of her office. “Time to close up,” she said. “Unless you boys want to stay here a while longer.”
“We have something to talk about,” Jupiter told her. “We’d like to stay a little longer.”
“Then we’ll leave the gate open,” Mrs. Jones said. “No use missing a possible customer. You wait on anyone who comes.”
Jupiter agreed, and Mrs. Jones left the yard for the small two-storey house just outside the wall where she and Titus and Jupiter lived.
The four boys were left alone in The Jones Salvage Yard. They picked up the broken pieces of Augustus and carried them over to an old table. Jupiter examined them.
“See?” he said, pointing to an egg-shaped cavity in the broken pieces. “Here’s where The Fiery Eye was.”
“And now Black Moustache has it!” Bob groaned. “We’ll never get it back again.”
“It does seem rather hopeless,” Jupiter agreed — and it was very rare for Jupiter to admit the possibility of defeat. “But let us explore the possibilities. Come back to our workshop and, Bob, you tell us what you found out.”
He led the way back to the secluded workshop area. Settled beside the printing press and the lathe, the boys listened as Bob read from his notes all that he had learned about the blood-stained history of The Fiery Eye, and about the people of Pleshiwar, India.
“Golly!” Pete gulped. “I don’t like the sound of all that! If The Fiery Eye is a bad luck ruby, I say let’s leave it alone. Let it jinx somebody else.”
“But part of the legend is that if The Fiery Eye goes unseen and untouched for fifty years, it will be purified and the bad luck lifted from it,” Bob pointed out.
“Sure,” Pete agreed. “And you also said many collectors would be afraid to risk it even after fifty years.”
“I’m beginning to understand,” Gus said, his eyes gleaming with excitement, “why Uncle August acted as he did. He hid The Fiery Eye and planned to keep it for fifty years. Then, when it was harmless, he would sell it. Finding himself dying just as the fifty years were up, he left it to me. I’m sure it’s safe now.”
“It may be safe,” Jupiter said, “but Black Moustache has it. And at the moment I don’t know how we’re going to get it back from Black Moustache.”
“The Ghost-to-Ghost Hookup!” Bob exclaimed. “We’ll get thousands of kids looking for Black Moustache. When we find him, we’ll — we’ll — ” He faltered, realizing he didn’t have any idea what they would do then.
“Exactly,” Jupiter nodded. “We couldn’t just take it away from him. Anyway, do you realize how many men in this city answer to the description of Black Moustache? Hundreds at least. And that’s not counting the fact that I suspect the black moustache is artificial, worn for a disguise.”
“Then it’s hopeless.” Gus broke a long silence that followed Jupiter’s remark.
Another silence followed. Even Jupiter did not seem to have any ideas. Then they heard a sharp ringing sound.
“The bell!” Bob exclaimed. “Some customer Jupe.”
“I’ll go see what he wants.” Jupiter rose and started towards the office. The others followed.
As they got out into the open, they could see the customer standing beside his sleek black car, leaning on a cane and looking round.
“Oh-oh!” Pete whispered. “It’s Three-Dots again!”
“I don’t like this much,” Bob whispered back.
But Jupiter was advancing towards the man and reluctantly they followed. Jupe, they noticed, had let his shoulders slump and was wearing his stupid look for the benefit of Three-Dots.
“Good evening, boys,” Three-Dots said. He smiled. It was not a nice smile. “I have just been examining — that!”
With his cane he pointed to the broken pieces of Augustus of Poland.
“It seems to be the remains of the bust of Augustus, in which I was especially interested. I believe I requested you to telephone me if it was returned.”
“Yes, sir,” Jupiter said. “Only it got broken.”
“And I wonder how it got broken?” Three-Dots’ smile was like the smile of a tiger about to eat a nice, plump boy. “I have noticed with special interest the small cavity inside the broken chunks. Something was hidden in that bust.”
“Yes, sir,” Jupiter said, his voice dull. “A customer dropped it and it broke. He picked up something. We didn’t get a good look at it.”
Which was perfectly true. They hadn’t. Though they had been pretty sure what Black Moustache had picked up.
“This customer,” Three-Dots said. “Would he have been a man with large glasses and a black moustache?”
Jupiter nodded. Pete and Bob and Gus exchanged startled glances.
“And — ” the tall man continued — “would the object the gentleman picked up from the bust have looked like this?”
With an abrupt movement he took something from his pocket and tossed it down on the table beside the broken bust. It was small and eye-shaped and shone with a red glow.
The Fiery Eye!
Even Jupiter gulped slightly as he answered.
“Yes, sir, it looked like that.”
“Hmmm.” The man leaned on his cane and looked at them all. “You have all heard of The Fiery Eye, I imagine. You have all heard of the dire fate that follows any who possess it.”
There didn’t seem to be any good answer to that, so they remained silent. They were wondering, though, how Three-Dots could have The Fiery Eye now, when Black Moustache had made off with it less than an hour before. “I wish to show you something.”