Bob frowned. That wasn’t part of the message code Jupiter had worked out. Then he saw his mother smiling and realized she was joking with him. “Aw, Mom!” he said. “What was it really?”
“Now that I think harder,” his mother told him, “it was ‘Rustle and bustle, this is the score. Somebody’s needed to mind the store.’ Now honestly, Robert, couldn’t you boys communicate in ordinary language?” Then she added, “No, I suppose it’s more fun this way. I won’t ask what it means, but something tells me you are all working on another one of your cases.”
“Yes, Mom,” Bob said absent-mindedly as he sat down at the dinner table. “Rustle and bustle” meant to get to the salvage yard as fast as he could, but not on top emergency. “Somebody’s needed to mind the store” meant that Jupiter needed him to stay in Headquarters by the telephone because Jupe had gone off somewhere. Where, Bob wondered, had Jupe gone this morning?
“Well, is that all you’re going to say?” his mother asked, putting a plate of bacon and eggs and toast in front of him. “Just ‘yes, Mom’?”
“Oh, excuse me,” Bob said, his thoughts interrupted. “I mean, yes, we’re on a case. We’re looking for a bust of a Roman emperor named Octavian that got sold by mistake. It belongs to an English boy named Gus and we’re trying to locate it.”
“That’s nice,” his mother said. “Now eat all of your eggs, a bust isn’t going to run away. That’s one thing about statues, they stay put.”
Bob couldn’t tell her that that was the trouble with this bust — it was very elusive. However, he ate his breakfast, then rode as swiftly as he could to the salvage yard. There he found Mrs. Jones in the office and Hans and Konrad busy straightening up around the yard.
“Good morning, Bob,” Mathilda Jones greeted him. “Jupiter and Pete and that English boy rode off on bicycles half an hour ago. Jupiter left a message for you back there where his machinery is.”
Bob hastened back to the workshop section. There was a note propped up on the printing press: Bob: Man the bells. We are on a scouting expedition. First Investigator J. Jones.
“Man the bells” meant to stay by the telephone for any calls from their “ghosts.” But where could Jupe and the others have gone on a scouting expedition, Bob wondered as he crawled through Tunnel Two and let himself into the little office of Headquarters.
He could hear the telephone ringing as he pushed up the trapdoor. His watch said five minutes to ten. Some “ghost” was early in reporting. Bob scrambled the last few feet and grabbed up the phone.
“Three Investigators, Bob Andrews speaking,” he panted.
“Hello,” answered a boy’s voice. “This is Tommy Farrell and maybe I have some information for you. My married sister bought a little statue at The Jones Salvage Yard and she has it out in her garden now.”
“What’s the name of it?” Bob asked eagerly. “Is it Octavian?”
“Gee, I don’t remember. Hang on for a minute while I go and look.”
Bob waited, his heart pounding. Had the Ghost-to-Ghost Hookup been successful so soon? If Tommy Farrell’s sister had Octavian —
Then the boy’s voice spoke again.
“Not Octavian,” he said. “The name is Bismarck. That help any?”
“Thanks a lot, Tommy,” Bob said, disappointed. “But we really need Octavian. We appreciate your calling, though.”
“Okay.” The other boy hung up and Bob put the phone back in its cradle. Then, not having anything else to do until it rang again, he sat down at the typewriter and typed all his notes on the case so far. When he had finished, he looked at his wrist-watch and saw that it was almost noon. There hadn’t been any more calls. This time the Ghost-to-Ghost Hookup was a failure.
“Bob! Bob Andrews!” Mathilda Jones’s powerful voice came in through the open skylight. “Jupiter isn’t back but lunch is ready. You might as well eat.”
“I’ll be right there,” Bob called into the microphone.
He started for Tunnel Two and had the trapdoor open when the telephone began to ring. He scrambled back, grabbed up the phone and breathlessly said, “Hello! Three Investigators. Bob Andrews.”
“You wanted to know about a bust of Octavian,” a girl’s voice answered. “Well, my mother has it, but she tried putting it in the garden and she thinks it looks silly. She said she’s going to give it away to a neighbour.”
“Please don’t let her do that!” Bob cried. “Our motto is that every customer must be satisfied. We’ll come out to your house just as soon as we can and refund her money. I’ll also bring another bust in case she thinks it would look better.”
He took down the name and address, which was in Hollywood, a good many miles away, and hung up. Then he looked anxiously at his watch.
If only Jupe would hurry back. They had located Octavian — but if they didn’t act fast they’d lose him again!
10
Trapped!
PETE LED THE WAY as, puffing slightly, the three boys pushed their bikes up a small rise and out into the open part of Dial Canyon.
The canyon was narrow and quite high up in the hills north-west of Hollywood. Only one road led to it, an unpaved one that ended in this flat section. Here, the late Horatio August’s house sat in a large area of long, untended grass.
It had been Jupiter’s idea to visit the house. He didn’t know exactly what they were looking for, but he thought they should see the house where Gus’s great-uncle had lived.
It had taken them longer than they expected to ride through the hills. Now it was nearly noon, and the sun was high and hot overhead. They paused to wipe the sweat off their faces and to look at the empty home of Horatio August.
Three storeys tall, of timber and plaster, it was very impressive standing all by itself in the open. Nothing moved and there was no sign of life. They rode up to the front door and left their bicycles on the grass.
“We haven’t got the key, but there ought to be some way to get in,” Pete said. “After all, we have permission from Mr. Dwiggins.”
“We could break a window to obtain entrance,” Gus suggested.
“We don’t want to do any damage if we can help it,” Jupiter answered, “even though the house is soon going to be torn down. I have a bunch of keys with me — ” He hauled from his pocket a fat bunch of keys which had accumulated at the salvage yard over a period of years. “Let’s see if one of these will open the door, before we try anything else.”
They walked up three steps to the front door and Pete tried the knob. To his surprise the door swung open silently.
“It’s open already!” he said. “It wasn’t even latched.”
“That’s odd,” Jupiter said, frowning.
“Perhaps Mr. Dwiggins left it open after he was here the other day,” Pete suggested. “Or maybe someone else did. It doesn’t matter — people don’t worry much about locking up empty houses.”
They walked into a dark hallway. On either side were two big rooms, dusty and empty, except for some scraps of paper on the floor.
Jupiter entered the one which he deduced had been the living-room. He looked around, but there didn’t seem to be anything much to see. There was no furniture. The room was panelled in dark walnut, which still shone despite a layer of dust.
There was nothing to see, so he turned and strolled across the hall into the opposite room. This one had apparently been a library, because built-in bookshelves towered round three sides of the room. Now they were empty of everything but dust. Jupiter stood in the middle of the room, looking at the shelves. “Ah!” he said, after a long look.
“What do you mean, ah?” Pete asked. “I can’t see anything to ah at.”