“I think Mr. August put the false ruby into Augustus to mislead anyone who came looking for it,” he added. “He wanted them to think they had found it, so he made it easy.”
“Then where did he put the real ruby?” demanded Deep Voice, the one called Joe.
“In another of the busts,” Jupe said. “One people wouldn’t suspect so quickly. The bust of Octavian.”
“Octavian, huh?” Rough Voice, called Charlie, asked. “And just why Octavian?”
“Of course!” Joe exclaimed. “Octavian was a Roman emperor the people called Augustus. Augustus — August — get it?”
“Well, yeah.” Charlie scratched his head. “It begins to sound reasonable. Okay, kid, answer this. Where is Octavian?”
“I don’t know,” Jupiter answered. “My aunt sold it to someone, and she didn’t keep any records of names and addresses. Anyone in Los Angeles or anywhere near here could have it.”
Joe stared at him. Absent-mindedly he rubbed his false moustache.
“That sounds as if it might be the truth,” he said. “But I have another question for you. If you think the ruby is inside old Octavian, why aren’t you out looking for him? Why did you come to this house?”
That was harder to answer. The truth was, Jupe had just had a hunch that he should inspect the house where the dead man had lived. He had no idea what kind of clue he was looking for.
“Since I didn’t know where to look for Octavian,” Jupiter said, “I decided to do the next best thing and look over this house. I might be wrong. Mr. August may not have hidden the ruby in Octavian at all.”
“No, I think he did,” Joe muttered. “It adds up that way. The message was a false trail to the first Augustus. Anyone who knew enough about history would go for Octavian instead. That’s how the old man figured his great-nephew would think. So we have to find Octavian before anyone else does.”
“And how are we going to do that?” Charlie demanded. “Anybody in or near Los Angeles could have it. We could spend a lifetime looking.”
“That’s a problem,” his companion agreed. He fixed a gaze on Jupiter. “But that’s not our problem. That’s Fatty’s problem. If he wants to get loose from that chair, it’s up to him to figure out how we can find Octavian. Well, kid, what do you say?”
Jupiter was silent. He could tell them about the Ghost-to-Ghost Hookup. But that was a last resort.
“I haven’t any idea where Octavian is,” he said, trying to sound humble. “If I did, I’d have gone to try to get him back.”
“Then you’d better start having some new ideas,” Charlie said, his tone ugly. “You’re supposed to be a whiz at thinking. So start the think works moving. We can wait all day, if necessary. And maybe all night, too. If you want to get out of that chair and get your pals out of the cellar, come up with a good answer!”
At the moment Jupe didn’t have any answer, good or otherwise. He thought swiftly. Bob ought to guess where they were. If they didn’t show up, Bob would eventually come to this house with Hans, and maybe with Mr. Jones and Konrad. Sooner or later Bob should rescue them. But it might be a long time because Bob had instructions to stay by the telephone.
Jupiter decided to wait. Maybe Bob —
At that moment, little Mr. Jackson appeared in the kitchen doorway.
“Excuse me,” he said nervously, “but the radio — I think your friends are trying to contact you. I heard a voice calling for Joe — ”
Joe spun round. “The walkie-talkie!” he exclaimed. “Charlie, get it. That must be Hugo. Maybe there’s action at the other end.”
Charlie ran out of the room. Jupiter scarcely had time to wonder how Hugo could be calling anyone if Three-Dots had used the sword blade on him when Charlie was back.
He was carrying a large portable walkie-talkie, much more powerful than the smaller instruments Jupe had made for himself and Bob and Pete. This was the kind of walkie-talkie that required a licence to use, though obviously Charlie and Joe weren’t worrying about that.
“It’s Hugo, all right,” Charlie said. He pressed a button on the walkie-talkie.
“Hugo,” he said, “Charlie here. Do you read me? Come in. Come in.”
He released the button and the walkie-talkie hummed. Then a voice spoke, raspy because of the distance.
“Charlie! Where have you been? I’ve been trying to raise you for ten minutes.”
“We’ve been busy. What do you have to report?”
“Action at this end. The blond kid, the smaller one, just left the salvage yard in one of the trucks, with a yard helper driving. They’re heading for Hollywood. We’re following them.”
Jupiter’s heart leaped. Bob had decided to come look for them. In a little while he and Konrad or Hans would get there and then —
But his hopes were dashed by the next question and answer.
“Are they coming this way ?”
“No, they’re heading into town. They don’t know we’re following them.”
“See where they go,” Charlie instructed. “This may be a break.” He looked across at Joe. “Anything you want to tell Hugo?” he asked.
“Yes! I bet the kid is going after Octavian. He’s got a lead on the statue somehow. Tell Hugo to see if they pick up one of the plaster busts. If they do, he’s to get it away from them any way he can!”
Charlie repeated the message into the walkie-talkie and signed off.
“There,” he said. “That does it. Pretty smart of you, Joe, buying these walkie-talkies. I think they’ve just paid off — big. Now, kid — ” he shoved his grinning face up close to Jupiter’s — “we’ll all just wait and see what happens.”
13
Bob takes the Trail
BOB HAD WAITED as long as he dared for Jupe and Pete to come back. The “ghost” had said to hurry if he wanted to get the bust of Octavian, and here it was late afternoon and no sign of First and Second. Maybe they were following up some new line of investigation, but he couldn’t wait any longer, he finally decided. He would have to handle this himself.
He got permission from Mrs. Jones to use the smaller track, with Hans to drive it. He also wangled five dollars advance pay for future work he would do around the yard. Finally, explaining that a customer wasn’t satisfied with one of the busts but might be willing to exchange it for another, he was allowed to take the bust of Francis Bacon along, too.
Hans lugged it over to the truck and laid it down on a bed of canvas. Bob added a heavy cardboard box and a lot of newspaper to pack around the precious bust of Octavian when they got it. Then they started out.
It was a forty-five minute drive to the address in the outskirts of Hollywood. Their route took them on well-travelled roads through attractive residential sections. There was so much traffic that neither Bob nor Hans noticed that following them was a dark blue sedan with two men in it, both wearing large horn-rimmed glasses and black moustaches.
Presently Hans slowed down and Bob began inspecting the numbers on the houses they passed.
“That’s it!” he yelled after a moment. “Stop here, Hans.”
“You bet,” Hans rumbled.
He pulled the truck to a stop and Bob hopped out. Half a block behind them, the blue sedan stopped, the two occupants watching intently every move they made.
Hans climbed down beside Bob and picked up Francis Bacon. Carrying him under his arm, he followed Bob to the front door.
Bob’s ring was answered by a girl with pretty, freckled features.
“You’re one of The Three Investigators!” she exclaimed, and Bob was pleased at the slight touch of awe in her voice. “And you want my mother’s bust of Octavian for some strange and probably secret reason, don’t you? Come in. I had a simply terrible time keeping her from giving Octavian away and I finally had to tell her it was made of a deadly radioactive plaster and you were security agents coming to get it to keep it from doing any harm.”