“Not a fire,” Jupiter said mysteriously. “A Fiery Eye.”
“I don’t get you,” Pete scowled. Bob, however, thought he understood.
“Jupe,” he cried, “you’ve solved the secret message! Is that it?”
Jupiter nodded, trying to hide his look of satisfaction.
Gus gaped at him. “You really mean it?” he asked.
“I think I have,” Jupiter replied. “The answer lies in your great-uncle’s admiration for the stories about Sherlock Holmes, and in the plaster busts which Mr. Dwiggins mentioned.”
“I don’t get it,” Pete groaned. “Sherlock Holmes — plaster busts — do they have a connection with the message?”
“I’ll explain in more detail later,” Jupiter said. “For the moment, please recall that one line of the message tells Gus that ‘In August is your fortune.’...”
“Well?” Pete looked blank. So did Gus. Bob, however, followed Jupiter’s thinking.
“Those plaster busts of famous people,” he said. “Washington, Lincoln, and so on. And one of them was the head of Augustus of Poland.”
“...‘In August is your fortune’!” Gus said excitedly. “August — Augustus! You mean something is hidden inside the plaster bust of Augustus?” “I’m practically sure of it,” Jupiter replied. “It all fits together perfectly. Mr. August liked to read Sherlock Holmes stories for recreation. There’s one called The Adventure of the Six Napoleons in which a valuable object is hidden in a bust of Napoleon. That must have given Mr. August an idea for hiding this Fiery Eye where no one would suspect it — in an ordinary plaster bust. He chose Augustus because the name was so much like his own, and Gus’s here, that he was sure Gus or his father would figure it out. Notice that the words ‘In August is’ sound like ‘in Augustus.”
“We’ll know in a few moments. Of course, we will have to pay Aunt Mathilda five dollars for the bust so we can break it open, but luckily she owes us some money for repairing that washing machine and the lawn-mower Uncle Titus bought last week.”
The other three broke into a clamour of excited conversation, which continued until Worthington turned into the main gate of The Jones Salvage Yard. He had hardly brought the car to a stop before all four were out and streaking towards the office.
A few steps from the little cabin, Jupiter stopped so suddenly that the others bumped into him and all four fell down in a tangle of arms and legs. Then they saw what had made him stop.
On the table where thirteen plaster busts had stood early that morning, there now stood only five. They were Washington, Franklin, Lincoln, Luther, and Theodore Roosevelt.
The bust of Augustus of Poland was gone!
5
Three-Dots Appears
SLOWLY the boys got to their feet, staring at the five busts that remained. Above them a hand-lettered sign had been tacked to the wall of the office: UNUSUAL GARDEN ORNAMENTS...ONLY $5.
Disappointment kept the boys silent for a few moments. At last Jupiter swallowed hard and called to his aunt who was sitting at a desk inside the small cabin.
“Aunt Mathilda! Where are the other busts?”
“Where are they?” Mathilda Jones came outside. “Why, I sold them, of course. This is Saturday and every Saturday morning lots of people wander through looking for something unusual to buy, as you know perfectly well, Jupiter.”
Jupe nodded slowly. The reputation of The Jones Salvage Yard as a place where one might find almost anything brought buyers from all over.
“Well,” Mathilda Jones went on, “I knew that few people would want old statues like those in their new, modern houses. But set out on a pedestal in the garden, they’d be something unique. The idea caught on fine. I sold eight of them for five dollars apiece. We already have a profit over what Titus paid for them.”
“I don’t suppose —” — Jupiter’s tone was not very hopeful — “I don’t suppose you took the names and addresses of the buyers?”
“Mercy and goodness and sweetness and light, why should I do a thing like that? They just bought the statues and rode off with them.”
“Can you tell us anything at all about the people who bought them? Especially Augustus of Poland?”
“Now why in the world are you suddenly interested in those old statues?” Mrs. Jones demanded. “Two of them were bought by a man in a black station wagon. I think he lives in North Hollywood. Two were bought by a lady in a red sedan. She’s from Malibu, she said. The other four I didn’t notice much, I was too busy.”
“I see. Well —” Jupiter sighed. “I guess that’s that. Come on, fellows, we’d better have a conference.”
He led the way towards his workshop section. Gus’s eyes were wide as Jupiter removed the iron grating that hid the entrance to Tunnel Two, and led them all through the big corrugated pipe into Headquarters.
When Gus had been shown the tiny laboratory, the little photographic darkroom, the See-All periscope Jupe had installed so they could see over the piles of junk that hid the trailer from the world, and their other special equipment, they settled themselves in the miniature office.
“Well?” Pete said. “Now what? If Mr. Augustus held Gus’s fortune, whatever it is, he’s gone. He’s standing in somebody’s garden and the only way we can find him is to find the garden. Since there are only about a hundred thousand gardens in this region, we might find the right one by the time we’re ninety.”
“It was a good try,” Gus spoke up, trying to hide his disappointment. “You fellows couldn’t know those busts were important when Mr. Jones bought them. But I’m afraid Augustus is gone for good now. I suppose that’s what Great-Uncle Horatio meant when he said that time was of the essence. He was afraid something would happen to the busts if I didn’t hurry and — well, it has.”
“Perhaps the busts are lost to us beyond recall,” Jupiter said at last. “But I do not intend to concede defeat yet. We are investigators. We’ll just have to keep investigating.”
“How?” Bob wanted to know.
“I don’t know yet,” Jupiter said. “I am giving the matter thought.”
“I’ve got it!” Bob yelled. “We can try a Ghost-to-Ghost Hookup!”
“Ghost-to-Ghost Hookup?” Gus blinked in bewilderment. “Do you have direct contact with the other world for information?”
“Not quite.” Bob grinned. “But it’s almost as good. Tell me, who notices things most in any neighbourhood? I mean, things like strangers hanging around, a new car in some family, anything unusual.”
“Why —” Gus thought a moment — “I don’t know.”
“Kids, of course,” Pete put in. “Nobody notices kids hanging around, but nothing that happens gets by them. If someone has a new cat or dog, or someone hurts himself, or almost anything else, some kid in the neighbourhood is bound to know about it.”
“The only problem,” Bob went on, “is to get in touch with enough boys and girls all over the city to find out what they know. They’re always glad to help; kids have a natural interest in any kind of mystery.”
“But how can you get in touch with enough boys and girls to do any good?” Gus asked. “You’d need to have some on the lookout for you in every part of the city.”
“That’s where the Ghost-to-Ghost Hookup comes in,” Pete chimed in. “It was Jupe’s idea, and it’s a honey. You see, we all have some friends who don’t know each other. And they all have other friends, and so on. When we want to find out something, we each phone five friends and tell them what we need to know. In this case we’ll tell them to phone back at this number if they know of anyone who has just bought a plaster bust for a garden ornament.