The Mystery of the Silver Spider

  THE MYSTERY

  OF

  THE SILVER SPIDER

  Robert Arthur

  INTRODUCTION

  “We investigate anything” is the motto of The Three Investigators — Jupiter Jones, Pete Crenshaw and Bob Andrews. All three boys are from Rocky Beach, California, a town not far from Hollywood, on the Pacific Coast. And they live up to their motto, as those of you know who have met them in earlier books.

  They usually solve local mysteries — ones that happen close to their secret Headquarters in The Jones Salvage Yard. That super-junkyard is owned by Mathilda and Titus Jones, Jupiter’s aunt and uncle. But this time The Three Investigators travel all the way to Europe and get tangled up in a devious plot involving a beautiful silver spider.

  It’s tempting to let you in on some of the strange events to come, but I’ll restrain myself. All I will tell you is that this time my three young friends find themselves mixed up in a bigger and more dangerous mystery than anyone expected.

  That’s all I’ll say for now, except to introduce the boys briefly, in case you’re meeting them for the first time. Jupiter Jones is the head of The Three Investigators and is known for his uncanny brainpower. Pete Crenshaw is tall and muscular and is a natural at sports. Bob Andrews, the smallest of the three, is in charge of research and record keeping for the firm, but displays incredible bravery when danger threatens.

  That’s enough background. Sit back — and expect the unexpected!

  ALFRED HITCHCOCK

  Chapter 1

  A Near Miss

  “LOOK OUT!” Bob Andrews cried.

  “Watch it, Worthington!” echoed Pete Crenshaw.

  Worthington, at the wheel of the big, gold-plated Rolls-Royce sedan, jammed on the brakes and The Three Investigators tumbled into a heap in the rear of the car. The Rolls-Royce screamed to a stop scarcely an inch from the side of a gleaming, low-slung limousine.

  Instantly several men swarmed out of the limousine. As Worthington descended from the driver’s seat, they surrounded him, jabbering excitedly in some strange language. Worthington ignored them. He approached the other car and spoke sternly to the chauffeur, resplendent in a red uniform with gold braid.

  “My man,” Worthington said, “you ignored a Stop sign. You almost wrecked us both. It was clearly your fault, for I had the right of way.”

  “Prince Djaro always has the right of way,” the other chauffeur answered loftily. He pronounced the name Jar-o. “Others must not get in his way.”

  By now Pete, Bob and Jupiter had picked themselves up and were looking with amazement at the scene. The men who had popped out of the limousine seemed to be dancing around the tall figure of Worthington in their excitement. One, who was taller than the others and seemed to be in authority, spoke in English.

  “Imbecile!” he shouted at Worthington. “You almost killed Prince Djaro! You could have caused an international complication! You should be disciplined.”

  “I was obeying the traffic laws and you were not,” Worthington said stoutly. “Your driver is at fault.”

  “What’s all this about a prince?” Pete muttered to Bob as they watched.

  “Don’t you read the papers?” Bob whispered back. “He’s from Europe—a country called Varania, one of the seven smallest countries in the world. He’s visiting the United States on a sightseeing tour.”

  “Golly! And we almost smashed him into a pretzel!” Pete said.

  “Worthington was in the right,” Jupiter Jones joined in. “Let’s get out and lend him our moral support.”

  They clambered out of the car. As they did so, the door of the limousine opened and a boy somewhat taller than Bob, with very black hair cut long in European style, stepped down. Though only a couple of years older than the boys, he immediately took charge.

  “Silence!” he said, and immediately all of the jabbering men surrounding Worthington became as quiet as clams. He gestured with his hand, and they fell in respectfully behind him as he approached Worthington.

  “I should like to apologize,” he said, in excellent English. “My driver was at fault. I shall see that he obeys all traffic laws in the future.”

  “But Your Highness —” protested the tallest man of the group. Prince Djaro waved him to silence. He looked with interest at Bob, Pete and Jupiter as The Three Investigators joined the group.

  “I am sorry this happened,” he said to them. “Thanks to your chauffeur’s skill, a serious accident was prevented. You are the owners of this majestic car?” And he nodded toward the Rolls.

  “Not exactly the owners,” Jupiter said. “But we use it occasionally.” It was hardly the time to go into the history of the Rolls-Royce and the manner in which he had won the use of it in a contest.

  As it happened, the three had just been to visit their friend Alfred Hitchcock and give him the facts of their latest adventure. It was in returning home that the near-accident had happened.

  “I am Djaro Montestan, of Varania,” the boy said. “I’m not really a prince yet, not until I’m officially crowned next month. But I can’t keep people from calling me prince.

  Are you typical American boys?”

  It was an odd question. They considered themselves fairly typical American boys but they weren’t quite sure what the other boy meant.

  Jupiter answered for them.

  “Bob and Pete are quite typical of American boys,” he said. “I don’t suppose you can call me exactly typical because some people think I’m conceited and use too many long words and sometimes get myself pretty well disliked. But I can’t seem to change”

  Bob and Pete grinned at each other. What Jupiter said was true, though it was the first time they had ever heard him admit it. Because he had a stocky build and was unusually brainy, some people called him a “fat smart alec.” But that was just other boys who were envious of him, or adults shown up by his mental ability. His friends swore by him. If they had a problem, they knew Jupiter Jones could solve it if anyone could.

  Now Jupe pulled a card from his pocket. It was the official card of The Three Investigators, and he never went anywhere without it.

  “Here are our names,” he said. “I’m Jupiter Jones, that’s Pete Crenshaw, and Bob Andrews.”

  The foreign boy took the card and read it gravely. It said: THE THREE INVESTIGATORS

  “We Investigate Anything”

  ? ? ?

  First Investigator – Jupiter Jones

  Second Investigator – Peter Crenshaw

  Records and Research – Bob Andrews

  They waited, expecting him to ask what the question marks were for. Just about everybody who saw the card asked that.

  “Brojas! ” Djaro said. He smiled. He had a very nice smile, showing even white teeth against skin a shade darker in complexion than Pete’s. “That means ‘great’ in Varanian.

  I suppose the question marks are your official symbol.”

  They looked at him with new respect for having deduced the truth. Djaro took from his own pocket a card which he handed to Jupiter.

  “And this,” he said, “is my card.”

  Bob and Pete crowded behind Jupe to look at it. It was very white and very stiff, and in fine engraving said simply Djaro Montestan. Above the name was a crest, embossed in gold and blue. It appeared to be a spider on a golden web holding a sword, though it was done so elaborately that it wasn’t easy to be sure.

  “That is my symbol,” the boy said solemnly. “A spider. That is, it is the crest of the reigning family of Varania. It would take too long to tell you how we came to adopt a spider for our national emblem, but I’m very happy to meet you, Pete, Bob, and Jupiter.”

  And he shook hands with
all three of them.

  At this point a man pushed his way through to them. He was a slender young man with pleasant, alert features, and he came from a black car that had stopped behind the limousine. As soon as he spoke it was obvious that he was American.

  “Excuse me, Your Highness,” he said, “but we are falling behind schedule. I’m happy there wasn’t an accident but we ought to be getting on if we’re going to tour the city today.”

  “I’m not especially interested in touring the city,” Djaro said. “I’ve seen a lot of cities. What I want to do is talk to these boys some more. They’re the first American boys I’ve really had a chance to meet.

  “Tell me,” he added, turning to The Three Investigators, “is Disneyland fun? I’ve been looking forward to visiting it very much.”

  They assured him that Disneyland was the greatest, that it shouldn’t be missed.

  Djaro seemed pleased, but wistful.

  “It really isn’t much fun being surrounded by bodyguards,” he said. “Duke Stefan—

  that’s my guardian and the Regent who is running Varania until I am old enough to be crowned prince—apparently gave orders not to let anyone near me for fear I’d catch cold or something. It’s ridiculous. I’m not an important head of state whom someone might want to assassinate. Varania has no enemies and I’m really quite unimportant.”

  He paused a moment, then seemed to make up his mind.

  “Will all of you come to Disneyland with me?” he asked. “Show me around and everything? I’d appreciate it very much. I’d like some friends with me for a change.”

  The request took them by surprise. However, they were perfectly agreeable to a visit to Disneyland, and had nothing else planned for the day. Jupiter made a phone call to his aunt at The Jones Salvage Yard, using the telephone in the Rolls-Royce, while Djaro looked on with great interest. Then the other men squeezed into the U. S. escort car, and Bob, Pete and Jupiter clambered into the limousine with Prince Djaro and the tall, sharp-featured man who had been making such a fuss about the near-accident.

  “Duke Stefan will not like this,” he said with a dark frown. “He said to take no risks.”

  “There is no risk, Duke Rojas!” Djaro said curtly. “It is time Duke Stefan learned to like what I like. In two months I will be ruler of my country and my word will be the law, not Duke Stefan’s. Now tell Markos to obey all traffic rules henceforth. This is the third time we have almost had a serious accident because he persists in acting as if we were at home in Varania. Let there be no more such happenings!”

  Duke Rojas fired off a string of foreign words, and the driver of the car nodded. They got under way again and the boys observed that the driver obeyed all traffic laws after that and drove cautiously.

  In the forty-five minutes it took them to get to Disneyland, Prince Djaro was so full of questions about America, and California in particular, that all three were kept busy answering. Then, when they reached Disneyland, they were too busy enjoying themselves on the rides and other attractions to talk much.

  At one point, noting that Duke Rojas had lagged behind, Prince Djaro, with a gleam in his eye, suggested they slip away for another trip on the little train that circled the park. Bob, Pete and Jupiter agreed. They ducked quickly behind a crowd of people, then ran up the steps into the miniature station and boarded a train that had just come in. As they rode around the rim of the park, they could see the Duke and his men futilely searching for them below.

  When they finally descended, Duke Rojas came running up with several of his men.

  But before he could open his mouth, Djaro snapped at him, “You did not stay with me.

  You fell behind. This shall be reported to Duke Stefan.”

  “But—but—but—” the man sputtered.

  Djaro cut him short. “Enough! We go now. I am only sorry my schedule will not let me come back again.”

  Back at the big car, Djaro ordered Duke Rojas to ride in the following car with the bodyguards. So on the way back to Rocky Beach the four boys could talk freely.

  Prince Djaro asked them about themselves, and The Three Investigators took turns telling him how the firm had been started, how they had become friends of Alfred Hitchcock, the mystery writer, and of some of the adventures they had had.

  “Brojas! ” the European boy exclaimed. “Oh, but I envy you. American boys have so much freedom. I wish I wasn’t a prince—well, I almost wish it. It is my duty to lead my country, small though it is. I have never been to school—I’ve had tutors all my life—so I have few friends, and I’ve never done anything exciting until this trip to America. Today is the most fun I’ve had in all my life.

  “May I call you my friends?” he asked. “I’d like to very much.”

  “We’d be glad to be your friends,” Pete said.

  “Thank you.” Prince Djaro grinned. “Do you know, today is the first time I’ve ever really talked back to Duke Rojas? It shocked him. It will shock Duke Stefan. They’re in for a lot more shocks. After all, I am the prince and I intend to—how do you say it?”

  “Assert your authority?” Jupiter suggested, but Bob said, “Throw your weight around.”

  “That’s it, throw my weight around,” Djaro said gleefully. “Duke Stefan is in for some surprises.”

  By now they had reached Rocky Beach. Jupiter gave the driver instructions for finding The Jones Salvage Yard, and in a few moments they pulled through the big iron front gate.

  As they got out, Jupiter invited Djaro to see Headquarters. Regretfully, Djaro shook his head.

  “I’m afraid there isn’t time,” he said. “Tonight I have to go to a dinner of some sort, and tomorrow we fly back to Varania. The capital city of Varania is Denzo, and I live there in a palace built on the ruins of an old castle. It has about three hundred rooms, and it is drafty and not too comfortable. That’s one of the penalties you have to pay for being a prince.

  “No, I can’t stay, though I would like to. I have to go back and get ready to rule my country. But I’ll never forget you and some day we’ll meet again, I’m sure of it.”

  With that he got into the big limousine and drove away, followed by the smaller car oozing bodyguards at every window. The three boys watched him go.

  “For a prince, he seemed like a nice guy,” Pete remarked. “Jupe—Jupe, what are you thinking about? You’ve got that look on your face!”

  Jupiter blinked.

  “I was wondering,” he said. “Thinking back to this morning when we almost ran into Djaro’s car, didn’t anything strike you as strange about the incident?”

  “Strange?” Bob sounded puzzled. “No, just lucky —lucky we didn’t crash, that is.”

  “What are you getting at?” Pete asked.

  “Markos, the driver of Djaro’s car,” Jupiter said. “He came out of that Stop street right in front of us. He must have seen us. But instead of speeding up to get out of our way, he put on the brakes. If Worthington wasn’t a superb driver, we’d have crashed into the car exactly where Djaro was sitting. He’d probably have been killed.”

  “Markos just got rattled and did the wrong thing,” Pete suggested.

  “I wonder,” Jupiter murmured. “Oh, well, I guess it isn’t important. It was fun meeting Djaro. I don’t suppose we’ll ever see him again.”

  But Jupiter was wrong.

  Chapter 2

  A Surprising Invitation

  SOME DAYS LATER, The Three Investigators were meeting in their headquarters, a converted trailer hidden behind towering piles of lumber and scrap iron in The Jones Salvage Yard. Bob had just read a letter that had arrived that morning from a woman in Malibu Beach who wanted them to find her missing dog when the telephone rang.

  Their private phone, paid for by their earnings from odd jobs around the salvage yard, didn’t ring often. When it did, it always promised excitement. Jupiter grabbed it.

  “Hello,” he said. “Three Investigators, Jupiter Jones speaking.”

  “Hi, Jupe.” The heart
y voice of Alfred Hitchcock blared into the office from the loudspeaker Jupe had hooked up. The famous mystery novelist had taken a real interest in the boys. He introduced their cases for them and from time to time found new mysteries for them to solve.

  “I’m glad I caught you in,” Mr. Hitchcock went on. “I wanted to let you know that you’ll soon have a visitor.”

  “A visitor?” Jupiter repeated. “Is this in reference to a new case?” His eyes sparkled.

  “No hints,” said the writer. “I’ve promised not to tell you anything beforehand. I did have a long talk with your visitor and gave you an excellent recommendation. All I can tell you is that you’re about to get a surprising invitation. I just wanted to warn you. Got to go now. Good-bye.”

  He hung up, and so did Jupiter. The three boys stared at each other.

  “Do you think it’s another case?” Bob asked.

  They had no time to speculate, for at that moment the voice of Mathilda Jones, Jupiter’s aunt, came booming in through Headquarters’ open skylight.

  “Jupiter! Out front! You have a caller.”

  A moment later the boys were scrambling out through Tunnel Two, the big pipe that led from beneath the trailer to a hidden entrance in the workshop section of the yard.

  From there it took them only a moment to thread their way around piles of junk to the office.

  A small car was parked there, and a young man stood beside it. It was the American who had been part of Prince Djaro’s escort the day they had almost collided with the foreign boy’s car.

  “Hello,” he said. “I don’t suppose you expected to see me again. This time let me introduce myself. I’m Bert Young, and here are my credentials.”

  He showed them an official-looking card, then slipped it back into his wallet.

  “U.S. Government, official business,” he said. “Where can we talk in complete privacy?”

  “Back here,” Jupiter said, his eyes bulging a bit. A government agent and he wanted to talk to them in privacy. Also, he had apparently been asking Mr. Hitchcock about them. What did it mean?

  Jupiter led the way to the workshop section and found two old chairs. Pete and Bob sat on a crate.