The Mystery of the Fiery Eye Read online

  “All right,” he said. “Two more uses of the car. One of them at nine-thirty tomorrow morning. Thank you, Mr. Gelbert.” He turned to his friends. “Come on, Second and Records.”

  Pete and Bob followed him out in silence, and they started back for the salvage yard.

  “Gosh!” Pete said gloomily. “What are we going to do after we’ve finished the two times’ use of the car? If we get any more mysteries to solve, we can’t get around southern California on bicycles!”

  “We’ll have to work harder in the yard,” Jupiter said, “so Aunt Mathilda won’t mind letting us use the light truck, with Hans or Konrad to drive it.”

  “But half the time they’re busy or the truck is away,” Bob said. “This just about sinks The Three Investigators, Jupe. You know it does.”

  “We still can use the car twice more,” Jupiter said firmly. “Something may turn up.

  I’m very much looking forward to our meeting tomorrow with Alfred Hitchcock. I have a feeling he has a real mystery for us to work on.”

  Chapter 3

  The Mysterious Message

  “LADS,” rumbled Alfred Hitchcock, “I want you to meet a young English friend of mine. His name is August. In fact, it is August August, which makes it slightly unusual.

  August, this is Jupiter Jones, Pete Crenshaw, and Bob Andrews. They have solved several interesting mysteries, and they may be able to help you.”

  The Three Investigators were seated in the famous producer’s luxurious Hollywood office. The boy who now rose from a chair beside Mr. Hitchcock was tall and thin –

  taller than Pete, and much thinner, with very light hair cut rather long. He wore horn-rimmed glasses, which seemed to perch on top of a thin, high-bridged nose.

  “I’m certainly glad to meet you fellows,” August August said as he strode over to shake their hands. “Please call me Gus.”

  He sat down again, and went on, “I certainly hope you can help me because I’m stumped – that’s what you Americans say, isn’t it? My great-uncle, Horatio August, died recently and his lawyers sent me a paper that – well, I can’t make head or tail of it.”

  “Nor, I confess, can I,” Mr. Hitchcock added. “Yet Horatio August seemed to think his great-nephew could unravel it. Young August, show these lads the paper.”

  Gus took a wallet from his pocket and carefully removed from it a folded sheet of fine paper. It was covered with lines of spidery handwriting.

  “Here,” he said, handing it to Jupiter. “See what it means to you.”

  Bob and Pete crowded close to Jupiter and read the writing over his shoulder. It said: To August August, my great-nephew:

  August is your name and August is your fame and in August is your fortune. Let not the mountain of difficulty in your way stop you; the shadow of your birth marks both a beginning and an ending.

  Delve deeply; the meaning of my words is for you alone. I dare not speak more plainly lest others find what is meant for you. It is mine; I paid for it and I own it, yet I have not dared its malevolence.

  But fifty years have passed and in half a century it should have purified itself. Yet still it must not be seized or stolen; it must be bought, given or found.

  Therefore take care, though time is of the essence. This and all my love I leave you.

  Horatio August

  “Wow!” Bob said. “That’s some letter.”

  “It’s all Greek to me,” Pete said. “What does ‘malevolence’ mean?”

  “It means – well, that somebody or maybe something would like to hurt you,” Bob said.

  Jupiter held the paper to the light to see if he could find any secret message on it.

  “A natural thought, young Jupiter,” Mr. Hitchcock said. “However, there is no secret writing, no invisible ink, nothing of that kind on the paper. I have had it tested by technical experts here at the studio. The lawyer who sent it to August reports that he saw Mr. August write it a few days before his death. He handed it to the lawyer immediately with instructions to forward it when the time came. So, whatever message it holds is contained in the written words. What do you make of it?”

  “Well –” Jupiter spoke cautiously – “in one way it is very clear.”

  “Very clear!” Pete snorted. “I like that! To me it seems as clear as a Pacific fog at midnight!”

  Jupiter didn’t seem to hear him. He was concentrating on the strange message.

  “For one thing,” he observed, “it is clear that Mr. August wanted to send his great-nephew a message no one else would understand. He’s hidden something, and it sounds as if it’s been hidden for fifty years. It’s something valuable, so other people might steal it if he just came right out and told his great-nephew where it was. All of that is clear enough.”

  “Well – yes,” Pete agreed. “But the rest of it, that’s clear as mud.”

  “It’s possible,” Jupiter continued, “that some of the words mean something, and the others are thrown in to put people off the track. Let’s start at the beginning. ‘August is your name.’ ”

  “That’s perfectly true,” the English boy said seriously. “And I suppose you could say that August is my fame, too. I mean, being called August August got me a lot of ribbing from the other fellows at school. I was the best-known boy in school for that reason.”

  “But what about ‘in August is your fortune’?” Bob put in.

  “That’s a little puzzling,” Jupiter admitted. “If he meant Gus would find his fortune in August, shouldn’t he have said ‘in August will be your fortune’? But he said the fortune is in August.”

  “A good point,” Mr. Hitchcock said. “Unless he wrote hastily and didn’t write it correctly.”

  The First Investigator shook his head. “No,” he said, “this message reads to me as if it had been carefully thought out. I don’t think we can guess yet what he meant by ‘in August is your fortune.’ ”

  “My birthday is in August,” Gus said. “Two days from now. August sixth. That’s why my father gave me August for a first name. He said at the time, ‘An August in August can only be August.’ Could my birthday have something to do with it? He does mention my birth in the next sentence.”

  Jupiter turned this over in his mind.

  “I don’t know,” he said at last. “If your birthday is only two days off, perhaps that’s why the message says ‘time is of the essence.’ ”

  “If we only have two days to solve the message, we’re sunk,” Pete said. “Two years would be more like it.”

  “Give Jupe a chance,” Bob told him. “He’s only just started.”

  The First Investigator studied the paper again intently.

  “The second sentence,” he said. “It starts, ‘Let not the mountain of difficulty stop you; the shadow of your birth marks both a beginning and an ending.’ The first half of the sentence seems to be saying don’t give up, but what the second half means, I haven’t any idea.”

  “Actually, there was a shadow over my birth,” Gus said. “You see, my mother died when I was born. And so my birth was both a beginning and an ending – a beginning for my life, an ending for hers. That might be what Great-Uncle Horatio was referring to.”

  “Maybe,” Jupiter said. “But I don’t see how it fits. The next sentence, though, seems clear enough. ‘Delve deeply; the meaning of my words is for you alone.’ That says the message is just for you and not to give up without trying hard. The next sentence explains why. ‘I dare not speak more plainly lest others find what is meant for you alone.’ No mystery about that line.”

  “True,” commented Alfred Hitchcock. “But what do you make of the next sentence:

  ‘It is mine; I paid for it and I own it, yet I have not dared its malevolence’?”

  “He’s saying that whatever it is, he owns it legally and has a right to give it to August,” Jupiter answered. “At the same time, he’s saying he’s afraid of it for some reason.”

  Then he read aloud, “ ‘But fifty years have passed and in half a century it should have purified itself. Yet still it must not be seized or stolen; it must be bought, found or given.’ ” He looked at Pete and Bob.

  “Analyse that part of the message, Second and Records,” he said. “You need practice in this sort of thing.”

  “I guess he’s saying he’s owned whatever it is for fifty years,” Pete said. “And he thinks it has purified itself, meaning it won’t hurt people any more.”

  “But it can still be dangerous,” Bob added. “Or he wouldn’t say, ‘Yet still it must not be seized or stolen; it must be bought, found or given.’ Then at the end he says,

  ‘Therefore take care,’ meaning to be careful how you handle whatever-it-is, I suppose.

  And he adds, ‘Time is of the essence,’ meaning time is very important, so you have to hurry even while you’re being careful.”

  “The final line, ‘This and all my love I leave to you,’ is straightforward,” Jupiter concluded. “Which brings us to the end of the mysterious message, knowing only a little more than when we started.”

  “You can say that again!” Pete exclaimed.

  “I think we ought to know more about Horatio August. What was your great-uncle like, Gus?”

  “I don’t know,” the English boy said. “I never saw him in my life. He was a mystery man of the family. As a boy, long before I was born, he sailed away on a trading ship for the South Seas. The family received a few letters from him, then he dropped out of sight. We assumed he’d been on a ship that had sunk. It was a great surprise to me and to my father to receive the letter from the lawyer, saying Uncle Horatio had been living here in Hollywood but was dead now and had left instructions to send me the message.”

  “And you came here from England as soon as you got the message?” Jupiter as
ked.

  “As soon as I could,” Gus told him. “That wasn’t right away. We don’t have much money, Father and I, so I had to get passage on a freighter, which took several weeks.

  Actually, I got the message almost two months ago.”

  “As soon as you got here, I suppose you went to see the lawyer who sent you the message?”

  Gus shook his head. “I telephoned him, but he was out of the city so I couldn’t see him right away. I have an appointment with him today. I didn’t know a soul in America.

  But my father knows Mr. Hitchcock well, and I went to see him. It was Mr. Hitchcock who suggested telephoning you, of course. You fellows and Mr. Hitchcock are the only ones I’ve spoken to so far.”

  “In that case,” Jupiter said, “I think we should go with you to call on the lawyer, and learn all we can about your great-uncle. That will help us decide our next move.”

  “Excellent, young Jupiter,” Alfred Hitchcock said. “August, you can put your trust in these lads. But now it is time for me to get back to work, and for you boys to get on with the investigation.”

  The Rolls-Royce was waiting outside, an ancient, box-like motor-car of majestic appearance, its body gleaming black, all its metal parts gold-plated. Worthington, the tall, erect English chauffeur, held the door for them to enter.

  Gus took out a folded letter which contained the lawyer’s name – H. Dwiggins – and an address in an older part of town. A moment later they were driving through the streets of Hollywood. Gus kept the boys busy with questions about the film capital until, a few minutes later, Worthington nosed the Rolls-Royce into a narrow driveway that led up to a rather small, old-fashioned stucco house.

  “Hmm,” Jupiter murmured, as they climbed out of the car. “Mr. Dwiggins apparently has his office in his home.”

  A small card over the doorbell said:

  H. Dwiggins – Attorney-at-Law – Ring and Walk In.

  Jupiter pressed the doorbell and they could hear a faraway ring. Then, obeying the instructions on the card, he opened the door.

  They found themselves in a living-room that had been turned into an office. It held a big desk, many shelves of law books, and several filing cabinets. One filing cabinet stood open, a folder of papers was scattered on the desk, and a wooden swivel chair lay toppled on its side. But Mr. Dwiggins was nowhere to be seen.

  “Something’s happened here!” Jupiter exclaimed. “There’s something wrong.” He raised his voice. “Mr. Dwiggins! Mr. Dwiggins! Are you here?”

  They waited breathlessly in the silence that followed. Then a muffled voice, very faint and far away, answered them.

  “Help!” it cried. “Help! I’m suffocating.”

  Chapter 4

  Cry for Help

  “HELP ME!” the muffled voice came again. “I’m smothering.”

  “There!” Pete pointed to a closet door

  in the opposite wall, between two sets of

  bookshelves. It had a spring lock on the

  outside, the kind that locked automatically.

  Pete turned it, pulled, and the door swung

  open.

  A small man was sitting on the floor of

  the closet, gasping for breath. His gold-

  rimmed glasses hung from one ear, his tie

  was twisted to one side, and his white hair

  was rumpled.

  “Thank goodness you came,” he

  whispered. “Please help me up.”

  Bob and Pete crowded into the small

  closet to help him to his feet, and Jupiter

  picked up the overturned swivel chair. As

  he set it upright, an expression of surprise

  crossed his face.

  “Very odd,” he said under his breath.

  The boys helped Mr. Dwiggins to the

  chair, and he drew a deep breath. His

  hands shaking, he straightened his tie and

  put his glasses on properly.

  “You came just in time,” he said. “A little longer in there and I might have suffocated.” Then, getting a good look at them, he blinked.

  “But who are you?” he asked. “You’re just boys!”

  “I’m August August, sir,” the English boy said. “You told me to call on you today.”

  “Oh yes.” Mr. Dwiggins nodded. “And these are friends of yours?”

  “This will help explain, sir,” Jupiter answered and produced from his pocket a printed card which he handed to the lawyer. It said:

  THE THREE INVESTIGATORS

  “We Investigate Anything”

  ? ? ?

  First Investigator – Jupiter Jones

  Second Investigator – Peter Crenshaw

  Records and Research – Bob Andrews

  “You’re investigators?” the lawyer seemed surprised.

  “They’re going to help me solve the mysterious message Great-Uncle Horatio sent me, sir,” Gus said.

  “Oh.” Mr. Dwiggins blinked again. He peered once more at the card. “It’s a very impressive card, young man. But may I ask what the question marks stand for?”

  The three had been waiting for that question. Hardly anyone failed to ask it when they saw the card.

  “The question mark, otherwise known as the interrogation mark,” Jupiter said,

  “stands for things unknown, questions unanswered, mysteries unsolved, riddles of any sort. Our business is answering the questions, unravelling the riddles, solving any mysteries which come our way. Hence, the question mark is the symbol of The Three Investigators.”

  “I see, I see,” the lawyer murmured. “That’s rather an ambitious programme. Still, I like to see young people with self-confidence … But good gracious, I’m forgetting about my attacker!”

  He sprang to his feet and looked around. He spotted the open filing cabinet.

  “My confidential files! The scoundrel has been in my files! Now what did he take?

  What’s this folder on my desk? I didn’t leave it there!”

  He snatched up the manila folder on the desk and began to leaf through the many papers inside.

  “It’s your great-uncle’s folder!” he exclaimed to Gus. “I was his lawyer for twenty years and I kept all the papers relating to the business I handled for him in here. Now why should anyone be interested in … the message! It’s gone!”

  He looked at Gus. “The fellow who attacked me took the copy I made of your great-uncle’s message to you!” he exclaimed. “Although it seemed meaningless to me, your great-uncle obviously considered it very important, so I made a copy in case the original somehow was lost. Naturally, I expected it to be safe in my confidential files. But it’s been stolen!”

  “Please tell us just what happened, sir,” Jupiter requested. “This new development may be very significant.”

  The lawyer put the file folder back in the cabinet and locked the drawer. Then he sat down and told them what he could.

  Mr. Dwiggins had been seated at his desk, working on some papers, when the door had opened. He looked up to see a man of average height, with a black moustache and heavy eyeglasses. As Mr. Dwiggins was about to speak, the intruder reached out and put a hand over his eyes, half knocking off his glasses. Before the lawyer could make any move to defend himself, his attacker had pulled him from his chair, dragged him across the room, and shut him in the coat closet, which automatically locked.

  At first Mr. Dwiggins had hammered on the locked door, shouting for help.

  However, as he lived alone there was no one to hear him except the man who had locked him in. Realizing this, Mr. Dwiggins had stopped shouting and listened.

  After a few minutes, he heard the outer door open and shut, indicating his attacker had left. Again he hammered on the closet door and shouted, until he realized he was only using up precious oxygen.

  “Then I sat down on the floor and waited for help,” Mr. Dwiggins finished. “I knew the air in the closet would only last a few hours. Thank goodness you came when you did!”

  “What time did this happen, sir?” Jupiter asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Mr. Dwiggins answered. “Let’s see, it’s now –” He looked at his wrist-watch. The hands had stopped at 9:17, more than an hour and a half before.

  “My watch!” he exclaimed. “It must have broken when that scoundrel threw me into the closet.”