M. V. Carey
The Mystery of the Flaming Footprints
A word from Alfred Hitchcock
Since it is awkward to be introduced to someone you already know, those of you who are acquainted with The Three Investigators may skip this introduction and proceed directly to Chapter One, where the fun begins.
If you have not yet met Jupiter Jones, Pete Crenshaw, and Bob Andrews, however, a smattering of background information on this remarkable trio may be in order.
Any discussion of The Three Investigators begins with Jupiter Jones, the plump and brainy lad who has no hesitation in admitting that he is the leader of the group–First Investigator and, according to some individuals, chief troublemaker. Jupiter is assisted in his endeavours by Pete Crenshaw, an athletic boy with a prudent desire to avoid danger. This desire is frequently thwarted when Jupiter Jones has a case to solve. The third member of the team is Bob Andrews, a quiet, studious type whose part-time job in the library gives The Three Investigators quick and expert access to information on almost any subject.
All of these lads reside in Rocky Beach, a small town on the shore of the Pacific Ocean, not too far from Hollywood. Bob Andrews and Pete Crenshaw live with their parents, but Jupiter Jones, who was orphaned when he was very young, makes his home with his aunt and uncle. He assists them in the care and management of The Jones Salvage Yard, the most well-organized junk operation on the entire Pacific Coast.
One must admit that Jupiter occasionally neglects his duties at the salvage yard when there are more exciting things to claim his attention–such as the lonely Potter whom you will encounter shortly, and the bewildered visitors who come to Rocky Beach anticipating a pleasant summer, only to find themselves living in a house which is haunted by a barefooted ghost.
Or is it haunted by something even more sinister?
Of one thing you can be certain, Jupiter Jones and his chums will find out.
So much for the introductions. On with the adventure!
ALFRED HITCHCOCK
1
The Potter Appears–and Disappears
JUPITER JONES heard the truck turn off the Coast Highway. There was no mistaking it. It was The Potter.
Jupe had been raking the white gravel drive of The Jones Salvage Yard. Now he stopped and listened. “He’s coming this way,” announced Jupiter.
Aunt Mathilda was nearby, watering the geraniums she had planted along the edge of the drive. She turned the nozzle of the hose, cutting off the flow of water, and looked down the short street towards the highway. “Now why on earth?” she wondered.
The Potter’s ancient truck wheezed up the very slight grade between the Coast Highway and The Jones Salvage Yard. “He’ll never make it,” said Aunt Mathilda.
Jupiter grinned. The man who was known in Rocky Beach simply as The Potter was a source of some anxiety to his Aunt Mathilda. Every Saturday morning, The Potter drove his battered old truck into town to pick up his supplies and groceries for the week. Often Aunt Mathilda had been present when the truck coughed and spluttered its way into the parking lot outside the Rocky Beach Supermarket. Always Aunt Mathilda predicted that the ancient vehicle would never be able to groan and puff back up the highway. Always Aunt Mathilda was wrong.
This Saturday was no exception. The truck topped the little slope with steam spouting from the radiator. The Potter waved and swung round the corner and into the salvage yard. Jupe jumped to get his stocky self out of the way, and the truck veered past him and stopped with a tired gasp just inside the gate of the yard.
“Jupiter, my boy!” shouted The Potter. “How are you? And Mrs Jones! My, you’re looking radiant this June morning!”
The Potter fairly bounced out of the cab of his truck, his spotless white robe swirling around him.
Aunt Mathilda could never decide whether or not she approved of The Potter. It was true that he was one of the most skilled craftsmen on the West Coast. People came from as far south as San Diego and as far north as Santa Barbara to buy the pots and jars and vases that he fashioned so beautifully. Aunt Mathilda admired fine craftsmanship. Still, she believed firmly that all male human beings should wear trousers once they had graduated from the romper stage.
The Potter’s flowing robes disturbed her sense of things as they should be. So did The Potter’s long, gleaming white hair and his neatly combed beard, to say nothing of the ceramic medallion that dangled from a leather thong about his neck. The design on the medallion was a scarlet eagle with two heads. In Aunt Mathilda’s opinion, one head per eagle was the right number. The two-headed bird was only another of The Potter’s strange whims.
Now Aunt Mathilda looked down at the man’s feet with open disapproval. As always, The Potter was barefooted. “You’ll step on a nail!” warned Aunt Mathilda.
The Potter only laughed. “I never step on nails, Mrs Jones,” he told her. “You know that. But I could do with some help from you folks today. I am expecting–”
The Potter stopped suddenly and stared at the cabin which served as office for the salvage yard. “What,” demanded The Potter, “is that?”
“Mr Potter,” said Aunt Mathilda, “do you mean you haven’t seen it? It’s months old.” She lifted a picture frame down from the office wall and offered it to The Potter for his examination. Under the glass was a series of brightly coloured photographs with captions. They had obviously been taken from a magazine. There was one of the front of The Jones Salvage Yard. In the picture, Uncle Titus posed proudly before the wooden fence which surrounded his yard. Artists of Rocky Beach had decorated the fence with a painting of a sailing ship struggling through a stormy, green ocean. In the photograph, one could clearly see a curious painted fish which thrust its head above the waves to watch the ship.
Beneath the photograph of the salvage yard was a picture of Mr Dingier, who made silver jewellery in a small shop in Rocky Beach, and one of Hans Jorgenson painting a seascape. And there was one of The Potter himself. The photographer had snapped an excellent close-up of the old man as he emerged from the market, his beard gleaming in the sunlight, his two-headed eagle showing clearly against the white of his robe–and a very ordinary, everyday bag of groceries clutched in one arm. The caption beneath The Potter’s photograph pointed out that the residents of Rocky Beach were not disturbed if some of the more artistic citizens took to wearing eccentric garb.
“Surely you knew about it,” said Aunt Mathilda. “It’s from Westways magazine. You remember, they did a story on the artists in the beach towns?”
The Potter frowned. “I didn’t know,” he said. “I remember one day there was a young man with a camera. I didn’t pay much attention. We get so many tourists and they all seem to have cameras. If only . . .”
“If only what, Mr Potter?” asked Aunt Mathilda.
“Nothing,” said The Potter. “It can’t be helped now.” He turned away from Aunt Mathilda and her treasured photograph and put a hand on Jupe’s shoulder. “Jupiter,” he said, “I’d like to look through your merchandise. I’m expecting company, and I’m afraid my guests may find my house a little . . . well, a little bare.”
“Expecting company?” echoed Aunt Mathilda. “My gracious to heavens!”
In spite of his cheerful, outgoing ways, The Potter had never been known to have a close friend. Jupiter knew that his aunt was wondering mightily who might be coming to visit the old man. However, she refrained from questioning him and simply ordered Jupiter to show him around. “Your Uncle Titus won’t be back from Los Angeles for more than an hour,” she said, and hurried away to turn off the hose at the tap.
Jupe was only too happy to show The Potter around. Aunt Mathilda might have her doubts about the old man, but Jupe liked him. “Live and let live” seemed to be his motto, and Jupe thought it was no one’s business but The Potter’s if he enjoyed bare feet and white robes.
“Now first,” said The Potter, “I’ll need a couple of bedsteads.”
“Yes, sir,” said Jupe.
The Jones Salvage Yard was an extremely well-organized operation. It would be hard to imagine any other kind with Aunt Mathilda Jones on the scene. Jupe led The Potter to the shed where used furniture was sheltered from any dampness which might creep in from the ocean. There were desks, tables, chairs and bedsteads. Some of them were broken or marred by years of use and misuse. There were also pieces which had been refinished or painted by Jupe, his Uncle Titus, and Hans and Konrad, the two Bavarian brothers who helped in the yard.