After supper, the boys leaped to help Aunt Mathilda clear away and do the dishes. When they had finished, and the sink was scoured to perfection, they made for the door.
“Where to now?” demanded Aunt Mathilda.
“We aren’t quite finished with our job,” Jupe explained.
“Well, don’t be too late,” warned Aunt Mathilda. “And don’t leave the light on in the workshop. And remember to lock the gate again.”
Jupiter promised that they would obey all instructions, and they escaped across the street, where Pete collected his bicycle.
“How will Tom Dobson know it’s me?” Pete asked.
“Just tell him,” Jupiter advised. “He has one of our cards.”
“Okay.” Pete wheeled out of the yard and started for the highway.
“Now to check on that Mr Demetrieff who rented Hilltop House,” Jupiter decided. “I think Worthington could help us there.”
Some time before, Jupiter Jones had won a prize in a contest sponsored by the Rent-‘n-Ride Auto Rental Company. The prize had been the use of a gold-plated Rolls-Royce and a chauffeur for thirty days. Worthington, the very proper English chauffeur who had driven Jupiter and his friends in the course of many of their investigations, had become a rather enthusiastic amateur sleuth himself, and always took an interest in the boys’ cases.
Bob looked at his wristwatch. It was well past seven. “We can’t ask Worthington to come out here this late,” he said. “Not on a Sunday night.”
“It won’t be necessary to ask him to come here,” said Jupiter. “Worthington lives in the Wilshire district. Unless he’s terribly occupied with something, he could go and look at that address in Wilshire. Perhaps that would give us some clue to Mr Demetrieff.”
Bob agreed that this was worth a try, and the two boys crawled through Tunnel Two and back into Headquarters, where Jupiter consulted his little telephone list and called Worthington’s number.
“Master Jupiter?” Worthington sounded very pleased to hear Jupe’s voice on the telephone. “How are you, sir?”
Jupiter assured Worthington that he was very well.
“I am afraid that the Rolls-Royce isn’t available tonight,” said Worthington ruefully. “There is a big party in Beverly Hills. Perkins took the car over.”
“We didn’t want the car tonight, Worthington,” said Jupe. “I was only wondering if you would have time to do a small favour for The Three Investigators.”
“I was busily engaged,” said Worthington. “I was playing solitaire–and losing. The interruption is most welcome. What can I do for you?”
“We are attempting to get information on a Mr Ilyan Demetrieff,” Jupiter told him. He spelled the name for Worthington. “Possibly, it is Demetrioff, with an ‘o,’ ” he told the chauffeur. “We are not positive. However, he has given his address as 2901 Wilshire Boulevard. We would like to know if Mr Demetrieff has, in fact, recently lived at this address. Also, it would be interesting to know what kind of place 2901 Wilshire is.”
“It’s practically around the corner from me,” said Worthington. “I shall stroll over and ring the bell.”
“That’s fine, Worthington,” said Jupiter. “And what will you say if someone opens the door?”
Worthington scarcely hesitated. “I shall inform them that I am chairman of the Volunteer Committee for the Beautification of Wilshire Boulevard,” said Worthington. “I shall ask their opinion of putting potted shrubs along the sidewalks. If they are receptive to the idea, I can ask them to join the committee.”
“Wonderful, Worthington!” cried Jupiter.
Worthington promised to call Headquarters within half an hour, and hung up briskly.
“There are times when I think we should take Worthington into our agency,” laughed Jupiter after he reported the chauffeur’s plan to Bob.
“He considers himself a member already,” said Bob. “What do you think he’ll find at that Wilshire address?”
“Possibly nothing,” admitted Jupiter. “An empty house, or perhaps an apartment with no tenant. But at least he’ll be able to tell us something about the neighbourhood. I like the idea of a Volunteer Committee for the Beautification of Wilshire Boulevard. We could join the committee and ring doorbells in Mr Demetrieff’s area, and perhaps glean some information on him.”
“City people never know their neighbours,” said Bob.
“Sometimes they know more than one thinks.” Jupiter put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “Suppose it is a neighbourhood of elderly people,” he said. “Elderly people are home all day. They look out of their windows. They watch what is going on. I wonder how many crimes have been solved because some little old lady who slept lightly got up in the middle of the night to see who was making a noise on the street?”
Bob grinned. “Remind me to be careful when I go past Miss Hopper’s.”
“I think she doesn’t miss a great deaf,” conceded Jupiter. He opened the book on the crown jewels which Bob had brought with him and stared at the photograph of the Azimov crown. “It is beautiful, in a barbaric way,” he said. “I suppose it was typical of old Duke Federic to have it made in the shape of a helmet.”
“He must have been a real charmer,” said Bob. He shuddered. “Executing Ivan the Bold was bad enough. He didn’t have to stick his head up on the castle wall.”
“They did things like that in those days,” said Jupe. “It was supposed to serve as an example, and I am sure it did. The Azimovs survived for 400 years afterwards.”
The telephone rang.
“That can’t be the Wilshire Boulevard Beautification Committee already,” exclaimed Bob. “He wouldn’t have had time to do his stuff.”
But it was Worthington. “I am sorry, Master Jupiter,” the chauffeur reported, “but no one lives at 2901 Wilshire Boulevard. It is a small business building, and at this hour it is locked.”
“Oh,” said Jupiter.
“However, there was a light in the outer lobby, and I could read the building directory,” Worthington announced brightly. “I made a list of the companies occupying the building. They are the Acme Photostat Service, a Dr H. H. Carmichael, the Jensen Secretarial Bureau, the Lapathian Board of Trade, Sherman Editorial–”
“Wait a minute!” cried Jupiter. “What was that last?”
“Sherman Editorial Bureau,” said Worthington.
“No, the one before that? Did you say Lapathian–?”
“Lapathian Board of Trade,” said Worthington.
“Worthington,” declared Jupiter, “I think you have told us exactly what we want to know.”
“I have?” Worthington sounded astonished. “There was no Mr Demetrieff listed,” he reminded Jupiter.
“Well, if you were to ask for him at the Lapathian Board of Trade,” said Jupiter, “they might tell you that he’s vacationing in Rocky Beach. Then again, they might not. Thanks, Worthington. And good night.”
Jupiter put down the telephone. “Our new tenant at Hilltop House hails from the Lapathian Board of Trade,” he told Bob. He looked again at the picture of the crown. “The scarlet eagle was the device of Lapathia, and a favourite symbol with The Potter. And a man from the Lapathian Board of Trade leases a house overlooking The Potter’s shop. This suggests a number of interesting possibilities.”
“Like The Potter is really a Lapathian?” said Bob.
“Also, that we might pay a visit to Hilltop House, tonight,” said Jupe firmly.
9
Hilltop House
BOB and Jupe slipped out of The Jones Salvage Yard through Red Gate Rover and hurried towards the place where a hiking trail meandered in a series of switchbacks to the top of Coldwell Hill.
“We could take the coward’s way out,” said Bob, looking up towards the top of the hill. “We could take our bikes up to The Potter’s and leave them there and walk up the lane to Hilltop House.”
“That would scarcely be the coward’s way out,” said Jupiter. “We do not know what brought those two men to Hilltop House. I would prefer to approach the place without being seen. It is unlikely that they are watching the path, but they might easily spot us if we attempted to walk up their lane from the main road.”
“You’re right,” admitted Bob. He turned to look back towards the sea. The sun had already disappeared behind a bank of fog that lurked offshore. “It’ll be dark before we can get back here.”
“We should have no difficulty,” said Jupiter Jones. “The moon will be up shortly.”
“You checked the almanac?” asked Bob.
“I checked the almanac.”
“Silly of me to ask,” said Bob, and he started up the trail. Jupiter followed more slowly, panting as the going got steep, and stopping now and then to rest. But after ten minutes he had his second wind and climbed more easily. “Here it is,” said Bob finally.
He turned and held out a hand to Jupe to help him up on to the trail that ran along the crest of the hill, “It’ll be a cinch from here,” he said. “We’ll be on a downgrade all the way to Hilltop House.”
Jupe stood for a few seconds, looking north along the trail. It was almost dark and the moon was not yet up. Still, the road–almost eight feet of bare earth scraped clear of growth–looked like a tawny ribbon stretching along the top of the range of hills. The scrub oak that crowded close to its sandy surface seemed black and menacing in the fading light.