“The Potter does not make mistakes such as this,” said Jupiter. “His designs are always perfect. If he intended to put a band of double-headed eagles on this urn, he would have done so.”
“It could be another decoy,” said Bob, “like that secret compartment in the bedroom. Is there anything ink?”
Jupiter tried to lift the top off the urn. It did not budge. He tried to unscrew it, and it did not unscrew. He examined the sides of the piece, and the pedestal, which was cemented in place on the steps. He pressed on the single-headed eagle, as he had pressed on the eye embedded in the plaque. Nothing gave way.
“Really a decoy,” he murmured. “It was never intended to be opened.”
Chief Reynolds came out on to the porch. “If I didn’t know better,” he announced to anyone who cared to listen, “I’d say the place was haunted.”
“It is mysterious,” Jupiter agreed. He went on to tell the chief of the strange chemical odour he had detected on the newly burned footprints.
“Was it anything you recognized?” asked the chief. “Paraffin? Anything like that?”
“No,” said Jupiter. “It was entirely unfamiliar–a sharp, acid smell.”
“Hm,” said the chief. “The lab has samples of the charred linoleum. Maybe they can find out something. You boys have anything else you can tell me about this thing?”
The Three Investigators looked at one another, and then at Tom Dobson. “No, sir,” said Tom.
“Then you can leave,” said the chief, rather curtly.
“Right,” agreed Bob. “I have to go home and change my clothes and get to the library.”
Jupiter made for his bicycle. “Aunt Mathilda will be wondering,” he said.
The Three Investigators waved a hasty good-bye to Tom Dobson and started down the highway towards Rocky Beach. At the intersection near The Jones Salvage Yard, Jupiter pulled his bike to the kerb. The other two boys also stopped.
“I wonder if the jolly fisherman is connected with the disturbances,” said Jupiter.
“He’s just a creep,” declared Pete.
“Perhaps,” said Jupiter. “However, he has a way of being around just before things happen–or just after. He was parked across from The Potter’s when the house was searched and I was knocked down. He attempted to call on Mrs Dobson last evening, not long before the second set of flaming footprints appeared. He could have been the man who shot at us from the hillside. We are sure the two men at Hilltop House didn’t do that.”
“But why would he?”
“Who knows?” said Jupe. “Perhaps he is a confederate of the men at Hilltop House. If we could solve the secret of The Potter, we might know many things.” Jupe reached into his pocket and took out the document he had discovered in the dummy fireplace. “Here.” He handed it to Bob. “Is there any possibility that you could identify the language on this parchment, or perhaps even translate it?”
“I’m willing to bet it’s in Lapathian,” said Bob. “I’ll do what I can.”
“Good. And also, if we could find out more about the Azimovs it could be helpful. The name Kerenov on that document is most provocative.”
“The crown-maker? Right. I’ll try.” Bob pocketed the envelope and rode on.
“What time is it?” Pete asked nervously. “My mum will be having a fit.”
“It’s only nine,” said Jupiter. “Will she be so worried? I thought we might pay a visit to Miss Hopper.”
“At the Seabreeze Inn? What’s she got to do with it?”
“Not a thing. She is, however, the landlady of that jolly fisherman, and she usually takes an acute interest in the welfare of her guests.”
“Okay,” said Pete. “Let’s see her. But let’s not be all day about it. I want to get home before Mum starts phoning your Aunt Mathilda.”
“That would be wise,” Jupiter conceded.
The boys found Miss Hopper in the lobby of the Seabreeze Inn, in worried consultation with Marie, the maid.
“It can’t be helped,” Miss Hopper was saying. “You’ll just have to skip 113 and come back to it after lunch.”
“Serve him right if I skipped it altogether,” snapped Marie, and she banged out of the lobby pushing her cart with cleaning utensils in front of her.
“Something wrong, Miss Hopper?” asked Jupiter.
“Oh, Jupiter. And Pete. Good morning. It’s nothing important, really. It’s only that Mr Farrier has a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on his door and Marie can’t get in to do his room. It always upsets her when she can’t follow her regular routine.”
Miss Hopper hesitated for a moment, then said with a touch of slyness, “I heard Mr Farrier come in last night. Well, actually it was this morning. Three o’clock.”
“That’s interesting,” said Jupiter. “Most fishermen are early morning people.”
“I have always understood that,” said Miss Hopper. “Mr Farrier was so attentive to young Mrs Dobson yesterday, I wondered if he might not be helping her get settled.”
“Until three in the morning?” exclaimed Pete.
“No, Miss Hopper,” said Jupiter. “We have just come from The Potter’s, and Mr Farrier did not spend the evening with Mrs Dobson.”
“Now where do you suppose the man could have been until that hour?” wondered Miss Hopper. “Well, it is his own concern, I am sure. And how is poor, dear Mrs Dobson this morning? I saw her drive by earlier.”
“She is reasonably well, under the circumstances. She came into town to file an official report with Chief Reynolds. She wants her father found.” Jupiter had no hesitation about confiding this much to Miss Hopper, who always found things out anyway.
“Most proper,” said Miss Hopper. “What a strange thing for The Potter to do–going off that way without a word to anyone. But then, he has always been a strange man.”
“That’s for sure,” said Pete.
“Well, we must be going, Miss Hopper,” said Jupiter. “We only thought you would like to know that Mrs Dobson and her son are settled in at The Potter’s house. You always take such an interest in your guests.”
“How nice of you, Jupiter,” said Miss Hopper.
“And I hope Mr Farrier wakes up before lunch.”
“It would make Marie happy,” said Miss Hopper. “Poor man. One shouldn’t be too hard on him. He has such dreadful luck!”
“Oh?” prompted Jupiter.
“Yes. He’s been here four days just for the fishing, and he hasn’t caught a thing.”
“Terribly frustrating,” said Jupiter, and he and Pete took their leave of Miss Hopper.
“Now where do you go at three in the morning in Rocky Beach?” asked Pete, once they were outside.
“Several places occur to me,” said Jupiter. “One could, of course, try fishing by moonlight. Or perhaps one could be waiting on a hillside with a gun. Or one might amuse oneself by frightening people with flaming footprints.”
“I might buy that last,” said Pete, “if there was any way he could have got into that house. Jupe, all the downstairs windows are locked, and most of them are painted shut. There are two locks and a bolt on the front door and one regular lock and a dead-bolt loot on the back. He couldn’t have got in.”
“Someone did,” Jupiter pointed out.
“For my money, only one person could,” said Pete. “The Potter would be the only one with the keys.”
“Which brings us back to the question of why?” Jupe reminded him.
“Maybe he doesn’t like house guests,” said Pete.
“You know that’s ridiculous,” said Jupiter.
“The alternative is even sillier,” said Pete. “He’s gone off and kicked the bucket someplace, and then come back to haunt the house.” And with that, Pete mounted his bicycle and pedalled away towards his home.
Jupiter returned to The Jones Salvage Yard to confront an anxious Aunt Mathilda and a concerned Uncle Titus.
“How is Mrs Dobson?” was Aunt Mathilda’s first question.
“She’s better this morning,” Jupiter reported. “Last night she was extremely emotional–not to say hysterical.”
“Why?” asked Uncle Titus.
“There was a second set of those flaming footprints,” said Jupiter. “On the stairs, this time.”
“Merciful gracious to heavens!” cried Aunt Mathilda. “And she still insisted on staying in that house?”
“Aunt Mathilda, I do not believe she was in any condition to move last night,” said Jupiter.
“Jupiter, you should have told me,” scolded Aunt Mathilda. She turned to her husband. “Titus Andronicus Jones!”
Uncle Titus always paid strict attention when he was addressed by all three of his names. “Yes, Mathilda,” he said.
“Get the truck,” said Aunt Mathilda. “We must go up there and persuade that poor, misguided child to get out of that terrible house before something happens to her.”
Uncle Titus started for the truck.
“As for you, Jupiter,” said Aunt Mathilda severely, “I am very much annoyed with you. You take too much upon yourself. What you need is some work to do to keep you out of mischief.”
Jupiter didn’t answer this. Aunt Mathilda was an ardent advocate of work even when there was no mischief afoot.