The Potter examined the bedsteads stacked against one wall of the shack. He had purchased new mattresses and springs, he told Jupe, but to his mind springs and a mattress had a very temporary look unless a good solid bedstead was holding them up.
Jupe’s curiosity began to get the upper hand. “Are you expecting your company to stay for a long time, Mr Potter?” he asked.
“I am not sure, Jupiter,” said The Potter. “We will have to see. Now what do you think about that brass bed with the scrollwork on the top?”
Jupe was doubtful. “It’s very old-fashioned,” he told The Potter.
“So am I,” announced The Potter. “Who knows? My company may like me that way.” He picked up the end of the bed and gave it a good shake. “Nice and heavy,” he remarked. “They don’t make them that way these days. How much?”
Jupe was puzzled. The bed was from an old house in the Hollywood hills. Uncle Titus had bought it just the week before. Jupe had no idea what his uncle planned to ask for it.
“Never mind,” said The Potter. “I don’t have to know this minute. Put it aside and I’ll speak to your uncle when he gets back.”
The Potter looked around. “I’ll need a second bedstead,” he told Jupe. “One for a boy about your age. What would you choose, Jupiter, if you were buying a new bed?”
Jupe didn’t hesitate. He hauled out a white wooden bedstead with a bookcase built into it. “If the boy likes to read in bed, this would be perfect,” he told The Potter. “The wood is not the best, but Hans sanded it down and painted it. I imagine it looks better now than when it was new.”
The Potter was delighted. “Fine! Just fine! And if the boy doesn’t read in bed, he can keep his collection on the bookshelf.”
“Collection?” questioned Jupe.
“He must have a collection,” The Potter countered. “Don’t all boys collect things? Seashells or stamps or rocks or bottle caps or something?”
Jupe was about to announce that he did not. Then he thought of Headquarters, the old mobile home trailer concealed behind a cunningly arranged pile of junk at the back of the yard. In truth, Jupiter Jones did have a collection. He had a collection of cases solved by The Three Investigators. The records were all in the trailer, neatly preserved in file folders.
“Yes, Mr Potter, I guess all boys have collections,” he said. “Will there be anything else this morning?”
With the question of bedsteads settled, The Potter could not decide what came next. “I have so little in my house,” he confessed. “I suppose two more chairs would be in order.”
“How many chairs do you have now, Mr Potter?” asked Jupe gently.
“One,” said The Potter. “I have never needed more than one before, and I try not to clutter up my life with things I don’t need.”
Jupe silently selected two straight chairs from the pile on the right side of the shack and put them down in front of The Potter.
“A table?” asked Jupiter Jones.
The Potter shook his head. “I have a table. Now, Jupiter, there is that thing called television. I understand that it’s extremely popular. My guests might like to have a television, and perhaps you could–”
“No, Mr Potter,” interrupted Jupe. “By the time a set reaches us, we can usually salvage only a few spare parts. If you wish to have a television set, why not buy a new one?”
The Potter looked doubtful.
“New sets are guaranteed,” Jupe pointed out. “If they are defective, you can return them to the dealer and have them repaired.”
“I see. Well, no doubt you are right, Jupiter. We can make do at first with the beds and the extra chairs. After that–”
The Potter stopped. Outside, in the salvage yard, a car horn was blowing violently and repeatedly.
Jupe stepped to the door of the furniture shack. The Potter followed. Parked in the drive, close to The Potter’s battered truck, was a gleaming black Cadillac. The horn blared again, and the driver of the car got out, stared around impatiently, then started for the door of the office.
Jupe hurried forward. “Can I help you?” he called.
The man stopped and waited for Jupe and The Potter to come to him. He had, thought Jupiter, a shuttered expression, like one who is used to keeping his thoughts to himself. He was tall and lean and not very old, though a frosting of silver showed here and there in his dark, curling hair.
“Yes, sir?” said Jupe. “You wanted something?”
“I am looking for Hilltop House,” said the man. “I seem to have taken the wrong turn off the highway.” The man spoke the very precise English of the well-educated European.
“It’s a mile north,” Jupe told him. “Go back to the highway and turn right. Drive until you see The Potter’s place. The lane to Hilltop House is just beyond that. You can’t miss it. There’s a wooden gate with a padlock.”
The man nodded a curt thanks and got back into the car. Then, for the first time, Jupe was aware that there was a second person in the Cadillac. A rather thickset man had been sitting motionless in the back seat. Now he leaned forward to touch the driver’s shoulder and say something in a language which Jupe could not understand. The second man seemed neither young nor old nor anywhere in between. He looked ageless. It took Jupe a moment to realize that this was because he was completely bald. Even his eyebrows were gone–if he had ever had eyebrows. And his skin was tanned to the point where it looked like fine leather.
The ageless one glanced at Jupe, then turned his dark, slightly-angled eyes to The Potter, who had been standing quietly beside Jupe. The Potter made an odd little hissing sound. Jupe looked at him. He was standing with his head to one side, as if he were listening intently. His right hand had come up to grip the medallion which hung around his neck.
The ageless man in the car leaned back in his seat. The driver shifted the gear stick smoothly into reverse and backed out of the drive. Across the street from the salvage yard, Aunt Mathilda emerged from the house in time to see the Cadillac sweep by and speed back down to the highway.
The Potter touched Jupiter’s arm. “My boy,” he said, “would you go and ask your aunt if I may have a glass of water? I feel a little dizzy all of a sudden.”
The Potter sat down on a pile of lumber. He did look ill.
“I’ll get it right away, Mr Potter,” promised Jupe. He hurried across the street.
“Who were those men?” asked Aunt Mathilda.
“They were looking for Hilltop House,” said Jupiter. He went into the kitchen, took out the bottle of water that Aunt Mathilda always kept in the refrigerator, and poured a glass for The Potter.
“How peculiar,” said Aunt Mathilda. “No one’s lived at Hilltop House for years.”
“I know,” said Jupe. He hurried out with the water. But by the time he got back to the salvage yard, The Potter had disappeared.
2
The Searcher
THE Potter’s decrepit truck was still in the drive when Uncle Titus and Hans returned from Los Angeles. They had a load of rusted garden furniture in the back of the salvage-yard truck. Uncle Titus struggled to manoeuvre his load past The Potter’s vehicle, then exploded from the cab of his truck. “What is that thing doing in the middle of the drive?” Uncle Titus demanded.
“The Potter left it when he disappeared,” said Jupe.
“When he what?”
“He disappeared,” repeated Jupiter.
Uncle Titus sat down on the running board of the truck. “Jupiter, people do not simply disappear.”
“The Potter did,” said Jupe. “He stopped to buy some furniture to accommodate his expected guests. When he said he was feeling dizzy, I went across to the house and got him a glass of water. While I was gone, he disappeared.”
Uncle Titus pulled at his moustache. “Guests?” he said. “The Potter? Disappeared? Disappeared where?”
“It is not difficult to trace the movements of a barefooted man,” Jupe told his uncle. “He went out through the gate and down the street. Aunt Mathilda had been watering, and he got his feet wet. At the corner, he turned up towards Coldwell Hill. There are several clear footprints in the dust on the path that leads up the hill. Unfortunately, he left the path about fifty yards up and struck off to the north. I found no sign of him after that. The terrain is too rocky to show footprints.”
Uncle Titus heaved himself up off the running board. “Well!” he said. He tugged at his moustache and eyed The Potter’s truck. “Let’s move this wreck out of the drive. We won’t do any business with it blocking the way. Let us also pray that The Potter returns soon to claim it.”