Eight forty-five. He waited, reviewing the events of the day in his mind. At ten to nine Bob Andrews wriggled into the trailer. Pete Crenshaw put in his appearance promptly at nine.
“Do The Three Investigators have another client?” asked Pete brightly. He looked at the bruise on Jupe’s forehead. “Like you, maybe?”
“Possibly,” said Jupiter Jones. “Today The Potter disappeared.”
“I heard about that,” said Bob. “Your Aunt Mathilda sent Hans down to the market to pick up some stuff. He met my mother. Just walked away and left his truck here?”
Jupiter nodded. “That is exactly what he did. The truck is still parked beside the office. The Potter disappeared, and a number of other people appeared.”
“Such as that woman who checked into the Seabreeze Inn after you got bonked on the bean?” questioned Pete.
“Rocky Beach is indeed a small town,” murmured Jupiter.
“I met Officer Haines,” Pete explained. “She claims she’s The Potter’s daughter. If she is, that kid with her must be his grandson. Crazy! That Potter’s a funny old guy. You’d sure never suspect he had a daughter.”
“He must have been young once,” said Jupiter. “But Mrs Dobson and her son are not the only newcomers in Rocky Beach. There are two men at Hilltop House.”
“Hilltop House?” Pete straightened up. “Has somebody moved into Hilltop House? That place is a wreck!”
“Someone at least visited there today,” said Jupiter. “It was an interesting coincidence that they stopped at the salvage yard this morning to ask directions. The Potter was there at the time, which may also be an interesting coincidence. They saw him, and he saw them. And Hilltop House directly overlooks The Potter’s shop.”
“Did he know them?” asked Bob.
Jupe pulled at his lip, trying to recall every detail of the scene. “I could not say with any certainty that he did, or that they knew him. The driver, who seemed to be European, asked for directions, and the passenger–an odd-looking person with a completely bald head–became somewhat excited. They talked together for a moment in a foreign language. The Potter stood there, holding on to that medallion he always wears. After they left, he said he felt ill. I went to get him some water, and he disappeared.”
“He was okay when he came into the yard?” asked Bob.
“Very okay,” confirmed Jupiter. “He was expecting company, and he seemed pleased. But after the men came and asked about Hilltop House–”
“He disappeared!” said Bob.
“Yes. He walked away. Now I wonder, was he only holding that medallion out of habit, the way one would twist a button perhaps, or was he trying to cover it up?”
“It’s an eagle, isn’t it?” asked Bob.
“An eagle with two heads,” said Jupiter. “It could be a design The Potter made up, or it could be something more–a symbol that meant something to the men in the car.”
“Like a signal?” asked Pete.
“Or a crest,” decided Bob. “Europeans are big on crests, and they have all kinds of things on them, like lions and unicorns and falcons and such.”
“Can you check it out?” Jupiter asked. “Do you remember what it looked like?”
Bob nodded. “There’s a new book on heraldry in at the library. If I see that double-headed eagle again, I’ll recognize it.”
“Good.” Jupiter turned to Pete. “You’re friendly with Mr Holtzer?” he asked.
“The real estate man? I mow his lawn once in a while, when he doesn’t feel like doing it himself. Why?”
“He has the only real estate agency in Rocky Beach,” said Jupiter. “If someone has moved into Hilltop House, he will know it. He may also know who and why.”
“He probably won’t want his lawn mowed tomorrow,” said Pete, “but he’s open on Sunday. I’ll drop in and see him.”
“Fine,” said Jupiter. “I believe that Aunt Mathilda wishes to go to the Seabreeze Inn tomorrow. She will be a one-woman welcoming committee for Mrs Dobson and her son. I will accompany her, and will also keep an eye out for an amateur fisherman in a tan Ford.”
“Another newcomer?” said Bob.
Jupiter shrugged. “Perhaps. Or perhaps he only came down from Los Angeles for the day. If he is staying in Rocky Beach, and if Hilltop House has been rented, we know that we have five new people in town in one day—and one of them may have broken into The Potter’s house.”
5
The Flaming Footprints
“WEAR your white shirt, Jupiter,” ordered Aunt Mathilda, “and your blue blazer.”
“It’s too hot for a blazer,” said Jupe.
“Wear it anyway,” said Aunt Mathilda. “I want you to look respectable when we call on Mrs Dobson.”
Jupiter sighed and buttoned the starched white shirt almost to the neck. The top button was impossible. He would have choked if he’d tried it. He shrugged himself into his blue blazer.
“Are you ready?” he asked his aunt.
Aunt Mathilda smoothed down a tweed skirt which was so sturdy that it almost prickled and threw a tan cardigan around her shoulders. “How do I look?”
“Most respectable,” Jupiter assured her.
“I certainly hope so,” said Aunt Mathilda, and they went downstairs and out through the living room. Uncle Titus had voted himself out of the welcoming party for the Dobsons. He was taking his Sunday afternoon nap on the sofa.
A fresh breeze had sprung up to blow away the morning fog, and the sun sparkled on the ocean as Aunt Mathilda and Jupiter walked down to the highway and then turned south. There were few people on the sidewalks in the business district of Rocky Beach, but there was a solid procession of cars edging through the town. Jupiter and his aunt passed the Rocky Beach Bakery and the delicatessen, and came to the pedestrian crossing opposite the Seabreeze Inn.
“Miss Hopper does keep the inn very nicely,” said Aunt Mathilda. She stepped on to the crossing and directed a no-nonsense glare at the radiator of an oncoming Buick. The driver of the Buick, properly cowed, applied his brakes, and Aunt Mathilda ploughed on across the road with Jupiter hurrying in her wake.
Aunt Mathilda strode into the office of the Seabreeze Inn and rang the little bell on Miss Hopper’s registration desk.
A door behind the desk opened. “Mrs Jones!” cried Miss Hopper. She emerged, tucking in a stray wisp of white hair. She carried with her a distinct odour of roasting chicken. “Jupiter, nice to see you.”
“I understand that Mrs Dobson and her son are staying with you,” said Aunt Mathilda, getting right to the point.
“Oh yes, poor dear thing. What a state she was in when she checked in yesterday. And then Chief Reynolds came to see her, right here in the inn! Imagine!”
Miss Hopper appreciated Chief Reynolds’s service to the citizens of Rocky Beach, but it was plain that she did not care to have the police invade her little inn.
Aunt Mathilda made a clucking sound to indicate that she understood Miss Hopper’s position. She asked again for Mrs Dobson, and was directed to the little terrace behind the inn. “She and the boy are there, and that nice Mr Farrier is trying to cheer them up,” said Miss Hopper.
“Mr Farrier?” echoed Jupiter.
“One of my guests,” explained Miss Hopper. “Charming person. Seems to take a real interest in Mrs Dobson. It’s nice, don’t you think? Nowadays, people don’t seem to care about one another. Of course, Mrs Dobson’s a very pretty young woman.”
“That always helps,” said Aunt Mathilda.
She and Jupiter went out of the office and walked back along the verandah of the inn, past numbered doors and blue-shuttered windows, to the little terrace that looked out over the beach to the ocean.
Young Mrs Dobson and her son were sitting at a small round table on the terrace. With them was the jaunty, moustached fisherman whom Jupiter had met on the highway the day before. If possible, he was more magnificent than he had been when Jupe first saw him. His jacket and his duck trousers were a sparkling, crackling white. His yachting cap was pushed back on his head, so that a lock of iron-grey hair showed. He was telling Mrs Dobson of the wonders of Hollywood, and offering to be her guide should she wish to take a little tour. From the glazed look in Mrs Dobson’s eyes, he had been at it for some time.
He had not, decided Jupiter, cheered Mrs Dobson up. He was only boring her to death. Eloise Dobson looked profoundly grateful at the sight of Jupe escorting his aunt on to the terrace.
“Hi!” shouted young Tom Dobson, who leaped up to get another couple of chairs.
“Mrs Dobson,” Jupiter began, “my aunt and I–”
Aunt Mathilda firmly took the introductions into her own hands. “I am Mrs Titus Jones,” she informed Mrs Dobson. “Jupiter’s aunt. I have come to assure you that Jupiter would never, under any circumstances, break into Mr Potter’s residence.”