“Certainly, Mr Prentice,” said Jupe. “However, I think you should inform the police of what you are doing.”
“No,” said Prentice. “The Carpathian Hound is too precious to risk losing. If the thief feels he is in danger, he might simply destroy it. We must follow his instructions to the letter.”
Jupiter went to the window. There was a taxi on the street below. The driver came down the steps from the building carrying a suitcase. Mrs Bortz followed him.
“Mrs Bortz is leaving,” announced Jupiter as the cab drove away.
“She has a sister in Santa Monica,” said Prentice. “She goes to her when she’s ill or in trouble.”
“I guess she is in trouble,” said Pete. “Having a bomb planted in your car is–”
He was interrupted by the sound of smashing glass which could be heard even through the closed door to the balcony.
“Fire!” shouted someone. “Help! Fire!”
Instantly the group in Prentice’s apartment was out the door.
On the courtyard level there were flames blazing on the curtains in John Murphy’s windows. Sonny Elmquist, in bare feet and with his hair standing on end, was smashing through the windows with an iron pool chair.
“My stars!” cried Mr Prentice. He dashed back inside to call the fire brigade.
Pete was down the stairs and snatching up a second chair before Jupe and Bob even made it to the courtyard.
Alex Hassell came stumbling from his apartment.
“Mr Murphy!” yelled Pete.
He brushed away bits of broken glass from the window sill and swatted at the flaming curtains.
“Here!” Jupe had spotted a fire extinguisher in a niche near the stairway. He grabbed it and ran towards the blaze.
In an instant, spray from the extinguisher leaped to smother the fire in the curtains. The flames died with a resentful hiss, and the boys and Elmquist clambered in through the window. Jupe aimed the fire extinguisher at a smouldering sofa which stood next to the window, and squirted the Christmas tree beyond the sofa for good measure.
The boys choked in the smoke-filled apartment. They shouted, but Murphy did not answer. Jupe and Pete crouched low to avoid the worst of the fumes and crept forward. They found Murphy collapsed in the doorway between the living room and the bedroom.
“We’ve got to get him out, quick!” gasped Pete. He seized Murphy by an arm, turned him over, and slapped at his face.
Murphy didn’t stir.
“Drag him,” ordered Jupe.
Jupe took one arm and Pete the other. Bob ran over and grabbed the man’s feet. Behind them, Sonny Elmquist choked and sputtered.
“Get out of here!” warned Pete. “You want to keel over, too?”
Elmquist got to the door and unlocked it.
Still crouching, the Investigators hauled the unconscious man towards the doorway, to the light and the fresh air.
Murphy was dead weight, as heavy as a sack of coal. The boys managed, though, and did it quickly. In seconds they had the stockbroker beside the pool, stretched out with the sun glaring down on to his pale face.
“Oh, dear!” said Mr Prentice.
Alex Hassell stared. “Is he . . . is he . . . ?”
Pete had his ear to Murphy’s chest. “He’s alive.”
The firemen arrived then, with oxygen and an ambulance. They surged into Murphy’s apartment to put out the last smouldering sparks in the curtains and the upholstery.
The fire captain came within a few minutes and joined his men inside the apartment.
One of the ambulance men took the oxygen mask away from Murphy’s face when the stockbroker gasped, opened his eyes, and pushed at the thing with one hand.
“Okay, mister,” said the ambulance driver. “You got a dose of smoke, that’s all.”
Murphy tried to sit up.
“Take it easy,” said the ambulance man. “We’ll get you to the emergency room.”
Murphy looked as if he might protest, then sank back on to the flagstones.
“George, bring the stretcher,” said the ambulance driver to his partner.
Murphy lay quietly and allowed himself to be lifted on to the stretcher. The two ambulance men covered him with a grey blanket and started to take him away.
“Hadn’t someone better go with him?” said Hassell.
“My nephew,” said Murphy weakly. “I’ll send for my nephew.”
A moment later the ambulance left, its siren screaming.
The fire captain appeared in the doorway of the Murphy apartment. “Same old story,” he said. He held out a half-burned cigarette which was wet with foam from the fire extinguisher. “Fell asleep with a cigarette going. Cigarette dropped into the sofa, smouldered there, and then set the thing on fire. That started the curtains burning, and . . .”
“Lucky I saw it.” Sonny Elmquist was still in his bare feet. He was very pale.
“Lucky for the guy who lives here. He might have been killed. You caught it just in time. That Christmas tree in there is a real tree. If the flames had reached it, the whole place would have gone up in a minute.”
“He went to sleep with a cigarette?” said Jupiter.
“Lots of people do, son,” said the fire captain.
“But he had that special ashtray,” said Jupe. “He claimed it was foolproof–that he could leave a cigarette in it and not worry. The cigarette couldn’t fall out.”
“Anything can happen if a guy lights up while he’s sleepy,” advised the fire captain.
“And Mr Murphy was sleepy,” pointed out Mr Prentice. “He said he was going to sleep until noon. He must have thrown himself down on the sofa and dropped off.”
“But we found him on the floor headed for the bedroom. If he was sleeping on the sofa, why didn’t he just open the front door and walk out?” asked Jupiter.
“He got confused in the smoke,” said the fireman soothingly. “It’s the easiest thing to do. By the time the smoke reached him, he wouldn’t know which way was which.”
Jupiter and the others retreated from the firemen, who were pulling the sofa apart to make sure no trace of fire remained.
“That’ll be a fine mess to clean up,” said Hassell.
“Mrs Bortz will have a fit when she sees it.” Sonny Elmquist looked pleased. “Say, where is Mrs Bortz?”
“She left in a cab a little while ago,” said Bob.
“Where will the emergency ambulance take Mr Murphy?” Jupe asked the fire captain.
“The receiving room at Central Hospital. That’s the emergency hospital for this area. If they decide he can’t be released, he’ll stay there–or be moved to another hospital, if that’s what he wants.”
Jupiter nodded. “Central Hospital,” he repeated. “That’s where Miss Chalmers is. But . . . why is Murphy going there?”
“It’s the emergency hospital,” said the fireman.
“That’s not what I mean,” said Jupe, “Mr Murphy was very careful with cigarettes. He shouldn’t have had a fire. It just doesn’t make sense!”
14
The Wanderers
“THERE’S A JINX ON THIS HOUSE!” declared Alex Hassell after the firemen had departed. “First Gwen Chalmers, then Mrs Bortz, and now Murphy!”
“It all began with the burglary,” said Mr Prentice. He did not look at Sonny Elmquist, who was slouched on a lounge, his eyes half-closed against the sunlight. “Things were quite peaceful until three nights ago, when the burglar ran through this courtyard. Since then, nothing has been the same.”
Jupe nodded. “There is one obvious conclusion,” he said. “The Carpathian Hound is here! And the person who stole the Carpathian Hound is most likely here, too!”
“Young man, what are you talking about?” demanded Hassell. “There isn’t any dog here, stolen or otherwise. My cats would know if there was a dog here!”
“It’s a crystal statue of a dog,” explained Fenton Prentice. “I commissioned the Hound from the artist Edward Niedland, and loaned it to him for his show at the Mailer Gallery. It was stolen from Edward’s home on Monday night.”
Alex Hassell gave a short, mocking laugh. “So that’s what Mrs Bortz meant’! She told me you were going to get a dog, and that I’d better watch out for my cats. A glass dog! Hah!”
Prentice sighed. “She’d been reading my papers. I’m sure she thought I was getting a real dog. So she blabbed it all over the building–and then someone stole the Hound!”
“Well, I didn’t!” snapped Hassell. “What’s more, I’m not going to stay here while somebody’s poisoning people and blowing up cars. I’m going to a motel!”
He hurried to his apartment. In a short time he was out again with a pet carrier in one hand and a suitcase in another. “I’ll be back at five to feed my kitties,” he announced. “Naturally I’m taking Tabitha with me. If you want to reach me, I’ll be at the Ramona Inn until sanity sets in around here.”
Hassell glared at Mr Prentice. “You can search my apartment if you wish,” he said, “but you’d better have a warrant.”
He stalked out. A moment later a car started out front.
“You can search my apartment if you want to,” offered Sonny Elmquist. “I’ve got to go to work at noon, but there’s time before then. You don’t need a warrant.”