“What?” Earl put a hand up to his ear.
“They must look,” the priest repeated in a louder tone. “Where were you just now?”
“In the choir loft, picking up the hymn booklets, like always,” said Earl.
“Hah!” The grey-haired woman laughed. “A herd of elephants could stampede in there and you’d not hear them. Deaf as a post you are, and getting deafer every day.”
Someone in the crowd chuckled.
“Now, Mrs O’Reilly,” said the priest, gently chiding. “Come along. We’ll go to the rectory and you’ll make us a nice cup of tea, and when the police have finished, Earl can come back and lock up. It’s not really our concern, you know.”
The crowd parted to make way for Earl, the priest, and the woman. When they had disappeared into the stucco house next door, one of the onlookers grinned at the boys.
“You live around here?” asked the man, raising his voice to be heard above the circling helicopter.
“No,” said Bob.
“Never a dull moment.” The man nodded toward the rectory. “Earl’s the caretaker, and he thinks he runs the parish. Mrs O’Reilly’s the housekeeper in the rectory, and she thinks she runs the parish. Father McGovern’s got his hands full keeping the two of them from running him right into the ground.”
“More than a pastor should have to put up with,” put in a woman. “An old-country Irishwoman who sees spooks in every corner and a stubborn janitor who thinks the church would fall down if he weren’t there to hold it up.”
The sergeant and the patrolmen emerged from the church. The sergeant scanned the crowd on the pavement. “Okay!” he called. “Where’s the guy who’s supposed to be in charge here?”
“He’s having a cup of tea with the pastor,” volunteered the man who had spoken to the Investigators. “I’ll get him.”
The police helicopter made one last pass above the neighbourhood, then disappeared towards the north.
The lieutenant who had been talking to Mr Prentice’s friend came down the street.
“Nothing in the church,” reported the sergeant.
The lieutenant sighed. “Beats me how he got out of the neighbourhood so fast,” he said. “The helicopter usually spots them, unless they’ve got a place to go to ground. Okay. We can’t do anything more tonight.”
Earl the caretaker bustled up from the parish house and stamped into the church, slamming the door behind him.
In a few minutes, the police cars had pulled away. The spectators drifted back to their homes.
Jupiter, Pete, and Bob walked back to the apartment house. Fenton Prentice was still there talking to the grey-haired man.
“Mr Prentice,” said Jupiter, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but–”
“It’s quite all right.” Mr Prentice looked very weary. “I have just learned from Charles–from Mr Niedland here–what this furor is about.”
“My brother’s home was broken into,” said Prentice’s friend. “He had a house on Lucan Court. That’s the next street over.”
“I’m very sorry, Charles,” said Mr Prentice. “This must be especially painful for you.”
“For you, too,” said Charles Niedland. “Don’t let it upset you too much, Fenton, and try to get some rest. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”
Charles Niedland went in through the courtyard and out through the rear passageway which led, Jupe supposed, to an alley and to the buildings on the street behind Paseo Place. Fenton Prentice sat down on the steps as if he were too exhausted to stand any longer. “What a desecration!” he exclaimed.
“The burglary?” asked Bob.
“Edward Niedland was my friend,” explained Prentice. “My friend, my protege, and a very fine artist. He died two weeks ago, of pneumonia.”
The boys were silent.
“A great loss,” said Fenton Prentice. “Very hard for me to accept, and very hard for his brother Charles. And now to have his home broken into!”
“Was anything taken?” asked Bob.
“Charles doesn’t know yet. He is going to check the contents of the house right now, with the police.”
There were brisk steps on the pavement behind the boys. Bob and Pete turned. A hearty, robust-appearing man in a beige sweater strode jauntily to the flagstone stairs. At the sight of Prentice sitting there, and the boys hovering near him, the man stopped and stared.
“Anything the matter?” he asked.
“There has been a burglary in the neighbourhood, Mr Murphy,” said Prentice. “The police have been searching.”
“Oh,” said the newcomer. “I thought there were a lot of squad cars around. Did they get the guy?”
“Unfortunately, they did not.”
“Too bad,” said Murphy. He went around Prentice and up the steps. A second later the boys heard an apartment door inside the courtyard open and close.
“I think I will retire upstairs,” said Mr Prentice. He stood up weakly. “Please call me tomorrow with your agreement to help, boys. I can’t go on this way much longer. First the haunting intruder, then Edward’s death, and now the burglary–it’s more than a man can bear!”
3
The Magic Ointment
VERY EARLY the next morning, Bob Andrews and Pete Crenshaw met in front of The Jones Salvage Yard. This establishment was owned by Jupiter’s Uncle Titus and Aunt Mathilda Jones. It was a fascinating spot for anyone interested in curious old objects. Uncle Titus did most of the buying for the yard, and he had a talent for collecting unusual items along with ordinary junk. People came from all parts of Southern California to prowl through his finds. Wooden panelling rescued from houses which were to be torn down, ornate iron fences, marble mantles, old-fashioned, claw-legged bathtubs, odd brass doorknobs and hinges–all were to be found in Uncle Titus’ stock. There was even a pipe organ, which Uncle Titus loved and refused to sell at any price.
When Bob and Pete arrived that December morning, no bargain hunters prowled through the heaps of salvage. In fact, the great iron gates of the yard were padlocked.
Pete yawned. “Sometimes I wish I’d never met Jupiter Jones,” he announced. “Some nerve, calling at six in the morning!”
“No one ever said Jupe didn’t have nerve!” Bob remarked. “But if he called that early, we know it must be important. Come on.”
The boys left the locked gate and walked along beside the board fence that surrounded the yard. This fence had been decorated by artists of Rocky Beach, for whom Uncle Titus had done favours from time to time. The front section featured a seascape–a stormy scene which showed a sailing ship foundering amid mountainous waves. In the foreground, a painted fish put its head out of the painted sea to watch the sinking ship. Bob pushed on the eye of the fish, and two green boards in the fence swung up. This was Green Gate One, a secret entrance to the salvage yard.
Bob and Pete went through the opening and let the gate swing shut behind them. They now stood in Jupiter’s outdoor workshop, an area separated from the rest of the yard by carefully arranged heaps of junk. There was a small printing press in the workshop, and behind this was a piece of iron grating. Bob pulled the grating aside, bent down, and crawled into Tunnel Two, a length of corrugated pipe that ran beneath piles of salvaged iron to Headquarters.
Headquarters for the Three Investigators was a battered old mobile home trailer which stood at one side of the yard. It was hidden from view by heaps of old lumber and scrap iron.
Pete followed Bob into the tunnel, pulling the grating into place behind him, and crawled for forty feet. The pipe ended directly under a trap door in the floor of Headquarters.
“What took you so long?” asked Jupiter Jones when Bob pushed open the trap door. The chubby youth was in the tiny laboratory which the boys had fitted out.
Bob didn’t answer, but Pete groaned as he climbed into the trailer. “I thought it would be nice if I brushed my teeth and put on some clothes before I came over,” he said. “What’s so important that we have to get up at dawn, and what have you got in that jar?”
Jupiter tilted the ceramic jar in his hand so that the others could see some fine white crystals.
“Magic powder,” said Jupe.
Pete slumped into a chair and leaned sleepily against a file cabinet. “I hate it when you act mysterious,” he said. “I especially hate it early in the morning.”
Jupe took a flask of water from a shelf above the laboratory counter and poured a few drops over the white crystals, then stirred with a small plastic spoon. “These crystals are a metallic compound,” he said. “I read about them in an old book on criminology. They will dissolve in water.”
Bob sighed. “Are you going to give us a lecture on chemistry?”
“Perhaps.” Jupe opened a drawer and took out a tube of thick, white ointment. He squeezed a good amount of this into the solution in the jar and then mixed everything slowly and thoroughly. “I’ve been holding this ointment for emergencies,” he said proudly. “It will absorb water–not everything will.”