Fenton Prentice smiled. “I tend to think of him that way. You see, he feeds cats. Every evening at five all the stray cats in the neighbourhood gather at his door and he feeds them. He also keeps a pet Siamese in his apartment.”
“What does he do when he’s not feeding cats?” asked Pete.
“Mr Hassell has no job,” said Prentice. “He has private means, so he comes and goes as he pleases. I believe he walks through the city looking for stray cats to feed. If they’re sick or injured, he takes them to a vet.”
“Who else lives in your building?” asked Jupiter.
“A number of unremarkable people. There are twenty units in all. Most of the tenants are single people and most of them work. Also, most of them are away for the holidays, visiting friends or relatives. At the moment, only six of us are in residence. Seven, if you count Mr Murphy’s nephew, Harley.”
“That narrows our list of suspects,” said Jupe.
Prentice looked searchingly at Jupe. “So you think that someone in the building is spying on me?”
“I won’t be entirely sure until we get more evidence,” answered Jupe. “But most likely the culprit is someone who would know when you’re not at home. If he saw us leave this morning, he may have taken the opportunity to prowl around.”
Mr Prentice shrugged. “Perhaps you’re right, Jupiter. If anyone wanted to open my desk this morning, He has had ample time to do so.”
Prentice signalled to the waiter to bring the check, and signed it. The Three Investigators followed him out of the club and along Wilshire to Paseo Place. The street was empty as they came up past the church. They reached the apartment house and went up the steps. In the apartment near the gate, where Mrs Bortz lived, they could hear water running and dishes clattering in a sink.
“Thank heavens that woman has to eat occasionally,” said Prentice, “or we would never have a moment’s privacy.”
Pete laughed. “She does seem to be around a lot.”
“A born busybody and a dreadful gossip,” said Prentice. “She asks the most impertinent questions. She is even capable of going through the dustbins. I have surprised her at it more than once. I would have guessed it even if I hadn’t seen it. How else would she know that Miss Chalmers eats frozen dinners or that Mr Hassell’s group of stray cats consumes more than forty cans of pet food a week?”
The Three Investigators trailed Prentice to his apartment and he unlocked the door.
“Now, don’t touch anything,” cautioned Jupe. He took a small magnifying glass out of his pocket and went into the den, where he peered at the drawer handles of the desk.
“Aha!” he said.
Fenton Prentice came as far as the door.
“Someone has opened this desk since we left this morning!” Jupiter reported. “Someone with ordinary, solid, human hands. The ointment is smeared.”
Bob went to the kitchen and got a paper towel, and Jupe wiped the handles clean.
“May we open the desk?” he asked Prentice.
“Of course.”
Jupiter pulled out the top drawer. “Is anything missing?”
“There’s never anything missing,” said Prentice, “but someone has looked at that bill from the telephone company. It was at the back of the drawer this morning.”
“Whoever moved it smudged the envelope. He must have gotten a good dose of the ointment on his hands.” Jupe beamed with satisfaction.
Jupe went out through the living room to the front door. He stooped and peered at the doorknob.
“I didn’t put any ointment on this knob,” he reminded his friends, “but there are smudges on it now.”
“So we know how the uninvited snooper left,” said Bob. “He opened the door and walked out.”
“And locked the dead bolt lock behind him,” said Jupe. He opened the door and examined the dead bolt lock from the outside. It showed traces of the ointment. “Yes,” he said. “Someone has a key.”
“Impossible!” exclaimed Fenton Prentice. “That is a special lock which I had installed. No one could have a key!”
“Someone does,” insisted Jupe.
The door was closed again, and the boys and Mr Prentice continued their examination of the apartment. There were more smudges on the edge of the mirror in the bathroom.
“The intruder looked into your medicine cabinet,” Jupe told Mr Prentice.
Mr Prentice made an outraged sound.
“Well, at least we are making progress,” said Jupiter.
“Are we?” asked Prentice.
“Certainly.” Jupiter’s voice was confident. “We know that the presence that haunts you cannot open a drawer without getting smudges on his fingers. He also left here this morning in the usual way, by opening the apartment door. We will go and sit in the courtyard and watch, and presently we will know who it is.”
“Suppose it isn’t anybody who lives here?” asked Prentice.
“I’m sure it is someone who lives here,” said Jupe. “Someone who saw us leave this morning.”
The boys left Prentice and went down to the courtyard. They took chairs beside the pool and waited.
“That’s a fantastic swimming pool,” remarked Pete after a bit.
Bob crouched at the edge and looked down through the clear water. Blue and gold tiles were set in a random arrangement at the bottom of the pool. “Very fancy. Reminds me of the indoor pool in the Hearst Castle in San Simeon.” He put his hand into the water and reported that it was heated.
Footsteps sounded on the flagstone stairs and the front gate opened. A grey cat scampered into the court, followed by a tawny-haired man in a white sweater and a camel-coloured jacket. He looked at the boys without interest as he crossed the court to a door at the rear. The cat ran after him but was left outside when the man went into his apartment. In a few seconds he was back with a plate of food, which he put down on the flagstones. He stayed, crouching, while the cat devoured the food.
“Hassell,” whispered Bob. “He was leaving when we arrived last night.”
“He must have found a new stray,” decided Pete. “One who doesn’t know that five o’clock is dinner-time.”
The cat finished eating and padded away. Hassell took the empty dish into his apartment.
There were more footsteps on the front stairs and again the gate opened. The robust, middle-aged man named Murphy came in. He was smoking a cigarette. He nodded to the boys, smiled, and made for his apartment, which was next to Hassell’s. Before he reached it, the door opened. A youth who appeared to be in his late teens stood in the doorway scowling.
“Uncle John, can’t you go ten seconds without a cigarette?” the boy demanded.
“Harley, don’t nag. I’ve had a rough day. Where’s my ashtray?”
“I washed it and put it out by the pool. The whole place stank with smoke.”
Murphy turned and strode back to a table near the boys. He threw himself down in a chair, flicked some ashes into a big, bowl-shaped ashtray on the table, and continued to smoke his cigarette.
“I hope you kids don’t give your folks a hard time like that,” he said to the boys.
“My parents don’t smoke,” said Pete.
Murphy grunted. “I probably shouldn’t either,” he confessed. “Well, at least I’m careful. Don’t burn holes in things. I’ve got another ashtray like this at my office. Even if I forget a cigarette and let it burn down, it can’t fall out.”
He carefully stubbed out his butt, got up, and carried the ashtray to his apartment.
When Murphy had gone, Pete looked across the pool to the apartment occupied by Sonny Elmquist. “I wonder if Elmquist is home,” he said. “The curtains are drawn. Suppose we rang the doorbell and–”
“Wait!” Jupiter Jones sat up straight.
Mrs Bortz had come into the courtyard. She was rubbing at her hands with a bit of tissue. “Children are not allowed in the pool area without an adult in attendance,” she scolded.
Jupiter did not bother to answer. He merely stood up and went to her.
“Mrs Bortz, may I see your hands?” he asked.
“What?”
“Your hands, Mrs Bortz!” Jupe’s voice was louder now.
A door opened above and Mr Prentice came out on to the balcony.
“There are black marks on your hands!” said Jupiter.
Fenton Prentice started down the stairs.
“Why . . . why, yes,” said Mrs Bortz. “I must have gotten into something in the kitchen.”
“You have been in Mr Prentice’s apartment,” said Jupiter sternly. “You have opened his desk and looked at his mail and even opened his medicine cabinet.
“You are the spy!”
6
The Mystery of the Mandala
FOR ONCE IN HER LIFE Mrs Bortz was at a loss for words. She stood gaping at Jupiter, her face growing redder and redder.
“It’s no use rubbing your hands,” said Jupe. “The stains won’t come off.”