“No,” said Jupiter firmly. “If he’s hidden in one of these old cars, we can get to him quickly.”
Jupiter began to walk through the jumble of auto bodies. He stepped along purposefully, his eyes darting to one side and then the other. Beefy and Bob trotted after him, and the man in the overalls trailed behind, looking worried. “That kid–your pal–he could be having heat prostration if he’s locked up in one of these things.”
Jupe didn’t answer. He had stopped beside the body of an old blue Buick. He pointed. There was a thick coat of dust over the remains of the car, but on the lid of the trunk there was a place where the dust had been disturbed and the paint showed through, clear and still fairly blue.
“Was that trunk lid open before now?” demanded Jupe.
“It . . . it could have been,” said the man.
“Get a crowbar, will you?” said Jupe. “I think someone saw the open trunk lid, shoved Pete inside, then slammed the trunk shut, disturbing that dust!”
The salvage man didn’t question Jupe now. He disappeared briefly, then returned with a crowbar. He jammed the tool in under the trunk lid. Then he and Beefy both leaned on the crowbar. Metal groaned as the trunk lid was forced open.
“Pete!” Bob darted forward.
Pete lay curled in the trunk. He didn’t stir.
“Good grief!” The salvage man raced off towards the office. He returned in seconds with a towel which was soaked and dripping.
Pete was sitting up by this time, with Jupiter supporting him one side and Bob on the other.
“Okay,” he said. His voice was barely a whisper. “I’m okay. Just hot in there. Not enough air.”
“Take it easy, kid,” said the man. He dabbed at, Pete’s face with the towel. “I’m going to call the cops! I could have wound up with a corpse in one of my cars!”
“Pete, what happened?” said Jupiter.
Pete took the towel and held it to his face. “I saw Harold Thomas leave his apartment and come here,” he reported. “I tailed him. There was a grey van parked here among the wrecks. He opened the back doors and looked in. It was full of film cans.”
For an instant no one spoke. Then Bob said, “Great jumping catfish!”
“The Bainbridge films!” exclaimed Beefy. “Harold Thomas had them?”
“Sure looked like it,” said Pete. “I saw a few of the labels. After he checked the films, Thomas got into the van and drove away. That’s when I tried to call you and didn’t quite make it.”
“So Thomas stole the films,” said Jupe. “He could have set the fire, too, to draw attention away from the robbery at the film laboratory.”
“He must have noticed you as he drove away,” said Bob. “He came back and bopped you while you were trying to make your telephone call.”
“No.” Pete frowned, remembering the incident. “It wasn’t him. The guy who hit me didn’t come from the street. He was walking towards the office from someplace inside the wrecking yard.”
Bob’s eyes went to the man in overalls.
“Oh, no!” cried the man. “It wasn’t me! I don’t know what all this is about, but it wasn’t me. I wouldn’t hit anybody. Listen, I’ve got kids of my own. I find kids poking around here, I just yell at them and chase them over the fence!”
“I believe you,” said Jupiter. “But if Pete is sure it wasn’t Harold Thomas, there had to be another man.”
“Thomas’s confederate,” declared Bob. “Remember, there were two hold-up men who stole the films.”
“Clever of them to hide the van with the films here, where there are hundreds of other vehicles,” said Jupe. “But they took a terrible chance.” Jupe looked at the owner of the yard. “You could have started stripping it, or . . .”
“The grey van?” said the man. “No. I wouldn’t touch that grey van. A guy was paying me to let him park it here.”
“Oh?” said Jupiter.
The man looked terrified. “Something stolen in it?” he said. “I didn’t know there was any stolen property involved. I run a clean operation. There aren’t any hot cars on my lot. Listen, are you guys going to call the police?”
“Do you want us to?” said Jupe.
“They’ll never believe me,” said the salvage man. “I don’t know anything about stolen property, but they’ll never believe me. This guy came driving in that grey van see. He’s about so tall, with dark hair slicked back.”
“Thomas,” said Beefy.
“That wasn’t his name,” declared the salvage man. “He had a funny name. Puck. Mr Puck, that’s what it was. He said he didn’t have any place to park his van at home. He said he couldn’t park it on the street in front of his house because he’s in a two-hour parking zone, and he’d get a ticket. So he wanted to know if he could leave the van here in the yard. I know that sounds kind of screwy now that I hear myself saying it, but it sounded okay then. So I figure, what the heck? It’s ten extra bucks a week. Why not?”
“Because he’s a crook, that’s why not!” said Bob.
“Okay, okay. How was I supposed to know that?”
“Never mind,” said Jupiter. “It doesn’t matter now. And let’s not notify the police. They wouldn’t believe any of us. What we have to do now is get evidence.”
“The stolen films are evidence,” declared Pete. “Good solid evidence!”
“True. But Thomas has had time to hide them someplace by now. Maybe . . . maybe if we can get into his apartment, we can find something else that would be incriminating.”
Pete stood up and took a step or two, as if testing his legs.
“You okay?” said Bob anxiously. “Are you going to be well enough to go with us?”
“Yes. I’m okay now.”
“Then let’s go,” said Jupe. “Only let’s be careful. Thomas could have been warned by now. He could be waiting for us.”
“And there’s that second man,” said Bob. “We know he exists. We’d better watch out for him.”
15
The Vanishing Suspects
“I’M GOING IN WITH YOU,” said Beefy Tremayne after he pulled to the kerb in front of Harold Thomas’s apartment building.
“Fine,” said Jupiter, looking appreciatively at Beefy’s broad shoulders. “We may need all the muscle we can get. Anyone who would put Pete into the trunk of that car and leave him there is bound to be dangerous.”
The Three Investigators and Beefy went up the path and into the vestibule of the little apartment house. There were only four doors. One of them had a nameplate beside the doorbell that said “Harold Thomas.”
Beefy rang the bell firmly. “Thomas?” he called. “Are you there?”
No one answered.
Jupiter put his hand on the doorknob and turned it. “Careful,” said Bob in a low voice. “These guys are dangerous. You said it yourself.”
Jupe pushed the door wide, and the boys and Beefy looked into a living-room that was quiet and orderly to the point of being bare.
“Mr Thomas?” called Jupe. He walked through the living-room and peered into an immaculate kitchen. The others followed him, and they explored the little square hall between the living-room and the bedroom, then went into the bedroom.
A closet door stood open. Except for a number of empty hangers, the closet was empty.
“Too late!” said Jupe. He went to the dresser and pulled open one drawer after another. They were all empty.
“He’s gone!” said Bob.
Jupe looked at his wristwatch. “It’s almost two hours since Pete saw him drive away. The second man had plenty of time to warn Thomas. Thomas and his confederate hid the films somewhere. Then Thomas came back here, packed up, and left.”
Beefy stood awkwardly and watched while the boys searched the apartment. They found nothing–nothing but immaculate emptiness.
“We knew Harold Thomas was a tidy man,” said Jupe at last. “He’s also extremely well organized. With almost no warning, he’s been able to clear out of here and not leave a trace. Well, that only makes sense. The theft of the Bainbridge films was well organized. It took place on the very day the films were delivered, and at a time when there was no one in the laboratory except one technician. Just by sitting in his office and looking across to the building next door, Thomas could have learned the routine there. But how did he know that the films were going to be sold to Video Enterprises, or that they’d be delivered to that laboratory?”
Jupiter turned to Beefy. “Did Thomas have much contact with Marvin Gray when Gray came into your office?”
“No. None that I know of.”
“Hm!” Jupe’s eyes were fixed on the floor next to the sofa. He bent and picked up something. “Just about the only thing in this apartment to show that Thomas was ever here,” he said, and he held up a matchbook for the others to see. “The table next to the sofa is wobbly. Thomas must have jammed this matchbook under the leg to steady it.”