“Just what you need!” said Bob in a mocking tone. “In the Sherlock Holmes stories, the great detective finds a collar button and immediately he can tell all about the suspect, including the fact that he was born in Ireland and that he likes kippers with his tea. You have a matchbook which is doubtless a priceless clue. Tell us about Harold Thomas!”
Jupe turned the matchbook over in his hands, and there was a strange smile on his face. “It’s from the Java Isles Restaurant,” he said. “From the address, I’d say that’s quite near Amigos Press. In fact, Thomas could have been having dinner there the night of the fire. Except that of course he stopped first to rob the film vault.”
“So?” said Pete.
“The Java Isles is an Indonesian restaurant,” said Jupiter. “And suddenly it all fits together! When Harold Thomas persuaded that man at the car wrecking yard to let him park the van there, he said his name was Mr Puck. There’s a character in Shakespeare called Puck. He’s a sprite who goes around making trouble, and he has a second name. It’s Robin Goodfellow!”
“Goodfellow?” cried Bob. “Charles Goodfellow was one of Madeline Bainbridge’s magic circle!”
“Right!” said Jupiter. “The missing member of our coven. We know that Charles Goodfellow was raised in Holland, and many Dutch people are fond of Indonesian food because Indonesia was once a Dutch colony. Harold Thomas was also fond of Indonesian food, since he patronized the Java Isles Restaurant.”
“Wow!” said Pete. “Harold Thomas is the same person as Charles Goodfellow! He was a member of the coven and he knew everybody.”
“And how did he learn about the sale of the films? Which member of the coven told him? Or did he just happen to know someone at Video Enterprises? Jefferson Long, or someone else entirely? We can speculate on that all day without getting an answer. But we do know he stole the films.”
“Maybe he swiped the manuscript, too,” said Bob. “He knew where it was and he could have had a set of keys. He could have duplicated a set from the ones Beefy kept in his desk at the office.”
“He could have set the fire too,” said Pete.
“But why would he take the manuscript?” wondered Beefy. “How could that manuscript hurt him?”
Jupiter shrugged. “Who knows? Madeline Bainbridge may have written something that would expose him, even after all these years.”
“I think we’d better call the police,” said Beefy. He stood up. “It will be awkward explaining to them how we know all the things we know, but we have to call them. The Bainbridge films are involved, and they’re of inestimable value. I think we’d better call them from my apartment. We don’t really have any right in here, you know.”
During the short drive to his home, Beefy grew more and more excited. “This will be a load off Uncle Will’s mind!” said Beefy as he let himself and the three boys into the apartment. “We can definitely tie Thomas in with the theft of the films, and if the police can turn up some solid evidence to tie him in with the fire, Uncle Will is off the hook!”
Beefy went through the apartment, calling to his uncle. There was no answer.
“That’s funny,” said Beefy. “He left here right after you left this morning. He said he was going to play golf. He ought to be back by now.”
Suddenly uneasy, Beefy went into his uncle’s bedroom. The boys in the living-room heard a closet door open, and then heard a thumping and a clattering as Beefy knocked several things over.
After several minutes, Beefy appeared again in the living-room. “He’s gone,” he said. “He must have come back here while we were out and packed a small suitcase. There’s one missing. He’s . . . he’s panicked and he’s running. Now we can’t call the police. They’ll think he did set that fire.”
“They often do think that, when suspects vanish,” said Jupiter, “and are we sure–are we really sure–that he didn’t?”
16
The Sleeping Beauty
“JUST BEFORE WE LEFT here this morning, I asked you to call the people who played bridge with your uncle the night the manuscript was taken,” said Jupiter to Beefy.
“I did,” Beefy replied. The young publisher looked haggard. “Uncle Will didn’t arrive for the bridge game until almost ten-thirty. He said there’d been a minor accident on Beverly Drive and he’d been held up in traffic.”
“So he could have set the fire at Amigos Press, and he also could have taken the manuscript from this apartment,” said Jupe.
Beefy nodded. “I can’t imagine Uncle Will as an arsonist, and yet he did have a motive. He was short of money. But why on earth would he steal the Bainbridge manuscript?”
Jupiter scowled and pulled at his lower lip–a sign that he was thinking furiously. “Could there be something damaging about him in that manuscript? Did he know Madeline Bainbridge when he was younger? Maybe that’s why he always speaks of her so scornfully!”
Jupiter thought some more, then sighed. “No matter which way we turn, we keep coming back to the mysterious Madeline Bainbridge. Only she knows what’s in her manuscript, and only she could tell us who might want it suppressed. We’ve just got to talk to her–and we have to talk to her when Marvin Gray isn’t around. For whatever reason, he’s too obstructive.”
“But how do we reach her?” asked Beefy. “She doesn’t answer the telephone. She doesn’t go out. Perhaps she doesn’t even open her own mail.”
“You can call Gray and set up a lunch date,” Jupe suggested. “Tell Gray you have something important to discuss with him and it has to be over lunch. Then pick a good restaurant and make sure the lunch lasts a couple of hours. That will give us time to get to Madeline Bainbridge.”
“But . . . but what’ll I discuss with Gray?” said Beefy.
“Someday you’re going to have to tell him about the missing manuscript,” said Bob.
“But . . . but you were going to get it back!”
Jupiter shook his head. “It’s been gone for three days, and few things are easier to destroy than a manuscript. We are probably not going to get it back, and sooner or later Marvin Gray will have to be told. You can call him now and ask him to meet with you to discuss something very important.”
Beefy groaned. “Okay. I’ll do the best I can.”
Beefy went into the den to make the telephone call. When he came back into the living-room a few minutes later, he said, “Okay. I’m meeting Gray tomorrow at twelve-thirty at the Coral Cove in Santa Monica.”
“Good,” said Jupiter.
Peter was scowling. “You’re so sure we’re going to get in to see Madeline Bainbridge,” he said. “Maybe she doesn’t answer the door when Gray’s not around. Or maybe that Clara Adams will block you. And don’t forget there’s a dog there–a big Doberman!”
“I haven’t forgotten anything,” said Jupiter. “I think we can see Madeline Bainbridge–if we’re determined enough.”
But at noon the next day, even Jupiter had some qualms. He and Pete and Bob had ridden their bicycles up the Coast Highway, and then had taken the paved mountain road to the turn-off a quarter of a mile from Madeline Bainbridge’s front gate. There they took shelter with their bikes amid the oleanders that grew raggedly on the edges of Bainbridge’s fields.
“We’ll see Marvin Gray when he drives down to the highway,” said Jupe to his friends. “Let’s hope that he doesn’t let the dog out on to the grounds before he goes. If he does and we meet the dog, we’ll just stand still and call for Madeline Bainbridge to come and rescue us.”
He looked out from behind the oleanders. A car was turning on to the road from the Bainbridge ranch.
“Here comes Gray,” said Bob.
A dark grey Mercedes swept past the boys, throwing up a cloud of dust. When it had disappeared down the road towards the highway, Jupiter, Pete, and Bob pushed their bikes out on to the gravel road. They pedalled through the gate and up through the lemon grove. The dog did not appear, but when the boys reached the house and got off their bicycles a frantic barking began inside the house.
“Oh, great!” moaned Pete.
They went up the steps to the porch and Jupiter rang the bell. They heard it buzz angrily somewhere in the back of the house. They waited.
When no one came, Jupiter rang the bell again. “Miss Bainbridge!” he shouted. “Miss Adams! Please open the door!”
The dog began to leap at the door. The boys could hear him clawing at the wooden panels.
“Let’s go, huh!” said Pete.
“Miss Bainbridge!” called Jupiter.
“Who is it?” cried a voice on the other side of the door. “Quiet, Bruno! Good boy!”