“Hm!” said Jupe. “Could one of the robbers have been a woman? Is that possible?”
“A woman?” Mr. Bonestell looked startled. “I suppose it’s possible. They were all about the same size–about five foot seven or so. They all had on baggy overalls and loose shirts. And gloves. They wore gloves. And they had so much stuff on their faces, you couldn’t tell what they really looked like. One of the silent ones had those sunglasses that reflect everything, so you can never see the person’s eyes behind them. That one also had a beard that I think was fake. The other one had a red wig and a big moustache, and big, bushy fake eyebrows that hung over his eyes.”
“What about the man who did the talking?” said Jupe. “Did he have an accent? Was he young? Old? What could you tell about him?”
“His voice didn’t sound like an older man’s voice. I think he was young. In his twenties or thirties. With no accent.”
Jupe said, “Hm!” again, and sat thinking for some time. Then he said, “Mr. Bonestell, do you know the Denicola Sport Fishing Company? They run a charter fishing boat out of the dock up the coast past Malibu.”
“Yes, I know the Denicolas,” said Mr. Bonestell. “I used to go fishing with my son before he was married. I remember the old woman there–old Mrs. Denicola. She was a handsome lady. And her daughter-in-law, Eileen. Irish. Pretty. Eileen’s husband died young, and she got her own master’s licence. Did you know that? She’s the pilot when the boat goes out.”
“There’s a young man named Ernie who works for the Denicolas,” said Jupe.
“Is that so? When my son and I went fishing, there was a young man named Tom or Hal or something like that. They probably change pretty often. It’s the kind of job boys have when they’re still in school.”
“You haven’t been to Denicola’s recently?” said Jupe.
“No.”
“So you don’t know Ernie. What about the blind man?”
Mr. Bonestell looked blank. “A blind man?” he said. “What blind man?”
“You haven’t seen anyone near the bank–or anywhere else–who is blind? A man with a scar on his face? He taps his way with a cane and wears dark glasses.”
Mr. Bonestell shook his head.
“There’s a pretty girl who talked with you this morning when you were playing shuffleboard,” said Jupe. “What about her?”
“Grade? Gracie Montoya? What about her? And how did you know that I talked with her this morning?”
“We just happened to see you,” said Jupe, “and we saw Miss Montoya.”
Mr. Bonestell looked at Jupe in a defiant way. “What about it?” he demanded. “A pretty girl comes along and I talk to her. I may be old, but I’m not dead yet!”
“I didn’t think you were, Mr. Bonestell, but we have to check everything out. Do you know her well?”
“I’ve talked to her quite a lot,” said Mr. Bonestell. His tone was still defiant. “She walks her dog around the block all the time. I think she does some kind of work for the movies. She’s a nice girl–always willing to stop and spend a few minutes.”
“Does she know that you work at the bank?” Jupe asked.
“I’m not sure. I may have mentioned it. But she’s never made a point of finding out anything, if that’s what you’re getting at. She’s just friendly.”
“I see,” said Jupe. “And what about your other friends, Mr. Bonestell? Have you talked with them about your job?”
“I suppose I have. But I can’t recall anybody being especially interested in what I do.”
“What about Mr. Tuckerman?” said Jupe.
“Shelby? Shelby is interested only in Shelby,” said Mr. Bonestell. “He’s out of town most of the time, and when he’s here he keeps himself to himself. He eats out usually, and when he’s here in the house he’s usually locked in his room. And I’m not kidding about that–I can show you the locks.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Jupiter stood up. “Don’t be discouraged, Mr. Bonestell. The police have to keep going over the story with you. They may not have any other leads, and perhaps they hope you will come up with some detail you forgot earlier.”
Walter Bonestell did not answer. He did not look at all cheered up. Jupe left him sitting at the table, staring straight ahead.
It was four-thirty when Jupe reached The Jones Salvage Yard again. Instead of going in through the main gate, he stopped his bike at a front corner of the yard, outside the wooden fence. The fence had been colourfully decorated by the artists of Rocky Beach. This corner showed a sailing ship about to be overwhelmed by gigantic green waves. A fish reared up in the foreground to watch the ship. When Jupe put his hand on the painted eye of the fish and pushed, two boards in the fence swung up, making the opening that the boys called Green Gate One. It was one of the secret entrances that allowed them to move in and out of the salvage yard without attracting the attention of Aunt Mathilda and Uncle Titus.
Jupe opened the gate now and pushed his bike through into his outdoor workshop. Pete’s bike was there, leaning against the printing press. Jupe smiled and let the boards in the fence drop closed.
And then he heard a small sound in that corner of the workshop. It was no more than a rustle of clothing and a drawn breath.
Jupe turned his head.
The blind beggar was there! His scarred face was turned towards Jupe, his head lifted slightly. There was no stubble on his cheeks now, and he wasn’t carrying a cane. Jupe saw with a shiver that the scar pulled one corner of his mouth into a sinister sneer.
For a heartbeat Jupe did not move. The beggar was still. Then Jupe took a breath and the beggar moved, his head still lifted in an attitude of surprise, his mouth still twisted disdainfully. There was something in his hand. His fingers were closed tightly. He started to dodge past Jupe, and suddenly Jupe wanted to know–had to know–what he was holding. Flinging his bike to one side, Jupe threw himself at the man and caught at the closed fist with both hands.
The man shouted and pulled back, but Jupe held fast to the fist, prying at the fingers. They opened slightly and something fell to the ground.
The beggar jerked away. Then he attacked! He struck, and the blow landed high on Jupe’s cheekbone. Lights flashed in Jupe’s head. There was a stab of pain under his eye. Waves of blue and red and yellow filled his vision, and he went limp.
For a bare instant he lost consciousness. Then he was aware of himself again, and of the beggar stepping over him. The boards in the fence swung open and banged shut, and Jupe was alone.
12
The Bug
JUPE SAT ON THE GROUND, feeling slightly dizzy. As his vision cleared, his eyes fell on the thing the beggar had dropped. It had bounced under the workbench. Jupe saw a little plastic box with some perforations in one side.
“How interesting,” he said.
He said it aloud, and as if in response to the remark, the iron grillwork to the side of the printing press swung open. Pete put his head out of Tunnel Two.
“What’s the matter?” said Pete. “Did you yell?”
“We had a visitor,” said Jupe. He got to his knees and crawled to the workbench to retrieve the little box. He held it up for inspection. “Unless I’m mistaken, this is a listening device,” he said. “It’s a tiny microphone, usually called a bug. I’ve seen pictures of them. The blind beggar was here, and he sure didn’t act blind. I think he was trying to wire the workshop for sound.”
“The beggar?” Pete took the tiny device from Jupe and peered at it. “W-why would he want to bug us? And how did he find us?” Pete looked around as if the scar-faced man might be standing right behind him. “Creepy!” he said.
Jupe sat down in the chair near the workbench. He took the listening device from Pete and prised it open with a penknife. “It’s really a miniature broadcasting unit,” he said. “It picks up sounds and sends them a short distance–up to a quarter mile or so. Usually a bug broadcasts to a voice-activated tape recorder that’s hidden somewhere nearby. With a bug and a recorder, the beggar could eavesdrop on the conversations taking place here in the workshop.”
“Are you sure the bug isn’t working right now?” Pete said. “It could be broadcasting every word you’re saying!”
With the tip of his knife, Jupe removed several tiny components from the unit. Then he snapped the plastic box shut.
“There!” he said.
He sat thinking for almost a minute, then looked up at Pete. “How long ago did you enter the salvage yard?”