Dolphin Court turned out to be a short, dead-end street in a neighbourhood of small, single-family homes. Number 1129 was a frame house halfway down the street. The little car that the boys had seen on Cypress Canyon Drive stood in the driveway. The front of the house was dark, but a light showed at a window in the back. The boys drifted down the driveway and looked through the window into the kitchen.
The security man was there, alone. He sat at a table near the window with a heap of newspapers in front of him and a telephone at his elbow. He was not calling anyone at the moment. He was simply staring at the plastic tablecloth in an unseeing way. He looked older than he had that morning, and more frail. His hair seemed thin and sparse and there were purple shadows under his eyes.
The boys did not speak. After a moment Jupe turned to go to the front of the house and ring the doorbell.
Blocking his way in the driveway was a man who held an automatic pistol!
“Exactly what are you up to?” demanded the man.
He did not aim the pistol, and his voice was low and controlled, but Jupe had the nightmare feeling that he and his friends were in deadly peril. There was something cold and determined about the man with the gun. His mouth was a straight, thin line, betraying no hint of humour. Wrap-around sunglasses perched on his head like a second set of cold eyes.
Pete made a startled sound, and the man snapped, “Be still!”
The kitchen window went up and Mr. Bonestell leaned out. “Shelby, what is it? What are you doing?”
The man with the gun gestured towards the boys. “These three were looking in the window at you.”
“Oh?” said Mr. Bonestell. He sounded puzzled and curious. But then he said “Oh!” again, and his tone was alarmed.
“Into the house!” ordered the man with the gun. “That way! March!”
The boys marched. They went around to the backyard and in through a service porch to the kitchen.
“What is this all about?” said Mr. Bonestell. “When I went to see Mr. Sebastian this morning, he said three boys had just called on him. It was you three, wasn’t it? You were on the road when I drove up, weren’t you? With your bicycles.”
“Yes, Mr. Bonestell,” said Jupiter.
“Won’t you sit down?” said Mr. Bonestell. He pulled a chair out from the table near the window.
“Walter, what is all this?” demanded the man with the gun. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure,” said Mr. Bonestell. “Shelby, would you put that gun away? Guns make me nervous!”
Shelby hesitated. Then he hitched his trouser leg up over his shin and slipped the gun into a holster that was strapped to his leg just below the knee.
Pete blinked and stared, but said nothing. The boys took seats at the table.
“Mr. Sebastian said you’d seen a suspicious character near the bank,” said Mr. Bonestell.
“Will you please tell me what’s going on?” cried Shelby.
Mr. Bonestell sighed. “Haven’t you heard the news on the radio?” he said. “There was a robbery at the bank this morning.”
“A robbery? I didn’t hear. I didn’t have the car radio on. What happened? And what about these kids? I don’t understand.”
Mr. Bonestell quickly related the details of the robbery. “And I’m the one who let the thieves in,” he said. “I think the police suspect that I’m involved with them.”
Mr. Bonestell’s expression was bleak. “It was careless of me,” he admitted. “If I’d really looked at that man at the door, I’d have know it was a stranger. But even if I was careless, that doesn’t mean I’m a crook! I never did a dishonest thing in my life! Only, the police don’t know me, so I have to find someone to help me prove I’m innocent.”
“A lawyer,” said Shelby. He nodded smugly, like one who always has the correct answers. “Very wise of you, Walter, but what has that to do with these boys. Why were they looking in the window?”
Mr. Bonestell looked downcast. “I suppose they’re suspicious, too.” He leaned towards Jupe. “At first I thought maybe Mr. Sebastian might help. He was on the Harry Travers Show last week talking about the movie he just finished working on, and he said that sometimes people get into trouble just because they happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m one of those people, aren’t I? So I thought maybe Mr. Sebastian would be interested in my . . . my case. One of the secretaries at the bank thought maybe he’d help me, and she got his address for me from the Downtown Credit Reporting Service. He’s got an unlisted phone–I guess a lot of famous people do–so I went to see him and . . .”
“Walter, stop blithering!” ordered Shelby. “Who is Mr. Sebastian, for heaven’s sake?”
Jupe cleared his throat. “He’s a novelist and a screenwriter,” he said. “He used to be a private investigator. We saw him this morning. You see, someone dropped a wallet belonging to Mr. Sebastian outside the bank, and Bob here–Bob Andrews–picked it up.”
“I think I was across the street from the bank when the robber came to the door,” Bob put in. “I saw you let him in, Mr. Bonestell.”
“When we saw you come to Mr. Sebastian’s house this morning after we returned the wallet,” said Pete, “we were kind of suspicious. We thought that there might be some connection between you and Mr. Sebastian and . . . and the robbery.”
Pete paused, his face growing red. “It sounds silly now that I’m saying it out loud,” he confessed.
“I was only going to ask for help,” said Mr. Bonestell, “but Mr. Sebastian is starting work on a new book, and he doesn’t have time to help. He gave me the names of some private investigators here in Los Angeles, but he thinks if I see anyone, I should see a lawyer. I made some calls this afternoon. Do you know what lawyers cost? And private detectives? I can’t afford either!”
Jupe sat straighter in his chair. “Mr. Bonestell, perhaps we were suspicious when we first came here, but I’m not suspicious any longer. I think we can help you. You see, Mr. Bonestell, we are private detectives.”
Jupe took out a Three Investigators business card and handed it to Mr. Bonestell.
“How quaint!” said Shelby, reading over Mr. Bonestell’s shoulder. His tone was sarcastic.
“We are hardly quaint,” said Jupe. He kept his voice even. “We have a record of success that many conventional agencies might envy. We are not hampered by many prejudices, as older people often are. We believe that almost anything is possible, and we believe in following our best instincts. Mr. Bonestell, I don’t believe that you could have had a part in a bank robbery. I think my friends feel the same way.”
Jupe looked at Bob and Pete, who nodded.
“Mr. Bonestell,” said Jupe, “if you will accept us, The Three Investigators would like to have you as a client.”
Walter Bonestell seemed stunned. “You’re so young!” he said.
“Is that really such a handicap?” asked Jupe.
Bonestell twisted his hands nervously. “I should get a real firm only . . . only . . .”
“Walter, what would that cost you?” said Shelby.
The younger man pulled a chair up to the table. He looked past Mr. Bonestell and the boys to the night-black window, frowning at his own reflection. He brushed back his straight fair hair with his hand, took off his sunglasses, and put them into the pocket of his corduroy jacket.
“I don’t know why you’re so worried,” he finally said. “According to your system of justice, you’re innocent until you’re proven guilty.”
“I don’t feel so innocent,” said Mr. Bonestell. “I did let the robbers in, you know.”
“They can’t send you to jail for that,” said Shelby. “But if you’re going to get into such a stew, why not hire these boys? I don’t know how they can prove you didn’t do it, but maybe they can.”
“We’ll sure try,” promised Pete.
“You do seem eager to help,” said Mr. Bonestell. “I can’t tell you how nice it is. So few people today have been that nice. I think . . . if you really may be able to help . . . well, I’ll be your client. It’s high time I had someone on my side!”
5
Mr. Bonestell’s Story
“IT’S BEEN A NIGHTMARE!” said Mr. Bonestell. He fingered the design in the plastic tablecloth, and looked anxiously from Jupiter to Bob and from Bob to Pete. “They asked me not to come to work again until the robbery is cleared up. They didn’t say I’m a robber, but I could tell. How could they think a thing like that? Do I look like a man who’d help rob a bank? Does this look like a place where crooks hang out?”