“If it doesn’t mean anything, why did Gulliver hide it?” Bob asked.
“That’s exactly the point,” Jupiter said. “Why did he hide it? It looks as if he considered it important, somehow.”
Pete scratched his head. “Well, it certainly doesn’t say anything about any money.”
“This Spike Neely was in the prison hospital when he wrote it,” Bob said. “I think that letters from prisoners are always read by the authorities before they’re mailed. So Spike couldn’t say anything about any money without letting the prison authorities in on it.”
“Unless somehow he did it secretly,” Jupiter suggested.
“You mean a message in invisible ink, something like that?” Pete asked.
“It’s a possibility. I suggest we take this letter into Headquarters and analyse it.”
Jupiter went over to the iron grillwork that seemed to be leaning against the back of the printing press they had rebuilt some time ago. When moved aside, the grillwork revealed the opening of Tunnel Two, their main entrance into Headquarters. Tunnel Two was a length of large iron pipe about two feet in diameter, ridged the way pipes used in culverts are. It went, partly underground, beneath a pile of rather worthless junk until it came up underneath Headquarters, which was a mobile home trailer hidden from sight in the midst of the junk.
Jupiter went first, then Bob, then Pete, scrambling on hands and knees through Tunnel Two, which was padded with old rags so the corrugations in the pipe would not bruise their knees. They pushed up the trap-door at the other end and clambered out into the tiny office of Headquarters.
The three boys had built a tiny laboratory in the old trailer, complete with microscope and other necessary items. There was only room for one at a time in the lab, so Jupiter took the letter in while Pete and Bob watched from the narrow door. First Jupe put the letter under a microscope and went over it inch by inch.
“Nothing,” he said. “Now I’ll test for the most common kind of invisible ink.”
He reached for a jar of acid and poured some into a glass beaker. He held the letter above the beaker in the acid fumes, moving it back and forth. Nothing happened.
“As I expected,” he said. “Logic says that someone in a prison hospital wouldn’t be able to get hold of invisible ink, anyway. He just might be able to get a lemon, though, and lemon juice is a very simple kind of invisible ink. When you write with it, the writing can’t be seen, but if the paper is heated, the words written in lemon juice will appear. Let’s try that.”
He lit a small gas burner. Then, holding the letter by the corners, he moved it back and forth over the flame.
“Again, no results,” he said after a few moments. “Let me have the envelope to test.”
However, all tests on the envelope were also negative. Jupiter looked disappointed.
“It seems to be just an ordinary letter, after all,” he said. “Yet, after Gulliver received it, he hid it. Why did he do that?”
“Maybe he thought there was a clue in it, but he couldn’t find it,” Bob suggested. “Listen, suppose when he was in prison, this Spike Neely told him something about some hidden money, but not where it was. He could have said that because Gulliver was his friend, if anything ever happened to him he’d let Gulliver in on the secret.
“Then Gulliver gets this letter from the prison hospital. Spike is dying. Gulliver thinks Spike may have sent him a clue to where the money is, but he can’t find it, so he hides the letter, planning to study it some more.
“Some other criminals who knew Spike in prison learn somehow that he wrote to Gulliver. They suspect he told Gulliver the secret. So they come around to see Gulliver. Gulliver gets very frightened. He doesn’t go to the police because he doesn’t know anything he can tell them. But he’s afraid the crooks think he knows where the money is, and might even torture him to make him talk. So — he disappears. How does that sound?”
“Very well reasoned, Bob,” Jupiter said. “I think it may be what happened.
“However, we have studied the letter and can’t find any clue to a secret message. So I deduce that Spike Neely didn’t send any such message. He didn’t try because he knew the letter would be read first by the police.”
“Just the same, somebody thinks there’s a clue in that trunk,” Pete stated. “They want the trunk because of the clue they expect to find. If we don’t want trouble with some tough characters who will probably keep trying to get the trunk, we’d better get rid of it right away.”
“Pete has something there,” Bob said. “We can’t solve the mystery because we haven’t any clue. If we want to avoid trouble, we’d better get rid of the trunk. It doesn’t mean anything to us, after all.”
“Maximilian the Mystic wants us to sell it to him,” Pete put in. “I vote we put Socrates back in the trunk and let Mr. Maximilian have the whole shooting match. Get it off our hands. It’s too dangerous to keep around. How about it, Jupe?”
“Mmm.” Jupiter pinched his lip. “Zelda seemed to think we could help somehow, but it certainly doesn’t look like it. Two men follow us this morning when we left Zelda’s house and I don’t like that very much either.
“All right, we’ll telephone Mr. Maximilian, since he wants the trunk so badly. We’ll repack it and put Socrates back in. But we’ll have to warn him about other people wanting the trunk, so he’ll know. And I won’t charge him a hundred dollars — just the dollar I paid for it.”
“It would be awfully nice to have a hundred dollars.” Pete said.
“It wouldn’t be fair, if the trunk is dangerous,” Jupiter said. “I’ll call him in a minute. First I want to photograph this letter in case I get any new ideas.”
Jupiter made several photographs of both the letter and the envelope. Then he phoned Maximilian the Mystic, who said he’d be right over for the trunk.
After that they went outside and slid the letter back behind the torn lining, repacking the trunk carefully. Finally Jupiter went to get Socrates from his room.
He reached his room just in time to find Aunt Mathilda staring with a look of horror at the skull on the bureau.
“Jupiter Jones!” she said. “That — that thing… ”
Speechless, she pointed at the skull.
“Yes, Aunt Mathilda?” Jupiter asked.
“That awful thing!” the large woman exploded. “You know what it just did? It said ‘boo!’ to me!”
“Socrates said ‘boo’ to you?” Jupiter asked.
“It certainly did! I just came in here to clean your room and I said to it, ‘You ugly thing, I don’t know where Jupiter got you, but I can tell you one thing. You’re not staying in my house and that’s final. I won’t have it!”
“And then — then —” her voice faltered again — “it said ‘boo!’ just as plainly as anything. ‘Boo!’ I heard it as clearly as I hear you.”
“It’s supposed to be a talking skull,” Jupiter said, suppressing a smile. “It used to belong to a magician. If it said ‘boo’ it was probably playing a joke on you.”
“A joke? Is that what you call a joke? Having a nasty old skull grin at a person and say ‘boo’? I don’t care if it’s a talking skull or a talking horse, I want it out of here immediately. And that’s final!”
“Very well, Aunt Mathilda,” Jupiter agreed. “I’ll get rid of it. I was already planning to.”
“Be sure you do.”
In a thoughtful mood, Jupiter made his way back to the salvage yard with Socrates and the ivory base. He told Pete and Bob what had happened to his aunt.
“It’s very puzzling,” he concluded. “I have to admit I’m utterly baffled. Why should Socrates say ‘boo’ to Aunt Mathilda?”
“Maybe he has a sense of humour,” Pete said. “Let’s get him packed.”
“After this new development,” Jupiter said, “maybe we ought to keep Socrates and the trunk for a while. Perhaps he’s ready to talk some more.”
“Oh, no!” Pete said, grabbing Socrates, wrapping him up, and stowing him in the old trunk. “Your aunt says you have to get rid of him, and we’d agreed to get rid of him. We also agreed to let Mr. Maximilian have him and we can’t go back on our word now. I’m not in any mood to hear talk coming from a skull. Some mysteries I don’t want to solve.”
He closed the lid and snapped the lock shut. Just as Jupiter was trying to think of an argument, they heard Hans calling.
“Jupe! Hey, Jupe! Somebody here to see you.”
“I bet that’s Mr. Maximilian,” Bob said as he and the others started towards the front of the salvage yard.
It was indeed the tall thin magician, standing waiting for them, ignoring the other customers wandering around and the piles of interesting junk.
“Well, boy,” he exclaimed, peering at Jupiter. “So Gulliver’s trunk turned up, did it?”
“Yes, sir,” Jupiter answered. “And you can have it if you really want it.”
“Of course I want it! Didn’t I say so? Here’s the money — one hundred dollars.”
“I’m not going to charge you a hundred dollars for it,” Jupiter said. “I paid a dollar for it and you can have it for a dollar.”
“Humph!” the man snorted. “Why are you being so generous, may I ask? Have you taken something valuable from it?”
“No, sir, the trunk is just the way it was when we got it. But there’s a mystery connected with it, and somebody seems to want it very much. It may be dangerous to own it. I’m not sure we shouldn’t turn it over to the police.”
“Nonsense, boy! I shall not worry about any danger. I can take care of myself. I made the first bid for the trunk and now I demand you sell it to me. Here’s your dollar.”
He stretched out a long arm, snapped his fingers, and apparently took a silver dollar from Jupe’s ear.
“Now the trunk is mine,” he said. “Pray produce it.”
“Bob, will you and Pete bring the trunk?” Jupiter asked.
“You bet we will!” said Pete. In less than a minute he and Bob brought out the trunk. The magician directed the boys to put it on the back seat of his blue saloon, parked near the gate. They were all so intent on their business that they failed to notice two men covertly watching them. Maximilian got in behind the wheel.
“Next time I give a performance,” he said, “I’ll send you tickets. Until then, good-bye.”
The car vanished out of the gate. Pete gave a sigh of relief.
“Well, there goes Socrates,” he said. “I bet Mr. Maximilian hopes he can learn the secret of how it talks and use it in his magic act. He’s welcome to it. We’ve seen the last of that skull and that trunk and I’m glad of it.”
He wouldn’t have sounded so happy if he’d known how wrong he was.
The rest of the day passed without anything special happening. Bob went home early to see his father. Mr. Andrews, a feature writer for a big Los Angeles newspaper, was often away in the evening, but tonight he would be home.
“Well, Bob,” his father remarked during dinner, “I saw your picture in the Hollywood paper, with the story of your friend Jupiter buying an old trunk at auction. Did you find anything interesting in it?”
“We found a skull that was supposed to be able to talk,” Bob answered. “It’s name is Socrates.”
“A talking skull named Socrates!” his mother exclaimed. “Good gracious, what an idea! I hope it didn’t talk to you.”
“No, Mom, it didn’t talk to me,” Bob said. He thought of mentioning that it had talked to Jupiter but decided against it. Especially as his father immediately remarked, with a smile, “Some simple trick of that magician it was supposed to have belonged to, of course — what was his name? Alexander?”
“Gulliver,” Bob corrected. “The Great Gulliver.”
“I imagine the man was a good ventriloquist,” Mr. Andrews said. “What is Jupiter doing with it? Not keeping it, I hope.”
“No, he sold it,” Bob said. “To another magician who said he used to know Mr. Gulliver. A man who calls himself Maximilian the Mystic.”
“Maximilian the Mystic?” his father frowned. “We had a short news flash at the paper just before I left. He was hurt in a car accident this afternoon.”
Maximilian hurt in a car accident? Bob wondered if the talking skull had brought him bad luck. Then his father interrupted his thoughts.
“Say, how would you like to go sailing next Sunday?” he asked. “A friend of mine has invited us all to spend the day on his boat sailing out around Catalina Island.”
“That would be great!” Bob said enthusiastically. He forgot about Maximilian’s accident. He did not even remember it the next morning when he joined Pete and Jupiter at The Jones Salvage Yard.
The three boys set to work taking apart the second-hand washing machine Titus Jones had bought. By using some parts from another machine, they were able to put it in perfect working order. They had just finished the repair job when a Rocky Beach police car drove into the yard. They looked up with surprise as the heavy-set figure of Police Chief Reynolds got out and walked over towards them.
“Hello, boys,” he said. He looked very serious. “I have some questions to ask you.”
“Questions, sir?” Jupiter asked, blinking.
“Yes. About a trunk you sold yesterday to a man who calls himself Maximilian the Mystic. He had an accident as he was driving home. His car was smashed up and he was badly hurt. He’s in the hospital now. At first we thought it was an ordinary accident — he was unconscious and couldn’t talk.
“But this morning he woke up and told us that another car, with two men in it, had forced him off the road. He told us about the trunk, too. Apparently the two men stole the trunk, for it certainly wasn’t in his wrecked car when we had it towed to a garage.”
“Then apparently the two men deliberately wrecked Mr. Maximilian’s car in order to get the trunk!” Jupiter exclaimed.
“Exactly what we figured out,” agreed Chief Reynolds. “Maximilian couldn’t talk much — the doctor wouldn’t let him. He said he bought the trunk from you, Jupiter, and then the doctor said he’d talked enough. So I’ve come to find out what was in the trunk that would make someone want to steal it.”
“Well,” Jupiter told him as Pete and Bob listened intently, “there was mostly clothing in it. There was some magical apparatus. The main thing in it was an old skull that was supposed to be able to talk.”
“A skull able to talk!” Chief Reynolds exploded. “That sounds crazy! Skulls can’t talk!”
“No, sir,” Jupiter agreed. “But this one used to belong to another magician named The Great Gulliver and — ” He proceeded to tell Chief Reynolds the whole story of how they had bought the trunk at auction, what they had learned about Gulliver, how he had spent some time in jail, then had disappeared after being released.
Chief Reynolds listened, frowning and chewing his lips.
“That’s certainly a mixed-up story,” he said when Jupiter had finished. “You must have imagined it when you thought you heard the skull talk to you in your room the other night. Maybe it was a dream.”
“I thought of that, sir. But when I went to the address it gave me, I found the Gypsy woman, Zelda, who seemed to know about Gulliver. She said he was no longer in the world of men.”
Chief Reynolds sighed and mopped his forehead.
“And she spouted this stuff about hidden money that she claimed to see in the crystal, eh?” be muttered. “Well, it’s certainly strange. Now about this letter you found in the trunk and put back. You say you took photographs of it. I’d like to have those photographs.”
“Yes, sir,” Jupiter said. “I’ll get them.”
He hurried back to the workshop section, slid into Tunnel Two, and was soon inside Headquarters. Early that morning he had developed the film he had taken the day before and hung up the prints to dry. He had only one set of prints, but he could make more if he needed them.
He put the dry prints in an envelope and a moment later was back, handing them to Chief Reynolds. The Chief glanced at the photographs and shook his head.
“Don’t suppose they’ll mean anything to me,” he grumbled. “But I’ll study them. Next thing I want to do, though, is talk to that Gypsy woman, Zelda. Suppose you drive down there with me now, Jupiter, and we’ll see what she has to say. I have a hunch she knows more than she let on.”