Almost instantly a voice that could not be heard three feet away answered.
“I read you,” Bert Young said. “Anything to report?”
“Just testing. We haven’t seen Prince Djaro yet. We’re due to meet him for breakfast.”
“I’ll be standing by. Keep alert. Over and out.”
“Roger,” Jupe said and came back into the room just as a knock sounded on the door.
Pete opened it and there stood Prince Djaro, beaming at them.
“My friends! Pete! Bob! Jupiter!” he exclaimed and threw his arms around them warmly, in a European-style greeting. “I’m glad to see you! What do you think of my country and my city? But you haven’t had much time to see them, have you? We’ll take care of that soon — as soon as we’ve all had breakfast.”
He turned and signaled with his hand. “Come in,” he directed. “Set the table by the window.”
Eight servants, wearing the royal livery of gold and scarlet, brought in a table, chairs, and several platters with silver covers on them. Djaro kept up a stream of cheerful talk while the servitors set up the table, put a white linen cloth on it, set it with heavy silver, and then uncovered plates of eggs and bacon and sausage, toast and waffles, and glasses of milk.
“That looks good!” Pete exclaimed. “I’m starved.”
“Sure thing,” Djaro said. “Let’s all eat. Come on, Bob, what are you looking at?”
Bob was staring at a large spider web which had been spun from the head of the bed to the corner of the room about two feet away. A big spider peered at him from a crack between the floor and the wainscoting. Bob was thinking that Djaro had a lot of servants but the maids weren’t very tidy.
“I just noticed that spider web,” he said. “I’ll brush it off.”
He started toward it. To the boys’ amazement, Prince Djaro hurled himself at Bob’s legs and in a flying tackle brought him to the floor just before he could sweep away the spider web.
Pete and Jupe looked on in astonishment as Djaro helped Bob to his feet. He was speaking rapidly.
“I should have warned you sooner, Bob,” he said. “But I haven’t had time. Thank goodness I stopped you from destroying that spider web. I would have had to send you home at once. As it is, I am very happy to see it. It is a good omen. It means you will be able to help me.”
He dropped his voice as if someone might be listening. Then he strode to the door and flung it suddenly open. A red-jacketed man was standing there at attention, looking very impressive with black hair and a tightly curled black mustache.
“Yes, Bilkis, what is it?” Djaro demanded.
“I merely waited in case Your Highness wished something,” the man said.
“Nothing now. Leave us. Return in half an hour for the dishes,” Djaro barked. The man bowed again, turned away and strode down the long hall.
Djaro closed the door. Then he came close to them and spoke in a low voice.
“One of Duke Stefan’s men. He may have been spying on us. I have something very important to talk to you about. I need your help. The silver spider of Varania has been stolen!”
“I HAVE a lot to tell you,” Djaro said, “so we’d better eat first. It’ll be easier talking afterwards.”
So eat they did, until they were stuffed. Then the servitors came and removed the table, chairs, and dishes. After making sure that Bilkis was not lurking again in the corridor, Djaro pulled up chairs close to the window and began to talk.
“I have to tell you something of the history of Varania,” he said. “In 1675, when Prince Paul was about to be crowned ruler, there was a revolution and he had to hide. He took refuge in the home of a humble family of minstrels, street singers who earned their living by entertaining in public.
“At the risk of their lives, they hid Prince Paul in the attic of their home. He would surely have been found, for his enemies searched high and low for him, except for the fact that a spider built a web across the trap door almost immediately after he went through. Thus it looked as if it had not been touched for days. The revolutionists saw it and did not bother to look into the attic.
“For three days Prince Paul hid there without food or water. The family of minstrels could not feed him without opening the trap door and disturbing the spider web, you see, and that was what protected him. In the end my ancestor emerged, rang the bell we now call the bell of Prince Paul to summon his followers, and drove the rebels from the city. “When he ascended the throne, he wore about his neck an emblem created for him by the nation’s finest silversmith—a silver spider on a silver chain. He proclaimed the spider Varania’s national mascot and the royal symbol of the reigning family, and decreed that henceforth no prince should be crowned unless he wore around his neck the silver spider of Prince Paul.
“From that day the spider has been a symbol of good luck in Varania. Housewives are glad when one builds its web in their homes. The webs are not disturbed and no one would injure a spider deliberately.”
“You could never get my mother to go along with that!” Pete exclaimed. “She’s death on spider webs. She thinks spiders are dirty and poisonous.”
“On the contrary,” Jupiter spoke up, “spiders are very clean creatures, frequently cleansing themselves like tiny cats. And while the black widow spider is somewhat poisonous, it only bites if you practically make it do so. Even the big spiders, the tarantulas, are not nearly as dangerous as popularly supposed. In tests they have had to be teased to make them bite anyone. Most spiders, especially in this part of the world, are harmless and do a lot of good by catching other insects.”
“That is true,” Prince Djaro said. “Here in Varania there are no harmful spiders. The one we call Prince Paul’s spider is the largest species we have, and it is very handsome. It is black with gold markings, and usually builds its web out of doors, but sometimes it comes inside. That web you almost brushed away, Bob, belongs to a Prince Paul spider. It is an omen that you have come to bring me help in my difficulty.”
“Well, I’m glad you stopped me from brushing it off,” Bob said. “But what is your trouble?”
Djaro hesitated. Then he shook his head.
“No one knows this but myself,” he said. “Unless, as I am sure, Duke Stefan knows. A new prince of Varania, by long tradition, must wear the silver spider of Prince Paul when he is crowned. So I must wear it around my neck two weeks from now when I’m crowned. And I can’t.”
“Why can’t you?” Pete asked.
“Djaro means because it has been stolen,” Jupe put in. “Is that it, Djaro?”
Djaro nodded emphatically.
“It has been stolen and a substitute put in its place. But the substitute won’t do. Unless I can find the real silver spider soon, I can’t be crowned on schedule. There will be an inquiry, a scandal. And if that happens — but no, I will not speak of that.
“I know this seems to you like a lot of fuss about a little piece of jewelry. But the silver spider means to us of Varania what the crown jewels mean to the English. No, more — for it is the emblem of the royal family, and no one else in Varania may make or own an imitation spider. Except for the Order of the Silver Spider, which is bestowed upon a Varanian for the highest service to his country.
“We are a small country, but we have old traditions and we cling to them in this modern age of change. Perhaps we cling to them more strongly because so much is changing all around us. You are investigators. You are also my friends. Do you think you can find the real silver spider for me?”
Jupiter pinched his lower lip thoughtfully.
“I don’t know, Djaro,” he said. “Is this silver spider life-size?”
Djaro nodded. “About as large as an American quarter.”
“Then that means it’s very small. It could be hidden anywhere. Maybe it has been destroyed.”
“I do not think so,” Djaro told him. “No, I am sure it has not been destroyed. It is too important for that. As for its being easy to hide, what you say is true. Yet if anyone is hiding it, he must be very careful he is not found with it, for that could mean death. Even for Duke Stefan.”
Prince Djaro took a deep breath.
“Well,” he said, “I’ve told you. I haven’t any idea how you can help me, but I only hope you can. Somehow. That is why, when someone suggested perhaps I would like to have my American friends visit me for the coronation, I leaped at the idea. Now you are here. But no one knows you are investigators, and no one must know. Anything you do you must do as — well, just as American boys.” Djaro searched their faces. “What do you think? Can you aid me?”
“I don’t know,” Jupiter said honestly. “Finding a little silver spider that could be hidden anywhere is very difficult. But we can try. First I think we ought to see where it was stolen from and what it looks like. You said there was an imitation in its place?”
“Yes, a very good imitation, but just an imitation. Come. I’ll show you right away. I’ll take you to the room of relics.”
The three grabbed their cameras and Djaro led them through a long stone corridor. They went down some winding steps to a broader corridor below. The walls, floors and ceilings were all of stone.
“The palace was built nearly three hundred years ago,” Djaro told them. “The foundations and part of the walls belonged to an old castle that used to stand here. There are dozens of empty rooms — in fact, no one ever goes into the upper two floors. Varania is a poor country and we can’t afford all the servants it would take to keep the whole palace open. Besides, there is no heat except for the rooms that have been modernized, and we could not afford to modernize very much of it. Imagine living here without heat!”
They could imagine it easily. Although it was August, it was very cool inside Djaro’s palace.
“There are dungeons and cellars left over from the old castle,” continued Djaro, as they went down another flight of stairs, “with secret entrances we’ve forgotten about, and secret stairways that lead nowhere. Even I could get lost if I wandered away from the parts I’m used to.”
He laughed now. “It would be a great place for a horror movie,” he said, “with ghosts dodging in and out of the secret entrances. Luckily, we have no ghosts. Uh-oh!” he added. “Here comes Duke Stefan.”
As they reached the lower corridor, a tall man came hurrying along. He stopped and made a little bow to Djaro.
“Good morning, Djaro,” he said. “These are your American friends?”
His voice was chilly and formal. He himself was straight as a spear, with a drooping black mustache and a hawk nose.
“Good morning, Duke Stefan,” replied Djaro. “These are my friends, yes. Let me present Jupiter Jones, Peter Crenshaw, and Bob Andrews, all from California in the United States.”
The tall man inclined his head an inch at each introduction. His sharp eyes inspected them carefully.
“Welcome to Varania,” he said, in the same polite but chilly tone. “You are showing your friends the castle?”
“We’re going to the relic room,” Djaro said. “They are interested in the history of our nation. Duke Stefan,” he told the boys, “is Regent of Varania. He has ruled since my father was killed in a hunting accident.”
“In your name, Prince,” Duke Stefan said quickly. “And for your benefit, I hope. I will accompany you. It is only fitting that I show courtesy to your guests.”
“Very well,” Djaro answered, though The Three Investigators could tell it was the last thing he wanted. “But we must not take you from your duties for too long. I believe you have a council meeting this morning, Duke Stefan?”
“Yes,” the man answered, falling into step beside them. “To consider the details of your coronation, which happy event will take place in two weeks. But I can spare a few moments.”
Djaro said nothing more but led them down the corridor until they reached a large room with a ceiling two stories high. Pictures covered the walls, and the room was full of glass cases. In them were old flags, shields, medals, books and other relics. Each had a neatly typed white card beside it telling what it was. The boys peered into a case containing a broken sword. The card said it was the sword used by Prince Paul in successfully combating the revolution of 1675.
“Here in this room,” Duke Stefan said, “is a condensed history of our nation. But we are a small nation, and our history has not been an exciting one. You no doubt find us rather quaint and old-fashioned, coming from the vast country of America.”
“No, sir,” Jupiter said politely. “From what we have seen of your country so far it is very attractive.”
“Most of your countrymen,” Duke Stefan said, “find us hopelessly impractical and behind the times. I only hope our slow pace will not bore you. However, you must excuse me now. I have to attend the council meeting.”
He turned on his heel and strode off.
Bob gave a little sigh of relief. “He didn’t like us, that’s for certain,” he said in a low voice.
“Because you are my friends,” Djaro said. “And he does not want me to have friends. He does not want me to speak up and oppose him, as I have been doing lately — especially since visiting America. But let’s forget him. Look, here is a picture of Prince Paul himself.”
He led them to a life-size painting of a man wearing a brilliant red uniform with gold buttons, a sword held in one hand so the point touched the floor. He had a noble face and an eagle gaze. His other hand was outstretched, and on it sat a spider. The boys examined it closely. It was really very handsome, with a velvety black body specked with gold.
“My ancestor,” Djaro said proudly. “Prince Paul the Conqueror. And the spider that saved his life.”
As the boys studied the picture, they could hear voices behind them in many languages, including English. The room was quite crowded with people, most of them obviously tourists. They carried cameras or guidebooks, or both. Two royal guards were stationed in the room, standing at attention, each of them holding a spear.
One American couple, a rather stout man and his wife, took up positions just behind the four.
“Ugh!” they heard the woman say. “Look at that nasty old spider!”
“Sssh!” the man cautioned. “Don’t let these people hear you say that. That’s their good-luck mascot. Besides, spiders are much nicer than they’re given credit for. It’s just a case of getting a bad name.”
“I don’t care,” the woman answered. “If I see one I’m going to step on it.”
Pete and Bob grinned. Djaro’s eyes twinkled. Little by little the boys made their way around the room until they came to a door at which a third guard stood at attention.
“I wish to enter, Sergeant,” Djaro said. The soldier saluted respectfully.
“Yes, sire,” he said.
He stood to one side and Djaro produced a key which opened the heavy, brass- studded door. Inside was a short hall. At the end of it they saw another door, locked with a combination lock. Djaro opened this, and beyond it was still a third door, this one of iron grillwork. When this was finally unlocked, they stepped into a room about eight feet square which looked like, and really was, a bank vault.
Next to one wall were glass cabinets displaying the royal jewels—a crown, a scepter, and several necklaces and rings.
“For the queen — when there is a queen,” Djaro said, pointing to the jewelry. “We don’t have many jewels — we’re not rich — but we guard them well, as you can see. However, this is what we want to look at.”
He led the way to a cabinet by itself in the center of the room. Here on a special stand reposed a spider on a silver chain. To the amazement of the three boys, it looked exactly like the real thing.