The truck drove off, and the boys settled down in the back. Jupiter seemed lost in thought, so Bob and Pete talked and looked at the scenery. Then Pete began to frown. As the truck drove into the salvage yard, he leaned close to Jupiter.
“Jupe! I think someone followed us! A green Volkswagen was behind us all the way, and it just came into our street!”
The boys jumped from the truck and hurried to the front gate of the yard. A green VW was parked across the street. But before the boys could see who was in it, the small car suddenly drove off with squealing tyres.
“Gosh,” Pete said. “You think it was that Java Jim?”
“Perhaps,” Jupiter said. “But he escaped from the museum in the other direction, Pete.”
“Maybe someone else wants that old chest,” Bob said.
“Or is interested in the wreck of the Argyll Queen” Jupiter said. His eyes were bright as he sensed a mystery. “This could be a case for The Three Investigators! We’ll —”
“So there you are!” Aunt Mathilda appeared behind the boys. “That truck won’t unload itself. Get to work, boys.”
Sheepishly, the three boys returned to the truck and began to unload it. The mystery of the old chest would have to wait!
“We’ll study it in Headquarters,” Jupiter said. “You two carry it. There’s something I have to do first.”
The stout boy ran ahead, leaving Bob and Pete standing over the big, heavy chest. With sighs of protest, Pete picked up one end and Bob the other. They struggled over to Jupe’s outdoor workshop in a corner of the junkyard. Beneath the workbench began Tunnel Two, a large galvanised pipe that ran back under a mountain of junk — to the secret headquarters of The Three Investigators!
Headquarters was an old, damaged mobile home trailer that the boys had fixed up. Outside, it was hidden from sight by carefully placed stacks of junk. Inside was a modern office, complete with darkroom, lab, desk, typewriter, tape recorder, and telephone. There was a periscope for seeing out over the surrounding junk, and all sorts of special detective equipment, mostly of Jupiter’s invention.
But one of Headquarters’ cleverest features was also a big drawback, as Bob and Pete now realized when they lugged the old chest up to Tunnel Two.
“It’s too big to get into the tunnel!” groaned.
The boys set down the chest and looked at each other.
“We made all the entrances just big enough for us,” Bob pointed out glumly. “I bet it won’t fit any of them!”
Just then Jupiter came crawling out of Tunnel Two, looking excited. Bob and Pete blurted out their problem.
“Hmmmmmm,” Jupiter said, eyeing the narrow entrance of Tunnel Two. “I should have thought of that. Maybe we can get it inside through Easy Three.”
Easy Three was the simplest entrance to the trailer. A big oak door, still in its frame, leaned against some timber. A rusty key, concealed in a barrel of other rusty objects, opened the door, and a short passageway led to the original side door of the trailer.
“We’d better measure the trailer door first,” said Bob.
“And we’ll have to wait until no one else is in the yard before using Easy Three,” Jupiter added. “Meanwhile, men, I’ve just found out that Java Jim’s whole story was a lie!”
“Gee, Jupe,” Pete said, “how could you know that?”
“I called the secondhand dealer in San Francisco, Mr. Baskins,” Jupiter told them. “He didn’t get the chest from a sailor, he got it from another secondhand shop in Santa Barbara! The other dealer got it from a lady six months ago!”
“Wow!” Pete said. “Maybe Java Jim’s not even a sailor!”
“A good point,” Jupiter agreed seriously. “Java Jim could be wearing the pea-jacket and bell-bottoms as a disguise, to fool us into thinking he’s a sailor. Not a very good disguise, either. Those clothes are too heavy for Southern California, even in December.”
“Java couldn’t have known he’d run into us Jupe,” Bob objected, “and mornings and nights are cold around Christmas.”
“That’s true, I guess,” Jupiter conceded. “Anyway, Java Jim was at Mr. Baskins’s shop yesterday — only he told an entirely different story! He said his sister had sold the chest while he was away, and he wanted to get it back!”
Pete was puzzled. “Why change his story?”
“Probably because he thought his new story would make us give him the chest faster, and because he doesn’t want anyone to guess his real reason for wanting the chest,” Jupiter reasoned. “But his story to Mr. Baskins proves one thing — Java Jim knew a woman had sold the chest six months ago! Only he couldn’t have learned that until recently, or he’d have traced the chest sooner.”
“Gosh,” Bob said, “why does he want it so much? I mean, it’s just an empty chest.”
“Except for that ring,” Pete said. “Maybe it’s valuable.”
“But it’s just one ring, and Java didn’t know it was there until we found the secret compartment,” Bob pointed out.
“Maybe he knew something was in the chest,” Pete suggested.
“Or perhaps,” Jupiter said, “the chest is important because it came from the Argyll Queen! Perhaps even from the shipwreck!”
Jupiter’s eyes had a special gleam in them — a gleam that meant he was at work on a mystery!
“You think Java Jim’s interested in a ship that sank over a hundred years ago, Jupe?” Bob asked doubtfully.
“But why?” Pete asked.
“I don’t know,” Jupiter admitted, “but listen! Except for the hidden ring and dagger, the ship’s name is all that the chest contains. I think we should investigate the history of the Argyll Queen.”
“The Historical Society should have something,” Bob said.
Pete was unhappy. “I’ve got to go Christmas shopping with my mother today, and work at home with my dad.”
“And I have to go back with the truck for a second load from the museum,” Jupiter said. “I guess it’s up to you, Bob.”
“Fine with me,” agreed Bob. He usually handled the team’s special research anyway.
Soon after, the boys heard Aunt Mathilda calling Jupiter, and they split up for lunch.
After lunch, Bob’s mother sent him for an extra set of Christmas lights, and it was past three o’clock when he cycled up to the Rocky Beach Historical Society. Inside, a grey-haired lady smiled at him from behind a desk. “The Argyll Queen, young man? Why, yes. I believe we have considerable material on that. A terrible wreck that caused a big stir several years ago. Rumours of treasure, you know.”
“Treasure?” Bob exclaimed.
“Gold and jewels and all that.” The lady smiled. “1 don’t think much came of it. I’ll get you the material, young man.”
Bob waited in the central room of the Historical Society with growing excitement. When the grey-haired lady returned, she was carrying a. large, hinged file box.
“I’m afraid the material is unorganised,” she said.
Bob took the box and hurried into one of the small reading rooms. Alone in the room, he sat at a long table and opened the box.
He blinked in dismay. The box was crammed with papers, pamphlets, small books, and newspaper and magazine articles. There seemed to be no order to the papers at all. With a sigh, he picked up the first article, and a voice spoke above him, “I’m afraid it’ll take days to read all that.” Startled, Bob looked up and saw a small man in an old-fashioned black suit with a waistcoat and gold watch chain. The man had a round, pink face and rimless glasses. He stood smiling down at Bob. His voice was deep but friendly.
“I’m Professor Shay of the Historical Society,” the small man said. “Mrs. Rutherford told me of your interest in the Argyll Queen shipwreck. We like to encourage young people’s interest in our work. Perhaps I can save you a lot of reading if you just want a few facts.”
“You know about the Argyll Queen, sir?” Bob asked.
“It’s not my field,” Professor Shay admitted, “and I’ve not been here long, but one of our men is writing a pamphlet on the complete story. I’ve picked up a lot. Just how much do you know, young man?”
“I know the Argyll Queen was a big square-rigger that sank off Rocky Beach in 1870,” Bob said promptly, “and there were rumours of treasure on it!”
The professor laughed.” There are rumours of treasure aboard every ship that ever went down, my boy. But you’re right about the date.” The professor sat down across from Bob. “The Argyll Queen was a three-masted, full-rigged ship from Glasgow, Scotland, in the East Indies spice and tin trade. She had put in at San Francisco, and was sailing south for Cape Horn and the trip back to Scotland, when a storm blew her off course. She struck a reef close to shore one night in December 1870.
“It was a terrible storm, and there were few survivors. Most of her crew tried to get to shore at once and were lost. By sheer chance she didn’t sink immediately. The few who did survive were those who remained aboard until dawn, including the Captain, who of course stayed until the last.”
“But there wasn’t any treasure?”
“I doubt it, young man,” Professor Shay said. “The Queen went down in relatively shallow water, and divers searched it at the time, and many times afterwards. Even today people occasionally dive down to the wreck after treasure. But all that’s ever been found are a few ordinary coins of the period.” The professor shook his head. “No, I’m afraid the rumours got started because of another tragedy soon after that seemed to be connected to the Argyll Queen.”
“Another tragedy, sir?” Bob exclaimed. “What was that?”
“One survivor, a Scottish sailor named Angus Gunn, settled not far from Rocky Beach. In 1872 he was murdered by four men. All four murderers were killed by a posse before they could tell why they had done it. But one of the four was the Captain of the Argyll Queen, so people were sure the Captain was after something Gunn had taken from the ship — perhaps treasure, you see? People searched the ship, the shore, and every inch of Gunn’s land for years and years, but nothing was ever found.
“Angus Gunn, like many sailors, kept a journal. As a matter of fact, his descendants recently gave the journal to the Society to help with the pamphlet. It was read by the sheriff in 1872, and the Gunn family has searched it ever since, for any hint of treasure — but to no avail. If there was a treasure, and Gunn had it, he left no clues to it in his journal.”
Bob frowned. “Was the treasure supposed to be something from the East Indies, where the ship had been, sir?”
“Why, yes, that was the rumour. A pirate hoard. Why? Do you know something, my boy?”
“Er, no, sir,” Bob stammered. “I just wondered.”
“I see.” Professor Shay smiled. “Just why are you interested in the Argyll Queen, may I ask?”
“We… we just are, sir. For a… a school project over the Christmas vacation,” Bob said lamely.
“Of course,” Professor Shay said. “Most commendable, my boy.”
“Sir? Could I see the journal and the new pamphlet?”
Professor Shay’s eyes seemed to twinkle behind his rimless glasses. “For your school project, eh? Of course, my boy, and if you happen to discover anything new, we’ll put your name in our pamphlet.”
The professor went away grinning. A few minutes later, Mrs. Rutherford brought in a thin manuscript — Wreck of the Argyll Queen — and an oilskin-wrapped notebook. Bob began to read them.
It was dusk as Bob cycled up to the back of The Jones Salvage Yard. Round the yard was an unusually colourful fence; it had been decorated by artists of Rocky Beach with an assortment of vivid scenes. Covering the whole back fence was a magnificent painting of the San Francisco fire of 1906.
Bob rode along beside the back fence and stopped about fifty feet from the corner. Here a little dog had been painted into the fire scene, looking sadly up at the flames burning his home. The Investigators had named the dog Rover. Bob picked out the knot hole that formed one of Rover’s eyes, reached in, and undid a catch. Three boards in the fence swung up, and he wheeled his bike inside. This was Red Gate Rover, one of the boys’ private entrances to the salvage yard.
From here Bob could go directly to Headquarters by crawling through a long, hidden passageway in the junk. But he decided to look into the workshop first. Wheeling his bike to the front of the yard, he spied Pete coming in through the main gate.
“My dad worked me all afternoon,” Pete groaned. “Some vacation! I’d almost rather go to school.”
The two boys went on to the outdoor workshop. Rounding the piles of junk that defined the workshop area — and kept it from view of the rest of the year — they found Jupiter. He had a light on over the workbench and was studying the Oriental chest. As Bob started to tell what he had learned at the Historical Society, Jupiter waved his hand.
“Wait a minute,” the stout leader interrupted, his voice excited. “I’ve been examining the chest again. Look what I found!”
Jupiter held up an oilskin-wrapped book that looked just like the journal Bob had read at the Historical Society, but thinner. Bob reached out for the book. A hoarse voice suddenly rasped from the entrance to the workshop area. “I’ll take that book!” Java Jim stood glaring at the boys.
Java Jim advanced menacingly towards Jupiter, who clutched the oilskin-wrapped book tightly against his shirt.
“Pete!” Jupiter cried. “Plan One!”
Java Jim whirled on Pete and Bob, his dark eyes snapping in his weather-beaten face. “No tricks now, you kids! I’m warning you.”
The bearded sailor’s hard stare seemed to bore through Pete and Bob. He watched them a moment, as if daring them to move. Both boys gulped. Java Jim smiled nastily, and turned back to Jupiter.
“Now I’ll take the book, boy,” Java Jim said hoarsely.
“You’re a liar and a thief!” Jupiter cried as he backed away in a circle.
Java Jim laughed. “A thief, am I? Maybe I’m a lot worse, boy, and you think about that! I want that book.”
Jupiter kept edging away, drawing the sailor after him until the man was near one particular towering pile of junk, with his back turned to it. Pete and Bob edged along behind Java Jim.
“Now, guys!” Jupiter shouted.
Bob and Pete bent quickly and pulled two long boards from the junk tower behind the sailor. With a curse, Java Jim turned — too late!
“Ahhhhgggggghhh!”
As Bob and Pete leaped out of the way, the wall of junk came crashing down on Java Jim! Boards and bed springs and broken chairs and rolls of ragged rugs fell all over him. The bearded sailor kicked and railed, trying to protect himself and escape at the same time.
Bob and Pete grinned at the sight, but Jupiter didn’t pause.
“Run, men!” the leader yelled.
Stumbling over some of the scattered junk, the three boys ran out of the workshop towards the salvage yard office, where Hans was taking a last item off the truck. They could hear Java Jim still raging and struggling behind them.
“Hans!” Pete cried. “That Java Jim’s in the yard! He attacked us!”
“So?” the big Bavarian said. “Come, we will see.”
They started back across the salvage yard towards the workshop. The sounds of clattering junk and thrashing had stopped. In the twilight, a small, dark figure dashed from the workshop area towards the back fence of the yard.
“There he goes!” Pete yelled.
Bob cried, “He’s carrying something! The notebook! Jupe, you must have dropped it!”
“Oh, no!” Pete groaned.
Hans said as they ran, “We catch him at the fence, boys.”