“I don’t think we will,” Jupiter panted. “Look, he’s at Red Gate Rover! He must have seen one of you come in that way.”
“He’s through the fence,” Bob wailed.
The pursuers ran even faster. But by the time they all piled through Red Gate Rover and stood out on the street, Java Jim was nowhere in sight!
“The green VW!” Pete pointed.
The small green car was driving along the dimly lit street, picking up speed as it turned the corner.
“He’s escaped!” Bob moaned.
“I am sorry, boys,” Hans said, “but you are all safe. Now I must return to my work. It is almost dinnertime.”
The boys went back to the workshop and glumly surveyed the mess their trap had made.
“Now we’ll have to pile it all up again,” Pete said unhappily,” and we didn’t even stop Java Jim. He got away with the book.”
“He got away,” Jupiter agreed, “but not with the book!”
Smiling, the First Investigator reached inside his shirt and pulled out a thin sheaf of folded papers. It was the notebook — minus its cover!
“The pages were already coming loose from the binding when I discovered the notebook,” Jupe explained with a grin. “When I yelled ‘Plan One’ and Java Jim turned to look at you two, I just pulled the pages out and slipped them in my shirt. Then when we ran, I dropped the cover where Java Jim could see it. The cover and its oilskin wrapping were thick enough together to pass for the whole notebook. Java Jim naturally grabbed it and ran!”
Pete beamed. “That was fast thinking, Jupe.”
“It sure was!” Bob echoed.
“The hand is quicker than the eye,” Jupiter said smugly, “especially in the dark! But seriously, fellows, I think Java Jim has told us something he didn’t mean to.”
“Told us, Jupe?” Bob said. “What did he tell us?”
“That he is after much more than an Oriental sea chest,” Jupiter declared. “Did you notice he didn’t even ask about that ring, or attempt to take the chest?”
“Wow!” Pete said. “He didn’t, did he? He just wanted the book you found!”
“As if he knew the book was in the chest,” Bob added.
“Or at least suspected it might be,” Jupiter said. “I think it was the notebook that Java Jim wanted all along.”
“Gee, what kind of notebook could be so important?” Pete wanted to know.
Jupiter held up the notebook papers. “It’s a journal, Pete. A kind of diary of day-to-day happenings and actions. I —”
“A journal?” Bob exclaimed. “Gosh, I’ve just been reading a journal by a survivor of the Argyll Queen wreck.” The smallest of the boys related all that had happened at the Historical Society. “There wasn’t anything important in the pamphlet manuscript that Professor Shay hadn’t told me about, and the journal was just what happened to Angus Gunn for about two years. It told about the wreck, how he got to shore in a boat at dawn when the storm let up, and all about wandering around California until he found a place he liked and built a house.”
“Nothing about a treasure?” Pete asked.
Bob shook his head. “And nothing about the Captain, or danger, or anything except building his house. All pretty dull.”
But Jupiter didn’t think so. “Fellows, I found the thin journal inside a wall of the chest. You see, the chest has a double wall — a thin inner one and a heavy outer wall. Probably to fit the secret compartment in better, or to make the chest watertight. When I examined the chest earlier, I shook it and heard this faint thumping.
“When I looked closely at the inside, I saw that one wall contained a piece of wood that didn’t match the rest. The colour was a little off, and the grain was different. A repair had obviously been made, a long time ago. Anyway, I pried off the different board, and poked down in the narrow space between the two walls with a coat hanger, and pulled out the oilskin-wrapped journal!”
“Gee,” Pete said, “you think someone hid it there, Jupe?”
“No, I think the inner wall must have been broken for a while, and the journal slipped down in there accidentally. Then someone fixed the broken side without noticing the journal.”
“But Java Jim guessed it was in the chest, and he wants it,” Pete said. “But why?”
“Read the front page. Bob,” said Jupiter, handing the journal papers to him.
Bob went over to the light at the workbench and read out loud, “Angus Gunn, Phantom Lake, California, October 29, 1872! Why, it’s the same man who wrote the other journal! The survivor of the Argyll Queen!”
“When did the other journal end. Bob?” Jupiter asked.
Bob pulled out his notes. “Let’s see. Wait. Yes — the last day of the big journal was October 28, 1872! The new one’s the same journal! A continuation no one ever saw!”
“Maybe it tells about the treasure!” Pete exclaimed.
Jupiter shook his head.” I couldn’t find anything about treasure in it. It’s just like the journal Bob read — what Gunn did, where he went. That’s all.”
“Then why does Java Jim want it?” Pete wondered. “You think he’s just chasing the same old rumours?”
“Maybe it isn’t this new journal he wants at all,” Bob said.
Jupiter was thinking. “Bob, you said that the Gunn family gave the first journal to the Historical Society recently?”
“That’s right, Jupe,” Bob said. “Hey! That means —”
“That they must still live near here,” Jupiter said. “Come on, fellows!”
Jupiter crawled into Tunnel Two, and Bob and Pete followed. The tunnel ended below a trapdoor in the floor of Headquarters. The boys scrambled up and Jupiter got out the telephone book.
“Here it is — Mrs. Angus Gunn, 4 Phantom Lake Road! Get our map, Pete.”
Jupiter studied the large map while Bob prepared a new cover for the journal papers. Finally the stocky boy announced,
“There! About three miles east in the mountains.”
Jupiter grinned. “Tomorrow, fellows, we’ll get on our bikes and pay a visit to Mrs. Angus Gunn!”
“There it is,” Pete said, wiping his brow. “Phantom Lake Road. It goes right on up into the mountains.”
“And steep,” Jupiter moaned. “We’ll have to walk the bikes up. Come on.”
The boys pushed their bikes up the side road, winding through tall trees. A creek beside the road, full now in winter, accounted for the trees in the dry mountains.
“I wonder where they got the name —” Bob said. “Phantom Lake, I mean. I never heard of any lakes in our mountains.”
Jupiter frowned. “That is odd, Records.”
“There are some reservoirs,” Pete pointed out.
“Not named Phantom Lake,” Bob said, “and I don’t —”
All three boys heard the car. Ahead of them and above, coming fast down Phantom Lake Road. They could hear its tyres squealing on the curves long before they could see it. Then the car came into view, careering towards them.
“It’s the green VW!” Pete exclaimed.
“Is it Java Jim?” Bob cried.
“Quick!” Jupiter said. “Hide!”
They flung their bikes off the road and jumped into the bushes as the small foreign car bore down on them. It flashed past — and screeched to a skidding stop. A man jumped out and started to run towards them.
“Hey! You kids! Stop right there!”
The man wasn’t Java Jim. He was a small, thin, younger man with a thick moustache and wild black hair. He was dressed all in black. He ran towards the boys, his dark eyes blazing.
“What do you kids want?”
The boys backed away.
“Run!” Pete cried.
They began to run up the edge of the road. The young man shouted again and ran after them. They crashed through the undergrowth.
“Who… who is he, Jupe?” Bob said, panting,
Pete said, “Let’s get away first, and ask later!”
“Maybe we should stop and talk to —” Jupiter began.
Before he could finish, another sound seemed to fill the woods — the hoof beats of a galloping horse. The boys paused. A horseman appeared riding hard through the trees to the right of the road. Something long flashed in his hand as he rode.
“Wha… what… ” Pete stammered.
“Look!” Jupiter cried.
The horseman angled past them towards the green VW. The wild-haired young man had already turned and run back to his car. As the boys watched he got into it, started up, and skidded away in a cloud of dust towards the highway below. The horseman pursued the car for a few yards, then wheeled his horse and galloped back to the boys.
The great horse reared to a stop and the rider glared down at them. He was a short, stocky man with a harsh red face and fiery blue eyes. He wore a tweed jacket and narrow, almost skin-tight plaid trousers. The thing that had flashed in his hand was a long, heavy, basket-hilted sword!
“So! I’ve got you rascals! You’ll make no move now!”
“But —!” Jupiter started to protest.
“Silence!” the horseman thundered. “I’m not knowing what you and that older ruffian are doing here, but I will!”
Pete blurted out hotly, “We weren’t with —!”
“You can tell your lies to the police! Now march!”
“But, sir,” Jupiter started to say again, “we —”
“March, I said!” the angry horseman commanded.
He waved the long sword menacingly and urged his horse at the boys. They shrank, back, and quietly began to march up the road deeper into the mountains.
“Ten minutes later the road topped a ridge and dipped down into a high wooded valley surrounded by dry, rocky mountains. At the bottom lay a narrow pond, about twice as long as a football field. There was a small, hilly island in the pond with pine trees on it, and what looked like some kind of beacon — a tall pole with a lantern on it. A series of stones led from the island across a narrow channel to the shore.
Pete gaped. “Is that supposed to be the lake?”
“Ye’ll no talk!” the horseman growled behind the boys. “On down with you now.”
The boys hurried on down the mountain road in the hot sun. After another moment, Pete whispered, “Some lake. It’s a puddle!” As the road curved down to the bottom, a house came into view. Set on high ground above the pond, it was a big old three-storied house of roughly plastered stone. A square tower with a battlement formed the middle section of the house and gave it a strange, alien air. Flanking the tower were two wings with dormer windows. The tangled old vines on the walls failed to soften the building’s harsh lines.
“Wow!” exclaimed Pete under his breath. “That house looks more like a fortress! You could stand on the tower and spot your enemies miles away!”
“It is an odd house,” Jupiter whispered back. “In fact, it doesn’t seem to belong here at all.”
The stocky horseman dismounted. “Inside wi’ ye!”
They went into a vast entry hall of panelled wood hung with tapestries, old weapons, and the heads of elk and deer. Faded Oriental rugs lay on the wooden floor. Everything was old and worn. The red-faced man herded them with his sword into a large living-room full of massive old furniture. A fire smouldered in an enormous stone fireplace but the room was still chilly.
A small woman was sitting in a chair in front of the fireplace. A redheaded boy about Bob’s size stood beside her. He wore the same tight plaid trousers as the horseman.
“You got him, Rory!” the boy cried.
“That I did not,” the horseman said. “The villain escaped in his car, but I’ve collared his confederates.”
“Why,” the woman said, “they’re only boys, Rory! Surely they can’t —?”
“Evil no has to come in full size, Flora Gunn,” Rory said. “They’re big enough for devils’ work.” He nodded to the red-headed boy. “You best call the police, Cluny, and we’ll get to the bottom of all this breaking in once and for all.”
Jupiter came alert. “The man in the Volkswagen broke in here, sir? What did he take?”
The man laughed. “Ay, as if you’re not knowing!”
“We don’t know!” Pete protested. “We never saw that man! We saw the car, though, because it’s been following us!”
Jupiter said quietly, “We were coming here to talk to you, Mrs. Gunn, when the man passed us on the road. He stopped and chased us. I’m Jupiter Jones from The Jones Salvage Yard in Rocky Beach, and these are my friends Bob Andrews and Pete Crenshaw. Our bikes are back on the road. They should prove that we didn’t come with the man in the Volkswagen.”
“Flora!” the horseman said. “It’s the police you should —”
“Be quiet, Rory,” Mrs. Gunn said, and nodded to the boys. “I’m Flora Gunn, boys, this is my son, Cluny, and that is our cousin, Mr. Rory McNab. May I ask why you were coming to see me?”
Bob blurted out, “Because of the chest, ma’am!”
“Our salvage yard bought an old Oriental sea chest, ma’am,” Jupiter explained. “It has the name Argyll Queen in it, and we think it belonged to your ancestor, Angus Gunn. Since we got the chest, some mysterious things have been happening. If you could tell me what the man in the Volkswagen took from your house, it might help explain what’s happened.”
Mrs. Gunn hesitated. “Well, he took nothing, boys. It’s the same every time. Someone breaks in, rummages all through what we have left of Great-grandfather Angus’s things, and never takes anything at all.”
“Nothing?” Pete said, disappointed.
But Jupiter said, “Every time, Mrs. Gunn? How many times has your house been broken into recently?”
“Five times in the last six months, I’m afraid.”
The red-headed boy, Cluny, burst out, “It’s always old Angus’s things they search! I think they’re trying to find —”
“The treasure!” Bob exclaimed.
“Mother,” Cluny cried eagerly, “they think it’s the treasure the burglar is after, too!”
Mrs. Gunn smiled. “That old legend of a treasure was proved groundless a long time ago, boys. Cluny has too much imagination.”
“Maybe not, Mrs. Gunn,” Jupiter said, and told them about Java Jim and his interest in the Oriental chest. He showed the ring they had found in the chest.
Mrs. Gunn examined the ring. “You found this?”
“Let me see,” Rory McNab said, taking the ring. “Bah, it’s red glass and brass! Old Angus had a box full of such trinkets for trading. You’re fools! People read old Angus’s journal and searched for a hundred years and nary a hint of a treasure!”
Mrs. Gunn sighed. “Rory is right, boys. Old Angus’s journal was the only possible source for a clue to any treasure, and no one ever found such a clue. I’m afraid it was all nonsense.”
“Unless,” Jupiter said, “everyone read the wrong journal!”
He took the thin second journal from his jacket and held it up in the silent room.
Jupiter told her how he had found the new journal between the walls of the chest. “Whoever repaired the inner wall of the chest didn’t notice the journal in the narrow space or know about the secret compartment. If the compartment had ever been opened, the pirate booby trap would have been sprung, and it hadn’t been.”
Mrs. Gunn nodded. “Yes, I remember that old Oriental chest now. I sold it years ago, after my husband passed away. I’ve had to sell many of old Angus’s things to make ends meet. We’re not well off, I’m afraid, and this house is expensive to keep up. Without Rory’s help and hard work we’d have lost the house long ago.”