“So far we’re just guessing,” Jupiter said. “Bob, it is now time to do some research.”
“Sure,” Bob agreed. “What kind?”
“In the library,” the First Investigator told him. “See if you can find out anything about The Fiery Eye. Also look up Pleshiwar, India.”
“Right,” Bob said. “Suppose I report back after dinner. My family sort of expects me to eat dinner at home once in a while.”
“That will be time enough,” Jupiter told him. “We will start the Ghost-to-Ghost Hookup going then.”
“My word!” Gus said as Bob pedalled away. “I had no idea what I was letting you in for! Somebody attacks Mr. Dwiggins — Three-Dots comes here and threatens you, Jupiter — there is obviously a lot at stake and a great deal of peril. I haven’t any right to endanger you. I think I had better just go home and forget about The Fiery Eye. You can stop hunting for Augustus, and if Three-Dots or Black Moustache find him, they can fight it out between them.”
“Gus, that’s mighty good thinking!” Pete exclaimed. “How about it, Jupe?”
But the expression on Jupe’s face gave him the answer. Give Jupiter Jones a good mystery to solve and it was like handing a steak to a hungry bulldog — he wasn’t going to give it up!
“We’ve only just started on this investigation, Second,” Jupiter said. “We’ve been wanting a mystery to tackle, so we can’t give up a good one when it comes along. Anyway, there, are certain curious facts I haven’t figured out yet.”
“There are? Such as what?” Pete asked.
“It is my deduction,” the First Investigator said, “that Mr. Dwiggins locked himself in the closet.”
“Locked himself in the closet?” Gus’s voice was full of astonishment. “Why should he do a thing like that?”
“I don’t know. That’s part of the mystery.”
“What makes you think he locked himself in, First?” Pete asked. “I mean, he was locked inside and he certainly looked as if he had been handled roughly.”
“Superficial evidence meant to mislead us,” Jupiter said. “Think about it, Second. Use your ability to reason. Mr. Dwiggins said he’d been in the closet for an hour and a half, didn’t he?”
“Well — yes.”
“During which time he pounded on the door and called for help. Now what would a man do first under such circumstances?”
“He’d put his glasses on straight!” Gus cried. “Or else, because it was dark, take them off and put them in his pocket. He wouldn’t let them hang by one ear for an hour and a half!”
“I guess you’re right, Gus.” Pete scratched his head. “Also he’d straighten his tie. You’re right, Jupe, he fixed his tie and glasses to make us think he’d been attacked.”
“Always analyse all the facts,” Jupiter said. “I must admit, though, that Mr. Dwiggins was very convincing. I might not have thought of being suspicious except for one fact. Come over here behind the desk, both of you, and put your hands on the seat of this chair.”
He stood up. Pete and Gus both touched the wooden seat of the swivel chair.
“Now touch the desk,” Jupiter directed. “And tell me the difference between the two wooden surfaces.”
Both touched the desk. Gus exclaimed, “The chair is warm because you were sitting in it. The desk top is cooler.”
Jupiter nodded. “And when I picked up Mr. Dwiggins’s chair back in his office, I noticed to my surprise that the seat of it was slightly warm, as if someone had been sitting in it up to a minute or so before. Then when I thought about the glasses and necktie, I realized what must have happened.
“Mr. Dwiggins saw us drive up and get out of the car. He knocked over the chair, hurried into the closet, and disarranged his glasses and tie. Then he sat down and began to shout for help. He probably hadn’t been in the closet more than two or three minutes before we found him.”
“Wow!” Pete exclaimed. “Why would he do all that?”
“To deceive us,” Jupe answered. “To make us think his copy of the message had been stolen, when it hadn’t.”
“You mean there was no middle-sized man with glasses and a black moustache?” Gus asked.
“I don’t think so. I think Mr. Dwiggins made him up. My theory is that Three-Dots, Mr. Rama Rhandur from India, may have paid Mr. Dwiggins for his copy of the secret message, and Mr. Dwiggins thought of this scheme to make us think it had been stolen.”
“It certainly sounds logical,” Gus admitted. “That would explain how Mr. Rhandur came here, too. He solved the message enough to realize the importance of those busts.”
“And he said he’ll be back!” Pete exclaimed. “Maybe he’ll bring some of his buddies with him next time. Suppose he doesn’t believe we really don’t know where Augustus of Poland is? They have some pretty fierce tortures to make people talk, over there in the Orient.”
“You’re letting your imagination run away with you, Second,” Jupiter told him. “This is California, not the Far East. I haven’t heard of anybody being tortured here since Indian days.”
“There always has to be a first time,” Pete muttered darkly.
Gus was about to say something when the phone rang. Jupiter answered. “Jones Salvage Yard, Jupiter Jones speaking.”
“This is Mrs. Peterson. I live in Malibu Beach,” said a pleasant-sounding woman’s voice. “I’m sorry, but I have a complaint. Yesterday I bought two plaster busts from you folks to use as garden ornaments.”
“Yes, Mrs. Peterson?” Jupiter spoke with sudden interest.
“Well, they were very dusty and I put them out in the yard under the hose to wash them off. One of them started to crumble. An ear fell off and part of the nose. My husband tells me they’re just made of plaster, and should be kept indoors. Outside, the weather would ruin them in no time. I really feel you should return my money, as you sold them to me for garden ornaments.”
“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Peterson,” Jupiter said politely. “I guess we didn’t think about plaster being affected by water. We’ll return your money. May I ask which busts you bought?”
“I’m not sure. They’re out in the patio now. But I think one of them is Augustus somebody. I’ll bring them back tomorrow.”
“Excuse me, Mrs. Peterson!” Jupiter said, sitting up straight at the words. “We’ll come and pick them up to save you the trouble. If you’ll give me the address, we’ll be over sometime this afternoon or evening.”
He wrote rapidly as Mrs. Peterson gave him her address, then hung up.
“We’ve located Augustus of Poland!” he said to Pete and Gus. “As soon as Hans comes back with the small truck we’ll go and pick him up.”
“Great!” Pete said. Then he added, “I hope we get Augustus before Three-Dots gets us!”
7
Black Moustache on the Scene
MEANWHILE, Bob had reached the Rocky Beach Public Library, where he had a part-time job. As he walked in, Miss Bennett, the librarian, looked up.
“Why, hello, Bob,” she said. “I didn’t know this was your day to work.”
“It isn’t,” Bob said. “I came to do some research.”
“Oh, and I hoped you were here to help me.” Miss Bennett laughed lightly. “It’s been such a busy day. There are so many books to put back on the shelves. Could you spare us a little time, Bob?”
“Sure, Miss Bennett,” Bob agreed.
Miss Bennett asked him first to mend the binding on some juvenile books. Bob took them into the back storage room and used strong plastic tape to secure the torn covers. When he had finished, Miss Bennett had a sizeable stack of returned books to be put back on the shelves. He put these away one by one, and then the librarian called his attention to some books that had been left on one of the reading-room tables. Bob gathered them up. As he looked at the one on top, he almost jumped in surprise.
The title was Famous Gems and Their Stories. It was the very book he had come to the library to consult.
“Something wrong, Bob?” Miss Bennett asked.
Bob shook his head. “No, Miss Bennett.” He brought the book to the main desk to show it to her. “It’s just that I came to look up something in this book and I was surprised to find it here.”
“Goodness!” Miss Bennett read the title. “That is a coincidence. This book hasn’t been looked at for years and now it’s needed twice in the same day.”
Bob didn’t think it was a coincidence.
“I don’t suppose you remember who was reading this book, do you?” he asked.
“I don’t believe I do. So many people in today, they’re just a blur in my mind.”
Bob’s mind raced. Who would be the most likely person? He tried a shot in the dark.
“Could it have been a man with large horn-rimmed glasses and a black moustache?” he asked. “A man about medium height?”
“Why — ” Miss Bennett frowned, thinking. “Yes, it was. Now that you describe him, I remember. He had a rather low, husky voice. However did you know?”
“I heard about him from someone,” Bob said. “If there isn’t anything else you need me to do — ”
Miss Bennett shook her head, and Bob hurried to the reading table. Black Moustache had been here! That meant he was also on the trail.
He settled down to look through the book. It was full of interesting information about the discovery and history of the world’s most famous jewels. Finally, after letting himself be sidetracked into reading the curious history of the Hope diamond, which had apparently brought bad luck to many people, he found what he was looking for. One chapter was titled The Fiery Eye. He turned to it.
The Fiery Eye was a ruby as big as a pigeon’s egg, of an intense crimson colour. No one knew where or when it had been discovered, but it had been known in China, India and Tibet for many centuries. It had belonged to rajahs, emperors, queens, princes and wealthy merchants. It had been stolen many times, and some of its owners had been murdered for it. Other owners had been defeated in battle, had lost their fortunes, or otherwise suffered calamity. At least fifteen men were known to have died because of it.
The Fiery Eye was shaped rather like an eye, and was very valuable. It was not as valuable as some other famous gems, however, because it was flawed — there was a hollow inside it which made it imperfect.
The chapter ended with these words:
There are gems which seem to be followed by ill fortune. Owner after owner suffers death or illness or other serious loss. Violence hovers about them and no owner is safe. The Hope diamond, which was believed to bring misfortune to its owners until it was given to the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, D.C., is one such. The Fiery Eye is another. Few of its owners failed to suffer misfortune, until at last it was given as a token of repentance by a maharajah of India to the Temple of Justice, in the remote mountain village of Pleshiwar, India.
In the Temple of Justice, sacred to a small but fanatical band of warlike mountain tribesmen, The Fiery Eye was mounted in the forehead of the temple deity. Local superstition held that it could detect sin. If someone accused of a crime was brought before it, and The Fiery Eye blazed with light, this was considered proof of guilt. If The Fiery Eye remained dim, this was proof of innocence.
The stone vanished mysteriously from the temple many years ago. Its present whereabouts is unknown, though the followers of the Temple of Justice made vigorous efforts to find it. It is rumoured to have been sold by a temple official who had been guilty of misconduct and feared the gem would expose his guilt. Many suppose the ill-fated gem to lie in some unmarked grave with the bones of the man who bought or stole it. Others believe it will yet reappear. One old legend says that when The Fiery Eye has dwelt unseen and untouched for fifty years, it will be purified and no longer bring ill fortune, providing it is bought, found or given, not seized or stolen.
Few collectors, however, would care to risk the supposed curse on the stone even now, though the fifty years is almost up.
“Wow!” Bob breathed to himself. The Fiery Eye certainly seemed a ruby to stay away from. Even though the fifty years might be up now — the book he was reading had been printed several years earlier — he didn’t think he’d want to risk having anything to do with the gem.
Thoughtfully he put the book away. Then he got down an encyclopedia to look up Pleshiwar, India. He found a brief paragraph. It just said that inhabitants of Pleshiwar and the surrounding mountains were generally tall and warlike, extremely ferocious in battle, and never gave up seeking vengeance on anyone who injured them.
This made Bob gulp again. He wrote down the main facts about Pleshiwar, as well as about the ruby, and sat thinking. Should he phone Jupe now and tell him? He decided not to. It was nearly dinner-time, and besides, Jupe was not going to start the Ghost-to-Ghost Hookup until later.
Bob said good-bye to Miss Bennett and cycled home. His mother was just getting dinner, and his father was reading and smoking his pipe. He greeted Bob.
“Hi, son,” he said. “Why so thoughtful? You look as if you were trying to solve some very large problem, Are you boys looking for another lost parrot or something like that?”
“No, Dad,” Bob said. “Right now we’re looking for a missing bust of Augustus of Poland. Do you know who he was?”
“I’m afraid I don’t. But speaking of Augustus reminds me, this is August. Do you know how the month of August got its name?”
Bob didn’t. His father told him, and Bob jumped as if jabbed with a pin. He made a bee-line for the telephone and dialled The Jones Salvage Yard. Mathilda Jones answered and Bob asked for Jupiter.
“I’m sorry, Bob,” Mrs. Jones told him. “Jupiter and the others left half an hour ago in the light truck with Hans. They had to go to Malibu.”
“I’ll be right over and wait for him!” Bob blurted out. “Thank you.”
He hung up, but before he could get out of the door, his mother’s voice brought him back.
“Robert! Dinner is ready. Now you come sit down and eat. Whatever harum-scarum project you’re engaged in, it can wait until you’ve had dinner.”
Reluctantly Bob sat down. This was something Jupe had to know! But he supposed it could wait another hour.
* * *
At that moment, Jupiter, Pete and Gus were riding through the Malibu Beach section in search of Mrs. Peterson’s home. They finally stopped in front of a large, attractive stucco dwelling with a spreading well-kept garden.
Jupiter led the way up a path and across a tiled patio to the door. He pressed the bell and after a moment the door opened.
“I’m Jupiter Jones from The Jones Salvage Yard,” Jupe said to the pleasant-faced woman in a summer dress who opened the door. “I’ve come to take back the plaster busts we sold you.”
“Oh yes. They’re over here.”
The woman led the way round a corner, and there were the two busts, one looking much the worse for wear. As Mrs. Peterson had said, Augustus of Poland had lost one ear and his nose, and the rest of him looked rather crumbly. The other, Francis Bacon, had not been washed and looked dusty but intact.
“I’m sorry to have to return them,” the woman said, “but they were sold for garden ornaments, and my husband says our sprinklers would wash them away in no time.”
“That’s perfectly all right, ma’am,” Jupiter said, concealing his delight at getting Augustus back. “Here is your money — we’ll take the busts away now.”
He handed Mrs. Peterson the ten dollars that his aunt had given him, then picked up Augustus and, grunting a little, carried the bust out to the truck. Pete followed with Francis Bacon. They laid the busts carefully on the front seat between Gus and Hans, and climbed on the back of the truck. Then they started back for Rocky Beach.