The Secret Of The Terror Castle Part 7

And he imported stones from a castle on the Rhine, supposedly haunted by the ghost of a mad musician who was imprisoned in the cellars for many years. The musician was said to have displeased the ruling n.o.ble by playing music he did not like. After his death the tune which brought about his imprisonment was often heard coming from the locked music room of the castle."

"Gos.h.!.+" Pete exclaimed. "If all those dead characters are wandering round Terror Castle now, no wonder it's so hard to live in."

"They may be. They may not be," Jonathan Rex whispered. "I only know that even tramps, hoboes and thieves give Terror Castle a wide berth. Once a month I drive all the way over the hills to walk up the road, stand out in front, and examine the condition of my old friend's only monument. And in all these years I have never seen any sign of such persons round the building."

Jupiter nodded. That agreed with the observations he and Pete had made. He did not see any reason to mention the individual, whoever it might have been, who had rolled the rocks down on them.

"What about the newspaper stories that mention strange music from Mr. Terrill's pipe organ, and a Blue Phantom?" he asked.

"I can't say. I never saw the Blue Phantom. I do know that, even before his death, Steve mentioned that several times he had heard mysterious music coming from the organ in the projection room. As a test he locked the door and disconnected the electric apparatus which worked the organ. Still the music continued. But as soon as he entered the room, it ceased."

Pete swallowed hard. Mr. Rex removed his gla.s.ses and blinked at them.

"I cannot swear that Terror Castle is haunted by my old friend or anyone else," he whispered, "but personally I would not enter that front door and spend a night there now for ten thousand dollars."

Chapter 10.

A Bad Slip "JUPITER!" Mathilda Jones's voice rang out in the California suns.h.i.+ne. "Stack those iron rods against the fence. Peter! Help Jupiter carry the rods. And you, Bob, are you getting a tally of everything?"

It was a busy day at The Jones Salvage Yard. Sitting on an overturned bath-tub, busy tallying everything, Bob Andrews wondered if they ever would be able to get into Headquarters for a meeting. It was two days since Jupiter and Pete had interviewed The Whisperer, and they hadn't been able to have a meeting yet. Mrs. Jones had just been running them ragged. And when she wasn't keeping them busy, he had his own work at the library and Pete had ch.o.r.es to do at home.

Mr. Jones had been off on a buying spree, so there was an endless supply of new material coming into the yard. At this rate a week might go by before they could have any peace in which to sit down and puzzle over the mystifying questions with which they were confronted.

A break came about noon when Mrs. Jones looked up and saw the salvage yard's main truck turning in through the gates again. Jupiter's uncle, t.i.tus Jones, a small man with a large nose and a huge black moustache, was sitting like a king on top of the load in a magnificent old carved wooden chair. When Mr. Jones was on a buying trip, he bought anything that took his fancy. Mrs. Jones gave a little shriek as the truck stopped. "Heavens above!" she cried. "t.i.tus Andronicus Jones, what have you bought this time to take us one step closer to the poor-house?"

Mr. Jones waved down to them with his pipe. His other hand was holding on to a big fan-shaped bunch of metal tubes. It was a small pipe organ, about eight feet high.

"I've bought a pipe organ. Mathilda," Mr. Jones called out. He had a very deep voice. "I'm going to learn to play it. Come on, Hans ... Konrad, we have to get this valuable musical relic safely deposited on the ground."

Mr. Jones got down. Hans followed him, and Konrad slid the pipes of the organ on to the iron loading elevator at the back of the truck. Once it was in place, Hans worked the control and the whole thing eased to the ground.

"A pipe organ!" Mathilda Jones was so flabbergasted she forgot to order the boys to keep working. "Now in the name of goodness and mercy and sweetness and light, what are you going to do with a pipe organ?"

Mr. Jones took a puff on his pipe. "Learn to play it, my dear," he said. "After all, I played a calliope in a circus once."

With Mr. Jones bossing, Hans and Konrad got the rest of the parts of the pipe organ off the truck. The two brothers were Bavarians each about six feet four inches tall and very blond. They could lift almost anything.

Mr. Jones decided to set the pipe organ up by the fence nearest to his house. Hans and Konrad hauled and heaved and carried, and eventually all the pieces of the pipe organ were grouped together, waiting to be a.s.sembled.

"That's a real pipe organ, the kind operated by air blown into the pipes," Mr.

Jones proudly told the boys. "I found this choice item in a small theatre being torn down over towards Los Angeles."

"Heavens to Betsy above." Mrs. Jones sighed. "I'm certainly glad we're far from the nearest neighbours."

"Now you take a really big pipe organ," Mr. Jones said, "one built for a large auditorium. It is possible to install pipes in such a pipe organ so large, of such a length and diameter, if you follow me, that they will emit sounds too deep to be heard by the human ear."

"If you can't hear them, can you call them sounds, Uncle t.i.tus?" Jupiter asked.

"Someone can hear them perhaps elephants. They have very large ears," Mr.

Jones said with a chuckle.

"What good would a pipe organ be, giving out sounds you couldn't hear?" Pete asked. "I mean, hardly any elephants go to listen to pipe organs play."

"I don't know, my boy, I don't know," t.i.tus Jones said. "I imagine science could find some use for them if science really tried."

"After all," Bob put in, "for dogs they have whistles we can't hear. They blow such a high note."

"Exactly, my boy," Mr. Jones said. "Possibly a circus could make whistles for elephants which would be just the opposite of the dog whistles. Low notes instead of high notes."

"Subsonic," Jupiter put in. "Sounds, or rather vibrations too low to hear would be subsonic, or below sound. Sounds too high for a human to hear are ultrasonic."

They were all so interested in the pipe organ that no one noticed the blue sports car which came whizzing in the gate and skidded to a stop behind them. The driver a tall, thin youth with a long nose gave the horn a loud blare. All three boys jumped slightly as they turned. This was greeted by loud laughter from the driver and the two companions beside him.

"Skinny Norris!" Pete exclaimed, as he watched the tall youth slide out of the car.

"What does he he want here?" Bob demanded. want here?" Bob demanded.

The Norris family spent only part of each year in Rocky Beach, but as far as Pete and Bob and Jupiter were concerned, that part was still too much. Being very much impressed by his own intelligence and having the advantage of driving his own car, E.

Skinner Norris tried hard to make himself the leader of those his own age. Most of the boys and girls in town ignored him. But he managed to collect a few cronies, who were attracted by his liberal spending and the parties he gave. These followers were enough to bolster his sense of self-importance.

Now, carrying a shoe-box with a lid, he approached The Three Investigators while his friends watched, snickering. Just before he reached them, he whipped from his hip pocket a large magnifying gla.s.s and pretended to study the junk yard through it. Mr.

Jones and his helpers had moved off with the pieces of the pipe organ by the time he spoke.

"Ah, yes," he said, in a very poor imitation of an English accent. "The right spot, I believe. Characterised by a low grade of junk found only in Jones's junk yard."

This humorous effort was greeted by laughter from the car. Pete clenched his fists.

"What do you want, Skinny?" he demanded.

E. Skinner Norris acted as if he had not heard. He turned the magnifying gla.s.s so as to seem to study Jupiter through it, then put it back in his pocket.

"Indeed, you can be none other than Jupiter MacSherlock, the world-famous detective," he said, continuing his effort to sound English. "This is a fortunate moment for me. I have brought you a case that has baffled all of Scotland Yard. A despicable slaying of an innocent victim, which I am sure you will be able to solve."

Even as he handed the shoe-box to Jupiter, all three boys felt sure they knew what was in it. Their sense of smell gave them advance information. Nevertheless, Jupiter opened the box and looked in at the contents, while Skinny Norris waited with a broad smile.

Inside the box was a large white rat from which life had long since departed.

"Do you think you can solve this horrid crime, MacSherlock?" E. Skinner Norris asked. "I am offering a sizeable reward for the capture of the culprit. Fifty trading stamps."

His companions in the car seemed to find this hilarious. Jupiter, however, did not change expression. He merely nodded in a slow and dignified manner.

"I can understand your desire to see justice done, Skinny," he said, "for I see that the victim was one of your best friends."

At this the laughter in the car stopped, and a flush began to spread over the thin boy's cheeks.

"My preliminary examination," Jupiter went on, "suggests that he died of indigestion brought on by trying to swallow the bragging of someone whose ident.i.ty, at the moment, must remain concealed behind the initials E.S.N."

"You think you're smart, don't you?" Skinny Norris demanded angrily. It was his misfortune that his glibness usually deserted him just when he needed it most.

"Which reminds me that I have something for you," Jupiter said, putting the box on a pile of sc.r.a.p. It was only a step or two to the office of the salvage yard. Jupe swiftly covered the distance and returned with the torch he and Pete had picked up in Black Canyon.

"This has the initials E.S.N. on it," he said. "Possibly they stand for E. Skinner Norris?"

"Or they could stand for Exceptionally Scared and Nervous," Pete suggested, grinning. "Been practicing your running lately, Skinny?"

"Give me that!" Skinny Norris snapped, and grabbed it from Jupiter. He turned and got back into his car.

"Investigators!" he jeered at the three boys. "What a laugh. Every kid in town will be in st.i.tches at the idea."

The car wheels spun as he backed away and raced out of the gate. Jupiter, Pete and Bob watched him go.

"I knew he picked up that card in the library," Bob said. "He knows all about us forming The Three Investigators."

"We want everybody to know," Jupiter said. "This just makes it more important that we do not fail on our first case."

He looked round. His uncle and Hans and Konrad were over by the wall, working on the pipe organ. His aunt had gone back to the house to prepare lunch.

"We are un.o.bserved at the moment," he said. "If we hurry, we can hold a quick meeting before Aunt Mathilda announces lunch."

He led the way towards Tunnel Two.

And then it happened.

Absorbed in his plans, Jupiter stepped on a piece of pipe that rolled underneath his foot. He fell heavily to the ground. As he struggled to sit up, Bob and Pete could see him gritting his teeth.

"I've twisted my ankle," he said. And when he pulled up his trouser leg to investigate, they could see that his ankle was already swelling. "I'm afraid," Jupiter said reluctantly, "that I shall need medical attention."

Chapter 11.

The Gipsy's Warning WHAT A MESS!.

It was two days since Jupiter had hurt himself. His Uncle t.i.tus had rushed him to the hospital, where they had kept him a whole day, taking X-rays. Then they had soaked his foot in some kind of bath and let him come home. Doctor Alvarez said he would be able to hobble about soon. In fact, he wanted him to exercise his ankle as soon as he could.

But meanwhile there was Jupiter in bed with about a mile and a half of bandage round his ankle.

And there was Mr. Hitchc.o.c.k, maybe finding another haunted house for his picture.

It looked as if The Three Investigators were going to be out of business without ever being in business.

Pete and Bob, sitting beside Jupiter's bed, felt rather low.

"Does it hurt?" Pete asked when Jupiter moved a little and had to grit his teeth.

"No more than I deserve," Jupiter said, "for being careless. Now let us proceed with our conference. The first subject to discuss is the mysterious telephone call we received immediately after our first visit to Terror Castle. Worthington has said he believes we were followed that night. Very likely Skinny Norris followed us."

"He could have easily enough," Bob said. "He knew we were interested in the place."

"Skinny couldn't have telephoned us and made his voice sound like that," Pete objected. "So low and dead sounding. His voice is more like a pony whinnying."

"I agree," Jupiter said. "But it's the only possibility I have been able to hit upon."

He s.h.i.+fted his foot, wincing a little.

"Until I learn otherwise," he added, "I shall refuse to believe that disembodied phantoms can use telephones."

"Well, okay," Bob agreed. "What's next? The mysterious person who rolled the rocks down at you?"

"Yes," Pete said grimly. "What about him? He's one guy I'd like to get my hands on!"

"For the time being, I am ignoring him," Jupiter said. "We are now certain he was not Skinny Norris. He may have no connection with the case at all. It may have been a child or a man wandering in the canyon who started the rocks rolling by accident."

"He had an awfully good aim for someone who didn't mean it," Pete muttered.

"He must remain an enigma until further facts emerge. I am thinking now of the untruths which Mr. Rex told us when Pete and I visited him. Why did he say he was cutting dry brush when it was obvious that he wasn't? And why did he have a pitcher of fresh lemonade ready, as if he expected us to be calling at that very moment?"

Both questions stumped all three of them. Pete scratched his head.

"Whiskers!" he said. "The farther we go, the more mysteries there are."

At that moment Jupiter's Aunt Mathilda bustled into the room.

"I meant to tell you earlier," she said. "A queer thing happened yesterday morning just before you came back from the hospital. I forgot all about it in the excitement."

"Queer thing?" Jupiter asked, and they all p.r.i.c.ked up their ears.

"An old gipsy woman came to the door. I don't know that I ought to tell you what she said."

An old gipsy woman! Now they really were sitting up.

"I'd very much like to know, Aunt Mathilda."

"Well, it was just nonsense anyway. But this tiny, little old gipsy woman knocked and in this awful, broken accent she said she'd read about your accident and had a warning for you."