William Arden - The Mystery of the Laughing Shadow

“Pete always piles stones like that,” Jupiter said. “It’s a reflex.”

“Then they must have seen someone and followed them. Their bikes aren’t here.”

Jupiter looked all round the alley. “I don’t know, sir. They should have left some sign if they had done that. We always carry coloured chalk to leave a trail.”

“They probably didn’t have time. We’ll send out an All-Points Bulletin on them at once. I don’t think we ought to alarm their parents yet.”

“No, sir,” Jupiter agreed. “Possibly they’re back at the salvage yard by now.”

“I hope so, son,” Chief Reynolds said. “I only wish we had more to go on. I’m sure we’ll find, the dark men eventually, but I wish I had a better idea of who that laughing shadow could be.”

“He’s tall, sir. We know that. And the two men are quite short. Ted Sandow is tall.”

“But you boys are familiar with Ted Sandow’s voice, right? Wouldn’t you know if he was the laughing shadow?”

“We ought to.” Jupiter frowned, obviously in deep concentration. “But that laugh certainly didn’t sound like anyone I know.”

“The way you describe it, it doesn’t really sound like a voice at all.”

“That’s it!” Jupiter exclaimed. “No voice at all! At least not a human kind of voice. It reminds me of a story by Edgar Allan Poe, where no one understood the murderer’s language because the murderer turned out to be an ape. Only this was no ape. But isn’t there something… something in Australia, I think, that has a laugh that sounds — “,

“What are you talking about, Jupiter?”

Jupiter chewed his lip in despair. “I… I can’t remember exactly but I know it has something to do with an animal from Australia. Ted Sandow has an accent. He says he’s from England, but maybe he isn’t. Maybe he’s an impostor from Australia.”

“Well, if you’re talking about accents, what about Harris, himself?” Chief Reynolds asked. “He sounds like a Limey, to me.”

Jupiter’s eyes brightened. “Chief!” he exclaimed. “Do you think Harris could be an Australian? I don’t think that is a British accent at all.”

“I don’t know, but I’ll contact the Australian authorities right away and ask about both of them. We can certainly provide a good description.”

They drove back to police headquarters, where the Chief went to work immediately. He sent out the All-Points Bulletin (APB) on Bob and Pete. It would alert the police in Rocky Beach and the whole county to be on the lookout for the boys. He also placed a call to Australia.

Jupiter hurried back to the salvage yard, but there was no one inside the hidden trailer. Scared now, he sat and stared at the telephone. What if Bob and Pete were prisoners? There might not be time for an APB to find them. He couldn’t just sit there waiting. If he went back to Mr. Harris’s house, he might still find some clue he had missed earlier.

He picked up the telephone to call the Rent-’n-Ride Auto Rental Company. If he found a sign from Bob and Pete, he might want to be able to move quickly.

Fifteen minutes later Jupiter slipped out through Green Gate One and ran to the waiting Rolls-Royce.

“The Vegetarian League, Worthington, and fast,” the First Investigator said urgently, and gave the address.

“Instantly Master Jones.”

The magnificent gold-plated vehicle glided smoothly along the streets and turned into Las Palmas Street towards the Gothic headquarters of the Vegetarian League. Jupiter scanned the street anxiously for any signs of his chums.

When the Rolls-Royce was a block away, Mr. Harris’s car came tearing down the street towards them and passed in a cloud of dust. Jupiter started to shout to him, but Mr. Harris did not even glance at the Rolls-Royce. The vegetarian was bent grimly over his steering wheel, his face dark and brooding.

“Was that a gentleman you know, Master Jones?” Worthington asked. “Shall I attempt to catch him?”

“He said he was going to wait for news about Bob and Pete,” Jupiter said, looking back at the vanishing car. “But maybe something happened to change his plans. Just drive on to the house, Worthington.”

Worthington continued on, and the big car slid silently to a stop at the front door. Jupiter was out like a shot, with Worthington striding up the path behind him. The front door was open. Jupiter raced inside and stood listening.

“Do you hear anything, Worthington?”

“No, Master Jones. What are we looking for?”

“Bob and Pete,” the First Investigator replied. “Some sign from them, probably in chalk, or some clue that shows they were in here.”

“You feel that they may be in some difficulty?”

“I don’t know,” Jupiter admitted. “The Chief thinks they’re off somewhere on their own, and maybe he’s right, but I’m sure they would have left some sign in that case.”

“I agree,” Worthington said quietly.

“Chief Reynolds and his men searched the upper floors, but they might not have noticed a chalked sign. You go and look upstairs, Worthington, and I’ll look out in the street again.”

“Very good, Master Jones.”

Jupiter covered the whole street, examining walls and fences for chalk marks. He also looked on the ground for any marks or messages scratched in the dirt, and he inspected the trees. He found nothing at all beyond that small conical pile of stones he was sure had been made by Pete.

Inside the house again, he met Worthington coming down from the upper floors. The tall chauffeur shook his head:

“Nothing that I could interpret as a sign, Master Jones.”

Jupiter frowned. “Maybe the Chief and Mr. Harris are right. I guess I’d better go back to the salvage yard and wait for them… I wonder where Mr. Harris was driving so fast?”

“Perhaps Chief Reynolds called him,” Worthington suggested. “But may I point out, we have not examined the ground floor.”

“I did that first time,” Jupiter said glumly.

“Possibly you overlooked some small thing. A second look will not be amiss.”

They went into Mr. Harris’s office. Jupiter saw no marks on the walls, and Worthington discovered nothing on the floor or in the cupboard. Jupiter looked into Mr. Harris’s desk and wastepaper basket. He had turned away from the desk when he stopped abruptly and went back to the basket.

“Worthington!” he cried. “Look at this!”

The chauffeur hurried over, and took the piece of wax paper from his hand.

“It’s simply a sandwich wrapper, Master Jones. I fail to see the significance.”

“Look at those stains on it! That brownish stain, and the red stain! See?” Jupiter pointed.

Worthington nodded. “Yes, I see them. Mustard and some blood, I should say. Not uncommon on a sandwich wrapper.” The fastidious chauffeur gingerly touched the brown stain, and sniffed at it. “Mustard, definitely. Rather hot, too.”

“But Worthington, Mr. Harris is the president of the Vegetarian League!” Jupiter cried. “Don’t you see? If he was eating a sandwich with meat and mustard in it, he must be a fraud!”

“By George, Master Jupiter. Are you certain this was Mr. Harris’s sandwich?”

“He said so himself,” Jupiter answered. “And if he’s a fake vegetarian, I’ll bet the whole League is a fake. Mr. Harris started the group in Rocky Beach and he claimed he had a big organization somewhere else. But I’ll bet he doesn’t have any organization at all!”

“A serious charge, Master Jones,” Worthington said severely. “What purpose could he have?”

“Don’t you see?” said Jupiter. “He knew that Miss Sandow was a vegetarian. Ted told him so in England. I’ll bet he managed to meet Ted on purpose. He probably knew about the Chumash Hoard and wanted to find it. He used Ted and his fake Vegetarian League to get close to Miss Sandow. It was a good way to gain entry to the Sandow Estate.”