William Arden - The Secret Of Phantom Lake

“What’s a ship chandler?” asked Cluny.

“A retail dealer who sells supplies and equipment for ships,” answered Jupe.

“Wright and Sons?” Mr. Widmer said. “They’re still in business. Down near the harbour.”

“Then let’s hurry!” Cluny urged.

Hans said, “I think we must call a doctor for Mr. Widmer.”

The old man shook his head. “No, no! I’m all right. I’ll call my own doctor. You stop that bearded man. That’s the best medicine I can get now. Go on, go on!”

Jupiter hesitated only for a moment. Then he grinned at Mr. Widmer, and hurried out with Cluny and Hans. Hans drove downtown towards the harbour. They found the old-fashioned shop of Wright and Sons, Ship Chandlers on a side street not far from the water.

An elderly gentleman greeted them. “May I help you?”

“Do you have records back to 1872?” Cluny burst out.

Jupiter said, “We’re trying to find out —”

“If you are friends of that bearded ruffian who was just here,” the elderly man said stiffly, “you march right out!”

“We’re not his friends, sir,” Jupiter said, and explained briefly about their search.

“Angus Gunn, eh?” the old man said. “Alas, as I told that rude man, the earthquake destroyed all our older records.”

Jupiter was crestfallen. “Then there’s no way we can find out what Angus Gunn bought here back in 1872?”

The elderly man shook his head. “Unless… wait here. Browse through our stock, I may be five or ten minutes.”

The elderly man went up some stairs to a door marked “Private.” Hans, who loved unusual objects as much as Uncle Titus did, began to inspect all the marine wares. Cluny went to the front of the shop to study a ship model while Jupiter waited impatiently. Suddenly Cluny stared out of the store window.

“Jupiter!” the red-headed boy whispered urgently.

Jupiter hurried up. “What, Cluny?”

“Someone was out there watching the store!”

“Where?” Jupiter’s eyes searched the street.

“At the far end of the street! When I looked at him, he jumped behind that last building. Maybe it’s Java Jim!”

Jupiter glanced to the back of the shop. The elderly man hadn’t reappeared, and Hans was absorbed in an old ship’s clock. Jupiter beckoned to Cluny, and they went outside.

“Let’s see if we can spot him,” Jupiter said. They walked watchfully towards the harbour, keeping close to the buildings. At the corner they peered round. Cluny cried softly:

“Jupiter! A green Volkswagen!”

The small car was parked on the other side of the broad harbour street. Beyond it, Jupiter saw a small, moustached youth hurrying across an area of wet sand to an old wooden barge that was beached at the edge of the water.

“It’s not Java Jim, it’s Stebbins!” Jupiter exclaimed. They watched the wild-haired youth disappear behind the partially buried barge, his mouth moving as if talking. “He’s meeting someone, Cluny!”

“Java Jim, maybe?” Cluny guessed.

“Follow me,” Jupiter said grimly.

The stout leader of the Investigators walked across the street and approached the barge from the side.

“If it is Java Jim and Stebbins,” Jupiter whispered, “maybe we can hear them. Find out what they’re planning. And I’d like to know how Java Jim knew to go directly to Jesse Widmer.”

He motioned Cluny to silence and stopped at the barge, listening hard. But there was no sound from the other side.

“It’s too far,” Cluny whispered. “Let’s look round the other side.”

“No,” said Jupe. “We might run into them. We’ll spy on them from above.”

He pointed to a ladder on the side of the barge. It was a little difficult to climb, as the barge lay tilted lengthwise on a slope down to the water. Jupe managed to hoist himself up, and Cluny followed. Close together, they stepped lightly across the deck towards the far side — and with a ripping of rotten wood the deck gave way. They plummeted down into a black hole!

“Oooooff!” Jupiter grunted, buried in something soft and wet.

“Old sacks,” Cluny gasped. “We fell on a pile of sacks!”

When they had caught their breath, they stood up on the sloping floor and looked around. They were in the hold of the barge, a dark, slimy place with a half-rotted bottom. A little light came from some chinks in the old wooden sides — and from the jagged opening in a hatch where they had fallen through. The hatch was twelve feet above them!

“Look for something to stand on,” Jupiter said.

They walked round the slippery hold. Except for the sacks it was bare. No boxes, or boards, or ropes, or ladders! Something small scuttled in a dark corner. Rats!

Cluny looked at Jupiter. “There’s no way out, Jupe!”

“Let’s check again! From end to end!” Jupiter urged.

They walked all the way down the sloping bottom of the barge — and stood at the edge of water. Jupiter gulped.

“Cluny, look at the walls,” he quavered. “There’s a high water mark on them. When… when the tide comes in, this leaky hold is almost under water!”

They hurried back to stand beneath the hatch they had fallen through.

“Start yelling!” Cluny said.

A shadow fell across the jagged opening above, and a face peered down at them. A young face with a moustache!

“Don’t waste your breath,” Stebbins said grimly. “No one comes here much in winter, and no one on the street will hear you over the traffic.”

They stared up at the driver of the green Volkswagen. His eyes flashed down at them. “I want to talk to you kids!”

On their bikes, Bob and Pete reached the Ortega Building Supplies yard in mid-afternoon. A dark-faced man was loading bricks on a truck. When the boys told him they wanted to ask some questions about the old Ortega brothers, he wiped the sweat from his brow and grinned.

“Si, the famous Ortega brothers! The best stone masons in all California in the old days. My great-grandfather and great-granduncle. I am Emiliano Ortega.” The smiling man sighed loudly. “Now I am the best stone mason, but today no one wants the best stonework. Too expensive,”

“Then you know all about the old Ortega brothers?” Bob said.

“Sure. What do you want to know, muchachos ?”

“They sold a wagonload of something to a Mr. Angus Gunn on November 22, 1872. We want to know what they sold.”

“ Caramba !” Emiliano Ortega cried. “You want to know what someone bought in 1872? A hundred years ago?”

“Is it too long ago?” Pete asked.

“You can’t help us?” Bob said in dismay.

“A hundred years!” Mr. Ortega said in horror, and then he laughed, his black eyes twinkling. “Sure I can help you! The Ortegas keep the best records in the state. Come.”

Mr. Ortega took them into the yard office and went to an old wooden filing cabinet. He rummaged in the back of it among yellowed folders. At last he drew out a file, blew dust from it with a grin at the boys, and opened it on his desk.

“You said November 22, Angus Gunn. Okay, let’s see what we — here it is! Angus Gunn, Phantom Lake, on special order: one ton of cut granite, paid in cash and carried away.”

“A ton of granite?” Pete said. “What kind of granite? I mean, what kind of stones?”

Mr. Ortega shook his head. “It doesn’t say — just the weight of stone.

It was a special order, and judging by the price it wasn’t just ordinary rock, but that’s all I know.”

“What kind of special orders could there have been back then, Mr. Ortega?” Bob asked. “What was a special order?”