Роберт Артур - The Mystery of the Talking Skull

“That’s right,” Jupiter agreed. “We tried to telephone him. Lieutenant Carter is taking his place. The Lieutenant wouldn’t even listen to us.”

“And if you did go to him now, he’d probably take all the credit and keep you from getting the reward,” Mr. Grant said thoughtfully.

“Reward?” Jupiter asked. Bob and Pete looked excitedly at each other.

“The Bankers’ Protective Association has offered a ten per cent reward to anyone who can locate the missing money. That’s five thousand dollars that you’d be entitled to. That is, if your clue is a good one.”

“Five thousand dollars!” Pete whispered to Jupe. “That idea I like! Ask him how we can win it.”

“I have an idea,” Grant continued. “If you lay your information before the Bankers’ Protective Association directly and we pass it on to the police, you’re in line for the reward. It’s on record that you supplied the clue. I could come to see you and — No, that’s not a good idea.

“If those thugs saw me, they’d probably recognize me, and they might make some desperate move. Suppose you come to see me, secretly. I’m in town now.”

“I can’t leave the salvage yard,” Jupiter answered, scowling. “I’m supposed to be in charge here. My aunt and uncle won’t be back for an hour or two.”

“Hmm — I see.” Mr. Grant was silent for a moment. “Do you think you can slip away later this evening, after you close? All three of you meet me somewhere? You’d have to get away without Three-Finger and the others seeing you go.”

“I believe I could do that, sir,” Jupiter agreed. “Of course, Bob and Pete have to leave soon to go home for dinner. Do you think they’ll be followed?”

“I doubt it. You’re the one the crooks are interested in. You’re sure you can slip away without being seen?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sure I can,” said Jupiter, thinking of Red Gate Rover, the boys’ secret exit in the back fence of the yard. “It’ll be late, though, because today is Saturday and the yard is open until seven o’clock.”

“Excellent. Will eight o’clock be all right then?”

“Yes, Mr. Grant, I think so.”

“Then suppose we meet in the park — Oceanview Park. I’ll be sitting on a bench inside the east entrance, reading a newspaper. I’ll have on a brown sports jacket and a brown snap-brim hat. You three get there separately, making sure you’re not being followed. That clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Jupiter said.

“And don’t breathe a word to anyone before we meet. It’s important that nothing leaks out until I have your statement. Bring your clues with you. Check?”

“All clear, Mr. Grant,” Jupiter agreed.

“Then I’ll see you at eight. Good-bye until then.”

As Jupiter hung up, Pete let out a suppressed exclamation.

“Wow! A five-thousand-dollar reward. What’s the matter, Jupe, why don’t you look happy?”

“We haven’t found the money yet,” Jupiter said.

“We’re bound to find it. Or anyway, the police are… after Mr. Grant gives them our information. Maybe they’ll let us come along when they hunt for it.”

“Not if that Lieutenant Carter has anything to say about it,” said Bob.

“I wish Chief Reynolds wasn’t away today,” Jupiter said. “I’d like to have him in on this. But if he knows Mr. Grant —”

A voice calling interrupted him.

“Jupe customers need some change!”

“That’s Konrad,” Jupiter said. “I’d better get back on the job. I’m supposed to be in charge. Bob and Pete, can you repack the trunk and put Socrates away?”

“Golly!” Bob looked at his watch. “I’ve got to get to the library before it closes, Jupe. I left my jacket there when I quit work. Then I’d better get on home.”

“It’s okay. I’ll pack the trunk,” Pete said. “Then I’d better get home, too. We’ll all meet at the park at eight o'clock. Right?”

“Right,” Jupiter said.

They all left Headquarters and separated. Pete approached the trunk and Socrates without enthusiasm.

“Well!” he challenged the skull. “What have you got to say now that we’ve found the clue?” Socrates grinned at him and remained silent.

Bursting with some new information. Bob pedalled furiously through the back streets of Rocky Beach, heading in a roundabout way for the meeting place in the park. He was a little late. He had taken time after dinner to look through a pile of old newspapers in the garage. He had found the special item he wanted, and now he was trying to make up for lost time. But when he got to the east entrance to the park, he saw that Pete and Jupiter were ahead of him. They were seated on a bench with a young, well-dressed man, talking earnestly. They looked up as Bob approached, his bicycle brakes squealing.

“Sorry I’m late,” Bob said, puffing. “I had to hunt for something.”

“You have to be Bob Andrews,” the man said pleasantly. “I’m George Grant.” They shook hands, and the young man extended a wallet, open to show an engraved card behind a plastic window. “Here’s my identification, Bob. Just to be formal.”

The card said that George Grant was an accredited investigator for the Bankers’ Protective Association. Bob nodded and Mr. Grant put it away.

“Jupe —” Bob started to say, but Jupiter spoke first.

“We’ve just been telling Mr. Grant what we learned from the letter, about the money being hidden under the wallpaper in Mrs. Miller’s old house.”

“You boys have done a fine job,” Mr. Grant said.

“The Bankers’ Protective Association will be glad to see that you get the reward. If the money is pasted under the wallpaper, it’s no wonder the police didn’t find it when they searched the house.

“However, we have a little problem. The house is undoubtedly occupied. It’ll take special police authority to enter it and rip off the wallpaper. I’m not sure —”

Bob was unable to hold back his news any longer.

“That’s just it, Mr. Grant,” he burst out. “If the house is still standing, it isn’t occupied, and it won’t be standing much longer!”

The others looked at him in amazement. He hurried on to explain.

“When I went back to the library to get my jacket, I heard a woman telling the librarian about having to get out of her house on Maple Street, and her trouble finding a new place. She finally moved down here to Rocky Beach. I asked the librarian about it and she told me there had been a piece in the paper last week. I looked it up in the copy at the library. Then I found the paper at home and cut out the story. Here it is!”

He thrust a folded piece of newspaper into Jupiter’s hand. Jupiter unfolded it, and he and Mr. Grant and Pete all read it swiftly.

More than 300 homes, some of them new and attractive, standempty and silent today, awaiting the bulldozers of the wreckers.Soon they will be only memories to the residents who have hadto move out of them, to make way for the freeway extension thatwill rise in their place.

A fifteen-block length of Maple Street will vanish to be replacedby a six-lane freeway designed to speed the ever-increasing loadof traffic through Los Angeles. Not only Maple Street will beaffected, but nearby houses on the cross streets will also go.

The heartbreak to the residents who have had to move from theirhomes is new to them, but it is only a repetition of thousandsof similar cases since the freeway programme in this city began.The urgent need to keep the traffic flowing through the city hasmeant the destruction of many thousands of homes to make wayfor the freeways.