Роберт Артур - The Mystery of the Talking Skull

Welcome, mystery lovers! We are gathered together again for another stimulating case of The Three Investigators, whose official motto is “We Investigate Anything”. If they had known what they were getting into when they tackled the curious case of the talking skull they might have changed their motto.

Be that as it may, they find themselves this time in a mix-up of mystery and danger which leads them from one perplexing enigma to another until — but I am not a blabbermouth. I promised faithfully not to tell too much and I shall keep my promise.

Indeed, I shall only say that The Three Investigators are Jupiter Jones, Pete Crenshaw, and Bob Andrews, who all make their home in Rocky Beach, a small municipality in California a few miles from Hollywood. Their Headquarters is a mobile home trailer in The Jones Salvage Yard, a super junkyard owned by Jupiter’s aunt and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Titus Jones.

The boys make an excellent team. Jupiter has a quick mind and is adept at deductions. Pete is less intellectual but sturdy and courageous. Bob is somewhat studious and an excellent researcher. Together they have solved some very intriguing mysteries indeed.

Which is all I shall say at this time, for I know you are eager to dispense with this preview and get to the main feature.

ALFRED HITCHCOCK

It all started because Jupiter Jones read the newspaper.

The Three Investigators — Jupiter, Pete Crenshaw, and Bob Andrews — were taking it easy back in Jupe’s workshop section of The Jones Salvage Yard. Bob was writing up some notes on their last case. Pete was just enjoying the California morning sunshine. And Jupiter was reading the paper.

Presently he looked up from its pages.

“Has either of you ever been to an auction?” he asked.

Bob said no. Pete shook his head.

“Neither have I,” Jupiter said. “The paper says there’s an auction this morning at the Davis Auction Company in Hollywood. They’ll be auctioning off to the highest bidder unclaimed luggage from a number of hotels. The paper says there are trunks and suitcases with unknown contents, left behind by people who moved, or couldn’t pay their bill, or who just forgot to call for them. I think it might be interesting to visit an auction.”

“Why?” Pete asked. “I don’t need a suitcase full of somebody’s old clothes.”

“Neither do I,” Bob said. “Let’s go swimming.”

“We should seek out new experiences,” Jupiter said. “Every new experience helps broaden our background as investigators. I’ll see if Uncle Titus will let Hans drive us up to Hollywood in the light truck.”

Hans, one of two Bavarian brothers who helped in the salvage yard, was free. And so, an hour later, the boys were standing in a large room crowded with people, watching a short, plump auctioneer on a raised platform auction off trunks and suitcases as rapidly as possible. At the moment he had a new-looking suitcase in front of him and was trying to get one more bid on it.

“Going once! Going once!” he shouted. “Going twice! Going twice!… Gone! Sold for twelve dollars and fifty cents to the gentleman with the red necktie.”

The auctioneer banged his gavel, signifying that the sale was final. Then he turned to see what came next.

“Now we come to lot 98!” he sang out. “A very interesting item, ladies and gentlemen. Interesting and unusual. Hoist it up where everyone can see it, boys.”

Two sturdy workmen lifted a small, old-fashioned trunk on to the platform. Pete stirred restlessly. It was a hot day and the room was stuffy. Some of the men present seemed quite interested in bidding on the unknown contents of the luggage, but Pete couldn’t have cared less.

“C’mon, Jupe, let’s go!” Pete muttered to his stocky companion.

“Just a little longer,” Jupiter whispered back. “This looks like an interesting item. I think I’ll bid on it.”

“On that?” Pete stared at the trunk. “You’re crazy.”

“Just the same, I think I’ll try to buy it. If it’s worth anything, we’ll all share.”

“Worth anything? It’s probably full of clothes that went out of style in 1890,” Bob said.

The trunk indeed looked old. It was made of wood, with leather straps and leather binding, and had a rounded top. It looked stoutly locked.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” the auctioneer shouted “I invite your attention to this fine trunk. Believe me, folks, they don’t make trunks like this one any more!”

A snicker went through the crowd. It was certainly true no one made trunks like that any more. The trunk could easily have been fifty years old.

“I think it’s an old actor’s trunk,” Jupe whispered to his two companions. “The kind actors touring in plays used to take with them to keep their costumes in.”

“One thing we don’t need is a bunch of old costumes,” Pete muttered back. “For goodness sake, Jupe —”

But the auctioneer was already shouting his sales talk.

“Look at it, ladies and gentlemen, look at it!” he cried. “Not new, not modern, no indeed. But think of it as an antique. Think of it as a fond memento of grandfather’s day. And what may be in it?”

He rapped the trunk with his knuckles. It gave off a dull thud.

“Who knows what it holds? It might hold anything. Why, folks, the crown jewels of the former czars of old Russia might be in that trunk. I don’t guarantee it, but certainly the possibility can’t be denied. Now what am I bid? Give me an offer, someone. Give me an offer.”

The crowd was silent. Apparently no one wanted an old trunk. The auctioneer looked annoyed.

“Come on, folks!” he implored. “Give me a bid! Let’s get this started. This fine old antique trunk, this precious relic of yesterday, this —”

He was just getting wound up in his spiel when Jupiter Jones took a step forward.

“One dollar!” he called, his voice squeaking slightly with excitement.

“One dollar!” the auctioneer interrupted himself to shout. “I have one dollar from that intelligent-looking young man in the first row. And you know what I’m going to do, folks? I’m going to reward this intelligence by selling it to him for one dollar! Sold!”

And he brought his gavel down hard. The crowd chuckled. No one else wanted the trunk, and the auctioneer wasn’t wasting time trying to get any more bids. Now Jupiter Jones was the somewhat surprised owner of one antique trunk, tightly locked, contents unknown.

At that moment, however, there was a stir at the back of the crowd. A woman was trying to push her way through — a little old lady with white hair, an old-fashioned hat, and gold-rimmed spectacles.

“Wait a minute!” she called. “I want to bid. Ten dollars! I bid ten dollars for the trunk!”

People turned to look at her, surprised at anyone wanting to pay ten dollars for such an old trunk.

“Twenty dollars!” the white-haired woman called, waving her hand. “I’ll bid twenty dollars!”

“I’m sorry, madam,” the auctioneer called back. “The article has been sold and all sales are final. Take it away, men, take it away. We have to get on with the sale.”

The two workmen lifted the trunk down from the platform, swinging it towards The Three Investigators.

“Here you are,” one said. Pete and Jupiter stepped forward.

“Well, it looks as if we own one old trunk,” Pete grumbled, seizing a leather handle at one end. “Now what’ll we do with it !”