The Mystery of Sinister Scarecrow - M. V. Carey [0]
OF
THE SINISTER SCARECROW
M. V. Carey
A word from Alfred Hitchcock
Greetings, mystery lovers!
Once more I have the pleasure of introducing an adventure of The Three Investigators, those daring young sleuths who are always intrigued by the uncanny and the bizarre. In this case, the boys attempt to help a lady in distress. A worthy endeavor, you will say. Quite so. But it is a dangerous one, too! As the young detectives go about their task, they must match wits with a sinister scarecrow who haunts the twilight, and evade the killer ants that march in the night.
If you already know The Three Investigators, you may turn immediately to Chapter One, where the story begins. If you have not yet met this remarkable trio, be informed that Jupiter Jones, the leader of the group, is a stout lad with an encyclopedic memory and a marvelous talent for deduction. Pete Crenshaw, the second investigator, is quick and athletic — if occasionally alarmed at Jupiter’s ability to stir up trouble. Bob Andrews is a studious boy whose skill as a researcher helps solve the puzzle that confront the boys. All three lads reside in Rocky Beach, California, a small town on the Pacific Coast not far from Hollywood.
So much for the introductions. Now on with the adventure!
Alfred Hitchcock
Chapter 1
Attacked!
“WATCH OUT!” yelled Pete Crenshaw. “We’ll crash!”
The pickup truck from The Jones Salvage Yard skidded on the dirt road. Brakes screeched, let go, then screeched again. Then the truck jolted into the ditch and came to a bone-rattling halt with one fender crumpled against a live oak tree.
“By golly!” said Hans, the driver. He was one of two Bavarian brothers who worked in the salvage yard. He sat for a moment and drew a deep breath, then again he said, “By golly!”
Hans took a careful look at the three boys in the Truck. Jupiter Jones, sitting next to him in the cab, appeared shaken but unharmed. In the open back of the truck, Pete Crenshaw and Bob Andrews were still hanging on to the side for dear life. Their feet were braced to keep them from being thrown out.
“You okay?” called Hans.
Bob and Pete nodded and let go of the side of the truck. Their muscles were cramped from holding on so tight.
Slowly everyone climbed out of the truck to inspect the damage. Hans stared with dismay at the front tire that
had blown out, sending them
careening off the winding
mountain road.
“By golly!’ said Hans for
the third time. “I did not
think I had been going so
fast.”
“Can you get her out of
the ditch?” asked Jupiter.
Hans looked doubtful. He
climbed back behind the
wheel. The ignition ground
and the engine roared. Gears
shifted and Hans looked back
over his shoulder. But the rear wheels of the truck spun uselessly in the dirt.
Hans killed the engine and climbed down again. “We are stuck,” he said. “Jupe, I think we call your uncle Titus. He will come with the other truck and haul us out.
Then I can change the tire.”
“Oh, great!” said Pete. “Call him from where?”
Hans and the three boys looked around at the deserted landscape. They had left Rocky Beach twenty minutes earlier, bound for a cabin in the Santa Monica Mountains. The owner wanted to sell his belongings before he headed back to his hometown in Indiana.
“Some of the people who live in those hills have interesting things,” Uncle Titus had said after he received the telephone call from the man. “Jupiter, why don’t you and Hans or Konrad take the truck and go see what the man is selling? If his bed’s really brass, as he says, buy it. And buy anything else you think we can resell.”
“Nothing weird, please, Jupiter,” said Aunt Mathilda Jones. She was always irritated when Uncle Titus came home from a buying trip with an item that would be difficult to dispose of. But her fears were groundless. The Jones Salvage Yard in Rocky Beach was known up and down the Pacific Coast. Buyers came there looking for items that could not be found anywhere else, so even the most unusual things were eventually sold.
Jupiter had been excited at the thought of doing some