The Mystery of the Flaming Footprints - M. V. Carey [3]
Jupe stepped to the door of the furniture shack. The Potter followed. Parked in the drive, close to The Potter’s battered truck, was a gleaming black Cadillac. The horn blared again, and the driver of the car got out, stared around impatiently, then started for the door of the office.
Jupe hurried forward. “Can I help you?” he called.
The man stopped and waited for Jupe and The Potter to come to him. He had, thought Jupiter, a shuttered expression, like one who is used to keeping his thoughts to himself. He was tall and lean and not very old, though a frosting of silver showed here and there in his dark, curling hair.
“Yes, sir?” said Jupe. “You wanted something?”
“I am looking for Hilltop House,” said the man. “I seem to have taken the wrong turn off the highway.” The man spoke the very precise English of the well-educated European.
“It’s a mile north,” Jupe told him. “Go back to the highway and turn right. Drive until you see The Potter’s place. The lane to Hilltop House is just beyond that. You can’t miss it. There’s a wooden gate with a padlock.”
The man nodded a curt thanks and got back into the car. Then, for the first time, Jupe was aware that there was a second person in the Cadillac. A rather thickset man had been sitting motionless in the back seat. Now he leaned forward to touch the driver’s shoulder and say something in a language which Jupe could not understand.
The second man seemed neither young nor old nor anywhere in between. He looked ageless. It took Jupe a moment to realize that this was because he was completely bald. Even his eyebrows were gone – if he had ever had eyebrows. And his skin was tanned to the point where it looked like fine leather.
The ageless one glanced at Jupe, then turned his dark, slightly-angled eyes to The Potter, who had been standing quietly beside Jupe.
The Potter made an odd little hissing sound. Jupe looked at him. He was standing with his head to one side, as if he were listening intently. His right hand had come up to grip the medallion which hung around his neck.
The ageless man in the car leaned
back in his seat. The driver shifted the
gear stick smoothly into reverse and
backed out of the drive. Across the street
from the salvage yard, Aunt Mathilda
emerged from the house in time to see the
Cadillac sweep by and speed back down
to the highway.
The Potter touched Jupiter’s arm.
“My boy,” he said, “would you go and
ask your aunt if I may have a glass of
water? I feel a little dizzy all of a sudden.”
The Potter sat down on a pile of
lumber. He did look ill.
“I’ll get it right away, Mr. Potter,”
promised Jupe. He hurried across the street.
“Who were those men?” asked Aunt
Mathilda.
“They were looking for Hilltop House,”
said Jupiter. He went into the kitchen, took
out the bottle of water that Aunt Mathilda
always kept in the refrigerator, and poured
a glass for The Potter.
“How peculiar,” said Aunt Mathilda. “No one’s lived at Hilltop House for years.”
“I know,” said Jupe. He hurried out with the water. But by the time he got back to the salvage yard, The Potter had disappeared.
Chapter 2
The Searcher
THE POTTER’S decrepit truck was still in the drive when Uncle Titus and Hans returned from Los Angeles. They had a load of rusted garden furniture in the back of the salvage-yard truck. Uncle Titus struggled to maneuver his load past The Potter’s vehicle, then exploded from the cab of his truck. “What is that thing doing in the middle of the drive?” Uncle Titus demanded.
“The Potter left it when he disappeared,” said Jupe.
“When he what?”
“He disappeared,” repeated Jupiter.
Uncle Titus sat down on the running board of the truck. “Jupiter, people do not simply disappear.”
“The Potter did,” said Jupe. “He stopped to buy some furniture to accommodate his expected guests. When he said he was feeling dizzy, I went across to the house and got him a glass of water. While I was gone, he disappeared.”
Uncle Titus pulled at his moustache. “Guests?” he said. “The Potter? Disappeared?
Disappeared where?”