The Mystery of the Flaming Footprints - M. V. Carey [31]
Bob slipped into the bathroom, turned on the cold water tap, and soaked a washcloth.
“There it goes again!” cried Mrs Dobson.
“There what goes?” asked Jupiter.
“It stopped,” said Mrs Dobson. “The water was running someplace.”
“I did that, Mrs Dobson.” Bob came in, carrying the wet cloth. “I thought you might use this.”
“Oh.” She took the cloth and dabbed at her face.
“Just after you left,” Pete explained, “we could hear water running in the pipes, but every tap in the house was turned off. Then, we were all about to turn in, and there was this sound downstairs, like a thud. Mrs Dobson came out to see what was up, and there were three little fires on the stairs. I smothered them with a blanket, and we’ve got another set of footprints.”
Jupiter and Bob returned to the stairs to examine the charred marks.
“Exactly like the ones in the kitchen,” said Jupiter. He touched one, then sniffed his fingertips. “Peculiar odour. Chemicals of some type.”
“So what does that get us?” demanded Pete. “We’ve got a ghost with a Ph.D. in chemistry?”
“It is probably too late,” said Jupiter, “but I suggest that we search the house.”
“Jupe, nobody could have got in here,” insisted Pete. “This place is locked up tighter than the vault at the Bank of America.”
Jupiter insisted, however, and the house was searched from cellar to attic. Except for the Dobsons, The Three Investigators, and a vast amount of ceramic art, the place was empty.
“I want to go home,” said Eloise
Dobson.
“We’ll go, Mum,” promised Tom.
“We’ll go in the morning, okay?”
“What’s the matter with right now?”
asked Mrs Dobson.
“You’re tired, Mum.”
“You think I could sleep in this place?”
demanded Mrs Dobson.
“Would you feel safer if we all stayed
tonight?” asked Jupiter Jones.
Eloise Dobson shivered and stretched
out on the brass bed, kicking at the
footboard with her stocking feet. “I’d feel
safer,” she admitted. “Do you suppose we
could ask the fire department up for the
night, too?”
“Let’s hope we don’t need them,” said
Jupiter.
“Try to rest, huh, Mum?” Tom had
padded out to the linen closet for an extra
blanket. He covered his mother, who was
still wearing the blouse and skirt she had had on that afternoon.
“I ought to get up and get undressed,” said Mrs Dobson wearily. She didn’t, however. She put one arm up to cover her eyes. “Don’t turn out the light,” she said.
“I won’t,” said Tom.
“And don’t go away,” she murmured.
“I’ll stay right here,” said Tom.
Mrs Dobson said nothing more. She had dropped into an exhausted slumber.
The boys tiptoed out to the landing. “I’ll get another blanket and sleep on the floor in Mum’s room,” said Tom softly. “Will you guys really stay all night?”
“I can telephone Aunt Mathilda,” announced Jupiter. “I will inform her that your mother is feeling rather upset and wishes company. And perhaps she can call Mrs Andrews.”
“I’ll call my mother,” said Bob. “I can just tell her I’m staying over with you.”
“Maybe we should call the police,” said Tom.
“So far that has done no good,” Jupiter told him. “Lock the door after us when we go to the call box.”
“Don’t worry,” said Pete.
“I’ll rap three times when we come back,” said Jupiter. “Then I’ll wait, and rap three more times.”
“Got you.” Pete unlocked and unbolted the door and Jupiter and Bob slipped out into the night, crossed The Potter’s yard, and went into the call box on the main road.
Aunt Mathilda was more than concerned when she learned that Mrs Dobson was upset and wanted company. Jupiter did not mention the second set of flaming footprints to her. He spent the better part of his three minutes persuading her not to rouse Uncle Titus and have him come with the truck to collect the Dobsons and remove them bodily to the security and comfort of the Jones house. “Mrs Dobson’s asleep now,” Jupiter said finally. “She only said she’d feel safer if we all stayed in the house with her.”
“There aren’t enough beds,” argued Aunt Mathilda.