The Mystery of the Flaming Footprints - M. V. Carey [34]
“Should there be?” said Pete. “He didn’t like getting his name in the papers. Not that I could ever recall.”
“True. And yet the men at Hilltop House yesterday mentioned that accounts of his artistry had appeared in periodicals. When accounts of your artistry appear in periodicals, the normal thing to do is to save the periodicals. Right?”
“Right,” said Bob.
“So we can assume one of two things,” said Jupiter. “Either The Potter does not have even the normal amount of vanity, or there were no accounts in periodicals –
except for the photo spread in Westways. And The Potter did not even know of that until Saturday. He was not pleased when he did see it.”
“Meaning?” asked Tom Dobson.
“Meaning that The Potter wanted to keep your existence a secret — and the last thing in the world he wanted for himself was acclaim. Perhaps he had very good reasons. Tom, we do not know why, but we learned last night that the two men who have rented Hilltop House are most interested in your grandfather. They appeared in Rocky Beach almost two months after the Westways spread came out with your grandfather’s photograph. Does this suggest anything to you?”
“It suggests that Grandpa may have been on the run,” said Tom. “But from what?”
“Do you know anything about Lapathia?” asked Jupiter.
“Never heard of it. What is it?”
“It’s a country – a small European country, where a political assassination took place many years ago.”
Tom shrugged. “According to Grandma, my grandfather was from the Ukraine,”
he said.
“Have you ever heard the name Azimov?” asked Jupiter.
“Nope.”
“That could not have been your grandfather’s name before he changed it to Potter?”
“No. He had a very long name. Very long. You couldn’t pronounce it.”
Jupiter stood, pulling at his lip.
“He went to a lot of trouble to hide a bunch of old newspapers,” said Tom. “He could have done it much easier, if it was all that important. He could have stuck them in a file with some old bills — you know, like ‘ The Purloined Letter’ by Edgar Allan Poe.”
Pete put a hand to the heavy plaque. “That would have made more sense,” he said.
“A thing like this in an empty room is bound to attract attention, if you’re looking for attention.”
“And he wasn’t,” said Jupiter. “It was the last thing in the world he wanted.”
Jupiter bent to examine the fireplace beneath the mantel. It was spotless.
Obviously no one had ever lighted a fire in it. Jupe went down on his knees and peered inside, looking up. “There is no chimney,” he announced. “The fireplace is a sham.”
“Probably The Potter built it himself,” guessed Bob.
“In that case, why is this little trap here?” said Jupiter. He lifted a small metal flap which had been built into the floor of the fireplace. “When you have a real fireplace, you have one of these to sweep the ashes out. Why put one in a false fireplace, where there will never be ashes?”
Jupiter squeezed his hand into the opening in the brick floor of the fireplace. He touched paper. “There’s something here!” he cried. “An envelope!” He edged it up and out, and let the little metal trap clank shut.
It was a brown manila envelope sealed with a large blob of red wax.
“The other secret library behind the plaque was a decoy,” Jupiter decided. He held up the envelope. “I think the real secret is here. Well, Tom, what do we do now? It belongs to your grandfather, and he is missing and you are our client. What do we do?”
“We open it,” said Tom without hesitation.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” murmured Bob.
Jupiter broke the seal on the envelope.
“Well?” said Tom.
Jupiter took out a single sheet of heavy parchment which had been folded three times. He unfolded it with great care.
“Well, what is it?” asked Tom.
Jupiter frowned. “I don’t know. A certificate of some kind. It looks like a diploma or a degree, except that it’s not big enough.”
The boys crowded around Jupiter. “What kind of language is that?” asked Pete.
Bob shook his head. “Beats me,” he said. “I never saw anything like it before.”
Jupiter went to the window