The Mystery of the Flaming Footprints - M. V. Carey [5]
Jupe walked quickly past the displays on the wooden tables and up two little steps which were guarded by a pair of urns. The urns were almost as tall as Jupiter himself.
A band of double-headed eagles, similar to the eagle on The Potter’s medallion, encircled each urn. The eyes glared white in the birds’ heads, and the beaks were open as if they screamed defiance at one another.
The wooden porch creaked slightly under Jupe’s feet. “Mr. Potter?” he called.
“Are you here?”
There was no answer. Jupe frowned. The front door stood slightly open. The Potter, Jupe knew, did not worry greatly about the things in the front garden. They were large and couldn’t be carried off easily. But Jupe also knew that everything else The Potter owned was kept securely under lock and key. If the front door was open, The Potter had to be at home.
But when Jupe stepped in through the door, the hall was empty — or as empty as a hall can be when it is lined, floor to high ceiling, with shelves, and when the shelves are crowded with platters, cups, plates, sugar-bowls and cream pitchers, little vases, and colourful small dishes. The things gleamed, dustless and in perfect order, each one placed so that it would look its very best.
“Mr. Potter?” Jupe was shouting now.
There was no sound, except for the refrigerator which Jupe could hear clicking and humming away in the kitchen. Jupiter looked at the stairs, wondering whether or not he should venture up to the first floor. The Potter might have returned and crept up to bed. He might have fainted.
Then Jupe heard a tiny sound. Something in the house had stirred. To Jupe’s left, as he stood in the hall, was a closed door. It was, Jupe knew, The Potter’s office. The sound had come from there.
“Mr. Potter?” Jupiter rapped at the door.
No one answered. Jupiter put his hand on the doorknob. It turned easily, and the door swung open before Jupe. Except for the roll-top desk in the corner, and the shelves piled high with ledgers and invoice forms, the office was empty. Jupiter went slowly into the room. The Potter did quite a brisk mail-order business. Jupiter saw stacks of price lists, a pile of order forms and a box of envelopes perched on the edge of one shelf.
Then Jupiter saw something which made him catch his breath. The Potter’s desk had been forced open. There were fresh scratches on the wood and on the lock which usually secured the desk’s roll top. One drawer was open and empty, and file folders were spilled across the top.
Someone had been searching The Potter’s office.
Jupe started to turn towards the door. Suddenly he felt hands on his shoulders. A foot was thrust between his ankles, and he was shoved, floundering, towards the corner of the room. His head struck the edge of a shelf and he fell, a cascade of papers fluttering down on top of him.
Jupiter was barely aware that a door slammed and a key turned in a lock. Footsteps pounded away across the porch.
Jupe managed to sit up. He waited a moment, afraid that he might be sick. When he was sure that his breakfast would remain where he had put it and that his wits were fairly steady, he got up and stumbled to the window. The Potter’s front garden was unoccupied. The searcher, whoever he was, had escaped.
Chapter 3
The Potter’s Family
THERE SHOULD BE a law, thought Jupiter, about telephones. Even eccentric potters should be required to have one.
On the other hand, even if The Potter had had a telephone, it would have been of little use by this time. Whoever had ransacked the office was probably a mile away by now.
Jupiter yanked at the doorknob. The door didn’t budge. Jupe went down on one knee and looked through the old-fashioned keyhole. The door had been locked from the outside, and the key was still in the lock. Jupe went to The Potter’s desk, found a letter opener, and set to work on the lock.
He could, of