The Mystery of the Invisible Dog - M. V. Carey [5]
“I’m very sorry, Charles,” said Mr. Prentice. “This must be especially painful for you.”
“For you, too,” said Charles Niedland. “Don’t let it upset you too much, Fenton, and try to get some rest. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”
Charles Niedland went in through the courtyard and out through the rear passageway which led, Jupe supposed, to an alley and to the buildings on the street behind Paseo Place. Fenton Prentice sat down on the steps as if he were too exhausted to stand any longer. “What a desecration!” he exclaimed.
“The burglary?” asked Bob.
“Edward Niedland was my friend,” explained Prentice. “My friend, my protégé, and a very fine artist. He died two weeks ago, of pneumonia.”
The boys were silent.
“A great loss,” said Fenton Prentice. “Very hard for me to accept, and very hard for his brother Charles. And now to have his home broken into!”
“Was anything taken?” asked Bob.
“Charles doesn’t know yet. He is going to check the contents of the house right now, with the police.”
There were brisk steps on the pavement behind the boys. Bob and Pete turned. A hearty, robust-appearing man in a beige sweater strode jauntily to the flagstone stairs. At the sight of Prentice sitting there, and the boys hovering near him, the man stopped and stared.
“Anything the matter?” he asked.
“There has been a burglary in the neighbourhood, Mr. Murphy,” said Prentice. “The police have been searching.”
“Oh,” said the newcomer. “I thought there were a lot of squad cars around. Did they get the guy?”
“Unfortunately, they did not.”
“Too bad,” said Murphy. He went around Prentice and up the steps. A second later the boys heard an apartment door inside the courtyard open and close.
“I think I will retire upstairs,” said Mr. Prentice. He stood up weakly. “Please call me tomorrow with your agreement to help, boys. I can’t go on this way much longer. First the haunting intruder, then Edward’s death, and now the burglary — it’s more than a man can bear!”
Chapter 3
The Magic Ointment
Very early the next morning, Bob Andrews and Pete Crenshaw met in front of The Jones Salvage Yard. This establishment was owned by Jupiter’s Uncle Titus and Aunt Mathilda Jones. It was a fascinating spot for anyone interested in curious old objects.
Uncle Titus did most of the buying for the yard, and he had a talent for collecting unusual items along with ordinary junk. People came from all parts of Southern California to prowl through his finds. Wooden panelling rescued from houses which were to be torn down, ornate iron fences, marble mantles, old-fashioned, claw-legged bathtubs, odd brass doorknobs and hinges — all were to be found in Uncle Titus’ stock.
There was even a pipe organ, which Uncle Titus loved and refused to sell at any price.
When Bob and Pete arrived that December morning, no bargain hunters prowled through the heaps of salvage. In fact, the great iron gates of the yard were padlocked.
Pete yawned. “Sometimes I wish I’d never met Jupiter Jones,” he announced. “Some nerve, calling at six in the morning!”
“No one ever said Jupe didn’t have nerve!” Bob remarked. “But if he called that early, we know it must be important. Come on.”
The boys left the locked gate and walked along beside the board fence that surrounded the yard. This fence had been decorated by artists of Rocky Beach, for whom Uncle Titus had done favours from time to time. The front section featured a seascape —
a stormy scene which showed a sailing ship foundering amid mountainous waves. In the foreground, a painted fish put its head out of the painted sea to watch the sinking ship.
Bob pushed on the eye of the fish, and two green boards in the fence swung up. This was Green Gate One, a secret entrance to the salvage yard.
Bob and Pete went through the opening and let the gate swing shut behind them.
They now stood in Jupiter’s outdoor workshop, an area separated from the rest of the yard by carefully arranged heaps of junk. There was a small printing press in the workshop, and behind