The Mystery of the Kidnapped Whale - Marc Brandel [21]
No one said anything for at least a minute. Constance lowered her head, resting it on the steering wheel. She was breathing deeply, taking long controlled breaths the way she did after a dive.
“Okay,” she said. Her voice was a little hoarse but quite steady. “Let’s all pile out and see what the damage is. We’ll have to get out your side, Bob. My door’s jammed.”
For a moment, after he had climbed down onto the road, Bob had to hang on to the side of the truck to stay on his feet. His legs wouldn’t support him. He didn’t seem to have any feeling in them.
Then he remembered Pete.
He stumbled to the tailgate and lowered it.
Pete was lying face down on the metal floor. His arms and legs were stretched out like a starfish. He wasn’t moving.
“Hey, Jupe,” Bob yelled. “Come here.”
Bob climbed into the back of the truck and Jupe followed him. They both knelt beside Pete. Bob gently lifted his friend’s wrist and felt for his pulse.
Pete stirred slightly at his touch. He opened his eyes.
“Hurry up and tell me,” he whispered urgently. “Am I alive or dead?”
“You seem to be alive.” Bob couldn’t help laughing with relief. “Your pulse is fine and your sense of humor’s undamaged.”
“Sense of humor, my foot.” Pete rolled over and sat up, feeling his arms and legs for any broken bones. He didn’t find any. “What in thunder and lightning was going on? You all go crazy up front, or were you just practicing for the stock-car races?”
Jupe shook his head. It must have been worse for Pete, he realized, being flung around in the open back of the truck without any idea of what was going on.
“My guess is that someone disconnected the brakes,” he said.
“On purpose?” Pete was on his feet now.
“Let’s go and find out,” Bob suggested.
It didn’t take them long to discover that Jupe’s guess was right. Constance had the hood open by the time they joined her, and they could all see at once that the connecting rods of the foot pedal and the hand brake had been neatly cut with a hacksaw.
“Somebody could have done it while the truck was parked outside Slater’s house,” Jupe told Constance. “They had plenty of time.”
“Somebody?” Constance demanded. “Who?”
But that was a question the First Investigator couldn’t answer yet. It was a question that needed a lot of careful, deductive thought.
For the next couple of hours, while Constance called her friends with the tow truck, while they waited for them, while she dropped the Three Investigators off at the salvage yard before going on to San Pedro, Jupe did his best to give it that kind of thought.
But it wasn’t until he was leaning back in the old swivel chair behind his desk at Headquarters that he felt he could really put his brain into action and concentrate the way he needed to.
“Somebody.” Jupe was thinking aloud so Bob and Pete could follow his deductions and help him if they had any suggestions. “Somebody doesn’t want us to find the wreck of Captain Carmel’s boat. They were prepared to try and kill us this afternoon – or cause us a serious accident anyway – to stop Constance, to stop all of us from going ahead with our plan to train Fluke to search for the boat.”
He was silent for a moment, pinching his lip.
“Now,” he went on. “There seem to be three possible suspects. Three that we know about, anyway.
“One.” He held up a pudgy finger. “Oscar Slater. But Slater seems to have everything to gain by finding that wreck. Not only that, but everything he’s done – kidnapping Fluke, persuading Constance to train him – everything seems to show he wants us to succeed.”
Jupe paused again.
“So let’s go on to number two.” A second pudgy finger joined the first one. “Paul Donner. What do we know about him? When we met him in San Pedro, he knew our names. He knew we were the Three Investigators. How did he know that?”
No one answered.
“Paul Donner told us a lot of lies, pretending to be Constance’s father,” Jupe went on. “But he also told us some things that were true. He told us Captain Carmel was taking