The Mystery of the Kidnapped Whale - Marc Brandel [25]
Within an hour Jupiter had taken all the old, rusted screws out and had disconnected the washing machine’s motor. He hoisted it onto his workbench. It wasn’t in as bad a shape as he had feared. It must be one of the early postwar models, he thought, at least thirty years old. They had certainly built things to last in those days.
The first thing it needed was a new driving belt. He would have to make one. He started to rummage around the workshop for a length of tough rubber.
Jupe suddenly stopped dead. His mind was so busy figuring out how to fix the washing machine that for a second he didn’t realize what it was that had halted him. A red light was blinking over his workbench. That meant the phone was ringing in Headquarters.
Jupiter was not normally fast on his feet. But in less than half a minute he had pulled the old grating aside, squeezed his tubby body through the pipe of Tunnel Two, pushed open the trap door, bobbed up through it like a cork, and snatched up the phone.
“Hullo,” he said breathlessly. “Jupiter Jones speaking.”
“Hullo, Mr. Jones,” a familiar voice replied. “I’m calling to find out what progress you’ve been making with that whale.”
Only he didn’t say “whale.” He pronounced it “way–ull.”
“I’m glad you called, sir,” Jupiter told him. “We’ve been making a lot of progress. I’m happy to be able to tell you that by seven o’clock tomorrow morning, Fluke, I mean the way–ull, will be back in the ocean and our assignment completed.”
There was a long silence.
“Hullo?” Jupe said. “Hullo?”
“Well, that is good news, Mr. Jones,” the caller told him. “You are certainly to be congratulated.”
“Thank you.”
“And rewarded too. I believe I mentioned a fee of one hundred dollars.”
“Yes, sir. You did. If you’ll give me your name and address, I’ll be glad to send you a bill, and I will enclose a photograph of the whale in the ocean to prove we’ve done our job.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’ll take your word for it. In fact, I’ll be out of town for the next few weeks, so if you would care to meet me this evening, Mr. Jones, I’ll pay you the hundred dollars at once.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Jupe agreed, although his mind was racing with suspicions and questions. Why wouldn’t the man tell him his name? Why was he so willing to take Jupe’s word for it that the Three Investigators had earned their hundred-dollar reward?
“Where shall I meet you and what time, sir?” he asked.
“You know Burbank Park?”
Jupiter did. Years ago it had been a popular recreation area. There was an old bandstand in the center of it where people had once gathered on Sunday evenings to listen to Sousa marches and medleys from Gilbert and Sullivan.
But the city of Rocky Beach had grown and developed away from the park. The Burbank neighborhood had been left behind. The park was still there but it had become derelict, a place of overgrown paths and tangled bushes. It had been years since any band had played there.
It had been years since anyone, anyone Jupe knew, had dared to venture into Burbank Park after dark.
“Eight o’clock this evening,” the caller instructed him. “Don’t bother to bring your friends with you. Just come yourself, Mr. Jones. I’ll be waiting for you by the bay–and stay–and.”
“Sir –” Jupiter was going to ask his client if he couldn’t pick a better place to meet. But he was too late. The caller had hung up.
Jupe stood for a while staring down at the desk, thinking. The caller had asked him to come alone. That was another odd thing that had aroused his suspicions.
He picked up the phone again and called Bob and Pete. He told them about the mysterious call and the odd meeting place their client had chosen. Then he went back to work on the washing machine.
By five o’clock he had the repaired motor bolted back in place with new screws. He called Aunt Mathilda into the yard and plugged the machine into the socket over the workbench.
There was a purring sound which rose quickly to a roar as the rotating drum began to turn, slowly at first, then faster and faster. The whole