The Mystery of the Scar-faced Beggar - M. V. Carey [10]
“Jupiter!” The call came from outside the trailer. “Jupiter Jones, where are you? I want you!”
Jupe sighed. “Aunt Mathilda sounds annoyed. She hasn’t seen me since breakfast.
By this time she must have a whole list of things for me to do.”
“My mother is probably looking for me, too,” said Pete.
“I was going to suggest that we visit Mr. Bonestell,” said Jupe. “Perhaps we could do that early this evening. Can you get away then? If we could meet in front of the Rocky Beach Market about seven, we could ride down the coast and see the security man on his own ground.”
“Sounds okay to me,” said Pete.
Bob grinned. “No school tomorrow. Shouldn’t be any problem. See you tonight.”
The boys left the trailer, and Jupiter spent the afternoon working in the salvage yard. That night, after an early supper with Aunt Mathilda and Uncle Titus, he was waiting with his bicycle in front of the market. Bob and Pete appeared at five minutes to seven, and in the dark the boys set out for Santa Monica.
Dolphin Court turned out to be a short, dead-end street in a neighbourhood of small, single-family homes. Number 1129 was a frame house halfway down the street.
The little car that the boys had seen on Cypress Canyon Drive stood in the driveway.
The front of the house was dark, but a light showed at a window in the back. The boys drifted down the driveway and looked through the window into the kitchen.
The security man was there, alone. He sat at a table near the window with a heap of newspapers in front of him and a telephone at his elbow. He was not calling anyone at the moment. He was simply staring at the plastic tablecloth in an unseeing way. He looked older than he had that morning, and more frail. His hair seemed thin and sparse and there were purple shadows under his eyes.
The boys did not speak. After a moment Jupe turned to go to the front of the house and ring the doorbell.
Blocking his way in the driveway
was a man who held an automatic
pistol!
“Exactly what are you up to?”
demanded the man.
He did not aim the pistol, and his
voice was low and controlled, but
Jupe had the nightmare feeling that
he and his friends were in deadly
peril. There was something cold and
determined about the man with the
gun. His mouth was a straight, thin
line, betraying no hint of humour.
Wrap-around sunglasses perched on his head like a second set of cold eyes.
Pete made a startled sound, and the man snapped, “Be still!”
The kitchen window went up and Mr. Bonestell leaned out. “Shelby, what is it?
What are you doing?”
The man with the gun gestured towards the boys. “These three were looking in the window at you.”
“Oh?” said Mr. Bonestell. He sounded puzzled and curious. But then he said
“Oh!” again, and his tone was alarmed.
“Into the house!” ordered the man with the gun. “That way! March!”
The boys marched. They went around to the backyard and in through a service porch to the kitchen.
“What is this all about?” said Mr. Bonestell. “When I went to see Mr. Sebastian this morning, he said three boys had just called on him. It was you three, wasn’t it?
You were on the road when I drove up, weren’t you? With your bicycles.”
“Yes, Mr. Bonestell,” said Jupiter.
“Won’t you sit down?” said Mr. Bonestell. He pulled a chair out from the table near the window.
“Walter, what is all this?” demanded the man with the gun. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure,” said Mr. Bonestell. “Shelby, would you put that gun away? Guns make me nervous!”
Shelby hesitated. Then he hitched his trouser leg up over his shin and slipped the gun into a holster that was strapped to his leg just below the knee.
Pete blinked and stared, but said nothing. The boys took seats at the table.
“Mr. Sebastian said you’d seen a suspicious character near the bank,” said Mr.
Bonestell.
“Will you please tell me what’s going on?” cried Shelby.
Mr. Bonestell sighed. “Haven’t you heard the news on the radio?” he said. “There was a robbery at the bank this morning.