The Mystery of the Scar-faced Beggar - M. V. Carey [11]
“A robbery? I didn’t hear. I didn’t have the car radio on. What happened? And what about these kids? I don’t understand.”
Mr. Bonestell quickly related the details of the robbery. “And I’m the one who let the thieves in,” he said. “I think the police suspect that I’m involved with them.”
Mr. Bonestell’s expression was bleak. “It was careless of me,” he admitted. “If I’d really looked at that man at the door, I’d have know it was a stranger. But even if I was careless, that doesn’t mean I’m a crook! I never did a dishonest thing in my life! Only, the police don’t know me, so I have to find someone to help me prove I’m innocent.”
“A lawyer,” said Shelby. He nodded smugly,
like one who always has the correct answers. “Very
wise of you, Walter, but what has that to do with these boys. Why were they looking in the window?”
Mr. Bonestell looked downcast. “I suppose they’re suspicious, too.” He leaned towards Jupe. “At first I thought maybe Mr. Sebastian might help. He was on the Harry Travers Show last week talking about the movie he just finished working on, and he said that sometimes people get into trouble just because they happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m one of those people, aren’t I? So I thought maybe Mr. Sebastian would be interested in my … my case. One of the secretaries at the bank thought maybe he’d help me, and she got his address for me from the Downtown Credit Reporting Service. He’s got an unlisted phone — I guess a lot of famous people do — so I went to see him and …”
“Walter, stop blithering!” ordered Shelby. “Who is Mr. Sebastian, for heaven’s sake?”
Jupe cleared his throat. “He’s a novelist and a screenwriter,” he said. “He used to be a private investigator. We saw him this morning. You see, someone dropped a wallet belonging to Mr. Sebastian outside the bank, and Bob here — Bob Andrews —
picked it up.”
“I think I was across the street from the bank when the robber came to the door,”
Bob put in. “I saw you let him in, Mr. Bonestell.”
“When we saw you come to Mr. Sebastian’s house this morning after we returned the wallet,” said Pete, “we were kind of suspicious. We thought that there might be some connection between you and Mr. Sebastian and … and the robbery.”
Pete paused, his face growing red. “It sounds silly now that I’m saying it out loud,” he confessed.
“I was only going to ask for help,” said Mr. Bonestell, “but Mr. Sebastian is starting work on a new book, and he doesn’t have time to help. He gave me the names of some private investigators here in Los Angeles, but he thinks if I see anyone, I should see a lawyer. I made some calls this afternoon. Do you know what lawyers cost? And private detectives? I can’t afford either!”
Jupe sat straighter in his chair. “Mr. Bonestell, perhaps we were suspicious when we first came here, but I’m not suspicious any longer. I think we can help you. You see, Mr. Bonestell, we are private detectives.”
Jupe took out a Three Investigators business card and handed it to Mr. Bonestell.
“How quaint!” said Shelby, reading over Mr. Bonestell’s shoulder. His tone was sarcastic.
“We are hardly quaint,” said Jupe. He kept his voice even. “We have a record of success that many conventional agencies might envy. We are not hampered by many prejudices, as older people often are. We believe that almost anything is possible, and we believe in following our best instincts. Mr. Bonestell, I don’t believe that you could have had a part in a bank robbery. I think my friends feel the same way.”
Jupe looked at Bob and Pete, who nodded.
“Mr. Bonestell,” said Jupe, “if you will accept us, The Three Investigators would like to have you as a client.”
Walter Bonestell seemed stunned. “You’re so young!” he said.
“Is that really such a handicap?” asked Jupe.
Bonestell twisted his hands nervously. “I should get a real firm only … only …”
“Walter, what would that cost you?” said Shelby.
The younger man pulled a chair up to the table. He looked past Mr. Bonestell and the boys to the night-black window, frowning at his own reflection. He brushed back