The Mystery of the Scar-faced Beggar - M. V. Carey [9]
“You sure could. Just give me your telephone numbers so I can give you a call.”
“We can be here in half an hour,” said Pete happily.
He gave Mr. Sebastian his telephone number, and so did the other boys. When the Three Investigators left, the famous detective-turned-writer trailed them to the door and stood watching as they wheeled their bikes out on to the road.
“Nice guy,” said Pete when they were out of earshot.
“Yes, he is,” Jupe agreed. “He seemed sorry to see us go. I wonder if he isn’t kind of lonely out here in California. He’s lived almost all of his life in New York.”
“Anytime he wants company on his speedboat,” said Bob, “I’ll be ready. Wow!
That’s really —”
Bob stopped. A small, tan sedan had appeared on the road. It passed the three boys at a sedate pace, then slowed at the entrance to Mr. Sebastian’s yard and turned in. An elderly man got out. He approached the steps of Charlie’s Place and said something to Mr. Sebastian, who still stood in the doorway.
The boys were too far away to hear the conversation, but they stayed on the road and watched. After a moment Mr. Sebastian stepped back. The newcomer went up the steps and disappeared into Charlie’s Place.
“Well, how about that!” exclaimed Bob. “This investigation isn’t over yet!”
“Why do you say that?” asked Pete.
“The security man,” said Bob. “That guy was the security man who let the robbers into the bank in Santa Monica. Now why would he come calling on Mr. Sebastian?”
Chapter 4
The Investigators Find a Client
“IT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE!” said Jupiter. “Hector Sebastian must have more money than he can ever spend! His books are best sellers!”
“Okay!” said Bob. “But if he didn’t have anything to do with that bank robbery, why did the security man from the bank go to see him?”
“I don’t know,” said Jupe.
It was early afternoon, and the Three Investigators were in their secret Headquarters at The Jones Salvage Yard. The boys had waited in the road outside the old restaurant on Cypress Canyon Drive until the security man from the Santa Monica bank had left Hector Sebastian’s home and driven away. They had briefly considered talking to Sebastian again, and asking about the visit of the bank guard, but Jupiter vetoed the idea. He was reluctant to intrude a second time on the famous writer for no better reason than curiosity. So the boys had returned to Headquarters to discuss the events of the morning. They were now sitting around the old oak desk in the trailer. Bob was jotting down items in a notebook as he remembered them.
“The beggar limped last night after the accident, and Mr. Sebastian has a limp,”
he said.
“Mr. Sebastian broke his leg in a dozen places,” Jupe pointed out. “His limp is permanent. Did the beggar limp last night before the accident?”
“I’m not sure,” said Bob.
“The limp could be a coincidence,” said Pete, “but what about the wallet? That’s another coincidence. And then the man who actually let the thieves into the bank goes calling on Mr. Sebastian. That’s a third coincidence, and three is too many.”
“Why don’t we go to the police?” said Bob. “It’s what Mr. Sebastian said we should do. And why would he say that if he’s involved with the robbery?”
“He had to say it,” Pete declared. “He’d be afraid not to. It’s what grownups always say.”
“I think the police would feel that our theories are far-fetched,” said Jupiter.
“Perhaps they’d be right. It’s impossible to believe that Mr. Sebastian helped rob a bank. He has too much to lose. But there must be some connection between him and that event. Perhaps Mr. Bonestell can help us find it.”
“Bonestell?” said Bob.
Jupiter unfolded a newspaper which had been lying on the desk. It was the early edition of the Santa Monica Evening Outlook. He had purchased it from a rack when the boys stopped for pizza on their way home.
“Walter Bonestell is the name of the security man who let the robbers into the bank,” he said. “It’s here in the story on page one.” He reached for a stack of phone directories and found the one he wanted. “Hmmm … the Santa Monica telephone