The Secret of the Haunted Mirror - M. V. Carey [32]
“Henry. Henry Anderson.”
“Well, look Mr. Anderson …”
“Just call me Henry. But you look — if I blow this chance, I’m back in the line at the unemployment office.”
Jupiter nodded. “We represent Mrs. Jonathan Darnley,” he said. He took out his wallet and handed one of the cards of The Three Investigators to the young man. “We have reason to believe that Mrs. Darnley’s grandson is being held prisoner in that house.”
“Mrs. Darnley?” said Henry Anderson. “I’ve seen her picture in the papers. But . .
. The Three Investigators? I never heard of The Three Investigators.”
“I am Jupiter Jones,” said Jupe, “and this is Pete Crenshaw. Our partner, Bob Andrews, is keeping a suspect under surveillance in Beverly Hills.”
“Like a television show, isn’t it?” said the cab driver.
“And we are detectives,” Jupiter assured the bread man. We have succeeded in solving mysteries in many cases where the police have failed. In this case, the police haven’t been called in. Mrs. Darnley is afraid that the kidnapper will harm her grandson.”
Henry Anderson turned the card over as if he might find a magical solution to his dilemma printed on the back. He looked at Jupe, then at Pete.
“We ought to hurry,” said Pete. A horrible thought had come to him. “We think Jeff is okay, but we don’t know for sure. He was okay at four this afternoon, when he telephoned his grandmother about the ransom.”
“The police …” said Henry Anderson helplessly.
“We don’t dare,” said Jupe. “Mrs. Darnley won’t hear of it. We have to get Jeff back ourselves.”
“Okay,” said Henry Anderson. “Okay, okay, okay! I’m probably as nutty as you are, but if you’re telling the truth and I don’t help …”
“Lots of luck,” said the cab driver. He drove off.
“What do you want me to do?” asked Anderson.
“Lend me your cap and your jacket,” said Jupe. “Then drive down Hamilton past the old house near the railway tracks. Stop there, and get out and go up and ring the doorbell.”
“I don’t usually ring doorbells,” said Anderson. “I just blow my horn and people come out.”
“If the kidnapper is the one we think he is, he won’t know that,” Jupiter assured him.
Two minutes later the bread van was making its way down Hamilton, past the empty lots and the real estate signs. In the back Jupe was putting on Henry Anderson’s jacket and cap. Pete crouched on the floor, steadying himself by leaning against trays of rolls and bread, cakes and biscuits.
“Watch it, huh?” said Pete to Jupiter.
“Don’t worry,” Jupe assured him. “If I go in and don’t come out again …”
“It’ll mean we don’t have much to lose, won’t it?” said Pete. “If that happens, I’ll come after you.”
“Me, too,” volunteered Henry Anderson. He stopped in front of the dilapidated farmhouse.
“This it?”
“Right.” Jupe climbed down. The jacket was open, since he was a shade too plump to get it buttoned. He took the basket of baked things, began to whistle, and walked up a broken strip of concrete to the steps of the tumble-down house. He mounted carefully to the porch, testing each board before he put his weight on it. There was no doorbell, so he knocked loudly.
He waited. No one moved inside the old house.
He knocked again. “Van Alstyn’s Bakery!” he cried. “Anybody home?”
Still there was silence inside the house. Jupe took a step to the right and peeked through a front window. He saw nothing but a bare room, dust, and signs of dampness where rain had come through the walls. He also saw something that made
his heart beat faster. There was a clear path through the dust on the floor of the front room.
Something or someone had been
dragged from that room out towards the
back of the house. And in one corner of
that dirty, empty place, there was a
telephone — a new, modern, sparkling
white telephone!
Jupe put the bakery basket down on
the porch and tried to turn the door-knob.
It was locked, but the window next to the
door was unlatched. Jupe got his fingers
under the sash and pulled.
The window opened with a loud
screech.
Still no one moved inside the house.
Jupe put a leg over the window-sill and