"Carey, M.V. - The Three Investigators 31 - The Mystery of the Scar-Faced Beggar" - читать интересную книгу автора (Carey M.V)

M. V. Carey

The Mystery of the Scar-Faced Beggar





A Word from Hector Sebastian



Welcome aboard, mystery lovers!

I'm pleased and proud that The Three Investigators have asked me to introduce their latest adventure. It's a baffling case with international complications, involving a lost wallet, a bank robbery, and a band of terrorists--all connected by a scar-faced blind man.

I don't want to say more, for fear of giving away the story. If your curiosity is aroused, turn to Chapter 1 and begin reading. But if, by chance, you haven't met The Three Investigators before, you'll want to know that these young private eyes live in Rocky Beach, a small community on the California coast. Jupiter Jones is the leader of the group. He has a photographic memory, a brain like a steel trap, and an air of self-confidence that is amazing in one so young. Pete Crenshaw, the second investigator, is athletic, steadfast, and much more cautious than Jupe. Bob Andrews is in charge of records and research, and he also likes to go adventuring and do some sleuthing of his own.

I have never introduced an adventure for the boys until now, and you may wonder who I am, and what I am doing at the front of this book. Read on, and you'll find out.



HECTOR SEBASTIAN





1

The Blind Man Runs



"IF IT DOESN'T STOP SOON, I'll scream!" said the woman in the raincoat.

A gust of wind whirled up Wilshire Boulevard. It snatched at the woman's umbrella and turned it inside out. Then it rushed on, sending raindrops spattering against the shop windows.

For an instant Bob Andrews, standing at a bus stop, thought the woman really would scream. She glared at her ruined umbrella. Then she looked accusingly at Bob, as if he were to blame. Then, quite suddenly, she laughed.

"Darn!" she said. She tossed the umbrella into the trash basket that stood at the kerb. "Serves me right for coming out in a California rainstorm." She sat down on the bench next to the bus-stop sign.

Bob shivered and hunched his shoulders against the chill and the wet. It had been the rainiest April he could remember. Now, at nearly six o'clock on Easter Monday, it was cold, too, and already dark because of the storm. Bob had come to Santa Monica earlier that afternoon, bound for a fabric store to get a dress pattern for his mother. He hadn't minded giving up some of his spring vacation to do the simple errand, but now the wait for the bus back to Rocky Beach seemed endless. He impatiently wiped his glasses dry for the umpteenth time.

"Oh, here comes the blind man," said the woman on the bench.

Bob looked up the street. Over the sound of rain on the pavement he heard the tap-tap of a cane and the rattle of coins being shaken in a metal cup.

"Poor soul," said the woman. "He's been around this neighbourhood a lot lately. I always try to give him something when I see him."