7 Black Moustache on the Scene

MEANWHILE, Bob had reached the Rocky Beach Public Library, where he had a part-time job. As he walked in, Miss Bennett, the librarian, looked up.

“Why, hello, Bob,” she said. “I didn’t know this was your day to work.”

“It isn’t,” Bob said. “I came to do some research.”

“Oh, and I hoped you were here to help me.” Miss Bennett laughed lightly. “It’s been such a busy day. There are so many books to put back on the shelves. Could you spare us a little time, Bob?”

“Sure, Miss Bennett,” Bob agreed.

Miss Bennett asked him first to mend the binding on some juvenile books. Bob took them into the back storage room and used strong plastic tape to secure the torn covers. When he had finished, Miss Bennett had a sizeable stack of returned books to be put back on the shelves. He put these away one by one, and then the librarian called his attention to some books that had been left on one of the reading-room tables. Bob gathered them up. As he looked at the one on top, he almost jumped in surprise.

The title was Famous Gems and Their Stories. It was the very book he had come to the library to consult.

“Something wrong, Bob?” Miss Bennett asked.

Bob shook his head. “No, Miss Bennett.” He brought the book to the main desk to show it to her. “It’s just that I came to look up something in this book and I was surprised to find it here.”

“Goodness!” Miss Bennett read the title. “That is a coincidence. This book hasn’t been looked at for years and now it’s needed twice in the same day.”

Bob didn’t think it was a coincidence.

“I don’t suppose you remember who was reading this book, do you?” he asked.

“I don’t believe I do. So many people in today, they’re just a blur in my mind.”

Bob’s mind raced. Who would be the most likely person? He tried a shot in the dark.

“Could it have been a man with large horn-rimmed glasses and a black moustache?” he asked. “A man about medium height?”

“Why — ” Miss Bennett frowned, thinking. “Yes, it was. Now that you describe him, I remember. He had a rather low, husky voice. However did you know?”

“I heard about him from someone,” Bob said. “If there isn’t anything else you need me to do — ”

Miss Bennett shook her head, and Bob hurried to the reading table. Black Moustache had been here! That meant he was also on the trail.

He settled down to look through the book. It was full of interesting information about the discovery and history of the world’s most famous jewels. Finally, after letting himself be sidetracked into reading the curious history of the Hope diamond, which had apparently brought bad luck to many people, he found what he was looking for. One chapter was titled The Fiery Eye. He turned to it.

The Fiery Eye was a ruby as big as a pigeon’s egg, of an intense crimson colour. No one knew where or when it had been discovered, but it had been known in China, India and Tibet for many centuries. It had belonged to rajahs, emperors, queens, princes and wealthy merchants. It had been stolen many times, and some of its owners had been murdered for it. Other owners had been defeated in battle, had lost their fortunes, or otherwise suffered calamity. At least fifteen men were known to have died because of it.

The Fiery Eye was shaped rather like an eye, and was very valuable. It was not as valuable as some other famous gems, however, because it was flawed — there was a hollow inside it which made it imperfect.

The chapter ended with these words:

There are gems which seem to be followed by ill fortune. Owner after owner suffers death or illness or other serious loss. Violence hovers about them and no owner is safe. The Hope diamond, which was believed to bring misfortune to its owners until it was given to the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, D.C., is one such. The Fiery Eye is another. Few of its owners failed to suffer misfortune, until at last it was given as a token of repentance by a maharajah of India to the Temple of Justice, in the remote mountain village of Pleshiwar, India.

In the Temple of Justice, sacred to a small but fanatical band of warlike mountain tribesmen, The Fiery Eye was mounted in the forehead of the temple deity. Local superstition held that it could detect sin. If someone accused of a crime was brought before it, and The Fiery Eye blazed with light, this was considered proof of guilt. If The Fiery Eye remained dim, this was proof of innocence.

The stone vanished mysteriously from the temple many years ago. Its present whereabouts is unknown, though the followers of the Temple of Justice made vigorous efforts to find it. It is rumoured to have been sold by a temple official who had been guilty of misconduct and feared the gem would expose his guilt. Many suppose the ill-fated gem to lie in some unmarked grave with the bones of the man who bought or stole it. Others believe it will yet reappear. One old legend says that when The Fiery Eye has dwelt unseen and untouched for fifty years, it will be purified and no longer bring ill fortune, providing it is bought, found or given, not seized or stolen.

Few collectors, however, would care to risk the supposed curse on the stone even now, though the fifty years is almost up.

“Wow!” Bob breathed to himself. The Fiery Eye certainly seemed a ruby to stay away from. Even though the fifty years might be up now — the book he was reading had been printed several years earlier — he didn’t think he’d want to risk having anything to do with the gem.

Thoughtfully he put the book away. Then he got down an encyclopedia to look up Pleshiwar, India. He found a brief paragraph. It just said that inhabitants of Pleshiwar and the surrounding mountains were generally tall and warlike, extremely ferocious in battle, and never gave up seeking vengeance on anyone who injured them.

This made Bob gulp again. He wrote down the main facts about Pleshiwar, as well as about the ruby, and sat thinking. Should he phone Jupe now and tell him? He decided not to. It was nearly dinner-time, and besides, Jupe was not going to start the Ghost-to-Ghost Hookup until later.

Bob said good-bye to Miss Bennett and cycled home. His mother was just getting dinner, and his father was reading and smoking his pipe. He greeted Bob.

“Hi, son,” he said. “Why so thoughtful? You look as if you were trying to solve some very large problem, Are you boys looking for another lost parrot or something like that?”

“No, Dad,” Bob said. “Right now we’re looking for a missing bust of Augustus of Poland. Do you know who he was?”

“I’m afraid I don’t. But speaking of Augustus reminds me, this is August. Do you know how the month of August got its name?”

Bob didn’t. His father told him, and Bob jumped as if jabbed with a pin. He made a bee-line for the telephone and dialled The Jones Salvage Yard. Mathilda Jones answered and Bob asked for Jupiter.

“I’m sorry, Bob,” Mrs. Jones told him. “Jupiter and the others left half an hour ago in the light truck with Hans. They had to go to Malibu.”

“I’ll be right over and wait for him!” Bob blurted out. “Thank you.”

He hung up, but before he could get out of the door, his mother’s voice brought him back.

“Robert! Dinner is ready. Now you come sit down and eat. Whatever harum-scarum project you’re engaged in, it can wait until you’ve had dinner.”

Reluctantly Bob sat down. This was something Jupe had to know! But he supposed it could wait another hour.

At that moment, Jupiter, Pete and Gus were riding through the Malibu Beach section in search of Mrs. Peterson’s home. They finally stopped in front of a large, attractive stucco dwelling with a spreading well-kept garden.

Jupiter led the way up a path and across a tiled patio to the door. He pressed the bell and after a moment the door opened.

“I’m Jupiter Jones from The Jones Salvage Yard,” Jupe said to the pleasant-faced woman in a summer dress who opened the door. “I’ve come to take back the plaster busts we sold you.”

“Oh yes. They’re over here.”

The woman led the way round a corner, and there were the two busts, one looking much the worse for wear. As Mrs. Peterson had said, Augustus of Poland had lost one ear and his nose, and the rest of him looked rather crumbly. The other, Francis Bacon, had not been washed and looked dusty but intact.

“I’m sorry to have to return them,” the woman said, “but they were sold for garden ornaments, and my husband says our sprinklers would wash them away in no time.”

“That’s perfectly all right, ma’am,” Jupiter said, concealing his delight at getting Augustus back. “Here is your money — we’ll take the busts away now.”

He handed Mrs. Peterson the ten dollars that his aunt had given him, then picked up Augustus and, grunting a little, carried the bust out to the truck. Pete followed with Francis Bacon. They laid the busts carefully on the front seat between Gus and Hans, and climbed on the back of the truck. Then they started back for Rocky Beach.

“Golly, do you suppose The Fiery Eye is in Augustus?” Pete asked Jupe excitedly as they rode.

“I consider there is an excellent chance,” Jupe answered.

“As soon as we get back to the yard, we have to break him open,” Pete said.

“We must wait for Records to return,” Jupiter told him. “He’d be disappointed if we smashed Augustus without him.”

At the salvage yard, Bob was sitting in the office with Mathilda Jones, waiting for the boys to return. On Saturdays the yard stayed open until fairly late, to allow people to come and browse around. Usually a fair number of people were engaged in inspecting the many curious items The Jones Salvage Yard had to offer. This evening, however, only a couple of men were strolling around, looking at old tools and machinery.

A black sedan drove up, and a man got out and came to the door. Bob gulped at the sight of him.

He was a man of average height, with black hair, horn-rimmed glasses and a large black moustache.

Black Moustache! Here!

“Good evening,” Black Moustache said to Mathilda Jones in a hoarse voice, “I’m interested in these handsome and artistic busts you display here.” He turned to look at the five busts that still sat in a row outside the office. “Mmmm — very famous people. Do you have any others?”

“That’s all there are,” Mathilda Jones told him. “And I can’t sell them to you for garden ornaments. I’ve just learned they dissolve if they get too wet. In fact, two are being returned and I suppose the others will be eventually.”

She sounded upset. It always upset Mathilda Jones to give back money. She was big-hearted and generous, but she was also a business woman and liked to make a profit out of the odd things Titus Jones bought.

“Indeed?” Black Moustache sounded interested. “Two are being returned and others may be. I am a collector, and I will buy these five from you for the price you have set — five dollars each. But you must promise to save for me any others that come back, for I want them all.”

“You do?” Mathilda Jones brightened up at the words. “But some of them may be damaged when people try to wash them.”

“That doesn’t matter. If you will promise to save every single one for me, I’ll buy these now as well as the two that you say are being returned.”

“It’s a deal,” Mathilda Jones said. “Buy these and you’ll get any that are returned. The two that are coming back should be here any minute. My nephew went to pick them up.”

“Excellent!” Black Moustache brought out some bills. “Here is thirty-five dollars for these five and the two coming. Now, I will load these fine artistic busts into my car.”

Bob was quivering with excitement, trying to think of some way to interrupt, and knowing he couldn’t. Mrs. Jones had just finished a business deal and she prided herself that she never went back on her word. Jupiter was bringing back two busts, and maybe one of them was Augustus.

And Black Moustache could claim it because he had already paid for it!

“Bob, what in the world is the matter with you?” Mrs. Jones asked, eyeing him sharply. “You have the twitches to-night. Anything wrong?”

“I think — ” Bob spoke with an effort — “I think our new friend Gus wanted one of those busts, Mrs. Jones. They came from his great-uncle’s house and, well — ”

“I’m sorry, you should have spoken sooner. They all belong to that gentleman now, and here comes the truck.”

Black Moustache had just finished stowing the last of the five busts in his car as the truck rattled up and stopped.

Jupe and Pete jumped off the back of the truck and hurried round to the cab. Hans handed down the two plaster busts. Pete took Francis Bacon and Jupe took Augustus of Poland, clasping it tenderly to his chest.

Neither of them noticed Black Moustache until the man hurried over to them.

“Boys, those belong to me!” he snapped. He reached for the bust of Augustus in Jupe’s arms and grabbed it firmly. “That’s mine,” he growled. “And I mean to have it. Now let go!”