"The Mystery of the Talking Skull" - читать интересную книгу автора (Arthur Robert)

2 An Unusual Visitor

Bob Andrews rode his bicycle through the front gate of The Jones Salvage Yard. It was a bright, sunny morning in late summer and the day promised to be warm. Pete and Jupiter were already busy in the yard Pete was taking apart a rusty power mower, and Jupiter was putting a coat of white enamel on some iron garden chairs from which he had sanded the rust.

They looked up, dejected, as Bob parked his bike and walked over.

“Hello, Bob,” Jupiter said. “Take a brush and get busy. We have a lot of these chairs to paint.”

“Did you get the trunk open?” Bob burst out of “What was inside it?”

“The trunk?” Pete laughed hollowly. “What trunk are you talking about, Bob?”

“You know what trunk,” Bob said, puzzled. “The trunk Jupe bought yesterday at the auction. My mum thought the picture of the three of us was pretty good. She’s curious about the trunk, too.”

“Everyone seems to be curious about that trunk,” Jupiter said, dabbing on more paint. “Too curious. We should have sold it and made a profit while we were at it.”

“What are you talking about?” Bob demanded.

“He means there isn’t any trunk,” Pete said. “Not any more. It was stolen last night.”

“Stolen!” Bob stared at him. “Who stole it?”

“We don’t know,” Jupiter said and then told Bob about the disturbance of the night before. “Two men ran off and got away,” Jupiter finished. “And the trunk was gone. Obviously they stole it.”

“Golly, I wonder why they wanted it!” Bob exclaimed. “What do you suppose was in it?”

“Maybe they were just curious, too,” Pete suggested. “They read the story in the paper and they came to have a look.”

“I don’t think so.” Jupiter shook his head. “No one would steal a dollar trunk just out of curiosity. Too much risk. They must have had a good idea something valuable was in it. I’m beginning to think that trunk would have been worth investigating. Too bad we don’t have it any more.”

The boys’ talk was interrupted by the arrival of an expensive blue car. A tall, thin man with strangely slanting eyebrows got out and came towards them.

“Ah, good morning,” he said. He looked at Jupiter. “Jupiter Jones, I believe.”

“Yes, sir,” Jupiter said. “Can I help you? My aunt and uncle are away for a little while, but if there’s anything in the salvage yard you’re interested in, I can sell it to you.”

“I am interested in only one thing,” the tall man said. “Yesterday, according to information in the local press, you bought an old trunk. At an auction. For the large sum of one dollar. Are the facts as I state them correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Jupiter answered, staring at him. Both his appearance and manner of speaking were certainly a little odd. “That’s true.”

“Very good,” the tall man said. “To waste no more time in conversation, I wish to buy the trunk from you. I hope, I do hope, you haven’t sold it yet?”

“Well, no sir,” Jupe admitted. “We haven’t sold it. But —”

“Then all is well,” the stranger said. He waved his hand, and a number of green bills appeared between his fingers, spread out like a fan.

“Look,” he said. “One hundred dollars. Ten ten-dollar bills. I offer to you for the trunk.” As Jupiter hesitated, he went on, “Surely that is enough? You cannot expect me to pay more for one old-fashioned trunk containing nothing but odds and ends, can you?”

“No, sir,” Jupiter began again. “But —”

“There is no need to keep saying but!” the man snapped. “I am offering you a fair price. I want the trunk for sentimental reasons. The story in the newspaper said it had once belonged to The Great Gulliver. Is that correct?”

“Well,” Jupe answered as Bob and Pete watched with puzzled interest, “that name was on it. But —”

“But again!” The tall man scowled. “ ‘But me no buts!’ Shakespeare said that and I say it. The fact is, The Great Gulliver was once a friend of mine. I have not seen him for some years. I fear, alas, that he is no more. Departed. Gone. To put it bluntly, dead. I should like to own his trunk for old times’ sake. Here is my card.”

He snapped his fingers. The money in his hand changed to a small white card. He extended it to Jupiter, who took it. The card said Maximilian the Mystic. A line below that said he lived at the Sorcerer’s Club, at an address in Hollywood.

“You’re a magician!” Jupiter exclaimed. Maximilian the Mystic gave a slight bow.

“Once well known,” he answered. “Performances before all the crowned heads of Europe. Now in retirement, devoting myself to writing a history of magic. An occasional small exhibition of my skills for friends. But back to business.”

He snapped his fingers and again the money was in his hands.

“Let us complete our transaction,” he said. “I have the money. I wish the trunk. You are in business to buy and sell. It is as simple as that. You sell, I buy. Why do you hesitate?”

“Because I can’t sell you the trunk!” Jupiter burst out. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“Can’t?” The slanting eyebrows of the magician drew close together. His scowl was black. “Of course you can. Do not make me angry, boy. I still have mystic powers. Suppose —” he thrust his head towards Jupiter and his dark eyes gleamed — “suppose I snapped my fingers and made you vanish? Pouf! Like that. Into thin air. Never to return. Then you might be sorry you had made me angry.”

Mr. Maximilian sounded so ominous that both Bob and Pete gulped. Even Jupe looked uneasy.

“I can’t sell you the trunk,” he said, “because I haven’t got it. It was stolen last night.”

“Stolen! Is this the truth, boy?”

“Yes, sir.” Jupiter proceeded to relate, for the third time that morning, the events of the night before. Maximilian listened intently. Then he sighed.

“Alas!” he said. “I should have come the moment I read the newspaper. You have no clue to the thieves?”

“They got away before we could get close to them,” Jupe said.

“Bad, very bad,” the magician muttered. “To think that the trunk of The Great Gulliver should reappear so strangely, only to vanish again. I wonder why they wanted it.”

“Maybe there is something valuable in it after all,” Bob suggested.

“Nonsense!” Maximilian said. “The Great Gulliver never had anything valuable, poor chap. Except his magic act. There might be some of his old tricks in the trunk, but they would be valuable only to another magician, such as myself. Did I tell you The Great Gulliver was a magician? But of course you guessed it.

“He was not really great, though he called himself that. A small man, roly-poly, with a round face and black hair. He sometimes wore Oriental robes to look like an Oriental wizard. He had one special act and I had hoped that perhaps — but no matter. The trunk is gone.”

He was silent, thinking. Then he shrugged and the money between his fingers vanished.

“My trip has been for nothing,” he said. “Still, there is a possibility you will get the trunk back. If you ever do, remember — Maximilian the Mystic wishes it!”

He fixed penetrating eyes on Jupiter.

“Do you understand, young man! I wish the trunk. I will pay for it if it can be recovered. You will contact me at the Sorcerer’s Club. Is it agreed?”

“I don’t see how we can hope to get the trunk back again,” Pete said.

“Nevertheless, it may happen,” Maximilian insisted. “And if it does, I have first claim to it. Is that agreed, boy?”

“If we should get it back,” Jupiter said, “we won’t sell it to anybody else without talking to you first, Mr. Maximilian. That’s all I can promise. As Pete says, I don’t see how we could possibly get the trunk again. Those thieves are probably a long way away by now.”

“I suppose so.” The magician sounded depressed. “Well, we’ll wait and see what happens. Don’t lose my card now.”

He put his hand into his pocket, seemed surprised, and brought out an egg.

“Now how in the world did that get there?” he asked. “I certainly don’t want an egg in my pocket. Here, boy, catch it.”

He threw the egg towards Pete, who quickly put up his hand to catch it. But in mid-air the egg vanished. It seemed to wink out like a light.

“Hmm,” the magician murmured, “it must have been a dodo’s egg. They’re extinct, you know. Well, well, I must be going. Don’t forget to call me.”

He strode to his car. The Three Investigators half expected something strange to happen as he went, but he simply drove out through the gates and turned down the street. “Wow!” Pete said. “That was some customer!”

“He certainly wanted that trunk badly,” Jupiter added. “I wonder if it’s just because he and The Great Gulliver were both magicians. Or if there’s something special in that trunk that he’d like to have for himself.”

They were pondering this when another car drove in through the gate. At first they thought it was Mr. Maximilian returning. Then they saw it was a smaller car, a little foreign saloon. It stopped, and out stepped a young man, whom they recognized as the reporter who had taken their picture at the auction the previous day. “Hi,” he said, “remember me — Fred Brown?”

“Yes, sir,” Jupiter answered. “What can we do for you?”

“I came to see if you had opened the trunk yet,” the reporter told him. “I think I can get another feature story about that trunk. You see, it may have something special in it. I think it contains a talking skull!”