Part 1 (2/2)
The whole front section was covered with trees and flowers and green lakes and swans, and even an ocean scene. The other sides had other pictures. It was probably the most colourful junk yard in the country.
Bob rode past the front gate, which consisted of two enormous iron gates from an estate that had burned down. He went on almost a hundred yards farther and stopped near the corner, where the fence showed a green ocean with a two-masted sailing s.h.i.+p foundering in a raging storm. Bob dismounted and found the two green boards Jupe had made into a private gate. That was Green Gate One. He pushed against the eye of a fish that was looking out of the water at the sinking s.h.i.+p and the boards swung up.
He shoved his bike through and closed the gate.
Now he was inside the junk yard, in the corner which Jupiter had arranged as his outdoor workshop. It was outdoors except for a roof about six feet wide that ran around most of the fence on the inside of the yard. Mr. Jones kept his better junk under this roof.
As Bob entered the workshop, Jupiter Jones was sitting in an old swivel chair, pinching his lower lip, always a sign that his mental machinery was spinning in high gear. Pete Crenshaw was busy at the small printing press which had come in as junk, and which Jupiter had laboured over until it would operate again.
The printing press was going clink-clank, clink-clank, back and forth. Tall, dark-haired Pete was busy putting down and picking up white cards. That was what Jupe's message had meant simply that the press was working and he wanted Bob to come and meet them through Green Gate One. back and forth. Tall, dark-haired Pete was busy putting down and picking up white cards. That was what Jupe's message had meant simply that the press was working and he wanted Bob to come and meet them through Green Gate One.
No one could see the boys from the main part of the junk yard where the office was especially Jupiter's Aunt Mathilda, who really ran the business. She had a big heart, and was endlessly good-natured, but when she saw a boy around she had only one idea: Put him to work!
In self-defence Jupiter had, bit by bit, arranged the piles of various types of junk so they hid his workshop from sight. Now he and his friends could have privacy when he was not needed to help his uncle or his aunt.
As Bob parked his bike, Pete shut off the press and handed him one of the cards he had been printing.
”Look at that!” he said.
It was a large business card. And it said: THE THREE INVESTIGATORS.
”We Investigate Anything”
First InvestigatorJupiter Jones Second InvestigatorPeter Crenshaw Records and ResearchBob Andrews ”Golly!” Bob said admiringly. ”That really has zing. So you decided to go ahead with it, Jupe?”
”We've been talking for a long time about starting an investigation agency,” Jupiter said. ”And now my winning the use of a Rolls-Royce sedan for thirty days of twenty-four hours each, gives us freedom to seek mystery wherever we may find it. For a certain time, anyway. Therefore we are taking the plunge. We are now officially The Three Investigators.
”As First Investigator, I will be in charge of planning. As Second Investigator, Pete will be in charge of all operations requiring athletic prowess. As you are at present somewhat handicapped in shadowing suspects or climbing fences, and similar duties, Bob, you will handle all of the research our cases may need. You will also keep complete records of everything we do.”
”That's fine with me,” Bob said. ”With my library job it will be easy for me to do research.”
”Modern investigation requires extensive research,” Jupiter said. ”But you are staring at our business card ban odd manner. May I ask what is troubling you?”
”Well, it's these question marks,” Bob said. ”What they for?”
”I was waiting for you to ask that,” Pete said. ”Jupe said you would. He says everyone will.”
”The question marks,” Jupiter said impressively, ”is the universal symbol of something unknown. We are prepared to solve any puzzle, riddle, mystery, enigma or conundrum which may be brought to us. Hence the question mark will be our trade-mark. Three question marks will stand for The Three Investigators.”
Bob thought Jupiter was finished, but he should have known better. Jupiter was just warming up.
”In addition,” Jupiter said, ”the question marks will provoke interest. They will make people ask us what they mean, just as you did. They will help people remember us. They will be good publicity. Every business needs publicity in order to attract potential customers.”
”That's great,” Bob said, putting the card back on the pile Pete had already printed. ”Now we'd be in business if we only had a case to investigate.”
Pete looked important.
”Bob,” he said, ”we've got got a case!” a case!”
”Correction,” Jupiter said. He straightened up and set his jaw. When he did so, his face, normally rather round, seemed longer and he looked older. Stockily built, Jupiter could look a little fat when he did not hold himself erect.
”Unfortunately,” Jupiter explained, ”one small obstacle remains. There is a case available for us one I feel we can easily solve but we have not yet been engaged.”
”What is the case?” Bob asked eagerly.
”Mr. Alfred Hitchc.o.c.k is looking for a real haunted house for his next picture,”
Pete said. ”Dad heard about it at the studio.”
Mr. Crenshaw was a special-effects man who worked at one of the movie studios in Hollywood, a few miles away across the hills.
”A haunted house?” Bob frowned. ”How can you solve a haunted house?”
”We can investigate the haunted house and find out if it is really haunted or not.
The publicity will get our name known and The Three Investigators will be launched.”
”Only Mr. Hitchc.o.c.k hasn't asked us to investigate any haunted houses for him,”
Bob said. ”Is that what you call a small obstacle?”
”We shall have to persuade him to engage our services,” Jupiter said. ”That's the next step.”
”Sure,” Bob said with rich sarcasm. ”I suppose we are going to march into the office of one of the most famous movie producers in the world and say, 'You sent for us, sir?'”
”The details are not quite correct but the idea is roughly accurate,” Jupiter told him. ”I have already telephoned Mr. Hitchc.o.c.k for an appointment.”
”You have?” Pete asked, looking as surprised as Bob. ”And he said he'd see us?”
”No,” the stocky boy admitted. ”His secretary wouldn't even let me talk to him.”
”That figures,” Pete said.
”In fact, she said she would have us arrested if we came anywhere near him,”
Jupiter added. ”It turns out that Mr. Hitchc.o.c.k's temporary secretary this summer is a girl who used to go to school here in Rocky Beach. She was a number of grades ahead of us but you should remember her. Henrietta Larson.”
”Bossy Henrietta!” Pete exclaimed. ”You bet I remember her.”
”She used to help the teachers and boss all the little kids around,” Bob added.
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