Part 4 (1/2)

”Merely an illusion,” his partner said. ”When a painter paints a subject with his eyes looking straight ahead, they seem to be looking at you no matter where you are in the room.”

”But it isn't a painted eye!” Pete protested. ”It's a real eye. It's a painted picture with a real eye!”

”I'm afraid you're wrong,” Jupiter said. ”It's definitely a painted eye. But we'll go closer and see.”

He walked towards the picture, and Pete, after hesitating, followed. Now they were both s.h.i.+ning their torches on the picture, and Pete could see that Jupiter was right it was a painted eye. Very real looking but it didn't glisten the way a real eye would.

”I guess I was wrong,” he admitted. ”But I certainly thought I saw it blink ...

Hey!” The word was just a gasp. ”Do you feel what I feel?”

”I feel cold,” the other lad said, sounding puzzled. ”We've entered a zone of low temperature. Cold spots are very frequently found in haunted houses.”

”Then this one is haunted,” Pete Crenshaw told him, his teeth chattering. ”I feel a cold draught as if a whole parade of ghosts were rus.h.i.+ng by. I've got goose-flesh. I'm scared! That's all. I'm just plain scared!”

He stood there for a moment longer, trying to control his chattering teeth. From nowhere the icy draught flowed over him. Then he saw faint, wispy tendrils of mist begin to form in the air as if a spirit might be materialising. At the same instant the uneasy feeling that had become extreme nervousness mounted to sheer terror.

He turned. He didn't intend to turn. His feet did it for him. They took him straight out the main entrance and down the old drive way, running like a deer.

Right beside him was Jupiter Jones. It was the first time Pete had ever seen his partner run away from anything so fast.

”I thought you said your legs took orders from you,” he called.

”They do,” cried Jupe. ”I ordered them to run.”

And run they both did, in great strides. Their torches made wild bobbing paths of light in front of them as they left the silent, brooding bulk of Terror Castle and that awful, uncontrollable feeling of creeping, crawling fear.

Chapter 6.

A Ghostly Telephone Call EVEN WITH HIS longer legs, Pete had difficulty keeping up with his racing partner. Then his heart gave an extra leap. He heard footsteps right behind them!

”Somebody ” he gasped. ”Somebody ... chasing ... us”

Jupiter shook his head.

”Just ... echoes ... off ... the wall,” he panted.

To Pete the pursuing footsteps had an eerie quality that didn't sound like an echo and didn't sound like footsteps made by anything human, either. But at that moment he and Jupiter left the wall behind, and the footsteps abruptly stopped chasing them. Apparently Jupe was right again. Just more echoes.

But it wasn't any echo that had caused the overwhelming feeling of terror which had gripped Pete back in the big round hall of Terror Castle. He knew that. He couldn't have kept from running for a thousand dollars.

They were slowing down now to get round the big boulders that narrowed the road to a footpath. But still they kept on running. It just seemed like a good idea.

They rounded a bend in the road, and the dark, sinister building was no longer visible. Far down in the valley, the lights of Los Angeles twinkled. And there, parked a hundred yards down the road, was the car with Worthington, the English chauffeur, waiting at the wheel.

Pete and Jupiter had slowed down to a dogtrot when unexpectedly, from far behind them, came a shrill scream. It was a curious, piercing scream, with a gurgling, bubbling quality to it as if whoever was screaming had just but Pete didn't care to think about what might have made the scream sound so funny.

They reached the big, waiting Rolls-Royce, its golden door handles and metal parts gleaming in the starlight. Somebody flung the door open, and Pete fell into the rear, where Bob was waiting for them. Bob pulled Pete up into the seat as Jupiter piled in behind him.

”Worthington!” Jupiter shouted. ”Take us back home.”

”Very good, Master Jones,” the tall, dignified chauffeur said, and the big car purred into life. It began to sweep down the curves towards the valley below, faster and faster.

”What happened?” Bob asked as, puffing, the other two fell back on to the leather-cus.h.i.+oned seat. ”What was that scream?”

”I don't know,” Jupiter said.

”I don't want to know.” Pete amended the statement. ”And if anybody else knows, I hope he doesn't tell me.”

”But what happened?” Bob asked. ”Did you see the Blue Phantom?”

Jupiter shook his head.

”We didn't see anything. But just the same something scared us silly.”

”Correction,” Pete declared. ”We were already silly. Something just scared us sillier.”

”Then the castle really is haunted?” Bob asked eagerly. ”All those stories are true?”

”As far as I'm concerned, it's headquarters for the Union of Ghosts, Ghouls, and Werewolves of America,” Pete declared, breathing easier now as the car took them ever farther from the spot. ”It's one place we're never going to go again, are we?”

He turned to Jupiter, who was sitting back, pinching his lower lip between thumb and forefinger, always a sign he was deep in thought.

”We aren't ever going back, are we?” Pete repeated hopefully. But Jupiter Jones did not seem to hear him. He looked out the window of the racing car and continued to pinch his lip without answering.

When the car finally reached The Jones Salvage Yard, Jupiter thanked Worthington and said he would phone next time he needed transport.

”Better luck next time, Master Jones,” the chauffeur said. ”I must say I am enjoying this a.s.signment. It's a change from driving for fat bankers and rich old ladies.”

Then he drove off, and Jupiter led his partners into the junk yard. His Uncle t.i.tus and Aunt Mathilda were inside their little house, which adjoined the yard. The boys could see them through the open window, watching television.

”It's still early,” Jupiter said. ”We returned from our expedition sooner than I had planned.”

”But not half soon enough to suit me,” Pete told him. He was still somewhat pale.

Jupiter was pale, too. But the stocky boy could be very stubborn at times, and admitting that he was scared was one of the things he was most stubborn about.

Now he said, ”I hope you recorded that scream on the tape recorder. If so, we can listen to it and attempt to identify it.”

”You hope I recorded the scream!” Pete yelled. ”I was running, not recording. Or maybe you didn't notice?”

”My instructions were to record all unusual sounds,” Jupiter said. ”However, under the circ.u.mstances, I suppose you can't be blamed.”

Jupiter led them through ”Easy Three”, their code name for the easiest entrance to Headquarters. It was a big oak door, still in its frame, which seemed to be leaning against a pile of granite blocks from a demolished building.