Part 5 (1/2)
”Disembodied spirits,” said his partner, ”are not known to use telephones. Neither are spooks, phantoms, or werewolves.”
”That was in the old days. Why shouldn't they change with the times and be modern, too? That voice last night didn't sound like a human voice to me.”
Jupiter scowled, his round features showing puzzlement.
”I agree,” he said. ”The whole problem is made more perplexing by the fact that, except for us and Worthington, not a living soul knew of our visit to Terror Castle last night.”
”But what about souls who aren't living?” Pete asked.
”If Terror Castle is actually haunted,” Jupiter told him, ”we wish to prove it. It will be a feather in our caps. We ought to learn more about Stephen Terrill. If he is the one who put a curse on the castle then presumably it is his ghost haunting the place now.”
”Well, that sounds reasonable,” Pete admitted.
”Our first line of action, then, is to locate someone who knew Stephen Terrill in the days when he was a silent-picture star, and who can tell us more about him.”
”But that was a long time ago!” Pete protested. ”Who'd we find?”
”It seems a long time to us because of our youthful years. There must still be many people in Hollywood who knew Mr. Terrill.”
”Oh, sure. Name two.”
”Our best bet,” Jupiter said, ”would be Mr. Terrill's business manager, The Whisperer.”
”The Whisperer?” Pete exclaimed. ”What kind of name is that?”
”That was his nickname. His real name was Jonathan Rex. Here is a picture of him.”
The First Investigator pa.s.sed over a photograph of a newspaper picture and story.
Bob Andrews had copied it at the library on the duplicator machine. It showed a rather tall man, with a totally bald head and a long, ugly scar on his neck, shaking hands with a smaller, pleasant-looking, brown-haired man with a rather wistful smile.
The tall man had slitted, ferocious-looking eyes.
”Wow!” Pete exclaimed. ”So that was what Stephen Terrill looked like! He didn't have to do any acting to scare people. That scar and those eyes would freeze a guy in his tracks.”
”You're looking at the wrong one. Mr. Terrill is the smaller man, the one who looks so friendly and harmless.”
”Him?” Pete said. ”He's the one who played all those ferocious monsters? That nice-looking guy?”
”He had a very average face, but he could twist it to represent any diabolical individual he desired,” Jupiter explained. ”The story says, in case you haven't read it ”
”I was concentrating on the ghostly parts,” Pete confessed.
”Well, the story says that off the motion-picture set, Stephen Terrill was so shy, because of his lisp, that he could hardly talk to people. So he hired The Whisperer to handle all his business affairs. The Whisperer had no trouble getting people to agree to the terms he desired.”
”I'll bet he didn't!” Pete declared. ”He looks as if he'd draw a knife the minute anyone said no.”
”If we can locate him, I'm sure he can tell us all we need to know.”
”Oh, sure if if. Maybe you have an idea?”
”The telephone books. He may still be living in this region.”
It was Pete who found the name.
”Here he is!” he exclaimed. ”Jonathan Rex. Nine hundred and fifteen Winding Valley Road. Shall we telephone him?”
”I think it would be better if our visit were unannounced. But we'll telephone for the car.”
”That was a stroke of genius, winning that car,” Pete said, as Jupiter telephoned.
”I hate to think what we'll do when the thirty days are up.”
”I have certain plans,” his partner told him. ”However, that's for the future. We'd better tell Aunt Mathilda we'll be late for supper.”
Mrs. Jones agreed she would keep supper for them. But when Worthington and the big, gleaming car drove up to the gate of The Jones Salvage Yard, she shook her head.
”My sakes,” she said, ”I never know what you'll be doing next, Jupiter. Riding round in an automobile made for some Arabian sheik! You'll be spoiled, mark my words.”
Just how her nephew would be spoiled, she didn't say. Jupiter did not seem worried by the prospect as he settled back on to the leather upholstery.
Worthington was forced to examine several maps before he announced he had found Winding Valley Road. It apparently started quite some distance away, on the other side of the range of mountains. As they started over the hills, Jupiter had one of his frequent inspirations.
”Worthington,” he said, ”I believe this road will pa.s.s within a mile of the entrance of Black Canyon.”
”Yes, Master Jones,” the chauffeur replied. ”Just before we start over the hills to the valley.”
”Then let's pay a quick visit to Black Canyon on the way. There's something I want to ascertain.”
It took them only a few moments to reach the mouth of the narrow canyon they bad visited the night before and fled from so hastily. By daylight it looked better but only a little better. As Worthington reached the spot where the rotted crossbars and rock slide had closed off the road, he gave an exclamation.
”Look!” he said. ”Tyre tracks over the ones we made last night! I hesitated to say it at the time, Master Jones, but I had an impression we were being followed. I could not be sure, however.”
Followed? Pete and Jupiter stared at each other.
”Another mystery to ponder,” Jupiter said. ”But it must wait. Right now I want to look round the outside of Terror Castle.”
”Fine!” The Second Investigator said. ”Just as long as we stay on the outside it's okay with me.”
By daylight they made rapid time, scrambling up the rock-choked, narrow road, until Terror Castle loomed above them.
”To think we went into that place after dark!” Pete said. ”Wow!”
Jupiter led him all round the outside of the building, exploring even the rear of the castle and the steep slopes above it.
”We are looking for any evidence that human beings may be using this place as a hide-out,” he said. ”If they are, they are bound to leave some evidence a trail in the dirt ... a carelessly discarded cigarette. ...”