Part 6 (1/2)

”It isn't,” Jupiter a.s.sured him.

When Jupiter had a scheme in mind, he usually preferred not to explain it in advance. He liked to see how his ideas worked before he talked about them. So Pete did not ask any questions as his stocky companion unhooked from his belt his prized Swiss knife, with its eight blades. He opened the large cutting blade and went to work on the charred tip of the stick.

When he had the point sharp again, he stood before the wall of rock and dirt which imprisoned them. s.h.i.+ning the torch carefully over the whole expanse, he picked a spot near the corner of the rocky wall and inserted the point of the stick into the dirt. After a moment it met an obstruction. He withdrew it and inserted it a few inches away.

Then Jupiter gently twisted and pushed the stick, finding a crevice between some smaller rocks. After a minute or two the stick went forward easily. Jupiter pulled it back. Some dirt trickled back in with the stick. But both boys spied a tiny hole of bright daylight where it had been.

Jupiter returned to the job of probing the wall of rock and dirt. Time after time the stick met an obstruction, but he did not give up. After some minutes, he had pushed away enough dirt so that they could clearly make out a small rock, about the shape of a football, near the very top of the wall.

”Now,” Jupiter said with satisfaction, ”if you will push on the lower left side of that rock, Pete, making certain to push towards the right instead of straight ahead, I believe we'll find my stratagem successful.”

Pete stood on a loose rock, braced himself, and pushed as Jupiter had advised. At first the rock resisted. Then it gave way suddenly and popped out of place. It went on down the hillside and with it went a dozen other boulders, leaving a clear s.p.a.ce almost two feet high at the top of the entrance to the crevice.

”Jupe, you're a genius!” Pete said.

”Please!” Jupiter winced slightly. ”Don't call me a genius. I simply endeavour to exercise my native intelligence to its fullest ability.”

”All right,” Pete agreed. ”But you got us out of here or will have as soon as we crawl through that hole.”

But when they were finally outside and brus.h.i.+ng thedirt from themselves, a moment of doubt a.s.sailed the taller boy. ”Golly, look at us!” he said. ”We're a mess!”

”We can wash our hands and faces and get the worst dirt off our clothes at some service station,” Jupiter decided. ”Then we will continue on to Mr. Rex's residence.”

”We're still going to see Mr. Rex?” Pete asked, as Jupiter led the way down to the road, now more rock-strewn than ever. They were heading back towards the spot where Worthington and the car waited.

”Yes,” the First Investigator told him. ”It is now too late to enter Terror Castle by daylight. We'll just have time to see Mr. Rex.”

As they came into sight, Worthington turned towards them with an exclamation of relief. He had apparently been pacing back and forth beside the car.

”Master Jones!” he said. ”I was beginning to worry. Did some mishap befall you?”

he asked, eyeing the condition of their hands and faces and clothing.

”Nothing serious,” Jupiter said. ”Tell me, did two boys leave Black Canyon about forty minutes ago?”

”Somewhat longer ago than that,” Worthington said, as they climbed into the car.

”Two lads came running this way, saw me, and ducked to one side. They entered some bushes down the road. Apparently they had concealed a car there, for a moment later a blue sports car roared off.”

Pete and Jupiter looked at each other and nodded. Skinny Norris's car was a blue sports car.

”And then,” Worthington continued, ”I heard the sound of rocks sliding. When you did not appear, I began to fear for your safety. My orders are that I must never let this car out of my sight, but if you had not appeared in another moment, I would have come in search of you.”

”You heard the sounds of rocks sliding after after the two boys drove away?” Jupiter asked. the two boys drove away?” Jupiter asked.

”Definitely after,” Worthington said. ”Where to now, sir?”

”Number 915 Winding Valley Road,” Jupiter said, his tone absent-minded. Pete knew what was puzzling him. If Skinny Norris and his pal had driven away before the landslide, then who had pushed down the rocks that had imprisoned them in the crevice?

Pete glanced at his companion. Jupiter was pinching his lip, deep in thought.

”We seem to have solved the mystery of the other tyre tracks,” Jupiter remarked.

”Obviously Skinny Norris made them. But then whom did we see in the canyon after Skinny and his friend ran away?”

”Maybe it was the little man who wasn't there,” Pete said. ”Anyway, it wasn't a spook, phantom, ghost, or spirit.”

”No, whoever it was, was human enough,” Jupiter agreed. ”When we come to a gas station, Worthington, we'd like to stop long enough to wash up.”

After they had cleaned up, the car took them up a long, winding drive over the ridge of the mountains, then down into the broad valley beyond. They turned right, and after another mile found the beginning of Winding Valley Road. At first it was a wide, attractive drive, with expensive houses on both sides. But as it continued on back up into the ridge they had just crossed, it became more narrow and winding. In places the walls were almost vertical. At other spots there was barely room for a tiny bungalow or an old shack.

Still Winding Valley Road continued, rising higher and higher, getting narrower, until finally it came to an abrupt end against a steep, rocky slope, with a small turn-round area to enable a motorist to reverse his direction.

Worthington brought the car to a stop with an air of bewilderment.

”We've reached the end of the road,” he said. ”But I do not see any habitation.”

[image]

”There's a mailbox!” Pete exclaimed. ”It says Rex-915 Rex-915. The house must be round here somewhere.”

He and Jupiter climbed out. The mailbox leaned beside a ragged bush. Behind it a rough trail of rocky steps led up the hillside, through other bushes and small trees.

They started up this, and in a few moments they had left the car many feet below them.

Then they rounded a clump of shrubs and saw, tucked against the side of the hill, an old-fas.h.i.+oned Spanish bungalow with a red-tiled roof. To one side of the bungalow, against the canyon wall, were several very large cages, and in these cages hundreds of parakeets were flapping and flying from perch to perch, keeping up a constant screeching sound.

As the boys stopped and stared at the cages of brilliantly coloured birds, they heard footsteps behind them.

They turned and gazed with startled eyes at the man who was coming up the trail behind them. He was tall and completely bald, his eyes hidden behind huge black gla.s.ses. A livid scar ran across his throat from below one ear almost to his breastbone.

He spoke, and his voice was a sinister whisper.

”Stand right where you are! Don't move a step, do you hear?”

As they stood frozen, he came towards them, swinging in his left hand a great machete, its razor edge gleaming in the suns.h.i.+ne.

Chapter 9.

Sinister Spirits THE TALL BALD MAN with the scarred throat approached them rapidly.

”Stand absolutely still, boys!” he whispered. ”Don't move if you value your lives!”

To Pete, the warning seemed unnecessary. He couldn't move. Then the machete flashed through the air between him and Jupiter. It struck the ground somewhere near their feet, and the man gave an exclamation of disappointment.

”Missed!” he said.