The Mystery of the Singing Serpent Read online

  THEMYSTERY OF

  THE SINGING SERPENT

  Text by M. V. CAREY

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  A Short Preview by Alfred Hitchcock

  Welcome, mystery lovers! We are gathered together again for another stimulating case of The Three Investigators, whose official motto is “We Investigate Anything.” If they had known what they were getting into when they tackled the curious case of the singing serpent, they might have changed their motto!

  Be that as it may, they find themselves this time drawn into the dark world of witchcraft, where mystery and intrigue lead them from one enigma to another until — but I am not a blabbermouth. I promised faithfully not to tell too much, and I shall keep my promise.

  Indeed, I shall only say that The Three Investigators are Jupiter Jones, Pete Crenshaw and Bob Andrews, who all make their home in Rocky Beach, a small municipality in California a few miles from Hollywood. Their Headquarters is a mobile home trailer in The Jones Salvage Yard, a super-junkyard owned by Jupiter’s aunt and uncle.

  The boys make an excellent team, Jupiter has a quick mind and is adept at deductions. Pete is less intellectual but sturdy and courageous. Bob is somewhat studious and an excellent researcher. Together they have solved some very unusual mysteries indeed.

  Which is all I shall say at this time, for I know you are eager to dispense with this preview and get to the main feature!

  ALFRED HITCHCOCK

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  Chapter 1

  The Girl on the Appaloosa

  “I WOULD BE HAPPIER, Jupiter, if you didn’t come to breakfast in your swimming trunks,” said Aunt Mathilda Jones.

  Jupiter Jones pushed back the sleeves of his sweat shirt and reached for his orange juice. “I’m going swimming with Bob and Pete,” he said. “They’ll be here any minute.”

  Across the table, Uncle Titus Jones brushed a crumb from his big black mustache. “Don’t eat too much,” he warned Jupiter. “You’re not supposed to swim on a full stomach.”

  “You don’t want to get a cramp,” said Aunt Mathilda. She then moved her coffee cup to one side and began to page through the Los Angeles Times.

  Jupiter took a single slice of toast.

  “Well, my gracious to Betsy!” said Aunt Mathilda. Then she sighed.

  Jupiter looked up in interest. Aunt Mathilda was not much given to sighing.

  “I was seventeen the year that movie came out,” said Aunt Mathilda. “I saw it at the Odeon.”

  Uncle Titus looked blank.

  “I don’t think I slept for a week after,” said Aunt Mathilda. She passed the paper across the table to Uncle Titus. Jupiter stood up and looked over his uncle’s shoulder at the picture of a thin man with high cheekbones, pinched nostrils and piercing, dark eyes. In the photograph, the man stared intently into a glowing crystal ball.

  “Ramon Castillo in The Vampire’s Lair,” said Jupiter. “He was a great master of makeup.”

  Aunt Mathilda shuddered. “You should have seen him in Cry of the Werewolf.”

  “I did,” said Jupiter. “It was on television last month.”

  Uncle Titus finished reading the news story that accompanied the photograph of the late great character actor.

  “It says here that the auction of Castillo’s estate will be held on the twenty-first,” said Uncle Titus. “I think I’ll go.”

  Aunt Mathilda pondered this, frowning slightly. She knew that Uncle Titus dearly loved auctions. She also knew that The Jones Salvage Yard, which she and Uncle Titus owned, was famous for its stock of hard-to-find items. People came to the yard seeking everything from steel beams and old bathtubs to antique sundials. Nevertheless, some of Uncle Titus’s more unusual purchases had been difficult to sell. Aunt Mathilda was a firm believer in making a profit.

  “They’re selling the entire Castillo collection,” said Uncle Titus. “All of his costumes and even the crystal ball he used in The Vampire’s Lair.”

  “There are dealers who specialize in that sort of thing,” Aunt Mathilda said. “Besides, the bidding will be high.”

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  “I suppose so.” Uncle Titus put the paper aside. “The collectors will be out in droves.”

  “I’m sure they will.” Aunt Mathilda stood up and began to clear the table. Halfway to the sink she paused and listened. From the street outside came the clip-clop of hoofs. “The little Jamison girl,” decided Aunt Mathilda.

  Jupiter went to the window. It was the Jamison girl, and as usual she was astride her Appaloosa. The horse stepped along with its head high. It was a magnificent mare, brown with white markings on its hindquarters.

  “Beautiful horse,” said Jupiter. “Typical of the Appaloosa breed.” He did not comment on the rider — the girl who sat straight in the saddle and looked neither to left nor right.

  “Going for a gallop on the beach, I guess,” said Aunt Mathilda. “That must be a lonely child. Marie told me her parents are in Europe.”

  “I know,” said Jupe. Marie was the Jamison maid, and she and Aunt Mathilda were friends. On her afternoons off, Marie often came to have tea with Aunt Mathilda and to tell of the doings of the Jamison family. Thanks to Marie, Jupe knew that when Mr. Jamison bought the old Littlefield mansion some months before, he spared no expense in having the place restored. He knew that the chandelier in the dining room had once graced a palace in Vienna, and that Mrs. Jamison had a diamond necklace which had once graced the throat of the Empress Eugénie. He knew that the girl on the Appaloosa was Allie, the Jamison daughter, and that the mare was her personal property. Jupe even knew that at the moment an aunt of Allie’s from Los Angeles was presiding over the grand household, and in Marie’s opinion, the aunt was very odd.

  The girl and the horse disappeared around the corner, and Aunt Mathilda put the dishes she was holding on the drain-board. “You could try being nice to that girl,” she told Jupe. “The Jamisons only live three blocks down the street. We’re practically neighbors.”

  “She doesn’t seem especially neighbourly,” said Jupe. “I think she only talks to horses.”

  “Perhaps she’s shy,” said Aunt Mathilda.

  Jupe didn’t reply, for Bob Andrews and Pete Crenshaw had come swooping down the street on their bikes. Like Jupe, Bob and Pete wore scuffed sneakers, swimming trunks and sweat shirts.

  “See you later,” said Jupe to his aunt, and he hurried out to meet the other boys.

  The three were off then, with Jupiter pumping furiously at his bicycle. Jupe had once been a child actor, and had been called Baby Fatso. It was still easy to see why. In spite of his extra weight, however, he was ahead of Bob and Pete when they reached the corner of the street and turned down the short hill toward the Coast Highway.

  Suddenly, “Watch out!” shouted Pete.

  A horse screamed in terror. Jupe saw a huge shape rear in front of him. He threw his arms over his head, and as he fell he wrenched himself to one side. His bike clattered away.

  There was another scream. It was thinner and higher — not an animal scream.

  An instant later, hoofs struck the macadam very close to Jupe’s head.

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  Jupe rolled away, then sat up. The Appaloosa was backing and prancing, ears flat against its head. The Jamison girl was lying on the road.

  Bob and Pete dropped their bikes and Jupe scrambled up. All three hurried to the girl. Pete bent and touched her on the shoulder.

  The girl was gasping, struggling to catch her breath. With a convulsive effort, she managed to get her lungs full of air. Then she shouted, “Take your hands off me!”

  “Hey!” said Bob gently. “Take it easy, huh?”

  She came to a sitting position and clutched at her knee, where blood streamed through a rip in her faded jeans. Her eyes were dry, but she
was panting, almost sobbing.

  “You really got the wind knocked out of you,” said Pete.

  She ignored him and glared at Jupiter. “Don’t you know horses have the right of way?” she demanded.

  “I’m sorry,” said Jupe. “I didn’t see you.”

  The girl stood up slowly. She looked at her mare and then back at Jupiter. Her eyes were pale — the same tawny color as her long hair — but at that instant they were cold with rage. “If you hurt my mare …” she began.

  “I don’t believe the horse is damaged in any way,” said Jupiter stiffly.

  The girl limped toward the Appaloosa. “Easy, girl!” she called. “Here, girl! Easy!”

  The mare came to her and put its big head down on her shoulder.

  “Did they scare you?” asked the girl. Her hands went up to stroke the horse’s mane.

  Aunt Mathilda appeared at the top of the road. “Jupiter? Pete? Bob? What’s going on?”

  The Jamison girl patted the horse again, reached up to grasp the saddle and tried to mount. The horse took a step backward.

  “Hold it for her, Pete,” said Jupe. “I’ll give her a hand.”

  “I don’t need a hand!” snapped the girl.

  Aunt Mathilda came down the road. She stared at Allie Jamison — at the tangle of hair, the torn jeans, the bleeding knee. “What happened?”

  “They scared my horse,” said the girl.

  “And she fell off,” added Pete.

  “It was an accident,” said Jupe.

  “I see. Jupiter, go and tell your Uncle Titus to bring one of the trucks. I’ll drive Miss Jamison home so she can have that knee attended to.”

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  “I don’t need anyone to drive me home,” said Allie Jamison.

  “The truck, Jupiter,” said Aunt Mathilda. “And Pete, you hold the reins on that horse.”

  “Does it bite?” asked Pete.

  “Certainly not,” declared Aunt Mathilda, who really knew very little about the subject. “Horses don’t bite. They kick.”

  “Oh, great!” groaned Pete.

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  Chapter 2

  The Night Visitor

  When Bob, Pete and Jupiter led the Appaloosa up to the Jamison house, the truck from the salvage yard was standing in the brick driveway. Aunt Mathilda and the Jamison girl were nowhere to be seen.

  Pete looked at the massive pillars that supported the roof over the veranda. “Too bad Aunt Mathilda didn’t wear her hoop skirt today,” he said.

  Jupiter chuckled. “It does look like an old Southern mansion,” he conceded.

  “A big old Southern mansion,” said Bob. “Where do you suppose we find the horse department?”

  Pete pointed toward the rear of the property. “There’s a field with a fence around it.”

  “Fine,” said Jupe. They led the mare up the drive, past a flagstone patio which was shaded by a wisteria vine.

  Behind the house, the brick driveway fanned out to become a courtyard. Next to the fenced field was a triple garage. One double door stood open, and inside there was a stall. Pieces of tackle hung from pegs on the walls.

  The back door of the house opened and Marie, the maid, looked out. “Boys, would you take the saddle off Indian Queen and let her into the field? Then come in. Miss Osborne wants to see you.”

  Marie disappeared into the house, closing the door behind her.

  Pete looked at the mare. “Indian Queen?”

  “I believe Allie Jamison calls her Queenie,” said Jupe. “That’s what Marie told Aunt Mathilda.”

  “Who’s Miss Osborne?” asked Bob.

  “She’s the aunt who’s staying here while Mr. and Mrs. Jamison are in Europe,” Jupe told him. “According to Marie, she’s rather peculiar.”

  “Peculiar how?”

  “I don’t know exactly, but Marie thinks there’s something odd about her. If we’re going to meet her, we can judge for ourselves.”

  Jupe removed the mare’s saddle. Bob opened the gate to the field, and the horse trotted into the grass beyond the fence. Jupe found a stand in the garage for the saddle and a peg for the bridle. Then the boys opened the back door of the house and stepped directly into a huge, sunny kitchen.

  They went through the kitchen to a wide central hall with a staircase. To the left was the dining room, and the boys looked out past the crystal drops of the famous chandelier to the wisteria-shaded patio. To the right of the hall was the living room which was all green-gold paleness. Beyond the living room, a door opened onto a paneled room lined with books.

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  Allie Jamison was in the living room stretched out on a sofa with a towel under her leg. Beside her sat a woman who might have been Aunt Mathilda’s age, or perhaps a bit older. She wore a long gown of purple velvet, trimmed at the throat with a band of silver. Her hair was a delicate shade of lavender.

  “Aunt Pat, Mom will kill me if I bleed on the sofa,” said Allie. “Look, I’ll go upstairs and …”

  “Now dear, just lie still. You’ve had a shock.” The woman did not look up at the boys, and Jupe saw that her hands shook as she cut the leg of the girl’s jeans up from the ankle. “Oh, my. It’s still bleeding,” she said.

  “A nasty scrape,” said Aunt Mathilda, who had established herself in a chair near the fireplace. “Still, children do survive these things.”

  “I’ll need some cobwebs,” said the woman.

  “Cobwebs?” echoed Aunt Mathilda.

  “Cobwebs?” said Marie, who stood by holding a basin of water.

  Bob and Pete shifted uneasily, and Pete looked questioningly at Jupe. Jupe smiled. “Cobwebs,” he said to Marie. “Spiders make them.”

  Marie went pink with outrage. “There are no cobwebs in this house. I spray every week.”

  “Oh, how unfortunate,” said the lady in purple. “Well, in that case, bring the gold jar from my medicine cabinet.”

  Marie went, and for the first time the woman in purple focused on the boys. “Thank you for helping my niece,” she said. “Of course, this whole thing could have been prevented if she’d worn her purple scarf. Purple is for protection, you know.”

  “Of course,” said Jupiter.

  Marie returned with a small gilt jar.

  “This should do it,” said Allie’s aunt. “It’s not quite as good as cobwebs, but it is good. I made it myself.” She took the lid from the jar and applied a clear ointment to Allie’s knee.

  “Would the American Medical Association approve?” asked Allie.

  “Now, dear, it’s sure to work,” said Miss Osborne. “I gathered the herbs in the dark of the moon. Look. The bleeding’s stopped.”

  “I hate to say so, Aunt Pat,” said the girl, “but it stopped before you put that gunk on. What now? Do we order a wheelchair?”

  “I think a bandage …” began Miss Osborne.

  “I’ll take care of it. It’s no big deal.” Allie got up and headed for the hall. She passed the boys as if they were invisible, then paused at the foot of the stairs. “Thanks,” she said. “I mean, thanks for bringing Indian Queen home.”

  “No trouble,” said Pete, who had stayed as far away from the horse as possible.

  Allie went upstairs.

  “I’m sure Allie is really grateful,” said Miss Osborne. “She’s a bit upset now, and you’ve been so kind and … and I’m afraid I didn’t get your names.”

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  Aunt Mathilda stood up. “I am Mrs. Titus Jones and this is my nephew, Jupiter Jones. And Pete Crenshaw and Bob Andrews.”

  Miss Osborne stared at Jupe, her violet eyes wide. “Jupiter Jones! Why, you’re Baby Fatso!”

  Jupiter did not care to be reminded of his stage name. He felt his face getting hot.

  “The world’s youngest has-been,” said Pete with a smile.

  “Ah, but to have been part of the wonderful world of cinema!” exclaimed Miss Osborne. Then her eyes went past Jupiter to the window. “It’s Mr. Ariel!” she cried.

  Aunt Mathilda and the boys turned to look. Out on the street, a man dressed in a black suit was getting out of a taxi. He had, thought Jupiter, the palest face ever seen on a human b
eing. He looked as if he spent all his days in some deep cave.

  Carrying a suitcase, the man headed up the drive to the walk leading to the front door.

  “He is coming to stay after all!” Miss Osborne was obviously thrilled. “I was so hoping.”

  “We won’t intrude,” said Aunt Mathilda. “We must be going anyway.” And before Miss Osborne could say one more word, she was shepherding the boys out the front door and across the veranda. They passed the black-clad man on the walk.

  Aunt Mathilda paused before she climbed into the cab of the pickup truck.

  “If you boys are going swimming, you’d better go,” she said. “Do you want a ride back to your bikes?”

  “No thanks,” said Jupe. “We’ll walk.”

  Aunt Mathilda shook her head. “Never in all my life! Cobwebs on a wound! What an idea!” She climbed into the truck and slammed the door.

  “It’s an old folk remedy for bleeding,” said Jupiter, who read a great deal and had a head crammed with odd bits of information.

  “Dreadful!” announced Aunt Mathilda, and she backed the truck out of the drive.

  “And peculiar,” said Pete. “Marie is right. Allie Jamison’s aunt is one very peculiar lady.”

  “She is, at least, very superstitious,” said Jupiter.

  He dismissed the subject of Allie Jamison from his mind then. Not until late that night, as he was falling asleep, did he think again of the Jamison house and the jar of ointment — herbs gathered in the dark of the moon. He smiled and pulled the bedclothes up to his chin. He was almost asleep when the pounding began at the door.

  “Mrs. Jones! Mrs. Jones, let me in!”

  Jupiter sprang out of bed, snatched his robe and charged into the hall. Aunt Mathilda was halfway down the stairs, with Uncle Titus behind her. Jupe followed and saw his aunt unlock the door.

  Marie, the Jamison maid, almost fell into the house. “Oh, Mrs. Jones!” she wailed. She was in her bathrobe and slippers.

  “Marie, what is it?” asked Aunt Mathilda.