The Mystery of Death Trap Mine

  THEMYSTERY OF

  THE DEATH TRAP MINE

  M. V. Carey

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  A word from Hector Sebastian

  Hello, mystery fans!

  I again invite you to share the adventures of The Three Investigators — a trio of young detectives who specialize in solving unusual mysteries. Join them this time in a trip to a remote New Mexico mining town where a dead man waits in a dead mine to betray one of the living … and where a mysterious woman — but I’m getting ahead of myself.

  If you’re not already acquainted with The Three Investigators, let me tell you that Jupiter Jones, leader of the group, is a chunky boy with an excellent memory and an amazing talent for deduction. Pete Crenshaw is quick and athletic, but in his more cautious moments he objects to Jupiter’s tendency to stir up trouble. Bob Andrews is a studious boy who is in charge of research and records for the trio. They all live in Rocky Beach, California, on the outskirts of Los Angeles, but they never avoid traveling far afield in search of mystery and intrigue.

  HECTOR SEBASTIAN

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  Chapter 1

  The Invitation

  “Hey, Jupe! Guess who’s looking for you!” said Pete Crenshaw as he pushed open a trap door in the floor and scrambled into the Headquarters of The Three Investigators.

  “I don’t need to guess. I know,” said Jupiter Jones. He leaned back in his chair, which squeaked under the weight of his chubby frame. “Aunt Mathilda was up at six o’clock this morning,” he said, in his precise way. “She cooked a hearty breakfast and sent Uncle Titus off to a garage sale in Oxnard. I deduced at once that she planned a busy day.” Jupiter peered at his watch. “It is now exactly one-fifteen. From your question, I now deduce that Uncle Titus has returned, that he has made some purchases in Oxnard, and that Aunt Mathilda wishes me to help unload the truck.”

  “Jupiter Jones, boy genius!” Bob Andrews chuckled. The slender, bespectacled youth was leaning on a file cabinet, quietly reading through some notes.

  The three boys were in the battered old mobile home trailer that Jupe’s aunt and uncle had given them for clubhouse. It sat in a far corner of The Jones Salvage Yard, concealed behind stacks of old timbers, beams, and scrap iron. The salvage yard was a busy place. Filled with all sorts of ordinary scrap, it also contained a variety of unusual items rescued from houses that were being torn down — antique sundials, old marble bathtubs, carved doorframes, and stained-glass windows. In the press of cleaning, sorting, and storing these things — and of waiting on people who came from up and down the Pacific Coast looking for hard-to-find objects — Jupiter’s uncle and aunt had completely forgotten the trailer in the corner.

  The boys had turned the trailer into a headquarters for their junior detective firm, The Three Investigators. Inside was a tiny lab and darkroom, and an office outfitted with a worn desk, chairs, and a telephone. A large file cabinet held reports on all the boys’ cases, meticulously written up by Bob Andrews. Jupiter, the leader of the trio, spent much of his free time in Headquarters, pondering the firm’s cases and exercising his incredible brain.

  Jupiter was proud of his uncanny knack for deduction. Now, as Pete and Bob grinned at him, he scowled. “Aunt Mathilda is not looking for me?” he asked.

  “Don’t complain,” said Pete. “When Aunt Mathilda’s looking for you, you know what it means — work! No. I was down at the Rocky Beach Market this morning and I bumped into Allie Jamison.”

  Jupe sat suddenly upright in his chair. Bob stopped shuffling papers and stared. Allie Jamison, the daughter of one of the wealthiest families in Rocky Beach, had been their client the summer before. In a case they called “The Mystery of the Singing Serpent,” they had helped her get rid of a sinister houseguest and had exposed a diabolical blackmail plot. But their association with the girl had not been a complete pleasure. She was impulsive, devoted to getting her own way, and not above bending the truth when it suited her.

  “Oh, good grief!” said Jupe at last. “I thought that girl was spending the summer with an uncle in New Mexico. The Jamison house is closed up and Mr. and Mrs. Jamison are in Japan!”

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  Pete nodded. “I know. But right now Allie is here in Rocky Beach. She told me she and her uncle needed to pick up some stuff from the house, and her uncle had business in town. And something’s up with her. She’s just busting with some great news and she’s going to come tell us about it before she and her uncle leave for New Mexico.”

  Bob sighed. “And it started out to be such a peaceful summer.”

  “Never mind,” said Jupiter. “She is leaving again — soon, one hopes! Pete, how long will Allie be here?”

  “Only until tomorrow!” said a voice from behind the curtain that separated the little laboratory section of the trailer from the office. Pete groaned as the curtain was pulled to one side and Allie Jamison stepped out, grinning. She looked like a young rodeo rider in her faded jeans and western shirt.

  Her face was tanned and her long, tawny hair was sunstreaked. “Aren’t you glad to see me?” she asked innocently. But her hazel eyes sparkled with malicious glee.

  “How did you get in here?” demanded Pete.

  Allie laughed. She went to the desk, pulled herself up onto it, and sat there cross-legged. “I got here ahead of all of you,” she said. “There’s a painting of the great San Francisco fire on the back fence of this place, and in the painting there’s a little dog watching the fire.”

  Jupe slouched wearily. “And there’s a knothole in the dog’s eye. You stuck your finger through the knothole, undid a catch on the inside of the fence, and the boards swung open.” Jupiter was referring to Red Gate Rover, one of several secret entrances to the salvage yard that the boys had devised.

  “You deduced right this time,” said Allie. “I watched you guys open that gate at least a dozen times last summer. And I didn’t have to be an Einstein to figure out that you had some kind of secret hideout back here.”

  “Go ahead, Allie,” said Pete. “Rub it in. How did you get in here?”

  Allie went on with obvious delight. “You guys aren’t as smart as you think! There’s a sign that says ‘Office’ on top of a pile of junk right inside that gate. But the arrow on the sign doesn’t point to the junkyard office. So I figured it must point to your detective headquarters. And I was right! I just followed the arrow through the junk … and ended up in front of that sliding panel.” Allie pointed to a panel at the back of the trailer. “That’s darn good detective work, if I do say so myself,” said Allie.

  “We must put a lock on that panel,” said Jupe.

  “Yeah, and take down that sign!” added Pete.

  “Don’t bother,” snapped Allie. “I am leaving tomorrow, and I don’t care about your silly secrets anyway.” She gave a saucy toss of her head. “Besides, I’ve got better things to do.”

  “Such as what?” demanded Pete.

  Allie leaned forward intently. “I’ve got a case of my own,” she said. “I’m going to investigate like you guys, and I’m going to keep my Uncle Harry from having the wool pulled over his eyes.”

  “Oh?” said Jupe. “Is your Uncle Harry incapable of taking care of himself?”

  Allie’s face was serious. “My Uncle Harry is Harrison Osborne, and he’s no dope,” she

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  told them. “He made a couple of fortunes in the stock market before he retired and bought that Christmas tree ranch in New Mexico. But when it comes to people, he can really be dumb!”

  “And you’re smarter?” Pete laughed.

  “I can spot a phony when I see one,” said Allie. “The place my uncle bought once belonged to a mining company. There’s a mine on it — Death Trap Mine.”

  “That’s a great name,” jeered Pete. “What was in the mine? Dinosaur bo
nes?”

  “Silver,” said Allie. “The mine’s dead now. The silver’s all gone. It’s called Death Trap Mine because a woman once wandered in there and fell down a shaft and was killed. Some of the old-timers in Twin Lakes — that’s the town where Uncle Harry’s got his place — they say the woman’s ghost still haunts the mine. Of course, I don’t believe a word of that. But there is a spook around. He’s the guy who bought the mine and a hunk of land around it from my uncle.”

  An angry spot of colour showed on Allie’s tanned face. “He’s up to something,” she said. “He’s playing some kind of part. He was born in Twin Lakes, see?”

  “Is that a crime?” asked Bob, puzzled.

  “No. But there’s something funny about a guy who’s born in a town and who leaves when he’s practically a baby and then, years and years later, he comes back a millionaire and puts on this big act about how he’s so glad to be home. Only he’s about as friendly as a rattlesnake. Also, he opened the mine. The entrance was sealed with an iron grill, but he opened it and bought a guard dog to watch it. What is there to guard in a dead mine? The guy putters around the place in brand-new jeans and he’s even got a hard hat, like construction workers wear. The getup doesn’t match the rest of him. He’s got manicured nails!”

  Allie paused. When the boys said nothing she went on with her recital. “He won’t let anybody near that mine. I smell a rat. He’s pulling some kind of fast one right in my uncle’s front yard, and I’m going to figure out what it is.”

  “Lots of luck!” said Pete.

  “Allie!” A man’s voice came faintly to them. Bob went to the periscope that Jupe had rigged up and installed in the roof of the trailer so the boys could look out without being seen. He put his eye to it and peered across the piles of scrap. “There’s a man with white hair and a big mustache near the gate. He’s talking to Jupe’s Aunt Mathilda,” he reported.

  “That’s Uncle Harry.” Allie slid off the desk. “I told him I’d be at the salvage yard. You guys want to meet him? He’s nice — my favorite relative.”

  Allie marched to the sliding panel and out of the trailer. The boys suppressed triumphant grins as they followed her out. The panel was not the only secret entrance to Headquarters. At least the girl hadn’t learned about the most important one — the trap door in the office floor. The boys and Allie picked their way through the salvage to the front gate.

  “There you are!” said Aunt Mathilda when she saw them. “I knew you were around somewhere. And Allie! How nice to see you again.”

  “I’m very glad to see you again, Mrs. Jones,” said Allie, in her most polite schoolgirl manner. “Uncle Harry, meet Jupiter Jones, Bob Andrews, and Pete Crenshaw.”

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  “Hi,” said Harrison Osborne. He shook Jupe’s hand and nodded to Bob and Pete. “So you’re The Three Investigators. Allie has told me about you.”

  “Nothing good, you can bet,” said Allie.

  The boys ignored Allie’s remark. Jupe reached into his pocket and pulled out a large business card, which he handed to Harrison Osborne. “If you should ever have need of our services, sir …”

  Mr. Osborne read the card:

  THE THREE INVESTIGATORS

  “We Investigate Anything”

  ? ? ?

  First Investigator - Jupiter Jones Second Investigator - Peter Crenshaw Records and Research - Bob Andrews

  Allie’s uncle handed the card back to Jupiter. “What do the question marks stand for?” he asked.

  “The question mark is the universal symbol of the unknown,” answered Jupe. “The three question marks on our card stand for The Three Investigators — they’re our trademark. We specialize in solving any puzzles, riddles, mysteries, or enigmas brought to us.”

  “I doubt that I’ll ever have a need for detectives in Twin Lakes,” said Mr. Osborne, with a chuckle. “But …” He was suddenly thoughtful. “But I could use three strong fellows

  like you at the ranch. And Allie really does need somebody nearer her own age…. Say, I

  don’t suppose you boys have ever done any pruning?”

  “Pruning?” echoed Bob. “Why sure.”

  “Good,” said Uncle Harry. “Christmas trees have to be pruned or they won’t be the right shape when they’re harvested for Christmas. I’ve been having trouble getting help in Twin Lakes. Why don’t you three come with Allie and me tomorrow morning and spend a couple of weeks at my ranch?”

  He turned to Aunt Mathilda. “If you could spare the boys for a while, I’d like to have them. We’ve got plenty of room, and I’ll pay them by the hour, just as I’d pay anybody I got locally.”

  Aunt Mathilda looked doubtful. “I don’t know,” she said. “I thought that this week we might clear away that stack of salvage in the far corner of the yard. It’s only taking up room.”

  All three boys started. Aunt Mathilda was planning to remove the heaps of junk that protected Headquarters! Jupe thought quickly. Without the boys, she would never get to this task.

  “Aunt Mathilda, I would like very much to go with Allie and her uncle. It would be a new experience.

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  “And new experiences are good for you!” said Allie, laughing. “Besides, you just might run into some mystery in Twin Lakes, and that would be fun!”

  Jupe suddenly realized that in some devious way Allie had put her uncle up to issuing the invitation. She had trapped them into helping her with her case.

  “It might be fun at that,” said Pete. “I think my folks will let me go.”

  Bob looked eager. “I know I can get a leave from my part-time job at the library. It’s slow there now.”

  “Well, all right,” said Aunt Mathilda.

  Harrison Osborne shook her hand. “I promise not to work the boys too hard.”

  “I’m not worried about that,” said Aunt Mathilda. “It can’t be done. They can think of more excuses not to work than a centipede has legs!”

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  Chapter 2

  A Roaring Welcome

  “Such as it is, this is Twin Lakes,” announced Harrison Osborne.

  He slowed the big air-conditioned station wagon that had carried them across Arizona deserts and up into the hills of southwestern New Mexico. The boys, who rode in the back, looked ahead along the oiled logging road and saw a green valley between two ranges of tree-covered mountains. There were rows of little frame houses on dusty streets that ran back from the main road. Several buildings faced the road — a market, a drugstore, a newspaper office, and a tiny crumbling hardware store. In the centre of town a faded brick courthouse reared up to an imposing two stories. There was a gas station and, beyond this, the Twin Lakes Fire Department.

  “Fire!” said Pete suddenly, pointing to a place beyond town. Smoke curled up into the clear afternoon air.

  “Don’t panic,” said Allie. She sat next to her uncle in the front seat. “That’s just smoke from the furnace of the sawmill.”

  “Mining used to be the big thing here,” Uncle Harry told them. “Now the mines are all played out and the sawmill keeps the town going. Logging is the only thing left. Forty-five years ago Twin Lakes was a rip-roaring place, but no more.”

  “Last place in the world I’d come to if I wanted to pull a fast one,” said Pete.

  Harrison Osborne looked away from the road for a second. “A fast one?” he said. “Allie, have you been telling the boys any of your wild tales?”

  Allie stared straight ahead.

  “Allie?” Her uncle stopped the car to let a woman dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt cross the road in front of him.

  “I only said that Wesley Thurgood is a phony — and he is, Uncle Harry!”

  Uncle Harry made a sound that was halfway between a snort and a laugh. He kept his foot on the brake and turned to face the boys. “I know you three are amateur detectives,” he said, “but don’t go bothering Wesley Thurgood. He is our neighbour and I don’t want any trouble with neighbours. Thurgood’s got a fine reputation. He’s made a lot of money in real estate, and he came back to Twin Lakes because that’s where he started out. He was born here — just before the mine clos
ed down. His family moved away soon after, but he told me he grew up hearing exciting stories of Twin Lakes’ boom-town days. He bought Death Trap Mine because his father once worked there. Now that doesn’t seem to me like such a far-out thing to do.”

  “So why’d he open up the mine again?” demanded Allie with all the authority she could muster.

  “That’s none of our business,” said her uncle. “I do know that it wasn’t so kids could prowl around and maybe get hurt. Thurgood’s one hundred percent aboveboard. I’ve checked him out and so has my bank. He’s a millionaire — his credit rating would make a

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  Vanderbilt look like a piker.”

  He turned to the boys and smiled. “Allie has a way of going off half-cocked,” he said. “She’s got it in for Thurgood because she tried to explore the mine one day and he marched her back home by the scruff of the neck. And quite rightly. It’s called Death Trap Mine because a woman was killed in there years ago on just that sort of an expedition.”

  Pete exploded with laughter. “Allie! You didn’t tell us you got thrown off Thurgood’s place!”

  “Oh, shut up!” Allie’s voice shook with anger.

  Jupe chuckled as he pictured the proud girl being marched out of the mine.

  “He’s a phony, I tell you!” cried Allie.

  “Perhaps he’s only eccentric,” said Jupe. “Wealthy people sometimes are eccentric.”

  “That’s no crime,” said Uncle Harry. He released the brake and they were moving again. “I don’t want you to bother him again, Allie. And that goes for you, too, boys.”

  The car turned off the oiled road and bumped across a wooden bridge that spanned a tiny waterfall between two lakes that were hardly more than ponds. The boys guessed that these gave the town its name. Beyond the bridge the road was unpaved and dust billowed out behind the car. About a mile from the bridge, on the left side of the road, were fields filled with young evergreens and, farther on, an open gate. Across the road from the gate sat several small houses. One was newly painted, but the others looked desolate and abandoned. Uncle Harry slowed and honked the horn at a tall, lean woman who was watering the garden next to the trim little house.