The Mystery of the Cranky Collector Read online

  She stopped and frowned, then said, “But I’m not trying to string you along. Listen, I don’t know what I’m looking for and … and … wait! Listen!”

  She stopped, held the phone out, and glared at it.

  “The kidnapper?” said Jupe.

  “Yes. He thinks I’m making fun of him. He doesn’t want any old murder story. He wants the bishop’s book, and he hung up without telling me any more about it.”

  “Could you tell anything from the voice?” asked Bob.

  She shook her head. “Hoarse,” she said. “Either the guy has a cold or he was talking through a handkerchief to disguise his voice. He has an accent of some kind, but that could be a put-on.”

  She turned away to continue her search of the bureau. By the time she opened the last drawer and the boys had taken down the last box from the closet shelves, they were all weary. And Marilyn was hungry.

  “I didn’t have dinner and there’s not much in the refrigerator,” she said. “Dad picked up the tab for the food for this party, so you can bet he made Burnside figure it really close. Want to share a pizza?”

  “Great,” said Bob. “No anchovies though, huh?”

  “Extra cheese,” requested Jupiter. “And a diet cola.”

  “Okay. One of you guys want to come with me and help carry?”

  Bob went with Marilyn, and Jupe stayed behind to continue the search. He started to go to the next bedroom, but on his way he saw the door to the attic. He had been up there that afternoon, when he and his friends were looking for Pilcher. It was not as jumbled as the unused bedrooms on the

  27

  Attack!

  second floor. Also, it wouldn’t be used as much as the bedrooms. It would be an ideal place to stash a treasure.

  Jupe opened the door, flipped the light switch at the foot of the stairs, and started up.

  There were trunks shoved back in the corners. There were also boxes and bookcases, but not an overwhelming number of them. Jupe went to the first set of shelves and pulled out a slim volume. It was titled The Secret of Typewriting Speed. It was dated 1917.

  He was putting the book back on the shelf when he heard the house door close down below.

  “Bob?” he called. “That you?”

  There was no answer. Jupe turned from the shelf and listened, suddenly aware that it couldn’t be Bob and Marilyn. Not yet. They hadn’t had time to get the pizza.

  But someone had come into the old collector’s house.

  Jupe did not call out again. He did not stir. The attic door was open, and he could hear footsteps. Someone was coming up to the second floor.

  Clothing rustled. Now the intruder was at the foot of the attic stairs. Jupe heard rasping breathing.

  Who was it? And did he know Jupe was there? Had he heard Jupe call out when the front door opened?

  A switch clicked. The attic light went out.

  The sudden darkness was so intense that it pressed in on Jupe. He felt smothered.

  The prowler was coming up the attic stairs!

  Jupe stepped away from the bookcase. Hide! He had to hide! He would get back in a corner, out of the way.

  The footsteps were at the top of the stairs now. Jupe began to duck behind a bookcase, but he was caught suddenly in a beam of brightness. The intruder had a flashlight!

  Jupe tried to dodge away, but the light followed him. The intruder came on across the attic. Jupe could see nothing but the blinding stab of light. He couldn’t escape! He couldn’t hide!

  He lunged toward the flashlight and struck out at it. There was a surprised gasp and a grunt of pain as one of Jupe’s elbows landed on the prowler’s arm. The light clattered to the floor and bounced away. Glass shattered and the attic went dark.

  Now they were even. And now it began — a perilous groping in the dark as the intruder tried to get his hands on Jupe. Jupe retreated, stumbling backward, feeling his way through total blackness.

  28

  Attack!

  There was a touch on Jupe’s shoulder, and Jupe threw himself to the side. But the assailant followed, clutching, trying to seize Jupe’s arm.

  Jupe doubled his fists and struck out, but he missed. Then there was a shove. Jupe stumbled and went down.

  Downstairs, the house door banged open.

  “Jupe?” It was Bob calling. “Come and get it!”

  A voice muttered something Jupe did not understand. The attacker floundered through the blackness to the attic stairs and thundered down and away.

  Jupe scrambled up and made for the stairs. He almost fell as he raced down after the intruder. When he reached the second floor he heard his quarry on the back stairs.

  Bob called again. “Hey, what’s up? Jupe?”

  Jupe dashed down to the kitchen just in time to hear the back door slam. By the time he got the door open again, the stranger had crossed the yard and disappeared down the alley.

  29

  6

  Footsteps In The Night

  Marilyn called the police. They came and took a report on the intruder. They searched the shrubbery around the house. They looked into the garage in back. Then they told Marilyn to call 911 if the prowler returned.

  The police also asked if her father had been heard from, and they reassured her that most missing persons showed up on their own. Marilyn said nothing to the officers about a ransom note. She stood in the doorway and watched the squad car drive off, then she sighed. “Who was that prowler? An ordinary burgler? The kidnapper? This is getting really confusing.”

  “I’d vote for the kidnapper,” said Bob. “Maybe he got impatient waiting for the bishop’s book.”

  “Perhaps,” said Jupe. “Though we have a better chance of finding the book than an intruder does. But it does suggest that someone has been watching the house.”

  Marilyn looked around fearfully. “I think I’ll go to my mother’s for the night,” she said. “This place is too creepy.”

  “Does your mother live near here?” asked Jupe.

  “In Santa Monica,” said Marilyn. “She and Dad are divorced. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll go there. Except … maybe I shouldn’t. If the kidnapper calls again, I should be here to take the call. Maybe I’ll phone Ray Sanchez and ask him to come over. He’s Dad’s secretary, so I guess he’d do it. I could offer him some overtime.”

  “Couldn’t your fianc´e and his mother come over?” asked Jupe.

  “They could — if they hadn’t called earlier to say there was a family emergency and they were flying home to Boston tonight.” Marilyn snorted. “I bet the emergency was getting away from the Pilchers.”

  “Bob and I could stay here for the night,” Jupe suggested.

  The young woman blinked, and for a second she seemed to struggle with herself, as if she didn’t want to appear pleased at the idea. But finally she said, “Well, sure! I’m your client, so why shouldn’t you be bodyguards? Will

  Footsteps In The Night

  your folks let you stay?”

  “Probably,” said Jupe. “They’re pretty good about things like this.”

  Jupe was right. He and Bob telephoned their homes and had little trouble getting permission to spend the night at the Pilcher house so that Marilyn wouldn’t be alone. After they phoned, Bob reheated the pizza he and Marilyn had brought. They ate, then renewed their search for the bishop’s book. They turned out the shelves in the cluttered rooms on the second floor and found more books and more papers and more relics of the days when Pilcher was a seaman voyaging to far-off lands.

  “Your dad must have been kind of adventurous when he was younger,” said Bob when he came upon an ivory elephant that Marilyn told him was from India. “He must have had a ball, going to sea and everything.”

  “He could afford to be adventurous then,” said Marilyn gloomily. “When he was younger he didn’t have anything to lose, so he just went where he wanted. But then he somehow got enough together to buy the Comet Steamship Line. It wasn’t much — just a couple of rusty freighters that sailed out of Houston to ports in the Caribbean. They were tramp steamers that went wherever they were needed. Dad was smart, and he made enough with those two old scows to have a third ship built. That one made even more money. Then Dad bought a little bank up in Visalia, and he did some deals on the stock market.

  “Mom says it was after he got into the stock market that he really got excited about making money. She says it was like watching someone turn into a compulsive gambler. I — I don’t think Mom understands him.”

  “And you do?” said Bob.

  She shrugged. “I think I do, as much as anybody. I just wish he wasn’t such a hoarder. Not that he’s that way in business. In business you’ve got to know when to let go. That’s one of the things Dad taught me. You have to be sharp, because if you’re not, the turkeys will get you down.

  “I was about five when he and Mom got the divorce. Most of the time I live with my mom when I’m not in school. Lately, though, I’ve been spending more time with Dad. I wouldn’t want him to forget he has a daughter.

  It was late when they finished searching the rooms on the second floor. Marilyn said good night and disappeared into her bedroom. Bob and Jupe decided to take turns keeping watch in the upper hall. They were close enough to Marilyn to hear her if something frightened her during the night. Also, they could see both the front and back stairs. No one could creep up on them and surprise them.

  Bob took the first shift. He got an armchair from one of the bedrooms and settled himself with a cola in his hand.

  Jupe took a blanket from the linen closet and stretched out on a bed in

  31

  Footsteps In The Night

  one of the unused rooms, thinking he probably wouldn’t sleep a wink after the excitement of the day. The next thing he knew, Bob was shaking him. “It’s three A.M.,” said Bob. “I’m beat. Your turn to watch.”

  Jupe crawled out from under the blanket. Bob crawled in. “Mmmm!” said Bob. “Thanks for warming it up for me.”

  “You aren’t welcome,” said Jupe grumpily. He went out to the post in the hall, feeling chilled and depressed, and sat down in the chair. He decided that three A.M. had to be the lowest hour of the day. Compared with three A.M., midnight was cheery.

  How long would it be before daybreak, he wondered.

  As this thought came, something moved over his head. He looked up, not breathing, listening.

  Nothing! Dead silence. The dreary old house was getting on his nerves. He was imagining things.

  But then it came again. It was a mere whisper of movement, as if someone walked across the attic floor on bare feet — someone small and light.

  But no one could be up there!

  Jupe stood up and went slowly, silently, to the attic door. Slowly, silently, he turned the doorknob and eased the door open.

  He looked up into total darkness, and he smelled the chill dead smell of the unused space above.

  Someone was there. Someone was at the top of the stairs. He couldn’t see anything, but he could hear the faintest rustle of clothing, the sigh as a breath was expelled. And he knew that the unseen one could look down over the stair rail and watch him.

  For a second Jupe bitterly regretted not turning out the hall light before he opened the door. If the stalker in the darkness had a weapon, Jupe would make a first-rate target.

  Was it the intruder who had attacked him earlier? If it was, why had he come back? And how had he gotten inside? What was he doing in the attic?

  Jupe stepped back and eased the attic door shut.

  “What is it?” whispered someone close behind Jupe.

  Jupe jumped as though he had been shot.

  “Hey, it’s only me.”

  Bob was there looking tousled, his shoes off. He gestured toward the ceiling. “Somebody’s walking around up there,” he said. He still spoke in a whisper.

  “You heard it too?”

  A board creaked above them. The intruder had left the stairwell. He was going toward the front of the house.

  32

  Footsteps In The Night

  “You fell asleep,” Jupe accused his pal. “That guy came in and walked right past you, and you were sound asleep and didn’t see him!”

  “No way!” Bob declared. “Not for a second. I had to get up a couple of times and walk around to keep awake, but I kept awake!”

  Jupe scowled at the ceiling. “Well, however he got in, he certainly knows he’s not alone. He knows we’re here, and he knows that we know he’s here, and so —”

  Jupe yanked open the attic door and called out. “Hey! Who’s there?”

  No one answered, but the unseen one stopped walking.

  Jupe called again.

  Still there was no answer.

  Jupe flicked on the attic light.

  “You’re not going up there!” cried Bob. “Suppose the guy’s got a gun?”

  “He’d have shot me by now if he was going to shoot me,” said Jupe. He sounded confident — more confident than he really felt.

  He went up the stairs in a rush. He wanted to get to the top before the person who lurked in the attic could get back to the stairwell.

  He reached the top unharmed, but no one was there! The attic was empty. Jupe saw bookcases and trunks and boxes, and that was all.

  He stood still and listened.

  Not a sound.

  He went back to the stairs and looked down. Bob was looking up at him.

  “Nothing,” said Jupe. “We — we must be sharing some kind of … hallucination!”

  “I don’t believe that!” said Bob.

  “There’s nobody here,” insisted Jupe. “Unless … unless there’s some way to get in and out of here without coming down the stairs! That’s it! This is an old house. There could be a hidden passageway — something nobody knows about!”

  Marilyn appeared behind Bob in the hall. She was wearing a quilted robe and a grumpy expression. “What’s the matter with you two?” she demanded. “Jupe, what are you doing up there?”

  “Marilyn, could there be a secret passageway in this house? Have you ever heard of one? Even a rumor of one?”

  “No.” She shook her head. Jupe searched. He looked behind boxes and trunks. He moved things that stood near the chimney, thinking a door might be concealed next to the bricks. He got a flashlight from the kitchen, then crawled around on his hands and knees to examine the open area between the end of the floorboards and the place where the roof slanted down to meet the joists. Here for a foot or two, he could see the lath and plaster of the bedroom ceilings. He sent a beam of light into the space under the floorboards. But

  33

  Footsteps In The Night

  he saw nothing except the grime that had collected over the years, plus some odds and ends that people had dropped and then forgotten. He recovered an old golf ball, an empty cola bottle, and a few bits of crumpled paper.

  When he was satisfied that he had examined every inch of the attic, Jupe went down to the hall where Marilyn and Bob waited.

  “Weird!” said Bob.

  “You guys are hearing things!” Marilyn accused.

  She went back to her room and closed the door.

  Bob went for his blanket, wrapped it around himself, and settled down on the floor next to the armchair.

  “You aren’t going back to bed?” said Jupe. “It’s my watch, you know.”

  “I don’t think I want to be by myself,” Bob confessed. “I’ll stay here and keep you company.”

  So the two Investigators spent the remaining hours before daylight watching the staircases, watching the ceiling, and listening — always listening.

  Once Bob thought he heard the stealthy footsteps again, but the sound was so soft he couldn’t be sure.

  At last a thin gray light began to show at the windows. Soon the sun would be up. The long, dreary watch was over.

  But Jupe stiffened. He heard a key rattle in a lock! Downstairs! The kitchen door! Someone was at the kitchen door. Someone who had a key.

  Jupe was up and out of his chair. A weapon! He mustn’t go down there without a weapon!

  Bob flung his blanket aside.

  Jupe touched his lips, signaling silence, and seized a tarnished brass plate that hung on the wall near the attic stairs. It was the only thing he could grab. It would be a clumsy weapon, but it would have to do.

  He started down the back stairs with Bob behind him.

  At the bottom of the stairs the two stared-across the kitchen. The upper half of the kitchen door was glass, but a shade had been drawn to cover it. There was no way to tell who was there.

  Jupe went forward, his brass plate held ready.

  The rattling stopped. The door swung in. Jupe lifted the plate, ready to strike!

  34

  7

  The Secret Files

  “Saints preserve us!”

  A gray-haired woman shrank away from Jupe. She threw her arm up to protect her face.

  Jupe was paralyzed with surprise. For a second he froze, his brass plate still held ready. Then he realized that the gray-haired little woman with the string shopping bag couldn’t possibly be a menace. “I’m very sorry,” he said. He lowered the brass plate.

  “Police!” shouted the woman. “Help!” She turned and fled toward the alley.

  “No, wait!” yelled Jupe. “Please! Just a minute!”

  Marilyn Pilcher tumbled downstairs in her bathrobe and her bare feet. “Mrs. McCarthy, wait!” she cried.

  She raced past Jupe and caught the woman when she was halfway down the alley. “Wait! It’s only Jupe and Bob. They’re okay, honest.”

  The woman let herself be coaxed back to the kitchen. “Bob, Jupe, this is Mrs. McCarthy, my father’s housekeeper,” said Marilyn. “Mrs. Mac, Jupe and Bob are my bodyguards.”

  Mrs. McCarthy glared at the boys. She was breathing hard. Jupe guessed that her sprint across the backyard was her most athletic feat in years.

  “Bodyguards, is it?” she said at last. “Since when are you such a treasure that you need a bodyguard? And where’s your father? He’s bodyguard enough for anyone, I’m thinkin’. The old heathen would scare off the devil himself if Old Nick took it into his head to come round.”