The Mystery of the Magic Circle Read online

  “Marvin, show these boys how to get to the main road,” said Madeline Bainbridge.

  “Thank you,” said Jupiter.

  Gray led The Three Investigators out from under the trees. He pointed across the fields to the place where, as the boys knew, the paved road led down to the Coast Highway. “There!” said Gray. “Keep going until you hit the road. Then turn right and don’t come back.”

  “Thanks a lot, mister,” said Pete.

  Gray stood watching as The Three Investigators walked away through the tall, moonlit grass.

  “He isn’t going to take his eyes off us until we’re off this property,” predicted Bob.

  “I don’t blame him,” said Jupiter. “Would you want strangers at secret rites in your backyard? Let’s hope that he doesn’t look under the table and discover that I put my walkie-talkie there!”

  “So that’s why you fell!” exclaimed Pete.

  “I thought it might be interesting to listen in on any conversation that occurs after we leave,” said Jupe. “I wrapped part of the antenna wire around the set so that the button is pressed down. The radio won’t receive, but it should send. Let’s not go too far or we’ll be out of range.”

  The boys stepped from the meadow on to the paved road. Bob looked back. Marvin Gray had disappeared. “He’s probably back in the grove of oak trees,” Bob said. He followed Jupe and Pete down the road to the shelter of a clump of bushes.

  “Turn on your set, Bob,” said Jupiter. “Let’s listen in on the coven.”

  Bob knelt beside the bushes and turned the knob that activated his set.

  “… gone for the time being,” they heard Gray say. “They won’t try to come back. Not after Bruno pinned them down that way.”

  “I had hoped that Bruno was locked up someplace,” Jupe muttered.

  Gray was speaking again. “It was dumb to let them go,” he declared.

  “What should we have done?” said Madeline Bainbridge.

  “Run them off a cliff!” growled Gray.

  “Marvin!” cried a woman’s voice. It was not Madeline Bainbridge, so the boys assumed that Clara Adams had been shocked at Gray’s suggestion.

  “Well, I don’t like kids snooping around,” said Gray. “They’ll go home and talk about what they’ve seen. Next thing we know, there’ll be photographers and reporters hiding behind every tree. I can see the headlines now: ‘Mystery Rites at Movie Star’s Ranch!’ Before you know it, the cops are poking around and—”

  “We hardly need to worry about the police,” said Madeline Bainbridge. “We’re doing nothing wrong.”

  “Not now!” said Gray.

  “Not ever!” said the actress.

  “Then you want the cops up here?” asked Gray. “You should have used your power on those kids, just the way you did on Desparto that night!”

  “I never harmed Ramon!” cried the movie star. “Not even when he betrayed me!”

  “Of course not!” Gray’s voice was mocking. “You wished him long life and happiness.”

  “Marvin, don’t!” Clara Adams pleaded.

  “You keep bringing that up!” The actress’s voice was rough with anger. “Over and over again. All right, I was furious with Ramon. But I didn’t hurt him. I wouldn’t use my power to hurt anyone, and you know it. In fact, you’re counting on it, aren’t you?”

  “Madeline! Please!” said Clara Adams.

  “Okay, okay!” grumbled Gray. “There’s no use going on with the rite now. Let’s get into the house.” He raised his voice. “Bruno! Here, Bruno!”

  “Perhaps we should leave the dog outside,” said Clara Adams, “just in case those boys come back.”

  “They won’t come back,” predicted Gray. “And if we leave him out, he’ll get restless at three in the morning and set up a howl, and I’ll have to get up to let him in. That’s what we get for raising a guard dog who thinks he’s a member of the family.”

  There was no more conversation from the walkie-talkie. After a few moments, Jupiter drew a deep breath. “Marvin Gray wanted Madeline Bainbridge to use her power on us, just as she used it on Ramon Desparto,” he said. “What, I wonder, did she do to Desparto?”

  “Nothing, according to her,” answered Bob. “She said she never harmed anybody.”

  “Desparto died in an auto accident,” said Pete. “The brakes on his car failed when he was leaving here one night after a party.”

  “Was it a party?” said Jupiter. “Or was it like the ritual we saw tonight? One thing we now know for sure: Madeline Bainbridge is a witch, or she thinks she’s a witch. And she believes she has some kind of power.”

  “The power to … to kill someone?” said Pete. His voice was very low.

  “Murder by magic?” Bob shook his head. “Impossible!”

  “Perhaps,” said Jupiter. “However, it appears that Madeline Bainbridge feels some guilt about Desparto. She wouldn’t deny her responsibility so furiously if she didn’t believe it was possible for her to have hurt him in some fashion.”

  “That Marvin Gray,” said Pete. “Why’d he get her all stirred up that way? He didn’t have to rake up that stuff from the past.”

  “Perhaps he’s manipulating her,” said Jupe. “He may be the real power in her household—perhaps the only power.”

  “I don’t like him,” said Pete.

  “Nor do I,” agreed Jupe. “Not after hearing him over the walkie-talkie. The man’s a bully I wonder if he tells lies just to protect Madeline Bainbridge’s privacy. He may be even more interested in protecting his own.”

  “Jupe?” said Bob. “Could Gray have been involved in the theft of her manuscript?”

  Jupe shrugged. “I don’t see why or how. He couldn’t have taken the manuscript himself—he was being interviewed by Jefferson Long when it was stolen. And he has no apparent motive for theft. Quite the opposite. As Bainbridge’s business manager, it’s to his advantage to have the book published and earning money. But did he talk to someone—anyone—about the book? Or did Bainbridge? After what we’ve heard tonight, I’m almost sure the answer to the mystery of the missing manuscript is hidden in Bainbridge’s past—in that magic circle which existed long ago.”

  Jupe stood up. “We’ve done all we can do tonight. I’ll go and retrieve my walkie-talkie and meet you where we left our bikes. Tomorrow … tomorrow we investigate the former coven.”

  “If that’s what it was,” said Bob.

  “I think that’s just what it was,” said Jupiter, and he started across the fields towards the haunted wood.

  9

  The Crime Fighter

  “YOU’RE KIDDING!” said Beefy Tremayne. “Madeline Bainbridge really is a witch?”

  Beefy was guiding his sports car along Santa Monica Boulevard. Jupiter sat beside him, and Pete and Bob were squeezed into the back seat.

  “She’s a witch now,” declared Jupiter, “and it seems more than likely that she was a witch back in the days when she was active in films. We think that she may have headed a coven, and that sinister things may have gone on among the people in it. Someone who was involved may well want to prevent her memoirs from being published. We plan to interview her close associates to see if we can establish some connection with Bainbridge within the last couple of days. We have to find someone who knew where the manuscript was on the night before last.”

  “But you can’t expect anyone to admit he knew where the manuscript was,” objected the young publisher. “I mean, if that person stole it.”

  “We don’t intend to ask about the manuscript at all,” answered Jupe, “at least in the beginning. First we have to find out who in the coven is still in touch with Madeline Bainbridge, or is getting news of her. I don’t think anyone will be afraid to admit a connection with her.”

  Beefy turned north on La Brea Avenue towards Hollywood.

  “And you’re going to talk to Jefferson Long for openers?” he said. “Long, the crime fighter? He’s so foursquare and true-blue. I just can’t imagine hi
m being mixed up in anything weird like a coven.”

  “He wasn’t always Jefferson Long, the crime fighter,” Jupe pointed out. “He used to be an actor, and he was in Bainbridge’s last picture. He had to know Ramon Desparto. Also, it’s logical to begin our interviews with him, since we know where to find him. The offices of Video Enterprises, which include the studios for Station KLMC, are on Fountain Street just off Hollywood Boulevard. I called there earlier this morning, and he agreed to see me.”

  “Did you tell him why you wanted to talk with him?” asked Beefy.

  “Not exactly. I said I was doing a report for my school paper as a summer project.”

  “Long must like publicity,” said Pete from the back seat. “Even publicity in a school paper.”

  “Perhaps we all would, if we were in the public eye,” said Jupiter. He glanced at Beefy. “It’s really nice of you to drive us,” he said. “We could have taken the bus.”

  “If I stayed at home, I’d only stew and worry,” declared Beefy. “I’m kind of lost without an office to go to. Besides, you guys fascinate me. I don’t think I’d dare just walk in on somebody like Jefferson Long.”

  Bob laughed. “Jupe doesn’t scare easily.”

  “And how are you going to find the other people in the magic circle?” asked Beefy.

  Pete answered, “My father works for a movie studio. He’s getting us the addresses of Madeline Bainbridge’s friends through the unions.”

  Beefy had been navigating carefully down Hollywood Boulevard. Now he turned right on to Fountain and pulled to the kerb in front of a building that looked like a huge cube of dark glass. “We’ll park here and wait,” he said as Jupe got out. “Take your time.”

  “Right,” said Jupe. He turned and went into the building.

  The reception room was cool, shielded from the glare outside by polarized glass. The tanned young woman at the desk directed Jupe to the elevator, and he rode up to the fourth floor.

  Jefferson Long’s office was filled with glass and chrome and furniture upholstered in black leather. The windows faced north, towards the Hollywood Hills. Long sat behind a teakwood desk, his back to the view, and smiled at Jupiter.

  “Nice to see you,” said the crime reporter. “I’m always glad to do what I can to help young people.”

  Jupiter had a feeling that Long had made that short speech hundreds of times before.

  “Thank you very much,” said Jupiter in his most humble voice. He gazed at Long, and he let his round, cheerful face take on a look of almost idiotic innocence. “I saw your telecast the other morning,” he said. “The interview you did at Madeline Bainbridge’s estate. I was surprised! I didn’t know that you were an actor and that you knew Madeline Bainbridge.”

  Jefferson Long’s smile vanished suddenly. “I have done more important things in my life than being an actor and knowing Madeline Bainbridge,” he said. He swung around in his chair and gestured towards the shelves that lined one side of his office. “The law enforcement people would be the first to agree.”

  Jupiter got up and went to the shelves. There he saw plaques and medallions from cities up and down the coast. There were photographs of Long with the police chiefs of various large and small towns in California, Nevada, and Arizona. There was also a framed parchment announcing that Jefferson Long was an honorary member of a sheriff’s posse.

  “Golly!” said Jupe. He hoped that he sounded properly impressed.

  “I have some scrapbooks, too,” declared Long. “You can look through them if you’re interested.”

  “Well, I’d sure like to,” said Jupiter eagerly. “And a friend told me you’re doing a series on drug abuse. That must be pretty exciting.”

  Jefferson Long’s handsome face flushed. “It is. Can you imagine, even some people who are employed in legitimate pharmaceutical firms are involved in the illicit distribution of drugs? But I won’t be able to put my series together this year. Some people not very far from here believe that it’s more important to spend money on mouldy old movies than on producing a documentary series on a major problem like drug abuse.”

  “Oh,” said Jupiter. “Oh, well. I see. That’s too bad, I guess. But the Madeline Bainbridge movies must have been very expensive.”

  “They will be even more expensive when they have been ransomed,” said Long.

  “That’s tough luck for you, I guess,” said Jupiter. “Except maybe it could be a break, couldn’t it? I mean, you’re in one of the movies!”

  “The Salem Story was an extremely bad movie,” said Jefferson Long. “In fact it was such a flop that after the premiere, I never got another job as an actor. I found a much more satisfying career as a crime reporter.”

  “But Madeline Bainbridge retired,” said Jupe. He was rambling like an artless youngster. “My aunt Mathilda remembers Madeline Bainbridge, and she says there was always some mystery about her. She said people used to say strange things about her friends. They used to talk about her and Madeline Bainbridge’s coven.”

  “Coven?” Jefferson Long’s face was suddenly wary, as if he sensed some enemy. He smiled stiffly. “Ridiculous,” he said. “A coven is a group of witches.”

  “Yes,” said Jupiter. “You worked with Miss Bainbridge. Was there a coven?”

  “Certainly not!” declared Jefferson Long. “That is, so far as I know, there was no coven. Madeline Bainbridge’s friends were—they were just the people she worked with, that’s all.”

  “Did you know them?” Jupiter asked.

  “Well, certainly. I was one of them.”

  “Well, maybe some of them knew something you didn’t know,” said Jupe. He gazed at Long without blinking. “Do you keep in touch with any of the others? Do you know where I could reach them? Or maybe you’d be able to put me in touch with Madeline Bainbridge herself.”

  “Certainly not!” exclaimed Long. “I don’t have anything to do with those people any more. My friends are all in law enforcement. As for Bainbridge, I haven’t seen her for thirty years—and I don’t care if I don’t see her for another thirty! She was a spoiled, temperamental would-be actress. Almost as bad as that Desparto character she was engaged to. Now there was a real ham!”

  “He died after a party at her house, didn’t he?”

  “Yes.” Jefferson Long looked old then, and his eyes were bleak. “After a party. Yes.”

  He straightened up and shook himself, as if shaking off a bad memory. “But that … that was a long time ago,” he said. “I never think about those days now. No use dwelling in the past. And why are we talking so much about Madeline Bainbridge, anyway? I assume you’ve come because you’re interested in my crime-fighting programmes.”

  “I came because of Madeline Bainbridge,” said Jupe simply. “I’m doing a paper on her for my course in the history of films. If the paper’s good enough, it’ll get published in the school journal.”

  Jefferson Long looked intensely annoyed. “I wish you good luck,” he said coldly. “Now you’ll have to excuse me. I can’t give you any more time. I have a luncheon appointment.”

  “I understand,” said Jupe. He thanked Long and left.

  “Well?” said Beefy as Jupe got into the car.

  “Jefferson Long does not like Madeline Bainbridge, and he doesn’t like the idea of her films being shown on television,” Jupe reported. “Video Enterprises isn’t going to finance a series he wants to do on drug abuse because they spent so much money on the Bainbridge pictures. Long says he hasn’t seen Bainbridge for thirty years and he hasn’t kept up with any of her friends. Also, he denies that there was a coven. He may be telling the truth about everything else, but I think he was lying about the coven. Actually, I think that there is something odd about Jefferson Long, but I can’t quite say what it is.”

  Pete chuckled in the back seat. “You’ll figure it out. You always do,” he said. “Anyway, here’s something else to work on. I called my father at the studio while you were gone. He’s got an address for us already. El
liott Farber was Bainbridge’s favourite cameraman, and he was in the magic circle at that Academy Awards dinner! He isn’t a cameramen any longer. He runs a television repair shop on Melrose. Let’s go over there!”

  10

  The Witch’s Curse

  IT WAS NOT necessary for The Three Investigators to fabricate a story about a school journal in order to see Elliott Farber. The former cameraman was not protected by a receptionist, and the three boys had only to walk into his dusty little shop in order to talk with him. Once they were in the shop—a narrow hole-in-the-wall sandwiched between a barber shop and an upholsterer—Jupe said, quite simply, “Mr Farber, you were Madeline Bainbridge’s favourite cameramen, weren’t you?”

  Elliott Farber was a thin man with a yellowish tint to his skin. He squinted at the boys through the smoke that wafted from the cigarette between his lips. “Don’t tell me,” he said. “Let me guess. You’re old movie buffs.”

  “Something like that,” said Jupe.

  Farber smiled and leaned back against a counter. “I worked with Bainbridge on almost every picture she ever made,” he said. “She was tremendous. Great actress!”

  Farber dropped his cigarette to the floor and ground it out with his foot. “She was beautiful, too. Some of the so-called glamour queens needed every bit of make-up and ever trick of lighting to look good. They had to have every break the cameraman could give them. That’s why I quit the business. I got sick of taking the blame if some dame didn’t look enough like Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile. But with Bainbridge, there was no sweat. She was purely and simply beautiful. I couldn’t make a mistake when I was filming one of her scenes.”

  “Was she difficult to work with?” asked Jupe.

  “Oh, she liked to get her own way, once she got established. That’s how we all got involved in that horrible turkey about witches and Puritans.”

  “The Salem Story?” prompted Jupe.