After that they went outside and slid the letter back behind the torn lining, repacking the trunk carefully. Finally Jupiter went to get Socrates from his room.
He reached his room just in time to find Aunt Mathilda staring with a look of horror at the skull on the bureau.
“Jupiter Jones!” she said. “That — that thing… ”
Speechless, she pointed at the skull.
“Yes, Aunt Mathilda?” Jupiter asked.
“That awful thing!” the large woman exploded. “You know what it just did? It said ‘boo!’ to me!”
“Socrates said ‘boo’ to you?” Jupiter asked.
“It certainly did! I just came in here to clean your room and I said to it, ‘You ugly thing, I don’t know where Jupiter got you, but I can tell you one thing. You’re not staying in my house and that’s final. I won’t have it!”
“And then — then —” her voice faltered again — “it said ‘boo!’ just as plainly as anything. ‘Boo!’ I heard it as clearly as I hear you.”
“It’s supposed to be a talking skull,” Jupiter said, suppressing a smile. “It used to belong to a magician. If it said ‘boo’ it was probably playing a joke on you.”
“A joke? Is that what you call a joke? Having a nasty old skull grin at a person and say ‘boo’? I don’t care if it’s a talking skull or a talking horse, I want it out of here immediately. And that’s final!”
“Very well, Aunt Mathilda,” Jupiter agreed. “I’ll get rid of it. I was already planning to.”
“Be sure you do.”
In a thoughtful mood, Jupiter made his way back to the salvage yard with Socrates and the ivory base. He told Pete and Bob what had happened to his aunt.
“It’s very puzzling,” he concluded. “I have to admit I’m utterly baffled. Why should Socrates say ‘boo’ to Aunt Mathilda?”
“Maybe he has a sense of humour,” Pete said. “Let’s get him packed.”
“After this new development,” Jupiter said, “maybe we ought to keep Socrates and the trunk for a while. Perhaps he’s ready to talk some more.”
“Oh, no!” Pete said, grabbing Socrates, wrapping him up, and stowing him in the old trunk. “Your aunt says you have to get rid of him, and we’d agreed to get rid of him. We also agreed to let Mr. Maximilian have him and we can’t go back on our word now. I’m not in any mood to hear talk coming from a skull. Some mysteries I don’t want to solve.”
He closed the lid and snapped the lock shut. Just as Jupiter was trying to think of an argument, they heard Hans calling.
“Jupe! Hey, Jupe! Somebody here to see you.”
“I bet that’s Mr. Maximilian,” Bob said as he and the others started towards the front of the salvage yard.
It was indeed the tall thin magician, standing waiting for them, ignoring the other customers wandering around and the piles of interesting junk.
“Well, boy,” he exclaimed, peering at Jupiter. “So Gulliver’s trunk turned up, did it?”
“Yes, sir,” Jupiter answered. “And you can have it if you really want it.”
“Of course I want it! Didn’t I say so? Here’s the money — one hundred dollars.”
“I’m not going to charge you a hundred dollars for it,” Jupiter said. “I paid a dollar for it and you can have it for a dollar.”
“Humph!” the man snorted. “Why are you being so generous, may I ask? Have you taken something valuable from it?”
“No, sir, the trunk is just the way it was when we got it. But there’s a mystery connected with it, and somebody seems to want it very much. It may be dangerous to own it. I’m not sure we shouldn’t turn it over to the police.”
“Nonsense, boy! I shall not worry about any danger. I can take care of myself. I made the first bid for the trunk and now I demand you sell it to me. Here’s your dollar.”
He stretched out a long arm, snapped his fingers, and apparently took a silver dollar from Jupe’s ear.
“Now the trunk is mine,” he said. “Pray produce it.”
“Bob, will you and Pete bring the trunk?” Jupiter asked.
“You bet we will!” said Pete. In less than a minute he and Bob brought out the trunk. The magician directed the boys to put it on the back seat of his blue saloon, parked near the gate. They were all so intent on their business that they failed to notice two men covertly watching them. Maximilian got in behind the wheel.
“Next time I give a performance,” he said, “I’ll send you tickets. Until then, good-bye.”
The car vanished out of the gate. Pete gave a sigh of relief.
“Well, there goes Socrates,” he said. “I bet Mr. Maximilian hopes he can learn the secret of how it talks and use it in his magic act. He’s welcome to it. We’ve seen the last of that skull and that trunk and I’m glad of it.”
He wouldn’t have sounded so happy if he’d known how wrong he was.
The rest of the day passed without anything special happening. Bob went home early to see his father. Mr. Andrews, a feature writer for a big Los Angeles newspaper, was often away in the evening, but tonight he would be home.
“Well, Bob,” his father remarked during dinner, “I saw your picture in the Hollywood paper, with the story of your friend Jupiter buying an old trunk at auction. Did you find anything interesting in it?”
“We found a skull that was supposed to be able to talk,” Bob answered. “It’s name is Socrates.”
“A talking skull named Socrates!” his mother exclaimed. “Good gracious, what an idea! I hope it didn’t talk to you.”
“No, Mom, it didn’t talk to me,” Bob said. He thought of mentioning that it had talked to Jupiter but decided against it. Especially as his father immediately remarked, with a smile, “Some simple trick of that magician it was supposed to have belonged to, of course — what was his name? Alexander?”
“Gulliver,” Bob corrected. “The Great Gulliver.”
“I imagine the man was a good ventriloquist,” Mr. Andrews said. “What is Jupiter doing with it? Not keeping it, I hope.”
“No, he sold it,” Bob said. “To another magician who said he used to know Mr. Gulliver. A man who calls himself Maximilian the Mystic.”
“Maximilian the Mystic?” his father frowned. “We had a short news flash at the paper just before I left. He was hurt in a car accident this afternoon.”
Maximilian hurt in a car accident? Bob wondered if the talking skull had brought him bad luck. Then his father interrupted his thoughts.
“Say, how would you like to go sailing next Sunday?” he asked. “A friend of mine has invited us all to spend the day on his boat sailing out around Catalina Island.”
“That would be great!” Bob said enthusiastically. He forgot about Maximilian’s accident. He did not even remember it the next morning when he joined Pete and Jupiter at The Jones Salvage Yard.
The three boys set to work taking apart the second-hand washing machine Titus Jones had bought. By using some parts from another machine, they were able to put it in perfect working order. They had just finished the repair job when a Rocky Beach police car drove into the yard. They looked up with surprise as the heavy-set figure of Police Chief Reynolds got out and walked over towards them.
“Hello, boys,” he said. He looked very serious. “I have some questions to ask you.”
“Questions, sir?” Jupiter asked, blinking.
“Yes. About a trunk you sold yesterday to a man who calls himself Maximilian the Mystic. He had an accident as he was driving home. His car was smashed up and he was badly hurt. He’s in the hospital now. At first we thought it was an ordinary accident — he was unconscious and couldn’t talk.
