“After all, Jupe,” he said, “we can’t be positive that Spike Neely hid the money he stole in his sister’s house.”
Jupiter shook his head.
“It’s the only logical place, Pete,” he said. “It’s where I would have hidden the money if I’d been Spike Neely.”
After making a number of turns, they came out on Danville Street.
“This is the nine-hundred block,” Jupiter announced. “Turn left, Konrad, the five-hundred block should be in that direction.”
Konrad turned and all three boys watched the passing houses sharply, reading the street numbers.
“We’re in the eight-hundred block now,” Bob announced. “Three more blocks and we should be there.”
They travelled along past a number of small, neat houses sitting on well-tended grounds. Now all three boys were leaning forward and craning their necks.
“It ought to be right in the next block,” Bob said eagerly. “About the middle of the block, I’d say. On the right-hand side, of course, because that’s where the even-numbered houses are.”
“Stop in the middle of the next block, Konrad,” Jupe directed.
“Okay, Jupe,” the driver agreed.
He drove a minute and stopped.
“This is the place, Jupe?”
Jupiter did not answer. He was staring open-mouthed at a large apartment house that took up most of the block on the right-hand side of the street. There were no small, private residences at all on that side.
“Number 532 is gone!” Bob said hollowly. “There’s just that apartment house, and it’s number 510.”
“It looks as if we lost a house,” Pete said, with a feeble attempt at humour.
“Try the next block, Konrad,” Jupiter said. “Maybe number 532 is there.”
But in the next block the houses were numbered in the four hundreds. There was no 532 Danville Street. Konrad pulled the truck to a stop and looked questioningly at the boys.
“Do you suppose Mrs. Miller wasn’t telling us the truth?” Bob asked. “That she never lived at 532 Danville Street at all? Maybe back where we left she’s tearing the house apart looking for that fifty thousand dollars. Maybe she was just trying to get rid of us.”
“No,” Jupiter said. “I believe Mrs. Miller was telling us the truth. Something has happened to number 532. You two wait here. I shall make a quick investigation to see if I can find out what.”
Jupiter slid out of the truck and disappeared. After some minutes he returned, puffing slightly.
“Well,” he said, “I learned something anyway. I talked to the superintendent of the apartment house. He’s been there ever since it was built. He says it was built nearly four years ago, and that six houses in the block were moved to make room for it.”
“Moved!” Pete exclaimed. “Moved where?”
“To Maple Street. That’s about three blocks away, parallel with this street. The houses were in good condition and not too big so instead of being torn down they were moved over to vacant lots along Maple Street and put on new foundations. Mrs. Miller’s house is still around — it’s just in a new location.”
“Good grief!” Bob said. “A travelling house! How can we find it? It won’t be numbered 532 any more. It’ll have a new street number.”
“Well,” Jupiter said, “we can telephone Mrs. Miller and ask her to describe it to us. Then we can go over to Maple Street and look for it.”
“We can’t do that today,” Bob pointed out. “It’s getting too late.”
“Yup, Jupe, got to get back to the yard,” Konrad put in. “We are late now.”
“Well, we’ll do it tomorrow,” Jupiter said. “All right, Konrad, let’s go home.”
Konrad started the motor and pulled away from the kerb. As he did so, a large black car with three very hard-faced men in it also pulled out from the kerb, a block behind them, and followed. They did not notice it, which was just as well for their peace of mind.
It was almost closing time at The Jones Salvage Yard when they got back, and Titus Jones mildly scolded them for being gone so long. Then he turned to Jupiter.
“Jupiter, my boy,” he said, “while you were gone, a package came for you. Were you expecting something?”
“A package?” Jupiter looked surprised. “No, I wasn’t expecting anything. What is it. Uncle Titus?”
“I don’t know, my boy. It’s all wrapped up, a large box, and as it is addressed to you, naturally I didn’t open it. There it is, beside the office door.”
All three boys rushed to the box. It was an over-sized cardboard carton, securely sealed with many strips of heavy brown adhesive paper. The label on it indicated that it had come by express from Los Angeles but did not give the name of the sender.
“Golly, what do you suppose it is?” Pete asked.
“We’ll have to open it to find out,” Jupiter said, puzzled. “Let’s take it back to the workshop and open it there.”
With some difficulty he and Pete carried the box around the piles of second-hand material to the seclusion of the workshop. Jupiter produced his prized Swiss knife with many blades, swiftly cut through the strips of sealing paper, and folded back the top of the carton. Then all three stared with dismay at what was inside.
“Oh, no!” Pete groaned. “Not that!”
It took even Jupiter a moment to find his voice.
“Someone,” he said, “has sent us back Gulliver’s trunk.”
They stared at the top of the trunk that they’d thought they were rid of forever. And as they did so, a very muffled voice spoke.
“Hurry!” it said. “Find — the clue.”
Socrates! Speaking to them from inside the trunk!
“Well, now what?” Pete asked gloomily.
It was quite late the following afternoon, a Saturday. The Three Investigators were gathered at the rear of The Jones Salvage Yard for a consultation. The previous evening they had felt no desire to investigate the riddle of the return of Gulliver’s trunk. Its mysterious reappearance had, indeed, rather shaken them. They had hidden the box behind the printing press and agreed to put off their next move until today.
Bob had just arrived from his job in the local library. Jupiter, in charge of the salvage yard while his aunt and uncle were in Los Angeles for the day, was taking advantage of a lull in business to join him and Pete.
Now they were all looking at the trunk and wondering what to do with it.
“I know what,” Bob said. “Let’s take the trunk right down to Chief Reynolds, tell him everything we know, and let him carry on from there.”
“Good idea!” Pete agreed emphatically. “Well, Jupe, what do you say?”
“I suppose so,” Jupiter said slowly. “Except that we really don’t know too much. We
“It’s good enough for me,” Bob said. “Spike showed up at his sister’s house the same day he stole the money in San Francisco. So he must have had it with him. He was afraid of being caught, so he probably hid it before he left. He thought she’d keep right on living there, so some day when the coast was clear he could come back for it.”
“Besides,” Pete put in, “if he didn’t hide it there, we don’t know where he hid it and couldn’t find it anyway. It’s all we have to go on.”
“Yesterday,” Jupiter said, “Socrates spoke to us.”
“I’ll say he did!” Pete shuddered. “And believe me, I didn’t like it.”
