“Perhaps the message says something about the Hoard,” Jupiter said eagerly.
“Message?” Professor Meeker blinked again. Then he looked down at the slip of paper. “Goodness me, I forgot all about it. Of course! It may tell us.”
The professor frowned as he studied the message. “Primitive languages are often hard to translate exactly because the writers think in a primitive manner. But as nearly as I can make out, it says: ‘Words smoke. Sing death song. Brothers help.’ I’m afraid that’s all.”
“But it is a call for help?” Jupiter asked.
“I would say so,” the professor agreed and stared at the message with a puzzled expression. “But I can’t understand what a Yaquali message would be doing in a Chumash amulet. It’s really a mystery.”
“A mystery we hope to solve, sir,” Jupiter pronounced somewhat pompously.
“Of course, my boy.” The professor smiled. “And when you do, I shall be most grateful if you will allow me to examine the Chumash Hoard.”
Professor Meeker insisted on seeing the boys as far as the gate, peering in all directions in the sunny morning to be sure that the dark man had not returned. As soon as they were by themselves again, Bob and Pete crowded around Jupiter.
“Gosh, Jupe!” Bob exclaimed. “Do you think someone has found the Chumash Hoard?”
“And someone else is trying to steal it?” Pete added.
“Maybe the amulet is a clue to where the treasure is, and someone is trying to steal it to find the Hoard!”
“Maybe it’s a gang of Indians robbing Miss Sandow!” Pete’s imagination began to run wild.
“That dark man sure looked like some kind of Indian.”
“That laughing shadow could have been a wild Indian!”
Jupiter, his round and deceptively innocent face deep in concentration while his companions chattered, suddenly stopped short. “Speculation won’t get us anywhere now,” the First Investigator declared decisively. “We must go to the Sandow Estate and see what we can find out.”
“Under cover, Jupe?” Pete said. “You mean we should snoop around?”
“No, we must get into the house and talk to Miss Sandow herself. She might know something vital or have seen something. The problem is — how do we get into her house’?”
As they neared the salvage yard they decided that the best way was to have Bob’s dad phone Miss Sandow and ask if they could visit the estate as part of a research project on Spanish land grants for their California history class. Hans or Konrad, the stolid Bavarian helpers of Uncle Titus Jones, could drive them.
“Most adults will help boys if they think it’s for some school work,” Jupiter observed.
Bob agreed, but Pete was looking ahead to the entrance to the salvage yard.
“Look,” Pete hissed, “there’s Skinny Norris!”
Sure enough, their old enemy — a tall, skinny boy with a long nose — was leaning against the entrance with his back to them. E. Skinner Norris, Skinny to the boys, hated the Investigators, and spent a good deal of time trying to prove he was smarter than Jupiter. He always failed, but since he had a large allowance and could drive a car because his father was a legal resident of another state where Skinny could get a driver’s licence, he was in a position to be annoying to the boys.
“Now what’s he doing here?” Bob wanted to know.
“I don’t expect he’s come to help us,” Jupiter observed wryly. “Come on, fellows, we’ll go in through Red Gate Rover.”
They turned and walked quickly towards the rear of the salvage yard. Out of Skinny’s sight, they hurried past the back fence, which was painted with a dramatic scene of the San Francisco fire of 1906. Fifty feet from the corner, a little dog sat in the painting near a red spout of flame. They had named the dog Rover, and one of his eyes was a knot in the wood. They carefully pulled it out and reached in to release a catch. Three boards in the fence swung up, and they slipped inside the yard.
Once inside, unobserved, they crawled beneath piles of junk and through hidden passages and finally stood before a panel that opened and admitted them into their trailer headquarters. In the office they quickly discussed just what they would say to Bob’s dad, and Bob reached for the telephone.
“Jupiter Jones!” a powerful female voice called from somewhere outside.
“Uh!” Pete grunted. “It’s your Aunt Mathilda, Jupe. I hope she doesn’t want you to work all afternoon!”
Before the First Investigator could comment, his aunt’s voice boomed out again:
“Jupiter! Sakes and goodness, where does that boy get to? Jupiter! There’s someone here to see you, you young scamp! A Mister Sandow!.. Jupiter?”
The boys gaped at each other. A Mr. Sandow had come to them! Just when they were working out a scheme to get into the Sandow Estate. But — who could this Mr. Sandow be?
“Miss Sandow lives alone!” Bob remembered.
“Come on, fellows,” Jupiter said, leading the way through Tunnel Two, into his workshop and the salvage yard.
“Well, there you are!”
Aunt Mathilda surveyed the boys with a severe expression. “Sometimes I think this salvage yard was built just for you three to hide in!”
A tall, slender boy only a few years older than the three friends stood beside Aunt Mathilda. His dark hair was rather long, and his grey suit had a slim, foreign cut. He grinned at the boys and held out his hand:
“Hello, chaps, I’m Ted Sandow.”
Concealing their intense curiosity at the coincidence of Ted Sandow’s appearance in the salvage yard, the boys all shook hands with him, and Jupiter assumed his most innocent manner.
“I’m Jupiter Jones.” The First Investigator introduced himself. “And this is Bob Andrews and Pete Crenshaw.”
“I say, I’m pleased to meet you fellows.” Ted beamed at the boys. “Friend of yours told me you were most interesting to get to know. Chap named Skinner Norris.”
“Skinny Norris sent you?” Pete blurted out, amazed.
“Said I’d find you unusual, to be exact. Are you unusual? I’m most eager to meet some unusual American boys. Haven’t had much chance, you see, out there on the estate.”
“You’re not American, Ted, are you?” Bob asked.
“I’m from England — Cambridge, to be exact. I’m visiting my Great- Aunt Sarah at the Sandow Estate. Actually, I didn’t know I had a great-aunt until my father died a few months ago! My grandfather, Aunt Sarah’s brother, was killed in France before my father was born. Apparently, my father got in touch with Aunt Sarah when he realized that he didn’t have long to live. She sent a note, and here I am.”
The tall boy grinned the whole time he was talking. Ted was obviously an eager talker. He spoke very fast, and his accent was not easy to follow. Before the boys could speak, he was off again:
“Well, Aunt Sarah has this barn full of old junk from years ago. She’s decided to spring-clean and needs it all carted away. I suggested she sell it to a salvage man. She thought it a capital idea and charged me with locating one. I saw the name of your yard, but I don’t know your city, so I contacted Aunt Sarah’s lawyer. He lives here, so he told me to see the son of a friend of his, Skinner Norris. I did, and Norris brought me here. He refused to come in himself. Rather odd, I thought.”
Before the boys had a chance to tell Ted that it wasn’t at all odd that Skinny wouldn’t come into the salvage yard, Aunt Mathilda spoke up. Her sharp eyes had shown great interest at the first mention of a barn full of old junk.
“We’d be glad to look at what your aunt has, Ted. When would you want us to come?”
“Now would be excellent,” Ted declared.
Aunt Mathilda shook her head. “My husband, Titus, is away at the moment. I’m afraid I can’t leave the yard
