The Mystery of the Coughing Dragon

investigate one?”

“We heard that five dogs have disappeared within the past week in the peaceful town of Seaside,” Jupiter said. “And Mr. Hitchcock told us that a friend of his lost his dog and saw a dragon near his house. Doesn’t that suggest anything to you?”

“It sure does,” said Pete. “It suggests I should be back in Rocky Beach surfing on my board instead of coming along with you to catch a dragon.”

“If Mr. Hitchcock’s friend, Henry Allen, engages our services, then it will be a profitable adventure for The Three Investigators,” Jupiter said. “Why don’t you try to look at it that way?”

“I’m trying, I’m trying,” Pete said.

“Whether there is a dragon or not,” Jupiter said, “something mysterious is apparently going on. Soon we will have facts to work with. Meanwhile we’ll have to approach the matter with an open mind.”

They had reached the outskirts of Seaside, and Hans slowed the truck as he searched for the street number Jupiter had given him. They travelled slowly another mile and then Hans stopped. “I think this is your party, Jupe,” he said.

All they could see was high hedges and palm trees. If a house was there, it seemed to be hiding.

Pete spotted the small sign on a white letterbox.

“H. H. Allen,” he read. “This must be the place.”

The boys piled out. “This preliminary investigation should take approximately two hours, Hans,” Jupe said. “Can you make your collection and delivery and come back for us then?”

“Sure thing, Jupe,” the husky Bavarian said. He waved and swung his truck round to head down a steep road that led to the centre of the town.

“Let’s take a quick look round first,” Jupiter said. “It may help if we’re better orientated when we speak to Mr. Allen.”

Houses were strung out along the high ridge overlooking the Pacific. The neighbourhood had a lonely, deserted air. The boys walked to a piece of vacant ground next to the film director’s house and looked down.

“Looks nice and peaceful,” Bob said, regarding the beach below them and the sparkling waters.

“Neat rollers,” muttered Pete, watching the surf.

“Not much, but pretty good three-footers. I guess later at night, when the tide and breakers start coming in, would be the best time for the dragon. He’d have a lot more cover.”

Jupiter agreed. “You’re right, Pete. If there is a dragon.” He craned his head to look below. “Mr. Hitchcock said there were caves below. But they can’t be seen from this angle. Later, after our interview with Mr. Allen, we’ll go down there and look them over.”

Bob looked at the deserted beach far below them. “How do we get down?” he asked.

Pete pointed to some rickety-looking, white, weather-beaten boards. “Steps going down, Bob. Beats scaling up and down the cliff wall.”

Jupiter pointed along the, ridge. “There are some other staircases, too. But I don’t see many of them. Well, I believe we have the lie of the land. Now let’s hear what Mr. Allen will tell us.”

He led the way back to a gate in the hedge, swung it open, and they all stepped through. Beyond a winding path, they could see a house of faded yellow brick, surrounded by palm trees, bushes and wild flowers. The garden had an air of neglect as did the old house itself, perched almost on the edge of the wind-swept cliff.

Jupiter raised the door knocker and let it fall.

The door opened, and a small plump man stood there. He had large mournful brown eyes, bushy eyebrows, and a fringe of white hair above his tanned and wrinkled face.

“Come in, boys,” he said, extending his hand. “I imagine you’re the boys my good friend Alfred Hitchcock said might help me. Investigators, are you?”

“Yes, sir,” Jupiter said. He whipped out one of The Three Investigators’ business cards. “We’ve solved several cases so far.”

The old man looked at the card in his gnarled fingers. It said:

“The question marks,” Jupiter explained, “are our symbol, our trademark. They stand for questions unanswered, riddles unsolved, mysteries unexplained. We attempt to solve them.”

The old man nodded, as if satisfied, and put the card in his pocket. “Come into my study, and we’ll talk,” he said.

He led them to a large sunny room. The boys gasped as they looked about them. From ceiling to floor, the walls were hung with pictures almost fighting for space. Apart from the many paintings, there were neatly framed autographed photographs of famous film stars and other celebrities.

The large desk was covered with papers and small wooden carvings. The bookcases were crowded, too, with strange artifacts, Pre-Columbian figurines, and small, grotesque African figures. Some of them looked cruel and frightening.

The old man indicated three chairs for them and took the large carved chair behind the desk. “Please sit down, boys, and I’ll tell you why I called my old friend Alfred Hitchcock. Perhaps he has already told you that I am a film director?”

“Yes,” said Jupiter. “He mentioned that, sir.”

The old man smiled. “Was would be a better word for it. I haven’t done anything for many years. I was a film director years before Alfred became one. And quite famous in my own right, too. While Alfred has made the Hitchcock thriller his own speciality, I had mine, too. Almost in the same vein, but slightly different. Alfred concerns himself with logical mysteries of the real world, but mine went beyond it?’

“What do you mean, sir?” Jupiter asked.

“It will explain why I couldn’t go to the police or other authorities with my problem. You see, my pictures were bizarre, of the world beyond, of nightmares and fright. They concerned themselves with monsters, werewolves, creatures of strange and hideous natures and violent emotions.

“In short, my speciality, boys, was the horror film!” Jupiter nodded. “Yes, I remember your name now, sir. I’ve seen it at film festivals in museums.”

“Good,” said the old man. “So when I tell you about what I saw coming out of the water the night my dog disappeared, you will know why I hesitated to speak about it. With my reputation and my inability to find work for many years, it would be only natural for stupid people to think I was merely trying to attract attention, gain publicity.

“My work is finished. They saw to that — the powers that be. I have enough money to live quietly. And no worries, no fears — except — ”

“Except the dragon now living in the cave below you, sir?” Jupiter suggested.

Mr. Allen grimaced. “Yes.” He looked carefully at the boys. “I told Alfred I saw it coming out of the sea. But I omitted one fact. You see, I heard it, too!” The room became suddenly quiet.

“You heard the dragon,” Jupiter said calmly. “Exactly what did you hear? And where were you at that moment?”

Mr. Allen drew out a large coloured handkerchief and mopped his brow. “I was standing on the cliff outside my house looking down at the ocean when I saw it,” the old man said. “Perhaps it was an illusion.”

“Perhaps,” Jupiter said. “Now tell us exactly what you heard. This might be an important lead in the mystery.”

“Well, confound it,” Mr. Allen said. “As far as I know, there aren’t any dragons around, and there haven’t been for several million years. Of course, I’ve done pictures about them, using mechanical monsters. In those cases, we used some kind of muffled roar of an engine combined with shrill whistles, blended together to create the effect we were trying to achieve — that of frightening the audience.

“But what I heard last night wasn’t anything like that at all. It was rather a high-pitched rasping sound — almost as if it were breathing with difficulty — or coughing.”

“What about the cave under your house?” Jupiter asked. “Is it large enough to contain a dragon, or any creature large enough to be mistaken for one?”

“Yes,” the old man said. “There are a series of caves running under this ridge. Extending north and south as well as inland. In the old days, they were used by rum-runners, and before them by smugglers and pirates. There was a landslide some years ago as the cliffs eroded, covering much of what was known then as Haggity’s Point. But