The Mystery of the Hichcocke Inheritance Page 3

  “There’s no need to apologize, ma’am,” Jupiter replied. “We don’t believe in ghosts anyway, do we fellows?”

  “Jupe’s right,” said Bob with a smile. “We don’t scare that easily – isn’t that right Pete?”

  “Speak for yourself,” Pete said, his voice cracking. “I may not sleep until the plane ride home!”

  “Ah, sleep,” said Ben dreamily. “I don’t know about you chaps, but I’m positively beat.”

  “Jet-lag,” said Jupiter with a yawn. “The changing of time-zones has made our sleep patterns irregular. It’s only eight-thirty, but I suppose we’ll have to wait until tomorrow to figure out the next line of the riddle,” he said reluctantly. “Come on, fellows. Let’s hit the sack.”

  The boys and Ben grabbed their bags and trooped up the enormous, dimly lit staircase. They had just reached the top of the first landing when a man’s scream froze them in their tracks.

  “That sounded like Jebediah!” cried Ben.

  The boys dropped their bags and raced up to the second floor, followed closely by Patricia. At the landing between the second and third floors, they found Jebediah O’Connell cringing on the floor. A fresh burst of lightning and thunder made him cower like a small child.

  “The ghost!” he panted, pointing a shaking finger up the dark stairs that lead to the third floor. “Ye gods if I didn’t see the ghost right up on the next landing of steps – glowing in the darkness with a noose about her neck!”

  Patricia looked visibly upset. “Cousin, if this is some kind of joke...”

  “’Tis not a joke, Cousin Patty!” he gasped, pointing his finger up the steps again. “I saw it plain as day, I did!”

  “What’s on the third floor, ma’am?” Jupiter asked Patricia.

  “My parents didn’t use the third floor for living,” she explained. “It’s only used for storage. It’s not even heated anymore.” She clicked the light switch at the bottom of the stairs, but the great steps remained dark. “Burned out. The bulbs probably haven’t been changed in years.”

  “Do you have any flashlights?” Jupiter asked, advancing a few steps into the darkness.

  “I’ll get them,” volunteered Ben. The older boy raced downstairs. They heard cupboard doors slamming in the kitchen and then footsteps running back upstairs. “I could only find one,” he said, handing it to Jupiter. “But here’s some candles for the rest of us.”

  The search party lit their candles, and, with Jupiter in the lead, proceeded up the creaking steps. Outside, the thunder crackled and boomed, making them huddle close together.

  A half an hour later, they had made a thorough search of the third floor and found nothing but dusty boxes and cob-webbed steamer trunks. They checked the trunks to make sure no one could be hiding inside, but found all of them to be either locked or filled with clothes.

  “If something came up these steps it must still be up here,” said Bob. “Because there is no way out except for the stairs.”

  “Unless it was a ghost!” said Pete.

  “Aye,” agreed Jebediah. “Just as I said!”

  “There are no such things as ghosts,” said Jupiter stubbornly. “There must be some some other way out of here. A secret entrance of some kind. Ben, Patricia, do you know of any secret passageways in this house?”

  “I know there are some,” said Patricia. “I used to play in them when I was a very little girl. But that was so long ago that I don’t even recall where they’re at anymore. We would have to ask Julia, father’s maid. She has been here for almost thirty years. If there was a secret entrance on this floor, she would know about it.”

  “We’ll inquire first thing in the morning,” decided Jupiter. “Now – let’s go to bed for real this time. I’m overly fatigued.”

  “Who’s sleepy?” said Pete. “I don’t think I could sleep even if I wanted to!”

  But Pete was wrong. As soon as their heads hit their pillows, they were all fast asleep.

  Where’s The Crate?

  THE NEXT MORNING the boys were awakened by the smell of fried eggs and bacon. They quickly dressed and hurried down to the kitchen where Ben and Patricia were already eating.

  “Good morning!” said Ben heartily. “I trust you slept well. No bad dreams, I hope, Pete.”

  “Only one where I missed breakfast!” laughed the tall Investigator.

  A plump, stern-looking woman in a maid’s uniform set a platter of eggs in front of the boys and poured them tall glasses of orange juice.

  “Boys, I’d like you to meet Julia Abernathy,” said Patricia. “She has worked for my father for almost thirty years. Her fiancé, Winston, is our butler. They are recently engaged and are planning a wedding right here on the estate.”

  “Aye,” said Julia bitterly, “’twas a sad day when Mr. Hichcocke passed. Winston didn’t even get to meet the dear man. And now our future in this house is uncertain.” She stood for a moment, clasping her hands, then returned to the stove.

  “The house will be put up for sale in a month,” explained Patricia in a low voice. “We’d like to keep Winston and Julia on as part of the estate, but we can’t promise them that the new owners won’t already have servants. Julia has lived in the servant’s quarters – a cottage behind the house – since my father purchased the manor.”

  Just then a tall man in an immaculate black tuxedo entered the room. He had a long, narrow face with a protruding, hawkish nose. His hair was starting to gray and the dome of his head was completely bald. He bowed to the boys and offered them a warm smile.

  “Good morning, sirs,” he said in a crisp British accent. “My name is Winston, and I shall be at your service throughout the duration of your stay here at Hichcocke Manor.”

  “Good morning, Winston,” replied Jupiter. “That is very kind of you. Might I ask you a question?”

  “Certainly, sir,” replied Winston.

  “Do you know of any secret passageways on the third floor of this house? Possibly any false walls or doors?”

  The butler drew himself up straight as if he were preparing to give a lecture that he had memorized and delivered a million times before.

  “Every floor was built with a hidden room,” he explained. “The design was copied from ancient castles in which the king would have a secret room on each level in case the castle fell under attack. The king wanted to be sure that no matter which level his family was on, they would have a safe haven to retreat to should they need to hide from enemies. However, to my knowledge, there is no secret room on the third floor. The only connection to the other floors besides the stairway would be the dumb-waiter, used to lift food from the kitchen, and the soiled dishes back down.”

  “I see,” said Jupiter Jones.

  “Anything else, sir?” asked the butler.

  “Just one more thing,” said the First Investigator. “Since you’ve worked at Hichcocke Manor, have you ever seen any kind of apparition or ghostly presence here in the house?”

  “You must be referring to Molly Thibidoux, the poor French maidservant who hanged herself from a tree,” laughed Winston heartily. “My heavens, no. That is simply an old fright story conjured up to give the house atmosphere, just as Mr. Hichcocke would have done in his movies.”

  Jupiter was about to ask Julia if she had ever seen a ghost at Hichcocke Manor, when he was interrupted by a commotion of arguing that soon found its way into the kitchen.

  “Dear heavens!” said Patricia. “I had forgotten all about the Fitchhorns!”

  “The who?” asked Pete.

  “You’ve never met anyone like Timothy and Stella Fitchhorn,” said Ben. “They claim to be some distant relative of Aunt Patty’s, and are here from Scotland to claim their share of the treasure.”

  Jupiter, Pete, and Bob stared wide-eyed as the bickering Fitchhorns brought their cat-fight into the kitchen. Timothy Fitchhorn was a fat, sweaty man with beady eyes and horn-rimmed glasses. He was constantly pushing his stringy black hair into place when it fell in front of his e
yes. He wore a gaudy striped blazer that was too tight, and trousers that were too short.

  To the boys, Timothy Fitchhorn almost seemed to be the complete opposite of his nagging wife. Stella Fitchhorn wore a striped jacket that was identical to her husband’s – although it was a better fit. She was a small, birdlike woman who was shorter than the boys and seemed to weigh half as much.

  “I never!” she was screeching.

  “You’re always complaining about the way I drive!” he shouted, oblivious to the boys sitting at the table. “Why they drive on the wrong side of the road in this land is beyond my comprehension.”

  Stella Fitchhorn seemed ready to lay into her husband with a retort when she noticed the group sitting at the table.

  “Oh my,” she gasped. “Patricia, it’s so nice to see you again. And Ben, too!” When she saw The Three Investigators, however, she looked utterly confused. “But who are these boys?”

  “Money-grabbers, I’ll bet,” accused Mr. Fitchhorn, his eyes narrowing to slits. “Well, I’m due my fair share, and I’ll see that I get it!” he said matter-of-factly.

  Jupiter, seeing that Patricia’s temper was ready to boil over, quickly took control of the situation. “I assure you we are not money-grabbers,” he said. “In fact, we’re friends of Ben here on vacation from the United States. Rocky Beach, California to be exact. I understand you’re from Scotland,” he went on smoothly, “might I ask from what area?”

  “Chestershire,” said Timothy Fitchhorn. “Braxton,” said Stella Fitchhorn at the same time. They looked at each other and Stella cleared her throat.

  “That is to say we lived in Braxton before moving to Chestershire, right dear?”

  “Right,” her husband agreed. “Well,” he said, pushing his oily hair back into place, “I’ve got a legal right to any fortune found on this property while you boys are here. There’s no such thing as finders keepers in this country.”

  “You mean there’s buried treasure somewhere on this land?” Bob asked innocently. “Golly, we should get digging fellows!”

  “Yeah,” joined in Pete, trying to hide a smile. “Do you have any shovels, Ben?”

  Timothy Fitchhorn looked about ready to explode. He mopped at his brow with a handkerchief and sputtered at the boys. “Now see here!” he was saying. But the boys weren’t listening. They excused themselves from the table and ran out of the kitchen, trying hard not to laugh out loud.

  “That was a really cruel joke, Bob,” laughed Jupiter, as the boys ran into the great entrance hall.

  “But really necessary!” chuckled Ben. “We’ll have to be careful with our treasure hunt with those two in the house.”

  “Boy, you aren’t kidding!” said Pete. “Say, where do you suppose we should start looking for the treasure, First?” he asked Jupiter.

  Jupiter quickly got back to business. He pinched his bottom lip and thought for a moment. “We’ve already deduced that we have to locate some kind of crate,” he said. “But let’s read the clue again anyway so we can start fresh.”

  Bob pulled his notebook out and flipped to the right page. The boys all crowded around to read the strange paragraph once more.

  ***

  “Article 33: Skip the H20 and within my estate you’ll find the Crate that leads you to the paddy wagon. Follow the clues and pay your dues and the 2nd of 55 will reward you.”

  ***

  “You know, I’ve been thinking,” said Bob. “Maybe we’re not supposed to find a box at all.”

  “What do you mean, Records?” asked Jupiter, as he read the paragraph again.

  Bob Andrews scratched his head and re-read the clue as well. “Well, I guess what I’m wondering is – why is the word ‘Crate’ spelled with a capital ‘C’”, he said. “Every other word is spelled correctly, but that word is capitalized as if it were the name of something.”

  “Maybe we have to find something in the house with the word ‘Crate’ on it,” suggested Pete. “Or someone named ‘Crate.’”

  Jupiter was pulling his lip again. “If we were to find a specific person, the riddle would have simply said to ‘find Crate.’ But it doesn’t. It says quite clearly to “find the Crate.”

  “Unless my grandfather put that in there on purpose, just to throw us off track,” offered Ben.

  “That’s a distinct possibility,” Jupiter admitted. “Do you or your Aunt Patricia know any of Mr. Hichcocke’s friends named Crate?”

  Ben shook his head. “I would have to ask Aunt Patty,” he said. “But if it was someone my grandfather knew in the movie business, it would most certainly be in his private office.”

  “Can we look in there?” asked Pete.

  “It’s always locked, but I can get the key from Aunt Patty.”

  The boys followed him as he retrieved the key from his aunt, and then they marched down a narrow hallway to a large oak door that was the private office of Alphred Hichcocke. Ben inserted the key, but before he could turn it, he stiffened.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Pete. “Do you have the wrong key?”

  “No,” said Ben slowly. “The door has already been opened – look!” He pushed the door with his hand and they watched as it slowly creaked open.

  Jupe bent down to inspect the lock. “The lock has been jimmied,” he reported. “And not very long ago. There are fresh scratches on the brass key-plate. Someone probably used a bobby-pin or a small screwdriver to turn the catch.”

  “And boy did they leave a mess!” said Bob, pointing at the large desk in the middle of the room.

  Papers were scattered everywhere on the desk, some even falling onto the floor. Folders had been pulled out of filing cabinets and the drawers of the desk had been left half open.

  “Someone in this house is obviously trying to beat us to whatever is hidden,” said Jupiter.

  “The Fitchhorns!” Ben seethed. “Wait until I tell Aunt Patty! She’ll have them out of the house by lunch!”

  Jupiter shook his head. “We have no proof of their guilt. It could just as easily have been your Aunt Patricia’s cousin Jeb, or Winston and Julia.”

  “Not Julia,” said Ben. “She’s been here much too long to do something like this. But I sure wouldn’t put it past Jebediah. He’s creepy!”

  As Ben was talking, Jupiter had moved closer to one of the walls. A hand-carved wooden trim about three feet high ran around the bottom length of the office, but from there on up to the ceiling the walls were covered in picture frames – just like Mr. Hichcocke’s home in Hollywood.

  “What is it, First?” asked Bob.

  “I just remembered something,” said Jupiter quietly. “A film Mr. Hichcocke made many years ago. In it there is a man wrongly accused of murder, and in the big courtroom scene at the climax of the film, the star points out the man who was actually guilty of the crime.”

  “What does that have to do with someone breaking into Mr. Hichcocke’s office?” asked Pete.

  “Not the office – the riddle!” said Jupiter.

  “Sure, I remember now,” Bob said excitedly. “That film was The Fine Art of Murder and it starred Creighton Duke! Say – do you suppose that could be the ‘Crate’ he was talking about?”

  Jupiter was scanning the hundreds of pictures that lined the walls of the office. “Spread out!” he commanded. “Look for a photograph of Creighton Duke!”

  The boys each took a wall and began studying every photograph minutely. Within minutes Ben cried out in triumph. “I found it!”

  The Three Investigators hurried over to see the black and white picture. It was a still frame from the thrilling climax of The Fine Art of Murder. Creighton Duke, playing the part of the wrongfully accused man, stood in a courtroom pointing his finger at the actual killer. The still photo was signed in black ink. It said:

  *

  “To Hitch – I didn’t do it! Your pal, Crate.”

  *

  “That’s got to be the Crate in the riddle,” said Jupe. “Now let’s see which way Creighton Duke
is pointing. It should lead to a photo with a paddy wagon in it!”

  The boys followed the actor’s finger. It pointed towards more pictures on the far wall. They looked at every picture between the Creighton Duke picture and the wall, but nothing looked like it had anything resembling a paddy wagon in it.

  “It’s got to be here somewhere!” said Pete. “Let’s look again.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Jupiter, holding up his hand. “Let’s think about this logically. Mr. Hichcocke has already shown us that he’s not above using a play on words. This might be another one of his tricks. What else could a paddy wagon be?”

  The boys stood quietly in the messy office for a moment, each thinking hard.

  “Could it be an ambulance?” offered Pete.

  “Or some kind of police car?” said Bob.

  “Maybe a fire truck,” suggested Ben.

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute!” cried Jupiter. “I think I’ve got it, and what an excellent play on words!” he sang. “Ben, your aunt’s name is Patricia, right?”

  “Correct,” the British lad replied.

  “But you don’t always call her that, do you?” he persisted.

  “Sometimes I call her Aunt Patty,” he said, “but I fail to see – Oh!” Understanding dawned on Ben’s face as he realized what Jupe was driving at. “Patty,” he cried, “as in paddy wagon!”

  “Exactly,” Jupe crowed. “Creighton Duke must be pointing to a photograph of your Aunt Patricia, probably one of her as a little girl in a wagon!”

  “And here it is!” exclaimed Bob. The boys crowded close to see the picture. In this photograph, a little girl in a frilly white dress sat in a red wagon, holding a dolly. On the side of the wagon, painted in crude white letters, were the words: PATTY’S WAGON.

  “That’s it!” Ben said excitedly. “That’s the paddy wagon from the riddle.”

  Eagerly, Jupiter grasped the small picture frame and tried to pull it off the wall. As he did so, there was a loud ‘snick’ and a three foot high by two foot wide portion of the decorative mahogany trim opened like a small door.

  “The picture was a catch to unlock the secret door,” Jupe said with wonder. “Marvelous! Come on – let’s see where it leads to!”