The Mystery of the Laughing Shadow - Arden William - Страница 4

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“Then how would a message from one of them get here?” Bob asked dubiously.

Professor Meeker rubbed at his lean jaw. “Well, I suppose it isn’t so improbable. Although they are still quite remote, the Mexican government has been working with them over the last few years. Time and the needs of the modern world may have caught up with the Yaquali. They are an intelligent people, and they have long been in demand for their climbing skill.”

“You think some of them may have come here to work?” Jupiter asked.

“It’s possible, although I haven’t heard of any of them being anywhere in the United States. And I can’t really imagine what they would be doing in Rocky Beach. You did say that you found the message here in Rocky Beach, didn’t you?”

“Yes, sir, in a secret compartment in the amulet.”

“Ah, yes, the Yaquali are fond of amulets.”

“But Mr. Hitchcock thought the amulet was the work of the local Chumash tribe,” Bob explained. “He said it was like one you used in the television show.”

“Chumash, eh. Well, that seems odd. I fail to see any connection between the extinct Chumash and the Yaquali. It’s unlikely that Chumash work would have ever reached the Yaquali in Mexico. And you say that it was this amulet that the dark man stole from you?”

“Yes, sir,” Pete said.

“It was solid gold, too,” Bob added.

Professor Meeker stared at the boys. “Gold? A Chumash amulet? That’s quite impossible, boys.”

“Oh, no, sir,” Jupiter declared firmly. “I examined it closely. I am certain it was gold.”

“You must be mistaken, young man.”

Jupiter shook his head. “I really know gold, sir.”

“Mr. Hitchcock said it was solid gold, too, Professor Meeker,” Bob stated.

The professor seemed stunned. His mouth dropped open, then snapped shut. He rubbed his jaw and stared hard at the boys, his eyes narrowed in thought. Then, slowly, he leaned forward.

“If it was truly gold, my young friends, you may have stumbled on to something of the utmost importance,” the professor said carefully, pausing in order to give emphasis to his words. “You may have found a clue to a mystery that is almost two hundred years old.”

Jupiter’s eyes opened wide. “A two-hundred-year-old mystery?”

“Yes, my boy, the mystery of the Chumash Hoard!”

“You see, boys,” Professor Meeker went on, “the Chumash never used gold! There was no gold in this part of the state. If that amulet was gold, it must have come from the Chumash Hoard.”

“What is it, sir? The Chumash Hoard?” Bob asked.

“Between 1790 and about 1820,” the professor explained, “there was a renegade band of very dangerous Chumash in the mountains. Although there were a few of them, they were deadly when defending themselves and expert at hiding. The Spanish were unable to control them, so they tried to bribe them with gold to leave the settlers alone. The band soon learned the value of gold, and when the Spanish didn’t give them as much as they wanted they stole more anywhere they could find it.

“By the time they were finally beaten and their last leader, Magnus Verde, mortally wounded and captured, they were reputed to have amassed a great hoard of gold articles — jewellery and bullion. Magnus Verde refused to tell where the Hoard was hidden. All he said before he died was that no man would ever find it. The rest of the renegades vanished and were never seen again. Since then many, many men have looked for the treasure without any success. I have always thought that it was thrown into some impenetrable place — perhaps the ocean — to keep the white men from ever finding it.”

Jupiter’s eyes seemed to be looking far away. “I think it would have been hard for them to throw away the gold after fighting so hard to get it.”

“You may be right,” the professor said. “And if you have actually seen a Chumash amulet made of gold, there is good reason for thinking the Chumash Hoard does still exist somewhere. What an exciting discovery!”

“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.

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