The Mystery of the Cranky Collector - Carey M. V. - Страница 18
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“Bingo!” cried Bob. “Bogota’s in Colombia. So there’s the link with Sogamoso. Sogamoso is in Colombia too.”
“Right!” Jupe was trying to appear calm, but his eyes sparkled. “So we may assume that the computer message has something to do with Jeremy Pilcher’s kidnapping. In fact, it may have everything to do with it.”
“But what about that book?” said Pete. “Jupe, you can read Spanish. What’s it all about?”
Jupe frowned. A lot of the words were unfamiliar. And the ink was faded and brown. The writing was crabbed and the pages were crowded with the old script — so crowded that lines ran together. “I don’t think I can read this,” Jupe confessed. “I’m not sure I could read it even if it were in English.”
Bob looked over his shoulder. “Yeah!” he said. “It looks like one of those old documents where they made all the s’s look like f ’s.
“So what are we waiting for?” Pete demanded. “I’ll bet if we ask Dr. Barrister, he’ll know somebody who reads that stuff.”
He was speaking of Dr. Henry Barrister, a professor of anthropology at Ruxton University in the nearby San Fernando Valley. Dr. Barrister had helped the boys in the past when they needed information on folk medicine and magic and witchcraft. He had many friends on the Ruxton faculty, and their specialized knowledge was a boon to the young investigators.
“Dr. Barrister might save us a lot of time,” Jupe conceded. “We can’t take the book to Ruxton, however, before we talk to Marilyn Pilcher. She asked us to find the bishop’s book so that she could use it to ransom her father. Perhaps she doesn’t care why the kidnapper wants the book, just so long as her father is safe.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Pete. “Sometimes I forget about the kidnapping. I mean, it doesn’t seem like anybody really likes old Pilcher. It’s easy to get carried away solving the puzzle and forget why we’re on the case!”
Jupe nodded, and locked the door of Pilcher’s cabin. Then the boys turned in the keys at the gate and located a pay phone. First they tried to call Marilyn Pilcher at her mother’s house in Santa Monica again, but this time they only reached the answering machine. Jupe left a message, then called the Pilcher house in Rocky Beach.
Mrs. McCarthy picked up that phone. “Wait a minute and I’ll get her for you.”
When Marilyn came on the line, Jupe told her about finding what appeared to be the journal of a bishop. Marilyn said nothing for a moment, but Jupe heard her draw in a deep breath. She was like a swimmer who had been too long underwater; now she had come to the surface and could breathe again.
“Thank goodness!” she said at last.
“We wondered,” said Jupe. “Do you want to find out why the book is so important, or do you want to turn it over to the kidnapper and just not worry about it?”
Marilyn hesitated. “We have a little time,” she said. “That man called again. I told him we were still trying to find the book, only it was hard when we don’t know exactly what we’re looking for, and he said, ‘One more day. You have one more day. I will not wait longer.’ ”
“So we have until tomorrow,” said Jupe. He then explained about Dr. Barrister. “He must know people who can read old manuscripts. Shall we take the book to Ruxton?”
“Maybe you’d better,” said Marilyn after a pause. “If we give away something that my dad really wants, he would have a fit. Even if we save his life, he could have a fit. He’s like that. So go ahead. We’ve got nothing to lose because I have no way to contact this guy, whoever he is, to let him know we’ve got the thing.”
She stopped for a second, then went on, “I probably shouldn’t have the book here in the house anyway. Somebody was here while I was with my mom last night. Somebody searched my room. I could see that my bureau drawers were different, like somebody took stuff out and then put it back. If it was the man who has Dad, he’s also got Dad’s keys, doesn’t he? He can come and go as he pleases.”
“Call a locksmith,” said Jupe. “Have the locks changed. Okay, we’ll try Dr. Barrister and we’ll let you know.”
Next, Jupe phoned Dr. Barrister at Ruxton. He was in luck. Even though summer vacation had started, the professor was still coming into his office every day. He promised to wait for the boys.
The Investigators hurried back to the salvage yard and begged Uncle Titus for a ride.
“You need a lift out to Ruxton?” said Uncle Titus. He grinned and pulled at the end of his big mustache. “I promised your Aunt Mathilda I’d deliver some bricks to a man in North Hollywood,” he said. “I’ll have to pass right by Ruxton. The truck is loaded already. Come on. Don’t dillydally. Let’s go!”
The three boys scrambled into the back of the smaller salvage-yard truck, and they were off down the highway. In less than an hour Uncle Titus deposited them on the Ruxton campus, promising to return a little later.
Dr. Barrister was in his office with a friend — a skinny man with a very bald, very shiny head. “This is Dr. Edouard Gonzaga,” said Dr. Barrister. “Dr. Gonzaga heads up our Department of Romance Languages. He has a special interest in old Spanish manuscripts.”
Jupe beamed. He produced the bishop’s book and handed it to Dr. Gonzaga.
Dr. Gonzaga opened the book and looked at the first page. “Ah!” he said. He turned the page, and then another and another. A huge smile lit up his whole face. “Incredible!” he exclaimed.
“What is it?” asked Jupe.
“January first, at Santa Fe de Bogota,” said Dr. Gonzaga, turning back to the first page. “The author writes of saying Mass and of praying for the people of New Granada that God might bless their efforts. After Mass there was waiting at the palace a letter from His Most Gracious Majesty King Carlos.”
Dr. Gonzaga looked up from the book. “You may have a real treasure here,” he said. “The author of this journal probably was a bishop. He writes about a palace, and a bishop’s residence is always called a palace. His Majesty wrote to him, which is hardly a thing that would happen if he were only a humble priest. It will have to be verified, of course; there are ways to find out how old a book is. We can analyze the paper and the inks and so forth. But it seems you may have the missing diary of Enrique Jiminez, the bloodstained bishop!”
“The bloodstained bishop?” echoed Jupe.
Pete gulped. “Wh-why was he bloodstained?” he asked. “Did something happen to him?”
“Eventually, my boy, something happens to all of us,” said Dr. Gonzaga. “Life is a terminal affair, and no one gets out of it alive. The bloodstained bishop caught a cold. In the old days a cold could be serious indeed. It could easily become pneumonia, and that was often fatal. There were rumors that one of the unfortunate prelate’s servants neglected him as he lay sick, and so hastened his death. No one was certain. The only thing that was known at the time was that the bishop’s manservant disappeared after the bishop’s death. Several members of his household told how Bishop Jiminez wrote every day in his journal, but no journal was ever found.”
Dr. Barrister beamed at the Three Investigators. “There’s a mystery for you,” he said. “You boys should love it! Of course, it’s about four hundred years old, and by this time the clues are very cold.”
“Gold might be involved,” said Dr. Gonzaga. “When the Spaniards marched through South America, claiming lands left and right for their king and queen, gold was often involved. Shiploads of it left the New World bound for Spain. The Spaniards took what they could find, then pressed the Indians into service and forced them to mine more. This Bishop Jiminez was said to be cruel to the Indians who worked in the gold mines. That was the reason they called him the bloodstained bishop. Whether he was really to blame, or whether it was the agents of the Spanish king — the overseers who supervised the work at the mines — well, after hundreds of years, who can be sure?
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