The Mystery of the Cranky Collector - Carey M. V. - Страница 23

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But that was the house where Navarro had imprisoned Pilcher! “Oh, no!” Bob groaned. “He’s buried —” He was interrupted by a light. A car was coming, bouncing across the cleared area near the wrecked house. Its headlights stabbed through the blackness and touched Ramon.

Ramon stood gazing helplessly at the remains of the old house. He looked around toward the approaching car. The headlights blinded him, and he did not see the second car behind the first one. The second car had red and blue lights flashing from the top. It was a police car.

Jupe grinned. The police had arrived.

Ramon turned to look back at the boys. He still had the baseball bat. The Three Investigators braced themselves. If he came at them, they would have to move fast.

But Ramon dropped the bat and started to run. In a flash he had disappeared beyond the fallen house.

The police car jolted to a halt. The doors flew open and two officers jumped out and raced after Ramon, shouting for him to stop.

The other car stopped and Ray Estava got out. He was moving almost as quickly as the policemen. “Mr. Pilcher!” he yelled, racing toward the wrecked house. “Mr. Pilcher! It’s all right.”

A voice came back — a high, cracked voice. “It is not all right! Don’t be an idiot! A house just fell on me. Don’t tell me it’s all right!”

Incredibly, Jeremy Pilcher was still alive in that ruined place — alive and complaining! The policemen reappeared. They had overtaken Ramon before he reached the freeway. He was handcuffed and he marched between the officers with his head down.

“That’s the kidnapper!” Bob stepped toward the officers.

Ramon tried to yank free and kick, and Bob ducked away.

The officers put Ramon into the back of the squad car as Estava cried, “Don’t worry, we’ll get you out, Mr. Pilcher!”

“Don’t be all night about it!” snapped the cranky collector.

At that point Estava remembered who he was and why he was there. He thought of his father, ruined by the old grouch in the wreckage.

“Mr. Pilcher, drop dead!” he said. He stalked back to his car, got in, and did not do one more thing to help — not even when a third car came hurtling across the field with Marilyn Pilcher at the wheel.

“Estava must have phoned Marilyn,” Pete guessed. “No wonder it took him half the night to get back.”

Mrs. Pilcher was with Marilyn. She helped to restrain the girl when she tried to go in through the window in the one standing wall so that she could comfort her father.

“You leave it to us,” said one of the two police officers. “We’ll get him out.”

“Get the lead out of your pants!” shouted Pilcher. “Don’t stand there talking about it!”

The house creaked and groaned and threatened to come down completely.

The two policemen went in through the window, and the watchers outside held their breath. For the moment Pilcher was safe. The leaning roof and the one standing wall formed a sort of tent over the old collector. But there were often aftershocks following a quake. Even a mild one could bring the rest of the house on Pilcher and the rescuers.

There was no aftershock, but an officer soon came back out of the window. He scowled at the boys.

“The old man is chained to the floor,” he said. “Nobody warned us.” He went to his car and called in for help.

Firemen came after that. It took almost half an hour for them to arrive, but once they were on the scene, they went about the rescue of Jeremy Pilcher in an efficient way. Two of them climbed through the window and surveyed the situation. They called for a hacksaw. After they used the hacksaw, they needed a crowbar. The boys heard wrenching and heaving in the wreckage. Then a stretcher went in through the window.

Shortly after, Jeremy Pilcher was lifted out. By that time an ambulance was waiting. “Careful, you clumsy ox!” Pilcher cried as the attendants lifted him into the ambulance.

“Oh, Dad!” Marilyn got in to ride to the hospital with her father. “Dad, just this once take it easy, huh?” she said.

At that instant there was an aftershock. The earth rumbled briefly. The old house where Pilcher had spent his captivity collapsed completely into a pile of termite dust.

The Three Investigators were ready and waiting when Dr. Gonzaga arrived at The Jones Salvage Yard a week later. As the professor from Ruxton drove them up the coast toward Malibu, the boys filled him in on their upcoming visit.

“You’re going to like Mr. Sebastian,” Pete promised. “He’s a terrific guy. He used to be a private eye in New York. Now he writes mysteries out here. He’s got this neat house that used to be a restaurant.”

“And he’s got a houseman from Vietnam,” added Bob. “Hoang Van Don. You just call him Don. He’s nice, but he’s kind of weird about food. Some of the stuff he cooks is great, but some of it is — bleaaah!”

Following Jupe’s directions, Dr. Gonzaga soon turned off the Coast Highway and drove slowly up a rutted canyon road to a big white-painted house.

“Hey, look!” Pete pointed. The house door was open and a very small girl stood on the porch. She wore a headband with a red feather stuck in it.

“Ah,” said Dr. Gonzaga. “A little Indian girl. You didn’t tell me about her.”

“She’s a new member of the cast,” Jupe said, “and I don’t think she’s an Indian.”

Dr. Gonzaga saw then that the child was Oriental. She smiled shyly and waved. Hoang Van Don came onto the porch and took her by the hand.

“Chumash princess!” he called. He pointed to the child. “Learning ways of early people in California.”

As the visitors headed for the porch, other small children appeared from the house. All were Oriental and all wore Indian costumes. “Small friends are project of East-West Fellowship,” Don explained. “We find fun ways to teach American customs. When children go to school, they will be already Americans. Will find much acceptance from schoolmates.”

“Kind of a Vietnamese Head Start project, huh?” said Bob.

“More fun than Head Start,” Don told him. “Today we cook like Chumash Indians, make lunch with things we find on hillsides. Acorn cakes. Creamed dandelion. Also rosehip tea, good for digestion.”

“Oh, no!” moaned Pete.

Don shooed the children into the house as Hector Sebastian appeared. Jupe introduced the professor. Mr. Sebastian hardly had time to shake Dr. Gonzaga’s hand before Pete piped up.

“What about this creamed dandelion stuff?” said Pete.

The mystery writer chuckled. “Fear not, Pete. I’ve given strict orders. We are not Chumash children, and we aren’t going to eat anything foraged from the hills! I went out this morning and bought some real food. We’ll eat after you’ve told me about your case.”

The boys looked relieved. They always survived Don’s experimental meals, but they weren’t anxious to munch on acorns or dandelions.

Mr. Sebastian led the way to a big room with a spectacular view of the ocean. This had been the main dining room when the house was a restaurant. Now it served as a combination living room, library, and office. When everyone was settled around the coffee table, Bob handed over his notes on the Pilcher case.

“Dr. Gonzaga has some details to add to these,” he told the mystery writer.

Dr. Gonzaga nodded. “Read Bob’s notes first. My part of the story concerns a really ancient mystery. It happened four hundred years ago, so there is no hurry about retelling the tale.”

Mr. Sebastian began to read, tuning out the sound of children happily chattering in the kitchen. When he had finished Bob’s account of the bizarre kidnapping of the collector, he looked up and laughed. “So Jeremy Pilcher was still griping when the firemen hauled him out after the earthquake!”

Jupe grinned. “The leopard can’t change his spots! And Navarro is no angel, either.”

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