The Secret Of The Terror Castle Part 6

"It isn't," Jupiter a.s.sured him.

When Jupiter had a scheme in mind, he usually preferred not to explain it in advance. He liked to see how his ideas worked before he talked about them. So Pete did not ask any questions as his stocky companion unhooked from his belt his prized Swiss knife, with its eight blades. He opened the large cutting blade and went to work on the charred tip of the stick.

When he had the point sharp again, he stood before the wall of rock and dirt which imprisoned them. Shining the torch carefully over the whole expanse, he picked a spot near the corner of the rocky wall and inserted the point of the stick into the dirt. After a moment it met an obstruction. He withdrew it and inserted it a few inches away.

Then Jupiter gently twisted and pushed the stick, finding a crevice between some smaller rocks. After a minute or two the stick went forward easily. Jupiter pulled it back. Some dirt trickled back in with the stick. But both boys spied a tiny hole of bright daylight where it had been.

Jupiter returned to the job of probing the wall of rock and dirt. Time after time the stick met an obstruction, but he did not give up. After some minutes, he had pushed away enough dirt so that they could clearly make out a small rock, about the shape of a football, near the very top of the wall.

"Now," Jupiter said with satisfaction, "if you will push on the lower left side of that rock, Pete, making certain to push towards the right instead of straight ahead, I believe we'll find my stratagem successful."

Pete stood on a loose rock, braced himself, and pushed as Jupiter had advised. At first the rock resisted. Then it gave way suddenly and popped out of place. It went on down the hillside and with it went a dozen other boulders, leaving a clear s.p.a.ce almost two feet high at the top of the entrance to the crevice.

"Jupe, you're a genius!" Pete said.

"Please!" Jupiter winced slightly. "Don't call me a genius. I simply endeavour to exercise my native intelligence to its fullest ability."

"All right," Pete agreed. "But you got us out of here or will have as soon as we crawl through that hole."

But when they were finally outside and brushing thedirt from themselves, a moment of doubt a.s.sailed the taller boy. "Golly, look at us!" he said. "We're a mess!"

"We can wash our hands and faces and get the worst dirt off our clothes at some service station," Jupiter decided. "Then we will continue on to Mr. Rex's residence."

"We're still going to see Mr. Rex?" Pete asked, as Jupiter led the way down to the road, now more rock-strewn than ever. They were heading back towards the spot where Worthington and the car waited.

"Yes," the First Investigator told him. "It is now too late to enter Terror Castle by daylight. We'll just have time to see Mr. Rex."

As they came into sight, Worthington turned towards them with an exclamation of relief. He had apparently been pacing back and forth beside the car.

"Master Jones!" he said. "I was beginning to worry. Did some mishap befall you?"

he asked, eyeing the condition of their hands and faces and clothing.

"Nothing serious," Jupiter said. "Tell me, did two boys leave Black Canyon about forty minutes ago?"

"Somewhat longer ago than that," Worthington said, as they climbed into the car.

"Two lads came running this way, saw me, and ducked to one side. They entered some bushes down the road. Apparently they had concealed a car there, for a moment later a blue sports car roared off."

Pete and Jupiter looked at each other and nodded. Skinny Norris's car was a blue sports car.

"And then," Worthington continued, "I heard the sound of rocks sliding. When you did not appear, I began to fear for your safety. My orders are that I must never let this car out of my sight, but if you had not appeared in another moment, I would have come in search of you."

"You heard the sounds of rocks sliding after after the two boys drove away?" Jupiter asked. the two boys drove away?" Jupiter asked.

"Definitely after," Worthington said. "Where to now, sir?"

"Number 915 Winding Valley Road," Jupiter said, his tone absent-minded. Pete knew what was puzzling him. If Skinny Norris and his pal had driven away before the landslide, then who had pushed down the rocks that had imprisoned them in the crevice?

Pete glanced at his companion. Jupiter was pinching his lip, deep in thought.

"We seem to have solved the mystery of the other tyre tracks," Jupiter remarked.

"Obviously Skinny Norris made them. But then whom did we see in the canyon after Skinny and his friend ran away?"

"Maybe it was the little man who wasn't there," Pete said. "Anyway, it wasn't a spook, phantom, ghost, or spirit."

"No, whoever it was, was human enough," Jupiter agreed. "When we come to a gas station, Worthington, we'd like to stop long enough to wash up."

After they had cleaned up, the car took them up a long, winding drive over the ridge of the mountains, then down into the broad valley beyond. They turned right, and after another mile found the beginning of Winding Valley Road. At first it was a wide, attractive drive, with expensive houses on both sides. But as it continued on back up into the ridge they had just crossed, it became more narrow and winding. In places the walls were almost vertical. At other spots there was barely room for a tiny bungalow or an old shack.

Still Winding Valley Road continued, rising higher and higher, getting narrower, until finally it came to an abrupt end against a steep, rocky slope, with a small turn-round area to enable a motorist to reverse his direction.

Worthington brought the car to a stop with an air of bewilderment.

"We've reached the end of the road," he said. "But I do not see any habitation."

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"There's a mailbox!" Pete exclaimed. "It says Rex-915 Rex-915. The house must be round here somewhere."

He and Jupiter climbed out. The mailbox leaned beside a ragged bush. Behind it a rough trail of rocky steps led up the hillside, through other bushes and small trees.

They started up this, and in a few moments they had left the car many feet below them.

Then they rounded a clump of shrubs and saw, tucked against the side of the hill, an old-fashioned Spanish bungalow with a red-tiled roof. To one side of the bungalow, against the canyon wall, were several very large cages, and in these cages hundreds of parakeets were flapping and flying from perch to perch, keeping up a constant screeching sound.

As the boys stopped and stared at the cages of brilliantly coloured birds, they heard footsteps behind them.

They turned and gazed with startled eyes at the man who was coming up the trail behind them. He was tall and completely bald, his eyes hidden behind huge black gla.s.ses. A livid scar ran across his throat from below one ear almost to his breastbone.

He spoke, and his voice was a sinister whisper.

"Stand right where you are! Don't move a step, do you hear?"

As they stood frozen, he came towards them, swinging in his left hand a great machete, its razor edge gleaming in the sunshine.

Chapter 9.

Sinister Spirits THE TALL BALD MAN with the scarred throat approached them rapidly.

"Stand absolutely still, boys!" he whispered. "Don't move if you value your lives!"

To Pete, the warning seemed unnecessary. He couldn't move. Then the machete flashed through the air between him and Jupiter. It struck the ground somewhere near their feet, and the man gave an exclamation of disappointment.

"Missed!" he said.

The bald man took off his dark gla.s.ses, blinking at them with rather friendly blue eyes. He now looked a good deal less sinister.

"There was a snake in the gra.s.s behind you, boys," he said. "I don't know whether it was a rattler or not, but there are some about. I tried to get it with the machete, but I hurried too much."

He took out a red-and-white handkerchief and mopped his brow.

"I've been cutting the brush along the hill," he said. "This dry brush is a bad fire hazard. But it's hot work. How about joining me for a lemonade?" By now his hoa.r.s.e, whispering speech seemed more natural to them. They judged it was a result of the same wound that had left the great scar on his throat.

Jonathan Rex led them into the bungalow. In a room which was screened on one side there were easy chairs and a table with a large jug of iced liquid in it. Beyond the screen were the cages of birds, which kept up their constant noise.

"I raise parakeets for a living," Mr. Rex explained as he poured out three gla.s.ses of lemonade and handed two to the boys. Then he excused himself for a moment and stepped into the next room.

Jupiter sipped his lemonade thoughtfully. "What do you think of Mr. Rex?" he asked.

"Why, he seems pretty nice," Pete answered. "I mean, after you get used to his voice."

"Yes, he's very friendly. I wonder why he said he was cutting brush with the machete, however? His hands and arms were quite clean. They would have had small twigs and bark on them if he had really been cutting dry brush."

"But why would he bother to make up a story for two kids he's never seen before?"

Jupiter shook his head. "I don't know. But if he had been out cutting brush for any length of time, how could he have a pitcher of lemonade with the ice hardly melted at all standing in here now?"

"Whiskers!" Pete exclaimed. "There's probably some easy answer. Maybe he likes lemonade."

"All answers are easy when you get them. It's only when you don't know them that they're hard."

Jupiter was silent as Jonathan Rex came back into the room. He had changed into a sports shirt with a collar, and he was wrapping a scarf around his throat.

"It bothers some people to see my scar," he whispered. "So I cover it when I have company. It's a relic of a little sc.r.a.pe I got into in the Malay Archipelago many years ago. But tell me, how do you happen to be calling on me?"

Jupiter produced a business card and Mr. Rex studied it.

"The Three Investigators, eh?" he said. "And what are you investigating?"

While Jupiter explained that they would like to ask him some questions about Stephen Terrill, Rex picked up his dark gla.s.ses from the table where he had placed them.

"My eyes are sensitive to daylight," he whispered. "I see best at night ... What is your interest in my old friend Stephen Terrill?"

"We wondered," Jupiter said, "if Mr. Terrill was the kind of man who would become a vindictive spirit, bent on haunting his former home to keep people out of it forever."

Behind the dark gla.s.ses the man's piercing gaze seemed to study them intently.

"A very good question," he said. "Let me answer it this way. My friend Stephen, though in his movie roles he played phantoms and monsters, pirates and weird creatures, was really very shy and gentle. That was why he needed me for his business manager. He couldn't bring himself to argue with people. Look at this picture."

He reached behind him for a large framed photograph that stood on a table. The two boys took it and studied it. It showed two men standing in a doorway, shaking hands. One of the men was The Whisperer. The other was not as tall, and was younger. Apparently it was the original of the picture they had seen in Bob's research notes.

The picture was signed: To my good friend, J.R., from Steve To my good friend, J.R., from Steve.

"You can see from that," Mr. Rex said, "why I handled all the business. I had a way with people they didn't like to argue with me.

"That allowed Steve to devote himself to his acting. He took it very seriously. He enjoyed being able to thrill and scare audiences. When his poor speaking voice made his final picture such a laughing matter, it broke his heart. That was one thing he couldn't face being laughed at. I'm sure you boys can understand that."

"Yes, sir," Jupiter said. "I know how he felt. I hate being laughed at, too."

"Exactly," the man whispered. "For weeks after the picture was released, Steve wouldn't leave his home. He sent the servants away. I did all the shopping. The reports kept coming in that audiences shrieked with laughter everywhere the picture was shown. I urged him to forget it, but he brooded about it.

"Finally," Mr. Rex continued, "he ordered me to obtain all the prints of his old pictures that were in existence. He was determined no one would ever see them again.

I managed to get them, at considerable expense. I brought them to him. I had to tell him that the bank, which financed the building of his home, threatened to take the castle away from him. You see, he was a young man and expected to make many more pictures, so he had saved very little money.

"We were alone in the main room of the castle. He looked at me with burning eyes. 'They will never get me to go,' he said. 'No matter what happens to my body, my spirit will never leave this building'."

The whispering voice ceased. The blank, dark gla.s.ses seemed like the eyes of some strange creature. Pete shook himself.

"Golly!" he said. "That certainly sounds as if he was planning to go into the haunt profession!"

"Yes," Jupiter agreed. "Yet, Mr. Rex, you say Mr. Terrill was a gentle individual.

Such a person would hardly turn into a malevolent spirit capable of inspiring unreasoning terror in everyone who entered the castle."

"That's true, my boy," the man said. "But you see, the unseen force that causes the sense of terror in everyone may not be the spirit of my old friend. It may be one of the other, much more sinister spirits that I strongly suspect now manifest themselves there."

"Other " Pete swallowed hard " more sinister spirits?"

"Yes, you see there are really two possibilities," Rex said. "You no doubt know that Stephen Terrill's car was found at the foot of a rocky cliff?"

The two boys nodded.

"And you have probably heard about the note he left in the castle, saying that it would forever be accursed?"

Both boys nodded again, their eyes fixed on Jonathan Rex's face.

"The police," Rex said, "were sure that my friend drove off that cliff on purpose, and I believe they were right. However, I never saw Steve again after that last conversation I just told you about. He sent me away after making me promise never to enter the door of the building again.

"What must his thoughts have been at the very end, when he wrote that note?

Remember, in life his mission was to scare people. Now people were laughing at him.

Might he not be determined that after death he would resume terrorising them, if only to show he could not be safely laughed at."

"You said there were two possibilities," Jupiter prompted him, when the strange, bald-headed man seemed to be about to fall into a deep meditation. "Also you spoke of other, more sinister spirits."

"Oh, yes," the man said. "When Steve built the castle, he sent all over the world for materials from various buildings supposed to be haunted. From j.a.pan he obtained timbers of an ancient, ghost-ridden temple where a n.o.ble family had been wiped out in an earthquake.

"Then he bought material from a ruined mansion in England, where a beautiful girl had hanged herself rather than marry a man her father had picked out for her.