The Mystery of the Fiery Eye - Артур Роберт - Страница 4

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The First Investigator shook his head. “No,” he said, “this message reads to me as if it had been carefully thought out. I don’t think we can guess yet what he meant by ‘in August is your fortune.’...”

“My birthday is in August,” Gus said. “Two days from now. August sixth. That’s why my father gave me August for a first name. He said at the time, ‘An August in August can only be August.’ Could my birthday have something to do with it? He does mention my birth in the next sentence.”

Jupiter turned this over in his mind.

“I don’t know,” he said at last. “If your birthday is only two days off, perhaps that’s why the message says ‘time is of the essence.’...”

“If we only have two days to solve the message, we’re sunk,” Pete said. “Two years would be more like it.”

“Give Jupe a chance,” Bob told him. “He’s only just started.”

The First Investigator studied the paper again intently.

“The second sentence,” he said. “It starts, ‘Let not the mountain of difficulty stop you; the shadow of your birth marks both a beginning and an ending.’ The first half of the sentence seems to be saying don’t give up, but what the second half means, I haven’t any idea.”

“Actually, there was a shadow over my birth,” Gus said. “You see, my mother died when I was born. And so my birth was both a beginning and an ending — a beginning for my life, an ending for hers. That might be what Great-Uncle Horatio was referring to.”

“Maybe,” Jupiter said. “But I don’t see how it fits. The next sentence, though, seems clear enough. ‘Delve deeply; the meaning of my words is for you alone.’ That says the message is just for you and not to give up without trying hard. The next sentence explains why. ‘I dare not speak more plainly lest others find what is meant for you alone.’ No mystery about that line.”

“True,” commented Alfred Hitchcock. “But what do you make of the next sentence: ‘It is mine; I paid for it and I own it, yet I have not dared its malevolence’?”

“He’s saying that whatever it is, he owns it legally and has a right to give it to August,” Jupiter answered. “At the same time, he’s saying he’s afraid of it for some reason.”

Then he read aloud, “...‘But fifty years have passed and in half a century it should have purified itself. Yet still it must not be seized or stolen; it must be bought, found or given.’...” He looked at Pete and Bob.

“Analyse that part of the message, Second and Records,” he said. “You need practice in this sort of thing.”

“I guess he’s saying he’s owned whatever it is for fifty years,” Pete said. “And he thinks it has purified itself, meaning it won’t hurt people any more.”

“But it can still be dangerous,” Bob added. “Or he wouldn’t say, ‘Yet still it must not be seized or stolen; it must be bought, found or given.’ Then at the end he says, ‘Therefore take care,’ meaning to be careful how you handle whatever-it-is, I suppose. And he adds, ‘Time is of the essence,’ meaning time is very important, so you have to hurry even while you’re being careful.”

“The final line, ‘This and all my love I leave to you,’ is straightforward,” Jupiter concluded. “Which brings us to the end of the mysterious message, knowing only a little more than when we started.”

“You can say that again!” Pete exclaimed.

“I think we ought to know more about Horatio August. What was your great-uncle like, Gus?”

“I don’t know,” the English boy said. “I never saw him in my life. He was a mystery man of the family. As a boy, long before I was born, he sailed away on a trading ship for the South Seas. The family received a few letters from him, then he dropped out of sight. We assumed he’d been on a ship that had sunk. It was a great surprise to me and to my father to receive the letter from the lawyer, saying Uncle Horatio had been living here in Hollywood but was dead now and had left instructions to send me the message.”

“And you came here from England as soon as you got the message?” Jupiter asked.

“As soon as I could,” Gus told him. “That wasn’t right away. We don’t have much money, Father and I, so I had to get passage on a freighter, which took several weeks. Actually, I got the message almost two months ago.”

“As soon as you got here, I suppose you went to see the lawyer who sent you the message?”

Gus shook his head.

“I telephoned him, but he was out of the city so I couldn’t see him right away. I have an appointment with him today. I didn’t know a soul in America. But my father knows Mr. Hitchcock well, and I went to see him. It was Mr. Hitchcock who suggested telephoning you, of course. You fellows and Mr. Hitchcock are the only ones I’ve spoken to so far.”

“In that case,” Jupiter said, “I think we should go with you to call on the lawyer, and learn all we can about your great-uncle. That will help us decide our next move.”

“Excellent, young Jupiter,” Alfred Hitchcock said. “August, you can put your trust in these lads. But now it is time for me to get back to work, and for you boys to get on with the investigation.”

The Rolls-Royce was waiting outside, an ancient, box-like motor-car of majestic appearance, its body gleaming black, all its metal parts gold-plated. Worthington, the tall, erect English chauffeur, held the door for them to enter.

Gus took out a folded letter which contained the lawyer’s name — H. Dwiggins — and an address in an older part of town. A moment later they were driving through the streets of Hollywood. Gus kept the boys busy with questions about the film capital until, a few minutes later, Worthington nosed the Rolls-Royce into a narrow driveway that led up to a rather small, old-fashioned stucco house.

“Hmm,” Jupiter murmured, as they climbed out of the car. “Mr. Dwiggins apparently has his office in his home.”

A small card over the doorbell said H. Dwiggins — Attorney-at-Law — Ring and Walk In.

Jupiter pressed the doorbell and they could hear a faraway ring. Then, obeying the instructions on the card, he opened the door.

They found themselves in a living-room that had been turned into an office. It held a big desk, many shelves of law books, and several filing cabinets. One filing cabinet stood open, a folder of papers was scattered on the desk, and a wooden swivel chair lay toppled on its side. But Mr. Dwiggins was nowhere to be seen.

“Something’s happened here!” Jupiter exclaimed. “There’s something wrong.” He raised his voice. “Mr. Dwiggins! Mr. Dwiggins! Are you here?”

They waited breathlessly in the silence that followed.

Then a muffled voice, very faint and far away, answered them.

“Help!” it cried. “Help! I’m suffocating.”

“HELP ME!” the muffled voice came again. “I’m smothering.”

“There!” Pete pointed to a closet door in the opposite wall, between two sets of bookshelves. It had a spring lock on the outside, the kind that locked automatically. Pete turned it, pulled, and the door swung open.

A small man was sitting on the floor of the closet, gasping for breath. His gold-rimmed glasses hung from one ear, his tie was twisted to one side, and his white hair was rumpled.

“Thank goodness you came,” he whispered. “Please help me up.”

Bob and Pete crowded into the small closet to help him to his feet, and Jupiter picked up the overturned swivel chair. As he set it upright, an expression of surprise crossed his face.

“Very odd,” he said under his breath.

The boys helped Mr. Dwiggins to the chair, and he drew a deep breath. His hands shaking, he straightened his tie and put his glasses on properly.

“You came just in time,” he said. “A little longer in there and I might have suffocated.” Then, getting a good look at them, he blinked.

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