The Mystery of the Laughing Shadow Read online

  THE MYSTERY

  OF

  THE LAUGHING SHADOW

  William Arden

  INTRODUCTION

  Greetings! I am delighted to have you join me for another adventure with those three amazing lads who are known as The Three Investigators. This time a mysterious golden amulet from a lost Indian hoard leads them into more danger than you could possibly imagine. And for additional excitement, a strange laughing shadow pops up in the most unlikely places.

  If you have read any of their previous cases, of course, you know all about my young friends. The First Investigator, Jupiter Jones, is stocky, almost fat; Pete Crenshaw is tall and muscular, and Bob Andrews is slighter and more studious. They all live in Rocky Beach, California, a small community on the shores of the Pacific not far from glamorous Hollywood, and they make their Headquarters in a mobile home trailer cleverly hidden from sight in The Jones Salvage Yard. This unique junkyard is owned by Jupiter’s aunt and uncle, with whom he lives.

  But why should I bore you with further introductions. On with the case! The shadow is about to laugh — or would screech be a more appropriate word?

  ALFRED HITCHCOCK

  Chapter 1

  A Laugh in the Night

  BOB ANDREWS and Pete Crenshaw were still two miles from their homes in Rocky Beach when they had to turn on their bicycle lights. Darkness comes suddenly in the mountains of southern California in the winter.

  “Gosh,” Pete said, “we should have started back sooner.”

  “The swim was worth being late.” Bob grinned.

  Their fine day in the mountains, topped off by a swim in a mountain stream, had been spoiled only by the absence of Jupiter Jones, the third member of their Three Investigators trio. Jupe had had to work in his Uncle Titus’s salvage yard.

  Tired but happy, the two boys were pedalling past a high stone wall in the mountain darkness when a thin, startling cry suddenly came out of the night.

  “Help!”

  Surprised, Pete squeezed his brakes, coming to an abrupt stop. Bob ran full tilt into him.

  “Ooff!” Bob grunted.

  Pete whispered, “Did you hear that?”

  Bob untangled his bike and glanced quickly towards the wall. “Yes, I heard it. Do you suppose someone’s hurt?”

  While the two boys stood there, listening, something moved in the brush behind the wall.

  “HELP!”

  This time there was no mistaking the urgency of the cry. Directly ahead of them, a heavy gate of tall iron bars topped with spear-like spikes was set into the wall. The boys did not hesitate. Dropping his bicycle, Pete ran to the iron gate. Bob, following close behind, suddenly gave a low, sharp cry:

  “Owwwwww.”

  Something had flown over the stone wall and struck him on the arm — a small object that bounced away in the dark.

  “Here it is!” Pete bent over to pick it up.

  The two boys stared at the object in Pete’s hand. It was a tiny, shining, metallic little statue. No more than three inches long, it resembled a weird, grinning, miniature man, his legs crossed as if he were sitting on the ground.

  “What is it, Pete?”

  “Don’t ask me. It looks as if it had been fastened on to something. See the loop on its head?”

  “It came from behind the wall,” Bob said. “Do you …”

  The sound of heavy noises behind the wall suddenly interrupted him. Somebody was crashing through the underbush. Then a muffled voice called:

  “He threw something out. Get it!”

  “I’ll get it, boss,” a second voice answered.

  The lock of the iron gates rasped as someone struggled to unlock it. Looking around quickly, the boys discovered a thick growth of bushes close to the wall. They pushed their bikes out of sight and crouched down in hiding.

  The massive iron gate swung slowly open on creaking hinges. Then a shadowy figure slipped through the trees at the edge of the highway. The boys held their breath and peered out through the leaves. It came closer, passed, and moved off along the road.

  “Could you see who it was?” Bob whispered.

  “It’s too dark.”

  “Maybe we should give that statuette back. It looks like it could be valuable.”

  “I guess we … Watch it!”

  A dark shape loomed up not ten feet from where Pete and Bob were crouching in the bushes. The boys froze, trying not to make a sound. The shadow seemed to tower above them in the night — tall, twisted, and humpbacked with a long, beaky nose and a small head that jerked about in an erratic way.

  Suddenly a wild laugh shattered the darkness! It came from the tall shadow that stood so close to their hiding place. As the boys fought the panic that made them want to run, the shadow suddenly called out in an ordinary man’s voice:

  “Never mind. It’s too dark to look now.”

  “Okay, boss,” the other man answered from farther down the road. “I’ll see if I can find it tomorrow.”

  The tall, humpbacked shadow with the weird head waited a moment for the other man to rejoin him. Then both men crunched through the bushes, and the iron gate creaked shut. Bob and Pete remained in their hiding place until they heard the lock turn, and the sounds of the two men faded away beyond the wall.

  “Did you see that man?” Bob whispered. “The one with the funny head. And that laugh — what kind of laugh was it?”

  “I don’t know, and I’m not so sure I want to know,” Pete said firmly.

  “Let’s go home and tell Jupe what happened.”

  “That idea I like,” Pete agreed.

  With their bikes, the boys made their way quietly back to the main road. As they started down towards Las Casitas Pass, the wild laugh again split the night behind them.

  They began to pedal furiously, and didn’t slow down until they came out of the pass and saw the friendly lights of Rocky Beach below.

  Chapter 2

  A Mysterious Message

  “IT LOOKS LIKE SOLID GOLD!” Jupiter Jones exclaimed.

  The stocky First Investigator of the trio looked like a solemn young owl as he studied the tiny statuette.

  “Is it valuable, Jupe?” Bob asked.

  “I would guess that it was very valuable,” Jupiter pronounced, “and not just because it’s gold.”

  “Gosh, Jupe, what’s more valuable than gold?” Pete asked.

  The grinning little statue glistened in Jupiter’s hand. “Look at how carefully it’s carved, fellows. It must have been made by a skilled craftsman, and look at the slanted eyes and feathered head-dress. I think it’s the work of some kind of American Indian, and quite old. I’ve seen things like it in museums.”

  The boys were gathered inside the old trailer that served as their headquarters.

  Because it had been damaged in an accident, Jupiter’s Uncle Titus had not been able to sell it. Instead, he had given it to the boys to use for their meeting place, and the boys had piled so much junk over and around the trailer that no one knew it was there any more.

  The trailer-headquarters could be entered only through various secret entrances.

  Inside, the boys had built a small office with desk, telephone, tape recorder and other equipment useful for their investigations. Next to the office were a tiny laboratory and a dark-room. Just about everything the boys used had come into the salvage yard as junk and had been rebuilt by them.

  Bob and Pete finished telling Jupiter about the rest of their adventure in the mountains, while Jupiter continued to study the tiny statuette. At the end of their recital, Jupiter frowned thoughtfully.

  “So you two think that whoever called for help also threw this statuette over the wall,” Jupiter
said. “Then the two men you heard caught him and came out to find the statuette.”

  “Sure, Jupe,” Bob said.

  “However, the call for help and the statuette aren’t necessarily connected,” Jupiter pointed out. “You’re only making an assumption without actual proof.”

  Pete protested. “Gosh, Jupiter, it’s okay to be careful investigators, but what more do you want? We heard the cry, the statuette was thrown over the wall, those two men came after it, and one of them called the other ‘boss’ ! It sure sounds like some kind of gang to me.”

  “Perhaps, Pete, but you still saw and heard nothing that actually connected the statuette with the cry for help,” Jupiter insisted.

  “What about that weird shadow?” Bob said quickly. “I never saw any man who looked like that shadow or laughed that way.”

  “Can you fellows describe the laugh?”

  “It was high like a kid,” Pete said.

  “No, it was sort of like a woman,” Bob corrected. “It wasn’t any woman. It was crazy.”

  “Hysterical and scared.”

  “A real mean laugh, nasty.”

  “Sort of sad, I’d say. Maybe an old man.”

  Jupiter listened to his fellow investigators with a puzzled expression. “Are you sure you both heard the same laugh?”

  “Sure we did,” Pete said lamely, “but I guess we didn’t hear it the same.”

  “Yet you both heard it clearly, and very close.” The First Investigator sighed. “I guess I’ll have to hear it for myself to know what it sounded like. Are you both at least sure you heard a call for help?”

  “We’re sure!” Bob and Pete said in unison.

  Jupiter’s round face was deep in thought. “From where you say you were, and your description of the wall and gate, I’d say you must have been outside the old Sandow Estate.”

  Bob snapped his fingers. “Of course! The old Spanish Land Grant. More than five thousand acres!”

  “It’s mostly mountains, but old Miss Sandow’s father had herds of cattle there a long time ago,” Jupiter added.

  “Don’t they have cattle now?” Pete asked.

  Bob shook his head. “No, Pete. I remember reading about the Sandows and their estate when I was doing some research in the library. Old Miss Sandow’s father was the last one who actually worked the estate. When he died, only Miss Sandow was left, and she became a kind of hermit. My dad says she’s what they call land-poor, which means she has more land than money. She lives alone out there except for a maid and a day-gardener. No one ever sees her.”

  Bob was the Research and Records man of the Three Investigators, and his facts were always correct about something he had looked up.

  Jupiter’s face took a serious expression.

  “Which means that what you saw and heard tonight, fellows, is quite strange. What were those men doing on the Sandow Estate, and where did this statuette come from?”

  “Maybe a gang was stealing from Miss Sandow,” Pete said.

  “But she doesn’t have any money,” Bob pointed out.

  “Perhaps the estate has nothing to do with what you heard. The men might have just happened to be there,” Jupiter suggested. “A little statuette like this would hardly be worth the time of any gang.”

  The First Investigator turned the tiny gold man over and over in his hands, staring at it as if the miniature man would somehow tell him what the boys wanted to know.

  Suddenly, he bent over the statuette, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

  “What is it, First?” Bob said.

  Jupiter was, examining the statuette closely. His fingers began to push and pick at the bottom of the small figure. He pressed the statuette and twisted it and uttered a cry of triumph as the bottom of the figure flew open. Something fell to the floor.

  “A secret compartment!” Pete cried.

  Jupiter retrieved the small piece of paper that had fallen out of the statuette. He spread it out on the desk of the office, and Bob and Pete crowded round to examine it.

  Jupiter stared at the slip of paper and groaned.

  “Is it a message, Jupe?” Bob asked.

  The First Investigator bit his lip in frustration. “I don’t know. It looks like writing all right, but I can’t read it. It’s in some foreign language!”

  Pete and Bob stared at the ragged piece of paper.

  “It isn’t any language I’ve ever seen before, either,” Jupiter added glumly.

  The boys fell silent in disappointment. Bob and Pete both knew that Jupiter had some knowledge of several major languages and spoke three. If he didn’t recognize the writing, what could it be?

  Then Bob stared more closely at the paper.

  “Fe-fellows,” he stammered, “that’s not written in ink! It’s blood!”

  Jupiter examined the strange writing again, while Pete brushed uneasily at his hair.

  “Bob’s right,” Jupiter said at last. “It is written in blood. That must mean that whoever wrote it had to do it in secret without any pen or pencil.”

  “He must be a prisoner,” Bob decided.

  “Or maybe someone who wants to break away from the gang,” Pete added.

  “It could be many things,” Jupiter agreed, “which makes me think this is a job for The Three Investigators. The first thing we have to do is find someone to read the message.”

  “Who?”

  “Well, we know one man who knows a lot about strange languages, and strange people,” Jupiter decided.

  “Alfred Hitchcock!” Pete said.

  “Exactly,” Jupiter declared. “It’s too late tonight, but tomorrow we will call on Mr.

  Hitchcock and show him this message.”

  Chapter 3

  Attacked!

  THE NEXT MORNING, the instant they had finished breakfast, Pete and Bob hurried to the salvage yard. Jupiter was already waiting there with Worthington and the gold-plated Rolls-Royce the boys had originally won the use of in a contest solved by Jupiter.

  “We’ll go to Mr. Hitchcock’s studio first, Worthington,” Jupiter instructed as the boys clambered into the big car.

  “Very good, Master Jones,” Worthington acknowledged. Despite their now firm friendship, the elegant chauffeur insisted on being properly correct at all times.

  The boys had learned that it was never easy to get into the studio to see the famous director, so they always used the Rolls-Royce when they went to call on Mr. Hitchcock.

  The car was now at their permanent disposal, thanks to the financial aid of a grateful client who might not have received his rightful inheritance without the help of the Investigators. Because of their impressive car, they were passed quickly through the gates of World Studios.

  “Well, my young friends, what strange events bring you to me this time?” the famous director asked from behind his mammoth desk in his private office.

  The boys eagerly explained the events of the night before and described their discovery of the message inside the tiny statuette. Mr. Hitchcock listened impassively until Jupiter reached the part about the gold statuette and laid it on the director’s desk.

  Mr. Hitchcock’s eyes sparkled as he studied the jewel-like grinning little man.

  “It is indeed very old, boys, as Jupiter surmised. And it is an amulet of American Indian craftsmanship without a doubt. I happened to learn a good bit about Indian crafts while filming one of our suspense stories for television. I would say that this amulet is definitely the work of our local Chumash Indians. We had one quite like it for our story.”

  “What’s an amulet, sir?” Pete inquired.

  “A magic charm, my boy, usually worn on a cord round the neck to ward off evil spirits or bring good fortune,” Mr. Hitchcock explained. “That is the reason for the metal loop at the head of the figure. The Chumash had many different kinds of such amulets.”

  “Gee,” Pete said, “I didn’t know we ever had Indians round Rocky Beach.”

  “Sure we did, Pete,” said Bob. “I’ve read all
about the Chumash. They were a small, peaceful tribe. They lived right on the coast here and later worked for the Spanish settlers.”

  “That is indeed correct,” Mr. Hitchcock agreed, “but at the moment I am more interested in your laughing shadow. You say that it was tall, humpbacked, and had an oddly small head that seemed to jerk in a strange manner, and laughed wildly?”

  “Yes, sir,” Bob confirmed.

  “You were close to this shadow, yet each of you describes the laugh quite differently.

  What do you make of that, young Jones?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” Jupiter admitted, baffled.

  “Nor do I, at the moment,” said Mr. Hitchcock. “Now what of this message you say dropped out of the statuette?”

  Jupiter handed the piece of paper to the famous director. Mr. Hitchcock studied it closely.

  “Written in blood all right, by thunder! Recently, too, I should deduce from its legibility, which means that it has not been inside the amulet for long.”

  “Do you recognize the language, sir?” Bob asked.

  “Unfortunately, no. It is not a language I have ever seen before. In fact, it doesn’t even resemble any writing I have seen.”

  “Gosh,” Pete said, “Jupiter was sure you’d know, sir.”

  “What do we do now?” Bob asked, crestfallen.

  “Luckily, I believe I can help despite my ignorance of this language,” Mr. Hitchcock declared, smiling. “I will send you boys to a friend of mine. He’s a professor at the University of Southern California, and an expert on American Indian languages. He served as an adviser for our film. He lives right in Rocky Beach. My secretary will give you his address, and I shall expect to hear what progress you make.”

  The three boys thanked the director and stopped at his secretary’s desk on the way out in order to get the professor’s address. His name was Wilton J. Meeker, and he lived only a few blocks from The Jones Salvage Yard.

  Jupiter instructed Worthington to take them to the professor’s house and then return the Rolls-Royce to the agency. They could

  easily walk home.

  Professor Meeker’s small, white house