The Mystery of the Deadly Double Read online

  THE MYSTERY

  OF

  THE DEADLY DOUBLE

  William Arden

  A Horrifying Message from Alfred Hitchcock

  LOVERS OF MYSTERY, be warned!

  You must be prepared, in this new adventure of The Three Investigators, to face a horror that makes even my blood run cold! I shudder at the very thought of it. What, can there truly be more than one … ? But, no, I cannot speak the dread words!

  Instead, I will speak of other matters in this dramatic adventure.

  A simple outing to a famous amusement park turns into a nightmare that at once challenges the full resources of our team of young detectives. Danger and confusion face them at every turn as they attempt to solve a diabolical crime.

  Kidnappers! Cryptic messages! International intrigue! Clues hidden under the very noses of our heroes! Deadly mistakes! The devious trail of a fugitive boy! An enemy who nearly penetrates The Three Investigators’ own headquarters! It’s almost more than the juvenile private eyes can handle.

  The case calls forth the reasoning ability of all our boys. The brainy and somewhat stout Jupiter Jones—himself the puzzled target of the criminals—is unable to provide full-time leadership of the detective team. So the tall and muscular Pete Crenshaw must conquer his uneasiness and assume a daring role. And Bob Andrews, the studious research man of the trio, receives a chance to prove that he is as clever as he is reliable.

  From their hidden house-trailer headquarters in The Jones Salvage Yard to the border of Mexico, the boys pursue and are pursued, and the final answer is—but no! I will still not speak of the unexpected fact that lies at the heart of the adventure! It is too monstrous to think of!

  I will leave that knowledge to your own discovery.

  Forward, then, to mystery and adventure!

  ALFRED HITCHCOCK

  Chapter 1

  False Alarms

  “NOBODY MOVE!” Pete Crenshaw cried.

  Bob Andrews and Jupiter Jones froze. The boys were in their secret headquarters inside an old mobile home, where they ran their junior detective firm The Three Investigators. The old house trailer was carefully hidden under piles of junk in The Jones Salvage Yard, but there was always danger that someone would stumble upon one of the secret entrances to it. Bob and Jupe looked carefully around their small office and listened intently. Had Pete heard something threatening?

  “What … what’s wrong, Pete?” Bob whispered.

  Pete glared fiercely at his two friends.

  “Somebody,” he declared, “stole my lunch?”

  Bob gaped. “Your … your lunch? That’s all you—!”

  “Your lunch, Second?” Jupiter echoed, incredulous.

  The tall Second Investigator laughed. “Just a joke. Besides, my lunch is important.

  I’m getting hungry.”

  “A poor joke,” Jupiter said sternly. “False alarms are very dangerous. You know the story of the boy who cried wolf. That kind of fun can—”

  Jupiter, the brainy leader of The Three Investigators, could become a little stuffy, especially when he gave a speech. Bob or Pete often had to bring him down to earth.

  “Talking won’t get you off the hook,” Pete interrupted. “I’ll bet you couldn’t resist a snack when Bob and I were outside in the workshop. I’ll bet you swiped my lunch yourself!”

  Jupiter reddened.

  “I did not!” he exclaimed hotly. A stout boy, if not exactly fat, the First Investigator hated any suggestion that he ate too much.

  “Well,” Pete insisted, “someone did.”

  “Maybe you took it out to the workshop, and forgot it,” Bob suggested.

  “Wherever it is, it can wait,” Jupiter said, recovering his self-assurance. “We haven’t decided where to go on our outing tomorrow. It’s our last chance to do something exciting before school opens again. Since no one seems to want to hire us for a case right now, and we’ve been working around the salvage yard all summer, I think we should take a real trip. We’ve all been to Disneyland a lot, so I say we go to Magic Mountain. I’ve never been there.”

  “Me, neither,” Pete said. “What’s it like?”

  “It’s one of the biggest and best amusement parks in the world, that’s all,” Bob said eagerly. “It doesn’t have the fantasy stuff of Disneyland, but it’s got four roller coasters. One of them loops upside down! There’re two water chute rides, and do you get soaked! And there’s a special kind of Ferris wheel a mile high, and maybe thirty other great rides—all for the admission price. No ticket books or anything. Once you’re inside, you just go on any ride you want.”

  “It sounds pretty good,” Pete said.

  “Then that’s it,” Jupiter decided. “And just for some extra fun, we’ll go in style—

  in the Rolls-Royce! I’ve already called Worthington, and the car’s available tomorrow.”

  “Wow,” Bob said, laughing, “they’ll think we’re millionaires! I can’t wait to see everyone’s face when we drive up.”

  “If I live that long.” Pete groaned. “I’m starving. Come on, where’d you guys hide my lunch?”

  “We didn’t hide it, Pete,” Bob insisted.

  “No one touched your lunch, Second,” Jupiter said in an exasperated voice. “You probably did take it out to the workshop with you. We might as well find it, or we’ll never get our plans settled.”

  Suiting action to words, Jupiter raised the trap-door in the floor of the trailer and squeezed down into Tunnel Two. This was the main entrance to Headquarters, consisting of a length of wide metal pipe running under the trailer and the junk that surrounded it. Pete, tall and athletic, practically had to flatten himself on his stomach to get through the pipe, but he slid easily along behind the Investigators’ puffing, overweight leader. Bob, the smallest of the three boys, had no trouble at all crawling swiftly in the rear.

  They emerged in Jupiter’s outdoor workshop, which was in a front corner of The Jones Salvage Yard. The workshop was protected by a sloping six-foot-wide roof which ran around the inside of the junkyard fence. Mounds of junk around the workshop hid the area from view. In it the boys had their printing press and the larger tools that they used to rebuild junk into useful equipment for their detective work.

  The workshop area also contained a chair, some old crates, and a workbench. It was on the workbench that Bob spotted Pete’s lunch bag.

  “See, you did leave it out here,” the Records and Research member of the team declared.

  Pete picked up the torn paper bag. “But who ate it?”

  “You probably ate it yourself, and forgot you did,” Jupiter said in disgust.

  “Me?” Pete cried. “Forget I ate a good ham sandwich?”

  “I’ll bet it was rats,” Bob said, examining the bag. It had been ripped raggedly open. “They eat anything.”

  “You think Aunt Mathilda lets rats run loose around the salvage yard? No way!”

  Pete exclaimed.

  “She tries, but not even Aunt Mathilda can keep all the rats out of a big junkyard,”

  Jupiter said, laughing, Jupe’s Aunt Mathilda was a formidable woman who ran the salvage yard with an iron hand. Her husband, Titus, spent most of his time scouting for new junk to add to the yard. Jupe, who had been orphaned at an early age, had lived with them ever since he could remember.

  “Come on, let’s see if Aunt Mathilda will give us all some lunch,” said Jupe, and he led the way towards the junkyard office. But as he neared the main gate of the yard, he suddenly slowed. “Fellows, have you ever seen that car before?”

  Bob and Pete looked toward the entrance. A green Mercedes sedan was parked almost directly across the street from the open gates. No one got
out of it.

  “It was moving when I first noticed it,” Jupiter said slowly. “Just creeping along, and then it stopped.”

  “So what, Jupe?” Pete said. “Can’t a car park around here? Maybe it’s a customer for the yard.”

  “Perhaps,” Jupiter admitted, “but no one has got out, and I think I saw the same car driving past the entrance earlier this morning. Going just as slowly.”

  “Hey,” Bob exclaimed, “I think maybe I saw it, too! On the street outside the back fence when I was riding over here. Maybe an hour ago.”

  “Maybe they stole my lunch!” Pete said.

  “Sure, international lunch thieves!” Bob said dryly.

  “Forget your lunch,” Jupiter snapped impatiently. He was still watching the motionless car through the open gates. “If you didn’t eat it, Bob’s right—rats got it. I think I’d like to try to find out what that car’s up to.”

  Bob grinned. “Maybe they’re just waiting for a chance to steal another ham sandwich.”

  “It looks to me as if they’re waiting for something, Records,” Jupiter said. “Let’s go and see.”

  Jupiter had a way of seeing a mystery in almost everything, and an uncanny ability to be right! Bob and Pete had long ago given up questioning even Jupe’s wildest hunches. He was wrong sometimes, but not very often.

  “Pete, you double back in the yard and sneak up inside the main entrance,” Jupiter instructed. “Hide and watch the car from there. Bob and I can go out Red Gate Rover in the back and circle around outside the fence. Bob, you go to the left, and I’ll go to the right. We’ll observe the car from all sides.”

  Pete nodded, and watched his partners slip out of the yard through their secret entrance in the back fence. Then he skirted behind some mounds of junk and crept along the inside of the fence to the main gate. He peered around. The Mercedes was still there. Two people seemed to be in it. Pete ducked back hurriedly.

  Out of sight, he got down on his stomach and crawled back to the open entrance.

  Flat on the ground, he peered around again.

  “Hello! Lost something? Perhaps I can help?”

  Pete gulped. A stocky, sunburned man in a lightweight suit stood directly above him in the entrance. The man had curly brown hair and small blue eyes, and was smiling politely. He seemed amused at the sight of Pete crawling flat on his stomach in the yard.

  “I-I—” Pete stammered, feeling foolish, “I lost my ball. I was looking … for …

  it.”

  “No ball came out this way,” the man said solemnly.

  “I guess it bounced somewhere else,” Pete said lamely, and got up.

  “Bad luck,” the sunburned man said, and held out a local road map. “Perhaps you can help me. We seem to be lost.”

  Pete suddenly saw that the door of the green Mercedes was open, and only one person was still in the car. The stocky man nodded back toward the Mercedes.

  “I’m afraid we’ve been driving in circles, eh? Rather a bad show. Actually, we’ve been attempting to locate the old mission you chaps have here.”

  Pete realized that the man had an accent. English, and yet not exactly like any English accent he’d ever heard. The car just held some lost tourists! So much for Jupiter and his hunches!

  “Oh, sure.” Pete took the map and showed the man where he was, and where the Spanish mission was up the Coast Highway. “It’s not so easy to find.”

  “Quite.” The man nodded. “Well, thank you so much.”

  The man went back to the green Mercedes and the car drove off. Bob and Jupiter came running up to Pete. Jupiter was staring after the disappearing Mercedes.

  “Just tourists, First,” Pete said disgustedly, and told them all that had happened.

  “The guy had a real funny English accent.”

  “Lost?” Jupiter said, sounding dejected. “That’s all?”

  “What else, First? We’re not even on a case,” Pete said.

  Jupiter was glum but thoughtful. “It’s a possible story since they were foreigners, but—”

  “Jupe!” Pete groaned. “They were lost! That’s all!”

  “And we’ve got more planning to do for our trip!” Bob said.

  “Sure,” Pete said. “After we eat some lunch.”

  Bob and Jupiter looked at each other. There was a bin of old tennis balls near the main gate. Bob and Jupe grabbed balls and began to hurl them at Pete, who ran off into the yard laughing.

  Chapter 2

  Kidnapped

  UP EARLY the next morning, Bob dressed quickly and hurried down to the kitchen.

  As he raced through his breakfast, his father put down his newspaper and watched him with a smile.

  “An important investigation this morning?” Mr. Andrews said.

  “Not today, Dad. We’re going to Magic Mountain — in the gold-plated Rolls-Royce. With Worthington driving us!”

  Mr. Andrews whistled admiringly. “Three elegant young fellows, eh? I’m afraid that growing up is going to be a little dull for you.”

  “Not if Jupe grows up with us!”

  “No,” Mr. Andrews said, laughing, “I guess not.”

  “We’ll probably be kind of late, Dad, but we’ll try to be home by dinner time,”

  Bob called as he ran out the door.

  He rode his bike through the bright morning streets of Rocky Beach to the salvage yard and turned in at the main gate. Pete was sitting on the verandah of the yard’s office cabin, looking at a magnificent sight. A Rolls-Royce of somewhat advanced age, with huge headlights and a hood as long and black and shining as a grand piano, stood in the salvage yard. Luxurious as the great car would have been in just simple, lustrous black, it outdid itself with one more touch—all the trimming, even the bumpers, was plated in dazzling gold!

  “Wow!” Bob said in awe. “I always forget what a beauty it is until we see it again.”

  A tall, lean man in a chauffeur’s uniform stood beside the car, gently rubbing some of the gold-plated trim with a soft cloth. His long good-humoured face smiled at Bob.

  “Even I do, Master Andrews, when I must sometimes drive a different machine,”

  Worthington said.

  Jupiter had first won the use of the fantastic old car in a contest, and later a grateful client had arranged for the boys to use the car any time they wanted to. Since no one but Worthington ever drove the car for the rental agency that owned it, he had become a good friend of the Investigators. He still insisted on treating the boys exactly as he would the oldest and wealthiest tycoon. But now his eyes twinkled.

  “An important case this time, Master Andrews?” he said.

  “Not this time, Worthington.” Bob explained. “We’re just going on a trip to Magic Mountain, and thought it would be fun to go in the Rolls.”

  “An outing? Splendid!” Worthington declared. “Who deserves a holiday more than The Three Investigators? I shall report our destination to the company, and fuel the machine while we wait for Master Jones.”

  The tall chauffeur got into the Rolls-Royce and drove out of the salvage yard. Bob turned quickly to Pete.

  “Speaking of Jupe, where is he?”

  “In Headquarters, making some plans,” Pete said. “He wouldn’t tell me about what.”

  “Come on, let’s find out.”

  They crawled through Tunnel Two and emerged through the trap-door into the hidden trailer. Jupiter was hard at work at the desk, coloured brochures spread around him.

  “Worthington’s here, Jupe,” Bob said hopefully. “Ready?”

  “In a few moments, Records.” The stout leader of the trio continued working for a minute, then sat back looking quite pleased with himself. “There, I think that does it.”

  “Does what?” Pete asked uneasily.

  “Completely plans our excursion!” Jupiter declared, beaming. “I have taken a map of Magic Mountain and laid out the optimum route for covering the most rides in the least time. I have allowed for repeat rides on attractions we might
find especially pleasing, plus various alternatives in case of long queues at any given ride or possible shutdowns due to wind conditions or mechanical trouble. Then I have—”

  Pete groaned. “Er, Jupe, why don’t we just start off to the right or left of the entrance, and hit whatever we come to? I mean, sort of wing it?”

  “Just, er, follow our noses?” Bob added.

  “Wing it?” Jupiter frowned. “A highly inefficient means of—”

  “Maybe just have fun?” Pete suggested.

  “Well,” Jupiter said stuffily, “if you don’t want my plan, I suppose you don’t have to accept it.”

  Miffed, Jupiter looked lovingly at his plans, then shrugged and dropped them into the wastebasket. Pete and Bob cheered. Jupiter finally had to grin. The three boys hurried down through the trap-door and out into the yard.

  Worthington and the Rolls-Royce were back. Laughing excitedly, the boys piled into the magnificent car as Worthington held the door open.

  “To Magic Mountain, my good man!” Jupiter intoned.

  “Yes, sir.” Worthington smiled. “Very good, sir.”

  Magic Mountain was some distance to the east of Rocky Beach, inland through southern California’s coastal mountains. Worthington drove the great old car out of town on the back county highway. They had reached the first slopes of the dry, dusty foothills when Worthington suddenly spoke.

  “Gentlemen, you stated, I believe, that you were involved in no investigation at present?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” Jupiter admitted. “Why do you—?”

  “Because, unless I am mistaken, we are being followed!”

  “Followed!” all three boys cried at once, turning to look behind.

  “Where, Worthington?” Bob said. “I don’t see any car.”

  “It is out of sight around the last curve at present,” Worthington said, “but I noticed it the moment we left the salvage yard, and it has been behind us ever since. A green Mercedes sedan.”

  “A green Mercedes!” Jupiter exclaimed. “You’re sure?”

  “Automobiles are my profession, Master Jones,” Worthington said firmly. “There it is now! And coming closer.”