The Mystery of the Purple Pirate Read online

  THE MYSTERY

  OF

  THE PURPLE PIRATE

  WilliamArden

  A Challenge from Hector Sebastian

  HELLO, MYSTERY LOVERS!

  Once again it’s my pleasure to introduce an action-packed case of the Three Investigators. First let me introduce the young super-sleuths. There’s Jupiter Jones, First Investigator, a chunky boy fond of a good meal and a good puzzle. His razor-sharp memory and brilliant powers of deduction have got the team out of a number of tight corners. Then there’s the tall and athletic Second Investigator, Peter Crenshaw, nervous in the face of danger but bold in meeting it head on. The last but not least is Bob Andrews, in charge of Records and Research—a reliable and quiet young man, indispensable to his fellow Investigators.

  This time the junior detectives take on a mind-teasing case at the Purple Pirate Lair and aboard the pirate ship Black Vulture. Certain strange events lead them to believe one pirate is still very much alive at the former heaven of California’s notorious privateers.

  The mysterious adventure tests the boys’ insight and repeatedly gets them into tight corners. Match wits with the Three Investigators and see if you can beat them to the solution of The Mystery of the Purple Pirate.

  HECTOR SEBASTIAN

  Chapter 1

  Buccaneers, Brigands, and Bandits!

  WHEN HIS ALARM CLOCK rang violently, Pete Crenshaw opened one eye and groaned. Only the second week of summer vacation and already he wished bitterly that he’d never agreed to do yard work for his next-door neighbours while they were away on a trip. But the funds of the junior detective agency to which he belonged were at an all-time low after an end-of-school trip to Disneyland, and the team needed summer money. The other two sleuths had also been put to work: Bob Andrews had a part-time job at the library, and Jupiter Jones had reluctantly agreed to work extra hours at The Jones Salvage Yard, where he lived with his aunt and uncle.

  With a final groan, Pete crawled out of bed and hurried into his clothes. When he dragged himself into the kitchen, he saw that his father was already having breakfast.

  “Too early for you, Pete?” Mr. Crenshaw said, grinning.

  “Got to do that dumb yard work,” Pete grumbled as he got his orange juice from the refrigerator.

  “Summer money, eh? Well, maybe there’s an easier way. This was left in our mailbox last night.”

  Mr. Crenshaw put a yellow sheet of paper at Pete’s place as the boy sat down.

  Pete glanced at the paper while he drank his juice. It was one of those advertising flyers that local businesses pay to have delivered house to house. As Pete read his excitement grew:

  BUCCANEERS! BRIGANDS!

  Lovers of adventure! Historians!

  Bookworms! Descendants of pirates!

  The Society for Justice to Buccaneers, Brigands, Bandits, and Bushwhackers will pay $25 an hour to anyone who can report detailed information about local pirates, bandits, highwaymen, and other colourful miscreants of California’s lusty past.

  Come to 1995, De La Vina Street any day of the week, June 18-22, from 9 to 5.

  BANDITS! BUSHWHACKERS!

  “Wow!” Pete yelled. “We can make a fortune, Dad! I mean, we know a lot about old-time crooks around here, especially Jupiter! I’ve got to show this to Jupe and Bob right away. Today’s the eighteenth, and it’s almost eight already!”

  “Whoa,” Mr. Crenshaw said. “Before you become a millionaire, finish your breakfast.”

  “Dad! I have to water the lawn, then—”

  “You boys always think better on a full stomach, especially Jupiter. Force something down.”

  Pete groaned. “Just some cereal then!”

  He ate the cereal quickly, then sniffed the

  plate of hotcakes and bacon his father set

  down in front of him.

  “Well, “Pete said, “maybe just one

  plate.”

  While his Dad grinned but said nothing,

  Pete finished the hotcakes and bacon, had

  another plateful, and then picked up the

  advertising flyer and ran out. He hurried next

  door, watered the lawn, impatiently raked the

  fallen leaves and branches, then jumped on to his bike. He pedalled hard, and it was just nine o’clock when he rode up to the long, colourful fence of The Jones Salvage Yard.

  The fence had been decorated by local artists. Near one corner it showed a ship foundering in a green ocean as a painted fish looked on. Pete pressed the fish’s eye and the board swung open-this was Green Gate One.

  Pete slipped through and stood in Jupiter’s outdoor workshop, located close to the boys’ hidden headquarters in an old mobile home trailer. The trailer was the centre of operations of The Three Investigators detective agency. Pete was the Second Investigator of the team. Leaving his bike by two others in the workshop, Pete crawled in to the mouth of a long corrugated pipe that was too narrow for an adult to enter.

  The pipe, named Tunnel Two, led under a great mound of junk that totally surrounded the house trailer. By now everyone else had forgotten that the trailer was even in the salvage yard. At the end of the dark pipe, Pete pushed up a trapdoor and emerged into the small trailer room, which was filled with furniture and all the equipment the boys used in their detective work.

  “Guys look at this!”

  Pete waved the yellow flyer. Then he stopped and stared. Jupiter Jones, the chubby and very brainy First Investigator of the team, was standing near the desk.

  Bob Andrews, the small, blond, and studious Records and Research man, was leaning against a filing cabinet. Both of them held the same yellow flyer!

  Bob sighed. “I got here five minutes ago, Second, with the same big news!”

  “Which I already had,” Jupiter said. “It appears, fellows, we all had the same idea for making money!”

  Pete climbed all the way inside the hidden room and dropped into an overstuffed armchair they had retrieved from the salvage yard.

  “I guess we’re all tired of work already,” Pete decided.

  “Work never hurt anyone,” Jupiter reproved the Second Investigator and then slumped into the desk chair. “But I must admit that spending day after day in the salvage yard is cruel and inhuman. Perhaps the Society for Justice to Buccaneers, Brigands, Bandits, and Bushwhackers will come to our rescue.”

  “Anything for a little extra money,” Bob said.

  “Who should we tell them about?” Pete asked.

  “Well, of course there’s the French privateer de Bouchard,” said Jupe. “He’s the most famous pirate in California history.”

  Pete said, “There’s El Diablo, the bandit we learned about in the Moaning Cave case.”

  “And those soldiers who killed Don Sebastian Alvaro to get the Cortés Sword in the Headless Horse case,” Bob added.

  “Oh, and that follower of de Bouchard’s — William Evans, the Purple Pirate,”

  Jupiter continued. He glanced at the old grandfather clock they had rebuilt. “But we aren’t the only ones who know those stories, so I suggest we move swiftly.”

  Suiting action to words, the trio dropped through the trapdoor and crawled through Tunnel Two to the workshop. As they emerged they heard, “Jupiter! Where have you gotten to? Jupiter!”

  “It’s your Aunt Mathilda, Jupe!” said Bob.

  The caller could not be seen over the piles of junk that surrounded the workshop, but her voice came closer and closer.

  “I’ll bet she’s got work for us to do!” exclaimed Pete.

  Jupiter turned pale. “Hurry!”

  The boys grabbed their bikes, slipped through Green Gate One, and rode off towards downtown Rocky
Beach. As they neared the address on De La Vina Street, Bob realized he knew it.

  “It’s an old Spanish-style courtyard surrounded by a stucco wall, with shops at the far end of the court. Most of them are empty.”

  Jupiter puffed heavily as he pedalled. “That’s probably why the society picked it.

  Records. They undoubtedly rented it cheaply, and it will be a quiet place for interviews.”

  As the boys turned into the 1900 block of De La Vina, they saw a small crowd, growing larger by the minute, gathered in front of closed wooden gates in the high wall of number 1995. Jupiter studied the crowd as they rode up.

  “A few adults, but mostly teenagers and kids,” the stout leader of the team observed. “Because it’s a workday, the adults won’t come until later. An advantage for us, fellows.”

  As they locked their bikes to a convenient iron railing, the boys saw the high wooden gates open and a dapper little man with white hair and a big, bushy moustache come out. He wore a tweed jacket, riding breeches, boots, and a silk scarf at his throat, and he carried a riding crop. He looked like some old-time cavalryman.

  The man faced the crowd and raised his riding crop for silence.

  “My name is Major Karnes! I want to welcome all of you to the Society for Justice to Buccaneers, Brigands, Bandits, and Bushwhackers. We will interview all of you, but there are too many of you today, so we will have to limit our interviews to those who came the farthest! Only those who live beyond the city limits of Rocky Beach will be interviewed now; the rest can go home. Do come back another day.”

  A cry of disappointment went up from the crowd. The teenagers began to push and shove. Backing away, Major Karnes bumped into the high wooden doors, closing them behind him! Backed against the gates, he tried to speak, but the teenagers drowned him out.

  “Hey, what’s goin’ on?”

  “You mean we came all this way for nothin’?”

  “You’ve got a lot of nerve!”

  Major Karnes swung his riding crop at the rowdy teenagers. “Get away from me, you young punks!”

  The crowd turned ugly. A teenager grabbed the small man’s riding crop and threw it away. The others surged towards him. Major Karnes went pale.

  “Help! Hubert!”

  The angry crowd pressed closer!

  Chapter 2

  Cheated!

  “HELP!” MAJOR KARNES cried as the furious teenagers closed in on him. “Hubert!

  Help!”

  Pete turned quickly to Jupiter. “Hey, this is getting out of hand. Get the major inside.” With that, the tall, muscular Second Investigator leaped on top of a nearby parked car and pointed up the street.

  “Police!” he shouted. “The police are coming!” The teenagers turned from the gates and looked up at Pete in alarm. Bob and Jupiter quickly slipped through the crowd and reached the major.

  “Come on!” Pete yelled. “Let’s get out of here!” He jumped down from the car and ran towards the far end of the street. Some of the teenagers began to run after him at once, while others hesitated. Behind them, Bob pulled the heavy wooden gates open a crack.

  “This way, sir,” said

  Jupiter and pushed the major

  inside. A few moments later

  Pete appeared from among

  the dispersing teenagers and

  slipped into the courtyard

  after Major Karnes, Jupiter,

  and Bob,

  Together the boys pulled

  the heavy gates shut again as

  Major Karnes leaned panting

  against the inner wall.

  “Hubert!”

  he

  bawled.

  “Young punks! The police

  should throw them all in

  prison!”

  The courtyard was paved with large stones from long ago, and jacaranda and pepper trees grew from open spaces among them. The high wall, almost hidden by brightly flowered shrubs, extended all around the courtyard, and a short row of shops lined the far end. The shops all looked empty. A lone small truck was parked in front of the stores.

  The major took a red bandanna from his jacket pocket and mopped his brow.

  “Thanks for helping, boys, but I’d have liked to see the police take care of that rabble!”

  Pete laughed. “There weren’t any police, sir. I had to think of something to get their attention and scare them so they’d forget all about attacking you.”

  “And give us time to open the gates,” Bob added.

  The major gaped. “By gad, that was quick thinking. Well, for that you will be the first interviewed no matter where you live! Hubert, you idiot! Come out here!”

  “Gosh, thank you, sir!” Pete and Bob exclaimed.

  “Only fair.”

  Jupiter frowned. “I’m afraid the crowd outside will think this is preferential treatment.”

  “I won’t be browbeaten by a pack of schoolboys!” the major snapped. “Hubert, you imbecile! Where are you?!”

  The door of one of the empty shops burst open at last and an enormous, hulking giant came running towards the little major. Looking like an elephant in a grey chauffeur’s uniform that was too small, the massive newcomer had a round face that could have, been any age. A ridiculous little chauffeur’s hat was perched on his thick red hair, and his blue eyes were frightened.

  “I-I’m sorry, M-M-Major.”

  “Idiot! They almost killed me out there! Where were you?”

  “I-I was out the back getting the tape recorder working. Carl, he was yelling at me, and I didn’t hear —”

  “Never mind!” the major raged. “Get out there now and tell them we’ll open the gates in ten minutes. Line them up behind you, and tell them I won’t interview anyone from inside city limits so there’s no sense in those people waiting!”

  Hubert obediently lumbered to the gates. As he opened them a howl went up from the crowd gathered outside again. They surged forward until they saw the huge man, then stopped short. The major grinned as Hubert herded them into line.

  “It’s amazing how Hubert stops trouble just by appearing!”

  “He could stop me making trouble,” Bob said.

  “He could stop a tank!” Pete declared.

  “I expect he could,” the major snorted, “if he didn’t fall over his own feet! All right, boys, follow me.”

  The major led them into the centre shop and, through the empty outer room into a small back room. Its windows looked out on an overgrown backyard and the high rear wall beyond. The windows were closed and an air conditioner purred below one of them. Other than a desk, a telephone, and a few folding chairs, the room was completely bare. A stocky, dark-haired man was busily working a tape recorder that had been set up on the desk. He wore rough work clothes.

  “While Carl finishes setting up the recorder, boys, I’ll tell you about the Society for Justice to Buccaneers, Brigands, Bandits, and Bushwhackers.” The major perched on the edge of the table where the recorder stood, tapping the table with his riding crop.

  “The society was founded by my very rich great-uncle as a result of his research into the true life of our ancestor Captain Hannibal Karnes, better known as Barracuda Karnes, a privateer who sailed in the Caribbean in colonial days.”

  “Gosh,” Bob said. “I never heard of Barracuda Karnes.”

  “Nor,” Jupiter mused, “have I. The only famous pirate I know of in that general region was Jean Lafitte.”

  “There, you see?” the major cried. “Barracuda Karnes was just as famous, and just as patriotic, during the Revolutionary War as Jean Lafitte was during the War of 1812, but history has forgotten Barracuda! Neither Lafitte nor Karnes was a pirate-they were privateers, men who plundered ships of their country’s enemies. Karnes waylaid the British vessels and ferried their much-needed supplies to the colonists during the Revolution. Lafitte was a smuggler who pirated only Spanish ships and teamed up with Andrew Jackson to beat the British in the War of 1812. No one knows why some men are reme
mbered and some forgotten, but my great-uncle decided to do something about it. He used his millions to found a society that would publish books and pamphlets proving that many forgotten pirates, highwaymen, and thieves were really misunderstood heroes and patriots like Lafitte and Robin Hood!”

  “Well …” Jupiter began, dubious.

  “You’d be surprised, young man!” the major declared. “For many years my uncle scoured the world for details of such historic brigands. When he died, I decided to continue the noble work. I expect California to be a bonanza of undiscovered heroic bandits. Now, if my friend Carl is ready … ?” The other man nodded, and the major said, “Well, who’ll be first, eh?”

  “Me!” Pete cried. “The story of the bandit El Diablo!”

  Jupiter, who had already had his mouth open to talk, sat down on a chair next to Bob and grumpily listened to Pete start the story of the Mexican bandit who had attacked the American invaders after the Mexican War. But Pete barely got beyond a description of who El Diablo was before the major broke in.

  “Fine! El Diablo sounds like an ideal candidate for a publication by the society.

  Now, who’s next?”

  Jupiter didn’t wait. “I have two candidates. Major! The French privateer Hippolyte de Bouchard, and his henchman, William Evans, who returned much later, as the Purple Pirate! De Bouchard was a French captain in the pay of Argentina, which was at war with Spain back in 1818. With the 38-gun Santa Rosa, and 285 men from ten countries, he was sent to attack Spanish ships and colonies. He was much stronger than the colonials of Alta California, so he burned Monterey, defeated Governor Pablo Sola, and came down to attack the Los Angeles area where—”

  “Good! Very good,” Major Karnes cried and turned to Bob. “And now, what do you have, boy?”

  Cut off so suddenly, Jupiter blinked in disbelief at the little major. He and Pete looked at each other as Bob began to tell about the soldiers of General Fremont who had tried to steal the Cortes Sword from Don Sebastian Alvaro.

  “Great! Another good story,” the major interrupted. “You boys have done well.

  Carl has it all on tape, and when we’ve reviewed everything, we’ll contact you.”