The Three Investigators and the Mystery of the Coughing Dragon E-Book

Nick West

• Herausgeber: Kosmos
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: Die drei ???
• Sprache: Deutsch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Seitenzahl: 201

Beschreibung

Every true "The Three Investigators"-Fan dreams about following the adventures of Jupiter, Pete and Bob in the original American edition. "The Three Investigators and the Mystery of the Coughing Dragon", finally available for your reading device! Henry Allen's dog is missing – and he thinks it's been eaten by a dragon! On the night the dog disappeared, Mr. Allen swears he saw a huge dragon slither into the sea caves beneath his cliff-top house. Could Mr. Allen really have seen a dragon? The Three Investigators doubt it, but they're determined to find the missing dog. And that means exploring those dark, dangerous caves …

Leseprobe

Albert Hitfield and The Three Investigators in

The Mystery of the Coughing Dragon

Text by Nick West

Kosmos

Umschlagillustration von Aiga Rasch (9.Juli 1941–24.Dezember 2009)

Umschlaggestaltung: eStudio Calamar, Girona, auf der Grundlage der Gestaltung von Aiga Rasch, Leinfelden-Echterdingen

Grundlayout: DOPPELPUNKT, Stuttgart

Titel der Originalausgabe:

“Alfred Hitchcock and The Three Investigators in The Mystery of the Coughing Dragon”

© 1970, by Random House, Inc., New York

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Leicht veränderte Neuauflage der amerikanischen Originalauflage

© 2015, Franckh-Kosmos Verlags-GmbH & Co. KG, Stuttgart

Alle Rechte vorbehalten

Mit freundlicher Genehmigung der Universität Michigan

Based on characters by Robert Arthur.

ISBN 978-3-440-14789-4

eBook-Konvertierung: le-tex publishing services GmbH, Leipzig

Introduction by Albert Hitfield

This introduction is solely for the purpose of acquainting latecomers with The Three Investigators. If you have met them before, you are under no obligation to read it.

The Three Investigators are an enterprising firm of youthful detectives, amateurs perhaps, but remarkably effective in achieving their goal, namely, solving mysteries.

By his own admission, Jupiter Jones is the leader-in-residence and the brains of the trio. Pete Crenshaw, the most athletic member, assists on missions that call for his kind of contribution. Bob Andrews is in charge of Records and Research. All together, a lively team.

The boys reside in Rocky Beach, a small town some miles from Hollywood, close to the Pacific Ocean. Their headquarters is a converted mobile home trailer located in The Jones Salvage Yard, which is run by Jupiter’s aunt and uncle. The trailer has a small office, a lab, a darkroom, and equipment which the boys rebuilt from junk in the salvage yard.

It can be entered by certain secret passages that are best negotiated by youthful individuals.

Now that you know all that is needed, I shall remove myself from the premises so that you may get on with the real entertainment.

Albert Hitfield

Mysterious Beginnings

“I wonder,” Jupiter Jones said one morning, “how we would go about attempting the biggest robbery ever seen in this area.”

His two companions reacted with surprise. Bob Andrews dropped the stack of small cards he was feeding into their old printing press. Pete Crenshaw, who was fixing an old radio, jerked and saw his screwdriver glance off in an erratic arc.

“What was that you said?” Pete asked, trying to smooth out the jagged scratch he’d made on the wooden back of the radio.

“I said I wonder how we would go about attempting the biggest robbery ever tried in this area,” Jupiter repeated. “That is, if we were master criminals.”

“While you’re wondering,” Pete said, “try to find out what happens to us after we get caught. I heard somewhere that crime doesn’t pay.”

Bob Andrews picked up the scattered cards he had dropped. “I don’t think we’d be good at being master criminals. I can’t even master putting cards into this printing press.”

“It was merely a thought,” said Jupiter. “After all, we are investigators. It occurs to me that if we could imagine a well-planned crime, we’d be ahead when it came to solving it. All we need to do is reverse our thinking and assume the antisocial mind of a mastermind criminal.”

Pete nodded. “That’s a neat idea, Jupe. But first I’ve got to reverse the thinking of the last owner of this radio. He tried to fix it himself and got the wires all twisted. After that, I’ll be willing to play mastermind games with you.”

The three boys, who called themselves The Three Investigators, were in Jupiter’s workshop section of The Jones Salvage Yard. Secluded here, under a six-foot roof extending from the salvage yard’s high fence, they worked on repairing junk that Jupiter’s Uncle Titus bought. They used part of the profits for pocket money and part for such luxuries as the telephone in their secret headquarters.

Pete finished tightening a screw on the radio and held it up proudly for Jupiter’s inspection. “This job ought to be worth at least three dollars to your uncle,” he said. “Now he can sell it as a working radio instead of the piece of busted junk it was when it came in here.”

Jupiter smiled. “Uncle Titus isn’t given to throwing his money around carelessly. I suggest you try it first and see if it works.”

Pete shrugged and snapped a small dial. “It works, all right,” he said. “Listen.”

The radio hummed, sputtered, and came to life. An announcer’s voice was heard, apparently well into his news broadcast. “Authorities continue to be stumped,” he said, “over the mysterious happenings in Seaside. Within the past week, five dogs have been reported missing. The pet owners are puzzled over the disappearance of their animals. … Now, for news overseas, we take you to –”

“Turn it off, Pete,” Jupiter said.

Pete switched the dial off. “How about that?” he said. “Five missing dogs. Evidently there’s a mad dognapper on the loose.”

“I think we’ve got the master criminal Jupe was talking about,” Bob said, grinning. “He’s going to steal all the dogs he can and corner the market. Then, when people are willing to meet his price, he’ll unload and make a fortune.”

Jupiter sat pinching his lower lip, a sign that his mental machinery was moving into high gear. “Odd,” he said finally.

“What’s odd?” Bob asked. “You mean the number of dogs stolen? Five is a good odd number, all right.”

Jupiter shook his head, frowning. “No. I was referring to the dogs reported missing within the week. Usually when pets disappear, it happens at irregular intervals, rather than within the short span of one week.”

“Well, it must be like I said,” Bob answered. “There’s this master criminal loose with this mad plan of getting control of the doggie market. Maybe he intends knocking down the price of hamburger meat, in addition to selling the stolen dogs at a handsome profit.”

Jupiter smiled thinly. “Nice try. But it doesn’t answer the question. Why five missing dogs in one week? Another question is, why haven’t we been contacted to investigate these mysterious disappearances?”

“Perhaps they’re not so mysterious,” Pete said. “Sometimes dogs roam away from home and it takes them longer to get back. That’s my guess.”

“I agree with Pete,” Bob said. “The report didn’t mention the dogs being valuable. Just five missing dogs.”

Jupiter nodded slowly and reluctantly. “Perhaps you two are right,” he admitted. “It may be just a freak coincidence, much as I dislike making such an assumption.”

The other two boys smiled. It was Jupiter’s habit of using long words whenever possible, apart from his keen deductive abilities as an investigator, that endeared him to them and made him the acknowledged leader of the three.

“I wonder,” said Jupe, “how we can solve the mystery without being asked to by any of the pet owners.”

Bob and Pete looked at each other blankly. “What mystery?” Pete demanded. “I thought we agreed it was just a freak happening, not a mystery.”

“Perhaps,” Jupiter said. “But we are investigators. We have already managed to find several missing pets in the past. All of them had to do with mysteries.”

Both Pete and Bob nodded, remembering that helping to find a Mrs. Banfry’s lost Abyssinian cat had helped them solve the Mystery of the Whispering Mummy. And that trying to find Mr. Malcolm Fentriss’s missing parrot, Billy Shakespeare, had led them to the very unusual Mystery of the Stuttering Parrot.

“Seaside is south of here, not too far away,” Jupiter said. “Apparently our fame as investigators is less than we imagined. We should do something about it.”

Bob motioned to the stack of cards he had placed in the old printing press. “That’s just what I’m doing, Jupe,” he said. “Printing up new business cards. A fresh batch.”

“A good idea, Bob,” Jupiter said. “But I was thinking of something else. We will have to be better known, so that when strange things happen, people will think immediately of The Three Investigators of Rocky Beach, California.”

Bob threw up his hands. “Well, gosh, Jupe, how do you propose doing that? We can’t afford to make a TV commercial or hire sky writers.”

“I know,” Jupiter said. “I suggest we go immediately to Headquarters and have a meeting to discuss ways and means of getting the name of The Three Investigators known to more people.”

He got up immediately without waiting for an answer. Bob and Pete exchanged looks, shrugged, and followed.

“What I like about you, Jupe,” Pete said, smiling, “is the democratic way you run things. I mean, the way we always take a vote before deciding on anything.”

The boys moved a piece of old iron grating hidden by the printing press, uncovering the mouth of a large section of corrugated pipe. They crawled into it, replaced the grating, then went forward on hands and knees about forty feet. The pipe went underground some of the way, then ran between some nondescript iron beams. It opened at the other end directly under the mobile home trailer which the boys had converted into Headquarters. When Jupiter’s uncle, Titus Jones, found he couldn’t sell the beat-up old trailer, he had given Jupiter and his friends permission to use it.

The boys pushed a trap door upward and scrambled through. Then they were inside a tiny office fitted with a desk, a few chairs, a typewriter, filing cabinet, and a telephone. Jupiter had connected a microphone and radio loudspeaker to the telephone, which permitted the boys to listen to any phone conversation together. The remainder of the trailer consisted of a tiny darkroom, a miniature lab, and a washroom.

Because the trailer was surrounded by piles of junk outside, it was dark inside. Pete switched on the light over the desk.

At that moment the telephone rang.

The boys looked at one another. Hardly anyone ever called them.

After the second ring, Jupiter reached for it, switching on the little radio loudspeaker.

“Jupiter Jones?” asked a woman’s voice. “Albert Hitfield is calling.”

“Wow!” Bob yelled. “Maybe he has another good case for us!” Ever since Mr. Hitfield, the famous motion picture director, had learned of The Three Investigators, he had put them on several cases.

“Hello, young Jones!” It was Mr. Hitfield speaking. “Are you and your friends busy on a case at the moment?”

“No, sir,” Jupiter said. “But according to the law of averages we should find something interesting soon.”

Mr. Hitfield chuckled.

“Law of averages, indeed!” he said. “If you’re not busy, I have something for you. An old film director friend of mine can use some help.”

“We’d be glad to try, Mr. Hitfield,” Jupiter said. “What is your friend’s problem?”

Mr. Hitfield hesitated, as if he were trying to sum up a difficult situation in a few words.

“It appears to be dog trouble,” he said finally. “That is to say, he told me on the telephone a little while ago that his dog is missing.”

Jupiter’s eyes brightened. “Would your friend happen to be a resident of the town of Seaside, Mr. Hitfield?” he asked.

There was a brief silence.

When Mr. Hitfield came on again, he sounded thunderstruck. “He does live in Seaside, for a fact, young Jones. Now how on earth did you deduce that?”

“Merely putting a few odd occurrences together,” Jupiter said.

“Remarkable,” Mr. Hitfield was saying. “Quite remarkable, really. I’m pleased that you are still alert and not permitting your organization to become stagnant with conceit and boredom.”

Jupiter grinned. “Not a chance, Mr. Hitfield. But you said that your friend ‘appears’ to be having dog trouble. You put stress on the word ‘appears,’ sir. Was that your intention?”

“As a matter of fact,” Mr. Hitfield said, “you have guessed quite accurately what I was intending to communicate. I don’t believe this is an ordinary case, at all. When you think of it, no case that involves a dragon can be considered ordinary. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Jupiter cleared his throat. “A dragon?”

“Yes, my boy. My friend’s house overlooks the ocean, and there are caves running beneath it. The night that his dog disappeared, my friend insists he saw a rather large dragon emerge from the ocean and enter one of the caves underneath his dwelling.”

There was a stunned silence.

“Well, what do you say, my boy? Are you and your companions willing to try to unravel this mystery?”

Jupiter was so excited, he started to stutter. “J-j-just give me your friend’s name and address, sir!” he said. “This sounds like it could be our most exciting case!”

He wrote down the information Mr. Hitfield gave, promised to report all progress, and hung up. He looked at Pete and Bob triumphantly.

“Anything about a dragon living in our times should be investigated. Don’t you agree?”

Bob nodded. Pete shrugged.

“You seem to have some reservation, Pete,” Jupiter said.

“You made only one mistake,” Pete said. “You told Mr. Hitfield it could be our most exciting case.”

“Well, yes, I did,” Jupiter replied. “Don’t you agree?”

“Not entirely,” Pete said.

“What would you have said, then?”

“As long as there’s a dragon in it,” Pete said, “I would have said – this could be our last case!”

Horror from the Sea

The town of Seaside, where Mr. Hitfield’s film director friend lived, was about twenty miles away along the Pacific Coast Highway. Hans, one of the two Bavarian yard helpers, had a pickup and delivery in the area right after lunch. Jupiter got permission from his Aunt Mathilda to be taken along with his friends in the small salvage-yard truck.

Jupiter’s aunt fed them all, and then they hurried out and piled into the front seat with Hans. Jupiter gave him the address, and they were soon on the smooth Coast Highway traveling south.

“You’ve had time for a little research, Bob,” Jupiter said. “What can you tell us about dragons?”

“A dragon,” Bob said, “is a mythical monster, usually represented as a large reptile with wings and claws, breathing out fire and smoke.”

“I haven’t done any research,” Pete interrupted. “But I think Bob left out something important. Dragons are not friendly.”

“I would have mentioned that, too,” Bob said, “but Jupiter is interested only in facts. Dragons are mythical, which means they aren’t real. So if they aren’t real, we don’t have to worry if they’re friendly or not.”

“Exactly,” Jupiter said. “Dragons are creatures of the legendary past. If there ever were any actual ones, it would seem they’ve all been eliminated by the due processes of evolution.”

“That’s fine with me,” Pete said. “So, if they’ve all been eliminated, how come we’re on our way down to investigate one?”

“We heard that five dogs have disappeared within the past week in the peaceful town of Seaside,” Jupiter said. “And Mr. Hitfield told us that a friend of his lost his dog and saw a dragon near his house. Doesn’t that suggest anything to you?”

“It sure does,” said Pete. “It suggests I should be back in Rocky Beach hanging on my surfboard instead of coming along with you to catch a dragon.”

“If Mr. Hitfield’s friend, Henry Allen, engages our services, then it will be a profitable adventure for The Three Investigators,” Jupiter said. “Why don’t you try to look at it that way?”

“I’m trying, I’m trying,” Pete said.

“Whether there is a dragon or not,” Jupiter said, “something mysterious is apparently going on. Soon we will have facts to work with. Meanwhile we’ll have to approach the matter with an open mind.”

They had reached the outskirts of Seaside, and Hans slowed the truck as he searched for the street number Jupiter had given him. They traveled slowly another mile and then Hans stopped. “I think this is your party, Jupe,” he said.

All they could see was high hedges and palm trees. If a house was there, it seemed to be hiding.

Pete spotted the small sign on a white mailbox.

“H. H. Allen,” he read. “This must be the place.”

The boys piled out. “This preliminary investigation should take approximately two hours, Hans,” Jupe said. “Can you make your pickup and delivery and come back for us then?”

“Sure thing, Jupe,” the husky Bavarian said. He waved and swung his truck around to head down a steep road that led to the center of the town.

“Let’s take a quick look around first,” Jupiter said. “It may help if we’re better oriented when we speak to Mr. Allen.”

Houses were strung out along the high ridge overlooking the Pacific. The neighborhood had a lonely, deserted air. The boys walked to a vacant lot next to the film director’s house and looked down.

“Looks nice and peaceful,” Bob said, regarding the beach below them and the sparkling waters.

“Neat rollers,” muttered Pete, watching the surf. “Not much, but pretty good three-footers. I guess later at night, when the tide and breakers start coming in, would be the best time for the dragon. He’d have a lot more cover.”

Jupiter agreed. “You’re right, Pete. If there is a dragon.” He craned his head to look below. “Mr. Hitfield said there were caves below. But they can’t be seen from this angle. Later, after our interview with Mr. Allen, we’ll go down there and look them over.”

Bob looked at the deserted beach far below them. “How do we get down?” he asked.

Pete pointed to some rickety-looking, white, weather-beaten boards. “Steps going down, Bob. Beats scaling up and down the cliff wall.”

Jupiter pointed along the ridge. “There are some other staircases, too. But I don’t see many of them. Well, I believe we have the lay of the land. Now let’s hear what Mr. Allen will tell us.”

He led the way back to a gate in the hedge, swung it open, and they all stepped through. Beyond a winding path, they could see a house of faded yellow adobe, surrounded by palm trees, bushes, and wild flowers. The garden had an air of neglect, as did the old house itself, perched almost on the edge of the wind-swept cliff.

Jupiter raised the door knocker and let it fall.

The door opened, and a small, plump man stood there. He had large mournful brown eyes, bushy eyebrows, and a fringe of white hair above his tanned and wrinkled face.

“Come in, boys,” he said, extending his hand. “I imagine you’re the boys my good friend Albert Hitfield said might help me. Investigators, are you?”

“Yes, sir,” Jupiter said. He whipped out one of The Three Investigators’ business cards. “We’ve solved several cases so far.”

The old man looked at the card in his gnarled fingers. It said:

“The question marks,” Jupiter explained, “are our symbol, our trademark. They stand for questions unanswered, riddles unsolved, mysteries unexplained. We attempt to solve them.”

The old man nodded, as if satisfied, and put the card in his pocket. “Come into my study, and we’ll talk,” he said.

He led them to a large sunny room. The boys gasped as they looked about them. From ceiling to floor, the walls were hung with pictures almost fighting for space. Apart from the many paintings, there were neatly framed autographed photographs of famous movie stars and other celebrities.

The large desk was covered with papers and small wood carvings. The bookcases were crowded, too, with strange artifacts, Pre-Columbian figurines, and small, grotesque African figures. Some of them looked cruel and frightening

The old man indicated three chairs for them and took the large carved chair behind the desk. “Please sit down, boys, and I’ll tell you why I called my old friend Albert Hitfield. Perhaps he has already told you that I am a film director?”

“Yes,” said Jupiter. “He mentioned that, sir.”

The old man smiled. “Was would be a better word for it. I haven’t done anything for many years. I was a film director years before Albertbecame one. And quite famous in my own right, too. While Alberthas made the Hitfield thriller his own specialty, I had mine, too. Almost in the same vein, but slightly different. Albertconcerns himself with logical mysteries of the real world, but mine went beyond it.”

“What do you mean, sir?” Jupiter asked.

“It will explain why I couldn’t go to the police or other authorities with my problem. You see, my pictures were bizarre, of the world beyond, of nightmares and fright. They concerned themselves with monsters, werewolves, creatures of strange and hideous natures, and violent emotions.

“In short, my specialty, boys, was the horror film!”

Jupiter nodded. “Yes, I remember your name now, sir. I’ve seen it at art film festivals in museums.”

“Good,” said the old man. “So when I tell you about what I saw coming out of the water the night my dog disappeared, you will know why I hesitated to speak about it. With my reputation and my inability to find work for many years, it would be only natural for stupid people to think I was merely trying to attract attention, gain needed publicity.

“My work is finished. They saw to that – the powers that be. I have enough money to live quietly. And no worries, no fears – except –”

“Except the dragon now living in the cave below you, sir?” Jupiter suggested.

Mr. Allen grimaced. “Yes.” He looked carefully at the boys. “I told AlbertI saw it coming out of the sea. But I omitted one fact. You see, I heard it, too!”

The room became suddenly quiet.

“You heard the dragon,” Jupiter said calmly. “Exactly what did you hear? And where were you at that moment?”

Mr. Allen drew out a large colored handkerchief and mopped his brow. “I was standing on the cliff outside my house looking down at the ocean when I saw it,” the old man said. “Perhaps it was an illusion.”

“Perhaps,” Jupiter said. “Now tell us exactly what you heard. This might be an important lead in the mystery.”

“Well, confound it,” Mr. Allen said. “Far as I know, there aren’t any dragons around, supposedly, and haven’t been for several million years. Of course, I’ve done pictures about them, using mechanical monsters. In those cases, we used some kind of muffled roar of an engine combined with shrill whistles, blended together to create the effect we were trying to achieve – that of frightening the audience.

“But what I heard last night wasn’t anything like that at all. It was rather a high-pitched rasping sound – almost as if it were breathing with difficulty – or coughing.”

“What about the cave under your house?” Jupiter asked. “Is it large enough to contain a dragon, or any creature large enough to be mistaken for one?”

“Yes,” the old man said. “There are a series of caves running under this ridge. Extending north and south as well as inland. In the old days, they were used by rumrunners, and before them by smugglers and pirates. There was a landslide some years back as the cliffs eroded, covering much of what was known then as Haggity’s Point. But many of the caves are still under here.”

“Hmmmm,” Jupiter muttered. “But this is the first time you’ve ever seen or heard a dragon, and yet you’ve been living here for years. Is that correct?”

The old man nodded and smiled. “One time is enough. And I might not have even seen this one if I hadn’t been out looking for my dog, Red Rover.”

The boys exchanged glances, smiling. One of their secret entrances into Headquarters was called Red Gate Rover.

“I guess it’s time we discussed your missing dog and the circumstances, sir. Bob, take notes,” Jupiter said.

Bob, in charge of Records and Research, took out his pad and pencil.

Mr. Allen started, then smiled at this example of the businesslike proficiency of The Three Investigators.