by Mark Zahn
Suddenly, a long, horrifying scream made their hair stand on end as it gurgled out into silence.
“Creeps!” Pete yelped. “That was Winston!”
“The ghost – the ghost of old Molly Thibidoux got to him!” Jebediah whispered triumphantly. “Serves the scoundrel right for what he did to poor Julia.”
“I hear something else,” Ben said urgently. “More footsteps! And they’re coming this way!”
Suddenly there was a mad rush in the oppressive darkness to get away from the cellar door. Pete was in the lead. “I’ve already seen the ghost once,” the Second Investigator cried in alarm. “And that was one time too many!” He began feeling his way down the steps, but Jupiter grabbed his arm.
“Wait a minute, Second. Let’s see if our ‘ghost’ opens the door for us!”
“What?” everyone cried together.
But Jupiter remained firmly on the top step.
“This is no time for jokes, Jupiter!” said Patricia in a shaky voice. “Whoever is up there could be very desperate. Even dangerous!”
“I don’t think so,” said Jupiter. “In fact, I’m certain that it’s a friendly spirit.”
“How do you know, Jupe?” asked Bob. But Jupiter remained mysteriously silent.
“I sure do hope you know what you’re doing, First,” Pete said uneasily.
They listened once more. The footsteps stopped right outside the cellar door. Now the ghost of old Molly Thibidoux, the maid-servant who hanged herself from a willow tree on the moors over one hundred years ago, was drawing the bolt back on the massive door. With a ghastly scre-e-e-e-ch that made Pete’s blood run cold, the door slowly moved.
The group stood on the cellar steps with wide eyes as the door swung open. Patricia gasped and squeezed her eyes shut as she saw the glowing face of their rescuer.
Stella Fitchhorn moaned and dropped into her husband’s arms in a dead faint.
“Th...th...there really is a ghost!” stammered Ben and Bob together.
Jebediah O’Connell’s jaw moved up and down wordlessly. “B-by thunder...” was all he could manage to say.
It appeared to be true! Standing in the darkness at the top of the cellar stairs was a woman in a Victorian dress – holding a noose!
“Yikes!” Pete yelped, scrambling to get away from the phantom. But Jupiter stubbornly held firm to his friend’s arm. Suddenly, a light was shining on the ghost’s face.
Molly Thibidoux had a flashlight! Even more surprising – she had a mustache!
“Right on schedule, Duke Antony,” Jupiter grinned.
The ‘ghost’ removed a wig from its head and wiped off the glowing face paint with a handkerchief. The Duke grinned back at Jupiter. “The Order of the Silver Spider is always willing to help friends of Prince Djaro!”
“The Silver Spider?” cried Pete.
“Prince Djaro?” echoed Bob. “What’s going on here, First?”
“Let’s get out of this cellar and see what Mr. Hichcocke’s treasure is,” said Jupiter, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Then I’ll explain everything to you.”
At that moment all the lights in the house flickered back on. The boys had to cover their eyes for a moment at the sudden harsh glare.
“Ah,” said Duke Antony, “I see power has been restored. A lightning strike took out the lights just as I was enacting your plan, Jupiter. That accounts for the delay. I dare say, it must have made my ‘ghost’ act that much more convincing. I wasn’t sure Winston had even seen me when he began screaming – but he must have. Regardless, I will venture it will be months before Winston Abernathy can sleep with the lights off!”
As the party eagerly climbed the old stone steps leading out of the cellar, Duke Antony clapped a hand on Timothy Fitchhorn’s broad shoulder.“Not so fast,” he commanded.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Fitchhorn blustered. “Unhand me this instant or I’ll press charges! This is assault and harassment!”
Duke Antony shook his head seriously. “On the contrary,” he said in a diplomatic voice, “in the name of Prince Djaro, crown prince of Varania, I declare you and your wife under arrest.”
Stella Fitchhorn’s eyes fluttered and she looked around in a daze. “Prince who?” she said.
“Varania?” Timothy Fitchhorn scowled. “You have no jurisdiction here! This is England if you haven’t noticed, you imbecile.”
“I assure you I do have jurisdiction,” the Duke calmly explained. “And even if I do not, these men most certainly do!”
The Fitchhorns' eyes went wide as several Bobbies, British police officers, swarmed into the room and surrounded them. Two officers quickly snapped handcuffs on the Fitchhorns and escorted the bickering couple from the room.
As The Three Investigators, Ben, and Patricia watched the drama with the Fitchhorns play out, Jupiter noticed Winston being attended to by a police officer. The crooked butler had a heavy wool blanket draped over his shoulders and he was shaking uncontrollably – babbling about a ghost with a noose that appeared from the shadows, his narrow, hawkish face growing white at the memory.
Jupiter chuckled and shook his head as he led the group to the back door of Hichcocke Manor. “I get the distinct impression Winston Abernathy will not be impersonating a spectral manifestation for quite some time!”
When the arrests had been made, Duke Antony joined the group as they dashed through the rain to the Abernathy’s cottage. They only had to look for a moment before Ben discovered the large metal canister hidden under Winston’s bed. The round container was about two and a half feet in diameter by one foot deep. It was still wet and spattered with fresh mud.
“It’s padlocked,” he said.
Jebediah was tending to Julia, slipping the shoes off the sleeping woman and pulling the bed covers up to her chin. “There’s bolt cutters in my shed across the way,” he offered. “Ye can use those to cut the lock.”
Pete ran for the cutters and was back in a flash. He handed them to Jupiter, who quickly snapped off the lock.
They all crowded around in excitement as Jupiter raised the lid on Alphred Hichcocke’s hidden treasure. But when they saw it, brows furrowed in confusion. It wasn’t money or gold or sparkling gems or even pirate’s treasure.
“It’s reels of film!” cried Bob.
Bob was right. Inside the canister were several reels of motion picture film. A note was taped to the top reel.
Jupiter quickly plucked the note off and opened it. He read out loud:
*
Congratulations!
It is my sincere hope that this note has found its way into the hands that I had intended. If so, compliments are in order to my daughter, Patricia, and a certain three young lads. You have lived up to your remarkable reputation. If it is not in your hands – well, whoever is perusing this letter, the treasure is now yours!
Speaking of the treasure – you may be asking just what in thunderation it is you’re looking at. Well, I suppose an explanation is in order.
As you know, movies were my life. I worked in the motion picture industry until I was not physically able to continue. My last picture was to be my ultimate thriller, my swan song, so to speak. It was to be called ‘The Short Night’ and its star was none other than my dear friend, Creighton Duke. This was a movie that I financed myself – with no help at all from a major studio. A dream, I might add, that I had long wished fulfilled. It was mine. I owned it, and I could do with it as I pleased. Confidentiality agreements were drawn up and signed by all the cast and crew. Although there has been much speculation, the public has never known of the final, “lost” Hichcocke picture until now. Unfortunately, I fell ill just as principal photography was about to wrap. As I write this I fully understand that I will not be able to finish my last picture.
As you can imagine, when I realized that ‘The Short Night’ would most certainly fall into the hands of a studio upon my death, I was distraught. I pondered various ways of dealing with this dilemma, but it was an idea of Crat
e’s that led us to devise this scheme. It proved to be a way to avoid the catastrophe, and, as a way to say goodbye to those whom I knew would be searching for it.
Other than a few scenery shots, a musical score, sound and special effects, and various other technical glitches, the film is complete. I know that it will be safe in the hands of my daughter and her trio of investigators. You have my permission to do with it as you please.
Well then, I suppose there is really nothing left for me to say except goodbye. I hope you lads found as much thrills and entertainment solving the mystery of the Hichcocke inheritance as I had concocting it!
And now, I must bid you farewell.
*
Sincerely,
ALPHRED J. HICHCOCKE
*
P.S. I hope you’ll forgive me for borrowing the sundial element from one of your cases. I’ve always felt it was an ingenious hiding place, and couldn’t resist using it in my own mystery!
*
Jupiter’s eyes gleamed as he touched the film reels reverently with his fingertips. He felt very strange for a moment, as if a lump were caught in his throat. The thought that The Three Investigators would never again see their mentor, Alphred Hichcocke, left him without words – a condition rarely imposed upon Jupiter Jones!
Finally he cleared his throat and turned to face the group. The portly First Investigator had a big smile on his face.
“Who wants to see a movie?”
Mr. Clarke Asks Some Questions
TWO WEEKS LATER, The Three Investigators were once more seated across from Reginald Clark, the famous motion picture producer, in his big office at World Studios.
“The butler did it?” he boomed, slapping his hand down on Bob’s sheaf of notes. “By thunder, I believe Hitch would have been quite pleased with that solution!”
The three boys beamed and nodded their heads in agreement.
“Winston Abernathy wasn’t the butler’s real name,” Jupiter explained. “He actually went by several aliases. His real name is Mortimer Vincent Carey. He’s a notorious cat-burglar and confidence man, wanted on countless charges of theft and breaking and entering in ten different countries.”
“And all of them are scrambling to get a piece of him,” added Bob.
“Quite so!” rumbled the producer. “Winston’s plan was to impersonate the ghost and scare everyone out of the house so he could search for the treasure. But tell me, young Jones, when did you first suspect the butler might be more than he seemed?”
Jupiter squirmed a little in his chair. “I really should have suspected Winston when I learned that he had only been there a year – not thirty years like Julia. However, my first real clue came from Pete.”
“It did?” Pete asked in surprise.
“It struck me as odd,” Jupiter continued, “that Winston knew just where to go in that enormous cellar when we were trying to find Pete as he was banging on the pipes. I had observed that there were pipes all over the ceiling of the cellar. Pete could have been anywhere, but Winston took us directly to that door – because he already knew where Pete was since he was the one that pushed him in!”
“He also suggested that we search for Pete in the woods,” added Bob. “Probably so he could get us out of the house in order to search for the clock in the riddle.”
“Mmmm,” said Reginald Clark, looking down his nose. “But the clock was not the correct timepiece after all. It was a sundial that the movie reels were found under.”
“That’s correct,” agreed Jupiter. “We believe that Winston was searching the cellar for the clock in the riddle when he heard Pete come down the steps. The cellar was where he had been hiding his ‘ghost’ costume, so he quickly put on the dress and wig and rubbed fluorescent paint on his face so that Pete wouldn’t recognize him. After he locked Pete in the room, he was free to search the rest of the basement. Eventually his search led him to the grandfather clock in the billiard room. He broke the wax seal on Mr. Hichcocke’s letter, thinking he had found the treasure. When he discovered it was the wrong clock, he was forced to wait for us to discover the true meaning.”
“Amazing,” said the producer. “And you did just that! But it seems to me that there is a ghost sighting for which you have not accounted for. Exactly what or whom did Jebediah see at the top of the stairs your first night at Hichcocke Manor?”
“That was Winston,” said Bob. “He confessed that he was trying to scare us out of staying at Hichcocke Manor. The boarded over dumbwaiter on the third floor was really another secret door that Winston had made himself. He used a rope to lower himself down to the cellar where he could change out of his ‘ghost’ disguise without being seen.”
The great producer looked shrewdly at Bob. “Since the case against Winston the butler seems to be wrapped up quite neatly – answer me this, young Andrews: just what was cousin Jebediah O’Connell doing roaming about the grounds at all hours of the day?”
Bob grinned and looked sheepish. “We forgot to take into account that he is the groundskeeper of the estate. That was his job to make sure the landscaping was tended to and the weeds in the garden were pulled. But there actually was another reason he spent so much time out there.”
Mr. Clark looked at Bob with raised eyebrows. “And what would that be?” he asked.
“Jebediah O’Connell was secretly in love with the maid, Julia!” crowed Pete. “Cousin Jeb never did trust Winston. He was constantly watching the butler’s every move, trying to expose him for the fraud he was!”
“Ah, true love can be found in the strangest of places,” commented Mr. Clark, shaking his head. “And does Cousin Jeb’s affection for Julia Abernathy remain shrouded in secrecy?”
Jupiter grinned. “No. He told her. But they are going to wait awhile before they start courting each other. She’s still rather upset about being deceived by Winston.”
“Fine, fine,” chuckled Reginald Clark. “That brings us to that most curious of couples; Timothy and Stella Fitchhorn. A most unlikely duo by all outward appearances.”
“Yes, sir,” Jupiter nodded. “Of course, they were using aliases, too. Their real names are Nicholas J. West and Marcia Brandel. And they’re not even married!”
“They work as a team,” he explained. “Together they have bilked people all over Europe and America out of millions of dollars. They saw the Hichcocke inheritance as the ultimate challenge. However, they found they weren’t as talented at solving riddles as they were at smooth talking and conning people with forged documents.”
“They needed us to solve the riddles for them!” said Pete. “They were expecting money or gold as the treasure, but Duke Antony and the London police arrested them before they could find out different!”
Reginald Clark laughed heartily. “I imagine they will be doing some hard time as well. I certainly hope they do not have adjoining jail cells. Their constant arguing would upset the rest of the prisoners!”
The boys all laughed at the idea.
“I take it you arranged with Prince Djaro of Varania to have Duke Antony summon the London police to the Hichcocke estate.”
“Yes sir,” Jupiter confirmed. “Duke Antony and the police left London about twenty minutes after Ben and I left. However, they were slowed down considerably by the strong thunderstorm. That’s why Winston had a chance to get the drop on us with his gun, which, by the way, turned out to be a simple pellet gun. Regardless, I wasn’t expecting that, but I wasn’t worried either.”
“I was sure worried when I saw Duke Antony dressed up as the ghost!” cried Pete.
“Indeed,” agreed Mr. Clark. “Another arrangement between you and the Duke?” he asked Jupiter.
“Yes sir. At that point I was certain the ‘ghost’ was Winston. Jebediah’s background check at Interpol had come up unblemished, yet Winston’s had produced several pages of criminal activity.
“Pete had gotten the best look at the ghost. According to his description, Timothy Fitchhorn was too big to be the ghost, and his wif
e was too short. So, feeling confident that it was Winston disguising himself as old Molly, I had Duke Antony stop at a costume shop before he left for Hichcocke Manor to pick up a dress, wig, face-paint and noose. That’s why he was twenty minutes behind Ben and I.”
“A taste of his own medicine,” laughed the great producer. “You certainly have a flair for the dramatic, young Jones.”
“That’s what I had in mind, sir,” agreed Jupiter with a pleased expression. “But, as it says in Bob’s notes, I didn’t expect to see both Winston and Jebediah soaking wet when I arrived at the house. Clearly, someone was outside in the garden as Ben and I pulled up the drive. I thought I might be mistaken about Winston until I checked his shoes and saw they were obviously muddy.”
“An astute observation that proved to be his undoing,” said Mr. Clark. “It seems every loose end has been tied up. But tell me, what’s to become of Hitch’s final motion picture, ‘The Short Night?’”
Pete fielded this question. “Patricia has said that she will use some of the money she inherited to independently finance the completion and release of the film, with all the proceeds going to charity. And she wanted to know if you would serve as technical adviser!”
“Me?” said Reginald Clark in surprise. “I would be most honored to work on one last Hichcocke picture,” he said solemnly. “Most honored, indeed.”
The boys were just about ready to leave when Reginald Clark spoke up. “Not so fast,” he boomed, a playful gleam in his eyes. “There is one more question that needs addressed!”
“W-what is that, Mr. Clark?” said Pete.
“What of Molly Thibidoux?” he asked, grinning at the boys. “Duke Antony claims Winston screamed in terror before he saw him in his ‘ghostly’ disguise. Does that mean her disembodied spirit actually does wander the great halls of Hichcocke Manor?”
Jupiter looked offended. “Of course not,” he said stubbornly. “There are a great number of mirrors and pictures lining the walls of Hichcocke Manor. Winston must have seen the Duke’s ‘ghostly’ reflection in a mirror. There are no such things as ghosts – no matter what Winston or Pete tell you!”
