The phone was ringing. Jupe switched on the loudspeaker so that the other two Investigators could hear what the caller said. Then he picked up the receiver. Is that Jupiter Jones? We met at the Seahorse Diner a couple of days ago.
I left a package behind. I mean, I forgot it. Are you there? I mean, I think you boys deserve a reward. Say, in the parking lot of the Trustee Bank. He was pinching his lower lip, deep in thought. But I think he was telling the truth the first time. He does know exactly where I live. And there goes our best lead in the whole case. Then maybe we can make Blinky answer some questions. What do you think, Pete? Before they left, the Three Investigators arranged to meet in the parking lot of the Trustee Bank at ten to nine that night.
At half past eight Jupe strapped the smaller cage with Caesar inside it to the carrier of his bicycle and pedaled into town. Jupe wheeled his bicycle into the parking lot behind the big white building. Few cars used the lot after the bank closed, and the wide space, surrounded on three sides by closed office buildings, was in half-darkness. Jupe leaned his bicycle against the wall of the bank, turned off the light, and unstrapped the cage from the carrier.
He looked around. There were only half a dozen cars scattered around the darkened lot and there was no sign of life in any of them. Jupe glanced at his watch. A quarter to nine. Fifteen minutes before the arranged meeting with Blinky. Five minutes before Bob and Pete were due to arrive. Jupe decided to wait for his friends at the entrance to the lot where there was more light from the street lamps.
He started toward it. Jupe did as he was told. He stopped right where he was, holding the cage against his chest. Just as slowly as he could. The figure of a man moved toward him out of the gloom. The man was holding his right hand out in front of him. He was gripping something in it. Something that gleamed slightly, even in the half darkness. To Jupe the gleaming thing looked horribly like the nickel-plated barrel of a gun. The man moved a little closer. Still pointing the gun at Jupe, he crouched over the cage and took a good look at it.
Making sure, Jupe guessed, that the pigeon was inside it. For a moment then Jupe could see him quite clearly. He could see the shiny black slicker the man was wearing. Parker Frisbee! It sounded as though he were speaking with great effort. The man shifted the gun slightly in a threatening way. Jupe turned around and lay down on the ground. Like someone ripping a piece of cloth, he thought. The memory of the gleaming barrel of that gun was too vivid in his mind.
He lay quite still while his ankles were firmly taped together too. The lights of a car went on somewhere behind him. Bound hand and foot, he could not really raise his head, but he managed to turn it slightly, and very cautiously. He peered around toward the light. The car was already in motion. The approaching darkness made it im- possible to identify the car. It roared past him some twenty yards from where he lay, did a screeching turn toward the exit to the parking lot, and vanished into the street.
Jupe lay there blaming himself. He should have had the sense to wait for Pete and Bob, he thought. He should have left his bicycle.
He heard footsteps approaching from the entrance to the lot. He saw the flash of a bicycle light. Jupe rolled over and sat up. The skin of his wrists was sore from the peeled-off tape. He rubbed them as he explained to the other two Investigators what had happened. Pete whistled softly. I noticed the letters on the license plate and they were MOK. Jupe looked at his watch. It was two minutes to nine.
He still felt a little shaken by the memory of that gun. It meant to split up and head off in different directions. Now all three jumped on their bicycles and pedaled off to their own homes. Jupe slept badly that night. There was too much on his mind. As Pete had said, they had lost Caesar. And there had been no showdown with Blinky.
There was no information to report to Maureen Melody either. If he really had, that is. The case seemed to be going badly for The Three Investigators. At least that would give them a chance to talk to Blinky. When Blinky heard that Caesar had been kidnapped, he might tell them something that would give them another lead. Since the beginning of summer vacation, Jupiter had been eating a very light breakfast.
Dry toast and skimmed milk. His aunt Mathilda was worried about his recent, unusual loss of appetite. He ate everything she put in front of him before going out to the junkyard to wait for his friends. He was just approaching the workshop and the Tunnel Two entrance to Headquarters when he saw it. It saw him too and strutted eagerly to meet him. Jupe bent down and the pigeon let him pick it up in his hands.
He stared at it, examining every feather of its gleaming wings and tail. He looked at its sleek, gray head and alert eyes. There was no question about it. He would know this particular pigeon anywhere. It was Caesar. Those markings on his tail feathers. Cae- sar, back in his big cage, was hopping cheerfully about, pecking at his corn.
He pushed them up into place. If the army was advancing, they had to keep moving the pigeon coops. And they found that a really highly trained homer would get used to a different base in two or three days. But if that was what he was trying to do, the simplest thing would be to just turn him loose and let him fly home. Where are you? A summons from Aunt Mathilda usually meant one thing — work.
She had a job for them to do. Maybe she just needed help with the Saturday crowd of customers. The Three Investigators left their carefully concealed Headquarters by the exit known as Door Four, which brought them out into the back of the yard. Walking around a pile of lumber, they approached Aunt Mathilda from behind. She jumped when Jupiter tapped her on the shoulder. But for once Aunt Mathilda had not called the boys to put them to work. There were two men asking for them, she said. They were out by the gate.
The two men were standing beside a green van that was parked in the road. They were about thirty years old, short and wiry, and they were both wearing T-shirts and faded blue jeans.
They were both Japanese. Jupe said they were. The man turned to his companion and said something in a language Jupe guessed must be Japanese. The second man nodded and answered in the same language. So I will interpret for him. You gave Hoang Van Don a message written in Japanese. You asked him to take it to a Japanese friend to have it translated. He waited. He walked over to Kyoto, and taking him by the arm, led him away to the front of the van.
Bob watched the two Japanese standing there, talking together in their own language. It struck him how alike they looked. They both had the same straight black hair, the same rather high cheekbones, the same pale brown skin. Or maybe that was just because they were both Japanese, he thought.
And maybe they felt the same way about him and Pete and Jupe. Maybe to them a lot of Caucasians looked alike. Jupe studied the two men as they stood by the van, searching for some small differences in their looks. If we could follow it. They were still busy talking. He moved slightly away from Jupe. Although he was a naturally truthful boy, there were times when investigators had to stretch the truth a little.
Particularly when they were protecting a client. And in the case of the murdered birds it was Maureen Melody who had called him and asked for help. The way Jupe looked at it, that made Miss Melody their client. It was his job to protect her. The interpreter smiled politely again. Jupe wished he knew the answer himself. You think somebody shot it?
Thank you. Bob was just coming through the gate. The beeper. The interpreter and Kyoto walked along with Jupe. The interpreter smiled his polite smile. He has a vegetable farm up the coast. He sells his vegetables in a Japanese market and the market man needs to know what he has to sell. He was watching Bob as he edged around to the back of the van. He saw Bob bend down and quickly reach under the rear bumper. He was no longer holding the small metal object in it.
He stood still until it reached the bend in the street. He brought it to Jupe, a small box with dials and a circular antenna on it. It looked like an old radio. It had been an old radio once. Jupe had converted it into a tracking device. He switched it on. The sound came out of the tracker at once.
It had picked up the signal from the electronic beeper that Bob had magnetically fastened under the back of the van. Jupe swiveled the antenna, aiming south. It was a little louder now. Jupe strapped the tracker to the handlebars of his bike. They mounted and rode off. Jupe rode with one hand.
With the other he could aim the antenna on the tracker to the left or right or straight ahead. By listening to the beeps grow louder or fainter, he could tell which way the van had turned.
They could follow the van on their bicycles with no danger of being seen. Pearl onions, he thought. Kyoto and the interpreter must have thought he was really dumb if they expected him to believe that. But what were the Japanese going to such lengths to hide? It was going straight into town. He could tell from the sound of the beeps and the direction of the antenna on the tracking box that the van was now moving down Main Street in Rocky Beach.
He signaled to Bob and Pete, riding behind him, to go slowly. Kyoto and his interpreter friend might see the boys in their rearview mirror.
Beep-beep — And then suddenly the beeping stopped. Jupe held up his hand. The Three Investigators halted. Sitting astride his bicycle with his feet on the ground, Jupe turned the antenna so that it pointed to the left. No beep.
He turned to the right this time. It was coming in loud and clear now. Jupe gave a right-hand turn signal and led the way up the cross street that wound into the hills outside of town. It was more difficult to track the van now because of the twists in the road. The beeps kept fading out altogether on the turns.
He thought he knew where the van was going. In the low hills on the northwest side of Rocky Beach were a few square blocks of neat frame houses set in their own tidy yards. The neighborhood was known as Little Tokyo because almost all the houses in it were owned or rented by Japanese.
Jupe held up his hand again as the boys entered Little Tokyo. The Three Investigators pulled to a stop. A hundred yards ahead of them, parked in the driveway of a one-story frame house, was the green van. Jupe pulled his bicycle onto the sidewalk. Bob and Pete followed him. Standing among the trees that lined the street, they could keep an eye on the van without being seen from the house. What do we do now?
He was watching the van. He saw a man walk down the driveway past it. He must have come out of the house, Jupe decided. The man walked on to the street. There was a small red car parked there. He unlocked the car, got into it, and drove off. The two Japanese looked so much alike to him. They would have to walk right past the house to find out. If Kyoto happens to be looking out the window, he might recognize either of us. So he put his glasses in his shirt pocket and unzipped the tan Windbreaker he was wearing.
He walked toward the house with the green van parked in its driveway. He strolled on past the house, past the white mailbox at the bottom of the driveway, then casually paused and, pretending to pull up his socks, looked back. The name was painted in black letters on the box. Bob was preparing to saunter back to his friends when he thought he noticed something else.
He decided he had to make sure. He pulled them out of his shirt pocket and slipped them on his nose. He was right. The other name had been almost covered up by a new coat of white paint, but he could still make out some of the old letters.
How long ago had it been repainted? With a quick, cautious glance toward the house, Bob reached out and touched the mailbox. The black paint on the name was still wet. Then Kyoto had only just moved into the house. Bob felt rather proud of himself, of his discovery and deduction. Jupe himself could hardly have done better. He had taken only two steps when he stopped as still as a statue.
A man was coming down the driveway toward him. He felt petrified. There was no mistaking that short figure, that cutaway coat, those striped pants, that bushy black beard. Hey, you there. It was like one of those nightmares when you lose all control of your legs. He stood there as Frisbee came closer and closer to him. One good thing, Bob thought. Although he might have a gun in his pocket, of course.
Bob gestured vaguely toward the others. He was glad to discover that he had recovered the use of his limbs. He started to walk to where he had left Jupe and Pete. Frisbee walked beside him. He waited uneasily as Frisbee paused on the sidewalk and faced the other two Investigators. The Fujiyama. I sometimes go there myself. The last time he had seen this man, Frisbee had been pointing a gun at the First Investigator while tying him up in the parking lot of the Trustee Bank.
And the time before that he had been beating him with a stick. Now he was inviting them all to lunch as though none of that had ever happened. The Three Investi- gators followed him, wheeling their bicycles. Jupe nodded without saying anything.
The boys chained their bicycles outside the restaurant and Parker Frisbee led them in to a big corner table. The waiter greeted the jeweler in Japanese. Frisbee answered him in the same language and ordered their food. So I had to learn Japanese. None of the Three Investigators said anything. There was a long silence after that while the waiter spread a dozen little dishes on the table in front of them and they all began to eat.
He had to swallow before he could go on. Frisbee picked up his chopsticks and there was another long silence while they all went on eating. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and reached his hand into his inside pocket.
Pete froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. Frisbee pulled out his wallet. It was a fifty-dollar bill. Frisbee handed it to Jupe. The First Investigator was obviously lost in thought.
Then the next evening he kidnaps Caesar at gunpoint. He had had a big breakfast today and now an enormous midday meal. Oh, well, this was no time to worry about his weight. There was too much else to think about. All that seems a little puzzling — I mean for the same man to do all those things. His voice trailed off. Tell us, Jupe.
Jupe shook his head. It was late the next afternoon. But just as the three boys were leaving the salvage yard for her house, Aunt Mathilda had stopped them and put them to work. There had been rain during the night and she wanted the whole yard mopped out. Then all the old refrigerators and cooking stoves Uncle Titus had salvaged had to be wiped off. Jupe shivered as he walked up to her house with his bicycle, remembering his awful experience in her woods.
He hoped they would leave here well before dark. Miss Melody answered the doorbell at once. She was wearing a black vel- vet dress with long sleeves, and as she led the three boys into the soundproof room she kept dabbing at her eyes with a small lace handkerchief.
The Three Investigators looked. Laid out on a white cloth was another dead hawk. As Pete moved closer to the table, the parrot fluttered over from its perch and settled on his shoulder. Its body showed no signs of violence. The Pigeon Murderer Exposed.
Like the other hawk it had probably been poisoned, he assumed. Maureen Melody made an effort to control her grief. She dabbed at her eyes again. It was obviously painful for her to speak about it. Jupe looked at her sympathetically. She was still playing with her pearls. The touch of them seemed to give her comfort. But she only nodded once more.
He brought you things. Ralph Waldo Emerson is my other one. He only brings me little bits and pieces of things. Rubbish, you know. Why, this morning all he brought me — would you like to see what he brought me this morning?
Miss Melody walked over to a side table and came back with a glass ashtray. She held it out, showing it to Jupe. Inside the ashtray was a little ball of hair. Jupe picked it up and examined it. The hair was coarse, black, and curly. Jupe figured the magpie had rolled.
He put the hairball carefully away in his shirt pocket. They still had a couple of hours before dusk. Frisbee for your help. I can hardly bear to go into the garden anymore.
She saw them out the French windows. He seemed to want to go with them. He was getting to like the bird, just as he had taken to Caesar. They stopped first at the gravel patch at the edge of the lawn where the two dead hawks had been found. There was nothing to see there, no scraps of meat, no footprints. For an hour the Three Investigators made their way through the shrubs and bushes, along the narrow muddy paths, without finding anything of any interest.
They emerged at last into a small grass clearing among the trees. It was strangely quiet there, as though most of the birds avoided the area.
Jupe found a dry patch and sat down. He was tired and his feet were wet. Pete sprawled beside him and Bob leaned against a tree.
They had been resting for about five minutes. Pete was absently watching a robin that was pecking the earth in search of worms. Jupe was beginning to feel it was time they pushed on. And then suddenly three things happened. They happened so fast they all seemed to happen at once. The robin raised its head and started to spread its wings. After that it was all over very quickly.
The robin had no chance to struggle as the black hawk held it in its talons and tore it to pieces with its razor-sharp beak.
It took off into the sky like a rocket with its evening meal dangling from its claws. All that was left of the robin was its head and legs and a few bloodstained feathers. None of the Three Investigators said anything for a minute. Or who beat Edgar Allan Poe to death with a stick. Well split up this time. Search every path, every patch of muddy ground. Pete practiced a couple of bars to get the tune right. He nodded. Then the Three Investigators separated and set off into the woods again in search of footprints.
It was Pete who found them, about fifteen minutes later. Two perfect shoe prints crossing the muddy path he had been following. He stopped, looking down at them. The light was beginning to fade. With the approach of sunset the birds had grown quieter. It was sort of creepy, being here in the woods all by himself, Pete thought.
He opened his mouth to sing. He had had it perfectly back there in the clearing. It had remembered the tune perfectly. Jupe and Bob must have been quite close by. A minute later they joined him. Jupe looked at the long shoe prints, at the pointed toes. He took the little ball of hair out of his pocket and looked at that again. Lists with This Book. Community Reviews. Showing Average rating 3. Rating details. More filters.
Sort order. Aug 14, Book collector rated it liked it Shelves: three-investigators. This is a generic review of the series rather than the individual books. A small comment at the end of some reviews will be added. The three investigators series was another, along with the hardy boys, that my father bought for me.
Aimed at an age range of around 12 rather than the hardy boys slightly older audience, I enjoyed these more at first before moving onto the hardy boys when I was older. I first read these when I was around 9 and then like the hardy boys kept reading them when i was ol This is a generic review of the series rather than the individual books. I first read these when I was around 9 and then like the hardy boys kept reading them when i was older.
The books are great fun. Good mysteries with a set of good main characters. They are aimed firmly at boys and that of course shows there age. But there is still a lot to be enjoyed here. The books started well and as other authors took over became a little varied in quality at times but on the whole they were good fun to read. By modern standards they are very tame but retain a charm to this day.
And are still readable to this day too. Nov 07, Marco Giorgini rated it liked it. Not one of the best T3I novels - but a still quite enjoyable one. While Jupiter Jones is on a diet! The plot is nice and not so easy to fully guess, our heroes do a lot of intriguing stuff, and even the scenes with Hector Sebastian are good. Not more stars just because the mystery theme is not as compelling Not one of the best T3I novels - but a still quite enjoyable one. Not more stars just because the mystery theme is not as compelling as most of the ones in the first books - but I liked it.
Feb 10, Vintagebooklvr rated it liked it Shelves: vintage-boy-series. I like that the three investigators aren't perfect like the Hardy Boys. Jupiter is the smart one but he doesn't play sports. His lack of physical fitness is a handicap at time. They aren't all insanely brave.
For all their secret entrances a number of their adversaries figure them out and find their way to their headquarters. These books are unique and memorable. Justus Jonas, Peter Shaw und Bob Andrews sitzen nach einem Badenachmittag im Meer in einem Restaurant, als ein immer blinzelnder Mann, welcher sich als Blinky vorstellt, sich zu ihnen gesellt.
Als sie am Justus Jonas, Peter Shaw und Bob Andrews sitzen nach einem Badenachmittag im Meer in einem Restaurant, als ein immer blinzelnder Mann, welcher sich als Blinky vorstellt, sich zu ihnen gesellt. Aber warum? Absolute Empfehlung! Mar 06, Cliff rated it liked it. Random happenstance is the word of the day again for yet another Three Investigators case. You know, despite the frequent mention that they paid for their phone line with the income from their cases Speaking of monetary matters, perhaps the weakest link in this particular novel is that the crime seems to be a fairly low yield for the investment of time.
I have decided, however, to try and draw up a continuity timeline for the series. When the book is available for less than the. The first edition of the novel was published in November 2nd , and was written by Agatha Christie. The book was published in multiple languages including English, consists of pages and is available in Paperback format. The main characters of this mystery, fiction story are Julia Upjohn, Miss Chadwick. The book has been awarded with , and many others.
Please note that the tricks or techniques listed in this pdf are either fictional or claimed to work by its creator.
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