The Mystery of the Hichcocke Inheritance (13 page)

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 Crate’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!”