“I know,” Mr. Olsen said impatiently. “But I don’t need the cages. Just the bars.” He extended the money to Titus Jones. “Here you are — twenty dollars. Is it a deal?”
Titus Jones relit his pipe and puffed hard to get it going properly. Jupe waited. The man stirred restlessly.
“Sorry, mister,” Titus said at last. “But my nephew here told you the truth. Those bars you’re talking about there are for animal cages. When we get ’em fixed up nice and proper, I figure on selling them to the circus for their animals.”
Jupe stared at his uncle. Pete and Bob stood open-mouthed.
Mr. Olsen scowled. “Okay—animals cages. Do you know what he wanted for the four of them? Four thousand dollars! He asked a thousand dollars apiece!”
“Well,” Titus said, “the boy’s young, and he did make a mistake quoting the price.”
“I thought so,” the man said, smiling with satisfaction.
“The price is six thousand dollars,” Titus Jones said. “That would come to fifteen hundred dollars apiece.”
The visitor stared. Titus Jones put his pipe in his mouth, puffed, and rocked on his heels. Once more Jupe held his breath, waiting for Mr. Olsen to explode.
At that moment Hans walked up. “Anything else I can do, boss?” he asked Mr. Jones. “I still got time to do some cleaning up.”
Mr. Olsen looked at the hulking figure of the yard helper. His cold eyes flickered. Then he snarled. “Forget it, mister. I’ve got better use for my money.”
Jupiter watched the saloon roar out of the yard. He felt like hugging his uncle.
A few minutes later, The Three Investigators were crawling through the big pipe leading to Headquarters. As soon as they were inside, Jupe squinted into the See-All periscope, which let him see over the piles of junk outside the trailer.
“All clear,” he reported. “Mr. Olsen hasn’t returned.”
“Gosh!” Bob exclaimed. “You could have knocked me over with a feather when your Uncle Titus backed you up.”
“Six thousand dollars!” Pete said. “And I thought that you were off your rocker!”
Jupiter nodded. “I don’t blame you, Second. But Uncle Titus has an affection for the circus that goes far beyond his usual desire to do business and make a reasonable profit.”
“What beats me,” Bob said, “is why everyone wants to buy bars all of a sudden?”
“You should have asked your Aunt Mathilda who the other buyer was — the one who bought up the whole lot,” Pete said to Jupe.
Jupe was about to reply when the telephone rang.
“Hello, Jupiter Jones speaking.”
They could all hear the incoming voice through the loudspeaker attachment. “Hi, Jupe. This is Mike Hall. How would you fellows like to come back to our place again tonight?”
“I don’t know if we can get away, Mike,” Jupe said. “Why — is anything wrong at Jungle Land?”
“Not exactly,” Mike said. “I just thought you’d like to see the gorilla. He just arrived.”
“Swell,” Jupe said. “Is he a big one?”
Mike laughed. “Big enough. Of course, he’ll keep, but our big problem is still with George. And I hope you remember that he gets nervous after dark.”
“We haven’t forgotten, Mike. As a matter of fact, we were discussing that same point — that we don’t know yet what goes on there after dark.”
“Well, here’s your chance to find out,” Mike said cheerfully.
“All right, Mike. We’ll try to get permission, and then it’ll be just the matter of arranging transport.”
“Great,” Mike said. “I can meet you at the gate. You coming by pickup truck again?”
“I don’t think so,” Jupe replied. “This time I believe we’ll be using the Rolls.”
There was a gasp. “You have a Rolls-Royce?” Mike asked. Then he began to laugh loudly.
“Ask him what’s so funny,” Bob said.
“I heard that,” Mike said. “It’s funny because Mr. Jay Eastland acts like such a big shot, you know. And that’s the car he drives to impress people.”
Jupe consulted his watch. “We’ll be there about nine, Mike, after dinner. As soon as I call Worthington.”
“Worthington? Who’s he?”
“Our chauffeur.”
There was loud laughter from the other end. “Wow!” Mike managed to say finally. “Okay, see you later.”
Jupiter replaced the phone. “I guess I should have explained to Mike we don’t actually own the Rolls and Worthington.”
“It’s better this way,” Bob put in. “At least we cheered him up. The way things are going at Jungle Land, he needs a laugh.”
Promptly at nine o’clock that evening, the gleaming old Rolls-Royce rolled up to the main gate at Jungle Land.
Jupe peered out of the window. “I thought Mike said he would meet us here.”
There was an overhead light illuminating the gate area. Beyond that, Jungle Land was dark. Palm leaves rustled in the night breeze. From the distance came strange chattering sounds.
Pete jumped out and opened the gate. As the Rolls passed through, he closed it again and got back into the car. “I’m glad Worthington is driving us in,” he said. “This place is kind of scary at night.”
Following Pete’s unerring sense of direction, Worthington threaded his way through several junctions and side roads. As he was about to turn up the road leading to the big white house on the hill, Pete touched the dignified chauffeur’s shoulder. “Hold it a second, Worthington.”
Jupe raised his eyebrows. “What’s up, Pete?”
“I thought I heard shouting up ahead — and some other noises.”
They waited, concentrating on listening. Soon they all heard sounds in the undergrowth. Then they heard the faraway wail of a siren.
Bob pointed into the dark. “Look! Searchlights!”