“Gosh,” Pete said, “that must have been an exciting time here. Just think — a real war in our own backyard!”
Professor Moriarty gave Pete a severe look. “War may be exciting, perhaps, but it is never pleasant to live through. Be grateful you live in quieter times.”
Pete looked abashed, and the professor softened his tone. “I suspect you boys find plenty of excitement anyway. Do I gather correctly that you have reason to think the Cortés Sword may still be in Rocky Beach, and that you are searching for it?”
“Well, it’s just a wild hunch, sir,” Jupiter said.
“I see,” the professor said. His eyes glinted. “Since the sword hasn’t been seen for so long, I’ve always thought that it was probably only a legend. Certainly an exaggerated tale, in any event. Still, I’d be most interested in anything you find, eh?”
“We’ll be glad to let you know, sir,” Jupiter said, and thanked the professor again for his help.
Outside, a slow rain had started. Hans had gone on some business for Uncle Titus and hadn’t yet returned, so the boys had to wait. They stood under a tree, where they could keep dry.
“Professor Moriarty was pretty excited about that sword,” Pete said. “I guess a lot of people would be.”
“Yes,” Jupiter said, frowning. “I think, fellows, that we had better not mention the Cortés Sword if we can help it. I’m afraid we’d start all kinds of people looking everywhere. Professor Moriarty’s identification of the sword cover just about guarantees that it belongs to the Cortés Sword, so the chances of finding the sword in the Rocky Beach area are quite real.”
“Are we going to the Historical Society now?” Bob asked.
“That, I think, is our next step, yes,” Jupiter replied.
“What are we looking for, Jupe?” Pete asked.
“I don’t know exactly,” the stout leader admitted, “but if my hunch is right, we need something to show that events in 1846 didn’t happen the way people think they did.”
The rain grew heavier just as Hans arrived, and all three boys crowded into the truck’s cab beside the big Bavarian. When they reached Rocky Beach, Hans dropped them at the Historical Society and drove off on another errand. The boys hurried inside through the rain.
The quiet rooms, lined with books, files, and displays, were deserted except for the assistant historian. He knew the boys and their reputation well, and greeted them with a teasing smile.
“Well, what are you young Sherlocks investigating now?” he asked. “Has someone lost a pet cat, or are you on to something bigger?”
“Only as big as the Cor — ” Pete began boastfully.
Jupiter stepped on Pete’s foot, making him yelp in pain.
“Sorry,” Jupiter said blandly, and smiled at the historian. “We’re not on a case — just helping Bob with a research project on the Alvaro family for school.”
“Well, we have an Alvaro file,” the historian said.
“Might you have the US Army reports about Don Sebastián Alvaro, too?” Jupiter added casually.
The historian got both files. Each was a large cardboard box filled with papers. The boys looked at them in dismay.
“This army file is just the records of 1846,” the historian said, grinning. “They loved to write reports in those days.”
The boys carried the heavy files to a quiet corner.
“I’ll search the Alvaro file,” Jupiter decided, “and you two can go through the army records. They’re in English.”
For the next two hours the boys pored over the papers in the files, searching for any references to Don Sebastián Alvaro or the Cortés Sword. The historian was busy cataloguing a mound of new material, and he left the boys alone. No one else came into the quiet, book-lined rooms. The only sound was an occasional groan from Pete as he finished yet another dull report.
At the end of the two hours, the Investigators had gone through both files completely and were ready to display their findings. Bob and Pete had three documents, modern copies of original US Army papers from 1846, and Jupiter had a single yellowing letter.
“It’s a letter that Don Sebastián wrote to his son,” Jupiter explained. “It’s all I could find that seems important. Don Sebastián wrote it when he was being held under arrest in a house in Rocky Beach. His son was an officer in the Mexican Army down in Mexico City.”
“What does it say, Jupe?” Pete asked.
“Well, it’s in old-fashioned Spanish and hard for me to read,” Jupiter admitted unhappily. “All it seems to say is that the American soldiers arrested Don Sebastián, and that he was being held prisoner in a house near the ocean. There’s something about visitors, and about everything else being okay, and that he’d see his son in victory over the invaders. That could be a hint about an escape, but I can’t be sure. The letter is dated 13th September, 1846, and there’s nothing in it about a sword.”
“Gosh, Jupe, remember he was under arrest,” Pete pointed out. “Maybe he used a code or something.”
“Yes, that makes sense,” Jupiter agreed. “We’d better have Pico translate the letter word for word, and then — ”
“Maybe it doesn’t matter, fellows,” Bob said. He held up an army document. “This is a letter the US Army wrote to Don Sebastián’s son, José, when José came home after the war. It says that the US Government regrets the tragic death of Don Sebastián while attempting to escape on 15th September, 1846. It claims the soldiers had no choice because Don Sebastián was armed and tried to resist. He fell into the ocean when he was shot. The shooting was reported by a Sergeant James Brewster, and corroborated by Corporal William McPhee and Private S. Crane. They were the soldiers on duty in the house where Don Sebastián was held.”
“We knew all about that,” Pete declared. “Pico told us.”
Jupiter was puzzled. “That letter doesn’t confirm all of Pico’s story. What about — ”
“The original report of Sergeant Brewster is attached to the letter,” Bob said gloomily. “It gives the same facts as the letter, except that it also says what Don Sebastián was armed with — a sword!”
Pete and Jupiter looked at Bob in dismay.
“The sergeant figured the sword was smuggled to Don Sebastián by some visitor,” Bob went on. “So I guess Don Sebastián did fall into the ocean with a sword.”
Jupiter stared out a window at the heavy rain, thinking hard. At last he asked, “What did you find, Pete?”
“Not much for around the same time,” Pete answered, dejected. “Just a letter to a commanding officer on 23rd September asking for details of the Mexican attack on the Los Angeles garrison early that morning, and naming some men absent without leave since 16th September and declaring them deserters. Nothing about Don Sebastián or any sword, so — ”
Jupiter sat up straight. “What soldiers, Pete?”
Pete read the document. “Sergeant Brewster, Corporal McPhee, and Private — ”
“Crane!” Bob cried.
Across the room, the assistant historian looked up in annoyance. The boys didn’t even notice.
“Brewster, McPhee, and Crane!” said Jupe with satisfaction. “Missing after 16th September, 1846!”
“Yeah, but — ” Pete’s eyes widened. “Wow! Those are the same three guys who shot Don Sebastián!”
“Who claimed they shot Don Sebastián,” Jupiter pointed out.
“You think they were lying, Jupe?” Bob asked.
“I think,” Jupiter said grimly, “that it’s a very suspicious coincidence that the men who reported shooting Don Sebastián deserted the very next day and never came back.”