Marilyn hesitated. “We have a little time,” she said. “That man called again. I told him we were still trying to find the book, only it was hard when we don’t know exactly what we’re looking for, and he said, ‘One more day. You have one more day. I will not wait longer.’ ”
“So we have until tomorrow,” said Jupe. He then explained about Dr. Barrister. “He must know people who can read old manuscripts. Shall we take the book to Ruxton?”
“Maybe you’d better,” said Marilyn after a pause. “If we give away something that my dad really wants, he would have a fit. Even if we save his life, he could have a fit. He’s like that. So go ahead. We’ve got nothing to lose because I have no way to contact this guy, whoever he is, to let him know we’ve got the thing.”
She stopped for a second, then went on, “I probably shouldn’t have the book here in the house anyway. Somebody was here while I was with my mom last night. Somebody searched my room. I could see that my bureau drawers were different, like somebody took stuff out and then put it back. If it was the man who has Dad, he’s also got Dad’s keys, doesn’t he? He can come and go as he pleases.”
“Call a locksmith,” said Jupe. “Have the locks changed. Okay, we’ll try Dr. Barrister and we’ll let you know.”
Next, Jupe phoned Dr. Barrister at Ruxton. He was in luck. Even though summer vacation had started, the professor was still coming into his office every day. He promised to wait for the boys.
The Investigators hurried back to the salvage yard and begged Uncle Titus for a ride.
“You need a lift out to Ruxton?” said Uncle Titus. He grinned and pulled at the end of his big mustache. “I promised your Aunt Mathilda I’d deliver some bricks to a man in North Hollywood,” he said. “I’ll have to pass right by Ruxton. The truck is loaded already. Come on. Don’t dillydally. Let’s go!”
The three boys scrambled into the back of the smaller salvage-yard truck, and they were off down the highway. In less than an hour Uncle Titus deposited them on the Ruxton campus, promising to return a little later.
Dr. Barrister was in his office with a friend — a skinny man with a very bald, very shiny head. “This is Dr. Edouard Gonzaga,” said Dr. Barrister. “Dr. Gonzaga heads up our Department of Romance Languages. He has a special interest in old Spanish manuscripts.”
Jupe beamed. He produced the bishop’s book and handed it to Dr. Gonzaga.
Dr. Gonzaga opened the book and looked at the first page. “Ah!” he said. He turned the page, and then another and another. A huge smile lit up his whole face. “Incredible!” he exclaimed.
“What is it?” asked Jupe.
“January first, at Santa Fe de Bogotá,” said Dr. Gonzaga, turning back to the first page. “The author writes of saying Mass and of praying for the people of New Granada that God might bless their efforts. After Mass there was waiting at the palace a letter from His Most Gracious Majesty King Carlos.”
Dr. Gonzaga looked up from the book. “You may have a real treasure here,” he said. “The author of this journal probably was a bishop. He writes about a palace, and a bishop’s residence is always called a palace. His Majesty wrote to him, which is hardly a thing that would happen if he were only a humble priest. It will have to be verified, of course; there are ways to find out how old a book is. We can analyze the paper and the inks and so forth. But it seems you may have the missing diary of Enrique Jiminez, the bloodstained bishop!”
“The bloodstained bishop?” echoed Jupe.
Pete gulped. “Wh-why was he bloodstained?” he asked. “Did something happen to him?”
“Eventually, my boy, something happens to all of us,” said Dr. Gonzaga. “Life is a terminal affair, and no one gets out of it alive. The bloodstained bishop caught a cold. In the old days a cold could be serious indeed. It could easily become pneumonia, and that was often fatal. There were rumors that one of the unfortunate prelate’s servants neglected him as he lay sick, and so hastened his death. No one was certain. The only thing that was known at the time was that the bishop’s manservant disappeared after the bishop’s death. Several members of his household told how Bishop Jiminez wrote every day in his journal, but no journal was ever found.”
Dr. Barrister beamed at the Three Investigators. “There’s a mystery for you,” he said. “You boys should love it! Of course, it’s about four hundred years old, and by this time the clues are very cold.”
“Gold might be involved,” said Dr. Gonzaga. “When the Spaniards marched through South America, claiming lands left and right for their king and queen, gold was often involved. Shiploads of it left the New World bound for Spain. The Spaniards took what they could find, then pressed the Indians into service and forced them to mine more. This Bishop Jiminez was said to be cruel to the Indians who worked in the gold mines. That was the reason they called him the bloodstained bishop. Whether he was really to blame, or whether it was the agents of the Spanish king — the overseers who supervised the work at the mines — well, after hundreds of years, who can be sure?
“At any rate, the bishop was supposed to have regretted the harshness. In his old age he worked to improve the conditions of the Indians. Unfortunately people often pay more attention to wickedness than to repentance. It is the bloodstained bishop that people remember today, and not the kindly reformer.”
The boys were silent for a moment, thinking of the long-ago events and wondering how they might have supplied the motive for the recent crime of kidnapping.
“If that book really is the missing diary of Bishop Jiminez, would it be very valuable?” Jupe asked at last.
Dr. Gonzaga looked doubtful. “Valuable? Well, that’s one of those relative terms. It would be of interest to scholars and historians, but it wouldn’t be a fabulous find — not like a draft of the Magna Charta or a letter from Queen Isabella to Christopher Columbus, for example. Nobody would pay a fortune for it.”
Dr. Gonzaga tucked the book under his arm. “But to a scholar?” he said. “Fascinating! I can’t wait to sit down with this and start working on a translation and —”
“Oh, no!” cried Bob.
“There isn’t time!” said Pete.
“I beg your pardon?” Dr. Gonzaga’s smile disappeared.
“The most recent owner of the book has been kidnapped,” said Jupe. “The kidnapper is demanding the bishop’s book as ransom. If the book isn’t turned over to the kidnapper tomorrow, there is no telling what might happen.”
“Oh,” said Dr. Gonzaga. “I see. I… don’t suppose there’s time to make a photocopy? No, of course not. This sort of book has to be sent to a lab to be photographed properly. A Xerox machine wouldn’t do.”
Dr. Gonzaga took the book from under his arm. For a few moments he stared at it as if it were a priceless treasure. Then, with a sigh, he handed it to Jupe.
“I hope it won’t vanish again,” he said. “If by any chance you can save it… ”
“Of course,” said Jupiter. “You’ll be one of the first to know.”
The boys started for the door. But Jupe turned back suddenly. “Do you know anything about tears of the gods?” he asked.
“Tears of the gods?” echoed Dr. Gonzaga. “That’s a name that some Indians in Colombia give to emeralds. Why do you ask? Does it have anything to do with the book?”
“It might!” said Jupiter.
“Emeralds!” Bob leaned back in his chair and grinned at the ceiling in Headquarters. “Spanish conquerors! A stolen diary! A vanishing servant! What a case this is! Wait till Mr. Sebastian hears about it.”
Hector Sebastian was a mystery writer and a friend of the boys. He always took a lively interest in their cases.
Jupe chuckled. “Mr. Sebastian would probably like us to wait,” he said, “at least until we put all the pieces of the puzzle together.”
He had the print-out of the computer message on the desk in front of him. “Tears of the gods,” he said. “And all for Marilyn, according to this message. But where are the tears? And what does the bloodstained bishop have to do with them?”
“There are lots of emeralds in Colombia,” said Bob. “According to those library books I read, Colombia is the biggest producer of emeralds in the world. Sounds like Marilyn has to go to Sogamoso to find them. I wonder if that bishop had anything to do with emerald mining, or was it just gold?”
“If Pilcher is giving Marilyn a bunch of emeralds,” said Pete, “she could be one really rich lady.”
Jupe looked at his watch. “It’s getting late. The afternoon is practically gone. We’d better call her and tell her what we know so far,” he said. He pulled the telephone toward him and dialed the number of the Pilcher house. Marilyn answered on the second ring.
“It’s me,” said Jupe. “You sound jumpy. Did you hear from the kidnapper again?”
“No, but I’m not leaving the phone. Did you find out anything from your friend at Ruxton?”
“We did. The book we found may be the diary of a bishop who lived in Colombia a few hundred years ago. He was called the bloodstained bishop because he was cruel to the Indians who worked the gold mines there. The diary disappeared when the bishop died. We can’t be absolutely sure about any of this without leaving the book with Dr. Barrister’s friend Dr. Gonzaga so he can have it analyzed. We didn’t want to do that.”
“You bet you didn’t,” said Marilyn.
“One more thing,” said Jupiter. “We know about the tears of the gods. It’s the way the Indians in the Andes refer to emeralds.”
“Emeralds, huh?” Marilyn was silent for a second, then she said, “Well! Emeralds. I wonder what Dad meant. Is he leaving me a bunch of emeralds? And what’s all the mumbo jumbo about an old woman and midsummer’s day? It sounds like witchcraft — you know, like I’m supposed to go to the crossroads by the light of the moon and bury a rabbit’s foot — that kind of stuff.”