“Baby, Why Ain’t You My Baby No More?” crashed to a conclusion, but there was no period of silence. The band roared right into “Rockin’ Rockin’ Rockin’ All the Night.”
Pete pounded the door in frustration. What can I do? he thought. There’s a sick old man out there in need of help. What can I do? What would Jupe do?
“Calm down and use your head!” came the voice of the First Investigator in Pete’s memory.
Right! thought Pete, and he slowly looked around the tiny room. His eye fell on the window.
The window! Pilcher had a nice, old-fashioned bathroom with a window. Outside the window a tree grew quite close to the house. It looked like a good sturdy alder — ideal for climbing up, or down.
Pete shoved up the window, then pulled over the table on which Pilcher’s bathroom books were piled. Hopping up on the table, he poked his head and shoulders outside.
He looked down. He was at the side of the house. A cement walk lay directly beneath him. If he fell, he would break a leg, at the least. Or an arm. Or he might crack his skull.
But Pete, the best athlete of The Three Investigators, was an expert tree climber. He wasn’t likely to fall. And he didn’t dare fall.
If I don’t get downstairs and find some help fast, he told himself, Old Man Pilcher might die!
Pete went down the tree as quickly as he dared, barely pausing to test handholds and footholds. No one had been in the yard beside the house when he climbed out the bathroom window, but by the time he reached the ground a red-haired girl had appeared. “What a fun way to come down,” she said. “Most people just use the stairs.”
“Right,” said Pete. He didn’t bother to explain but simply dodged past the girl and ran to the other side of the house, where the long windows were open to the living room.
The music was still blasting when Pete stepped through a window into the mob scene inside. Guests struggled to talk above the sound of the band. Jupe and Bob were sweating slightly as they valiantly passed trays. Pete darted through the crowd toward Marilyn Pilcher, who stood talking to a woman in a gray silk dress. Pete touched her elbow to get her attention. She turned, and when she saw Pete, she scowled. “You’re supposed to be with my father,” she shouted above the music.
Pete started to explain, then shook his head and beckoned for her to follow him to the kitchen.
As they went through the dining room she spotted Ray Sanchez at the far end of the room. He was hovering over Harry Burnside as the caterer set platters of thinly sliced ham and turkey and bowls of pasta salad on the buffet table. Marilyn crooked a finger at Sanchez, and he followed her into the empty kitchen and closed the door behind him to muffle the noise of the band.
“Your dad locked me in the bathroom,” Pete told Marilyn, “when I went in to wash my hands. And a minute or two later I heard a thud. I think he fell. I yelled, but he didn’t answer, so I climbed down a tree, and I think —”
That was as far as he got. Marilyn Pilcher ran for the back stairs, and Sanchez strode after her.
The door to the dining room inched open. Jupe looked in. Bob peeked over his shoulder. “What’s up?” asked Jupe.
“I think Old Man Pilcher freaked out,” Pete told him, and explained what had happened. “The daughter’s gone up to check on the old guy.”
Jupe looked at the ceiling, then at the back stairs. He started toward them.
“You think you should do that?” asked Bob. “Marilyn Pilcher might not like us butting in if her dad has really flipped.”
“If Mr. Pilcher isn’t well, his daughter may need help,” Jupe said primly.
“Go right up, if you don’t mind carrying your head under your arm,” warned Pete, but after a moment he started up the stairs after Jupe. He had seen Jupe operate too many times as leader of The Three Investigators. Jupe could hold his own if Marilyn Pilcher challenged him.
Bob hesitated, then followed Pete.
The upstairs hall was a blizzard of feathers. A pillow had broken open there. The crumpled tick lay on the floor, and feathers swirled everywhere. Marilyn Pilcher was wading through them, banging doors open, looking into rooms, shouting. Sanchez wasn’t shouting, but he was looking.
“He’s got to be here someplace!” cried Marilyn. “Where could he go? There’s no place he could go!”
The door to Pilcher’s bedroom stood open.
Jupe looked in and saw the impression of Pilcher’s body on the wrinkled bed sheets. Tiny flames danced in the fireplace across from the bed, sending wisps of blackened, burned paper up the chimney. Jupe frowned. The day was very warm. Why would anyone light a fire?
Jupe ran to snatch the tongs from the stand beside the fireplace. He tried to rake the fire out onto the hearth, but there were only the brittle remains of burning paper. They fell to bits as soon as the tongs touched them.
“What are you doing?” Marilyn Pilcher grabbed the tongs from Jupe. Her voice was rough with anger. “Why aren’t you downstairs passing things? Get out!”
“Miss Pilcher, my associates and I may be more useful to you if we remain,” Jupiter said, using his most adult manner. Unhurried, he got to his feet. “We have had considerable experience examining places where unusual happenings have occurred,” he explained. “Frequently we have been able to reconstruct events and solve mysteries that have baffled other investigators.”
Marilyn Pilcher’s mouth opened, but for a moment the girl was speechless. Pete wanted to cheer. Jupe had done it again!
Jupe now looked calmly around. The bathroom door was still closed; an old-fashioned skeleton key rested in the lock. Jupe went to the door and unlocked it. The bathroom was just as Pete had left it, with the little table under the window and the window open.
Jupe removed the key and tried it in the door between the hall and the bedroom. It fit the lock there. “It would probably work in any door in this house,” Jupe observed. “Miss Pilcher, before your father disappeared, he locked Pete in the bathroom. Does he often treat his guests that way?”
“Your buddy isn’t a guest,” snapped Marilyn Pilcher. “He works here, remember?”
“Very well,” said Jupe. “Does your father often shut his employees in the bathroom?”
He looked toward Pete. “After you were locked in, you heard a thud. Something fell. You think it was a body? Could it have been Mr. Pilcher?”
“It… I suppose it couldn’t have been anyone else,” said Pete. “There wasn’t anybody else here.”
“Was that fire burning in the fireplace when you were sitting with Mr. Pilcher?” Jupe asked.
“No.” Pete shook his head. “No fire.”
“It’s a warm day,” Jupe observed. “Why would anyone light a fire?”
Jupe looked toward the bed. “One torn pillow on the hallway floor,” he observed. “No pillows on the bed. Was the torn one damaged earlier? And shouldn’t there have been two pillows on that bed? Double beds usually have two pillows.”
Pete frowned. “I think there were two, but I didn’t really notice.”
“Of course there were two,” snapped Marilyn. “Look, all this Sherlock Holmes stuff is not impressing me. You guys get downstairs and pass the food like you’re supposed to, and —”
“Up to a certain point I can tell what happened here today,” said Jupiter, ignoring her orders. “It’s perfectly clear. Pete went into the bathroom, and your father got up quietly, took the key from the bedroom door, and used it to lock Pete in. Then he burned something in the fireplace.”
Ray Sanchez had come into the bedroom. “He must have had something he didn’t want anyone to see,” Ray said. “He is very secretive.”
“Ray, don’t encourage this kid!” Marilyn scolded. She turned to Jupe. “So he burned something,” she said. “Then he tore up one of his pillows, and he took the other with him and he hid someplace. He’s ornery. He might do that just to get to me. He’s done worse things when he didn’t like what was going on — and believe me, he doesn’t like what’s happening today.”
“So he’s trying to frighten you?” Jupe prompted. “If that’s what he’s doing, where is he hiding?”
Marilyn made an exasperated noise and turned away to continue her search. Ray Sanchez joined her. After watching for a minute, the Three Investigators started opening doors too. Marilyn began to protest, then muttered, “Okay, okay! I guess I can use all the help I can get.”
The boys saw that the big square bedrooms of the old house were almost uniformly dusty. Most of them appeared to be unoccupied. Some were furnished with beds and dressers, some were empty except for floor-to-ceiling shelves crammed with books and papers.