The Blind Man Runs

"IF IT DOESN'T STOP SOON, I'll scream!" said the woman in the raincoat.

A gust of wind whirled up Wilshire Boulevard. It snatched at the woman's umbrella and turned it inside out. Then it rushed on, sending raindrops spattering against the shop windows.

For an instant Bob Andrews, standing at a bus stop, thought the woman really would scream. She glared at her ruined umbrella. Then she looked accusingly at Bob, as if he were to blame. Then, quite suddenly, she laughed.

"Darn!" she said. She tossed the umbrella into the trash basket that stood at the kerb. "Serves me right for coming out in a California rainstorm." She sat down on the bench next to the bus-stop sign.

Bob shivered and hunched his shoulders against the chill and the wet. It had been the rainiest April he could remember. Now, at nearly six o'clock on Easter Monday, it was cold, too, and already dark because of the storm. Bob had come to Santa Monica earlier that afternoon, bound for a fabric store to get a dress pattern for his mother. He hadn't minded giving up some of his spring vacation to do the simple errand, but now the wait for the bus back to Rocky Beach seemed endless. He impatiently wiped his glasses dry for the umpteenth time.

"Oh, here comes the blind man," said the woman on the bench.

Bob looked up the street. Over the sound of rain on the pavement he heard the tap-tap of a cane and the rattle of coins being shaken in a metal cup.

"Poor soul," said the woman. "He's been around this neighbourhood a lot lately. I always try to give him something when I see him."

She fumbled in her purse as the blind man came closer. Bob saw that he was quite thin, and he stooped as he walked. His collar was pulled up around his ears and a cloth cap was pulled down over his brow. Dark glasses covered his eyes, and a neatly lettered sign was pinned to the front of his windbreaker. It was covered with plastic and it read, "God bless you. I am blind."

"Nasty night," said the woman. She stood up and dropped a coin into his cup.

"Argh!" said the blind man. His white stick rapped against the kerb, then banged on the bench. He tapped back and forth along the edge of the bench, then sat down.

Bob and the woman watched the blind man for a moment, then turned away and stared at the lighted windows of the bank across the street.

The cleaning people in the bank had just finished their chores. The counter-tops gleamed and chairs were placed in precise order. There were two cleaners--a man in bib overalls who wore his grey hair long and shaggy, and a short, stout woman. They waited at the door that led from the bank out to the lobby of the office building in which the bank was located.

A uniformed security man with a bunch of keys hurried forward from the back of the bank. He exchanged a word or two with the cleaning people, then unlocked the bank door and let them out.

As the cleaning people crossed the lobby and disappeared into an elevator, Bob glanced down at the blind man again. He could see grey hair at the edges of the man's cloth cap, and a Stubble of neglected beard on the man's cheeks. A broad, ugly scar ran from the man's jaw to his cheekbone. The accident that caused the scar must have been a terrible one, thought Bob. He wondered whether that accident was what had cost the man his sight.

The beggar leaned forward, as if to get up from the bench. His foot somehow caught on his cane and he lurched sideways, half-sitting and half-standing.

"Oh!" cried the woman. She seized the beggar's arm to steady him.

The metal cup fell to the ground and bounced away. Coins scattered in all directions.

"My money!" cried the beggar.

"We'll get it!" said the woman. "Don't you move."

She crouched to pick coins off the wet pavement and Bob began to fish in the gutter for the money. The woman retrieved the metal cup, which had rolled against the trash basket, and dropped the coins into it.

"Have you got it all?" said the blind man. "It took me all day to get that much."

Bob dropped a wet quarter and two dimes into the cup. "I don't think we missed any," he said.

The woman handed the cup to the blind man, who dumped the coins out into his palm and fingered them over. He made a wordless, guttural sound, then said, "Yes. It's all right."

"Are you waiting for the bus?" said the woman. "I think I see it coming now."

"No," said the man. "Thank you, lady. I live near here."

Bob glanced across the street. The cleaning man had appeared again in the lobby. He stood rattling the bank door. The security man was coming from the back of the bank with his keys out. He opened the door and there was a brief exchange between himself and the cleaning man. Then the cleaner went into the bank.

The blind man got up and started away, tapping at the pavement with his stick.

"Poor soul," said the woman. "I hope he doesn't have far to go."

Bob watched the blind man's slow progress down Wilshire.

"Oh, he's dropped something," said the woman.

"Hey, mister!" called Bob. "Wait a second!"

The beggar didn't hear him. He tapped on down the street.

"Wait!" called Bob. He trotted forward and scooped a wallet from the pavement.

The blind man reached a side street now. He stepped to the kerb, felt his way with the cane, and stepped out on to the road.

The beggar's thin figure was caught in the glare of oncoming headlights. A car was coming up the side street, a little too fast. As it braked for the stop sign, it skidded on the wet surface. The woman at the bus stop screamed, and Bob shouted. Brakes squealed. The blind man twisted and tried to dodge away from the car that sped down upon him. Then there was a thud, and the beggar was rolling on the road.

The car stopped. The driver leapt out. Bob ran, and so did the woman. All three reached the fallen man at the same time.

The driver went down on his knees beside the blind man and tried to take his arm.

"No!" screamed the beggar. He struck at the man with his fist and the man pulled back.

"My glasses!" The beggar groped wildly.

The woman picked up the dark glasses. They had not broken, and she handed them to the beggar.

The blind man put the glasses on and felt for his cane.

The driver of the car was a young man. Bob saw in the glow of the headlights that his face was white with shock. He picked the cane up and put it into the blind man's hand.

Slowly the blind man got up. He turned his head in a searching way, as if he could see if only he tried hard enough, and he started off down the side street. He was limping now. As he went he gasped with pain.

"Mister, wait a second!" cried the driver.

"We ought to call the police," said the woman. "He must be hurt!"

The blind man went on, striking out with the stick, limping, gasping, yet moving almost at a trot.

Bob ran after him, calling for him to wait.

The man disappeared into an alley behind a row of stores. Bob followed. It was so dark that he stumbled, his hands out in front of him to feel for obstacles. At the end of the alley he came out into a little yard. A light bulb burned over the back door of a building, shining on a garbage bin and a cardboard carton that was slowly disintegrating in the rain. Bob saw a second passageway that led back out towards Wilshire, but he saw no sign of the beggar. The man had vanished!

2

The Lost Wallet

"HE COULDN'T REALLY BE BLIND," said Bob. "How could a blind man get away so fast?"

"Perhaps a blind man can move quite rapidly when he's familiar with a place," said Jupiter Jones. "And, of course, a blind person is used to navigating in the dark." Jupe spoke in the careful, somewhat fussy way that was characteristic of him.

It was the next morning, and Bob was with his friends Jupiter and Pete Crenshaw in Jupe's outdoor workshop at The Jones Salvage Yard. The rain had passed. The morning was clear and fresh, and the boys were reviewing the events of the evening before. The wallet that the beggar had dropped lay on Jupe's workbench.

"Even if he was a phony, why would he run?" said Bob. "He acted as if he were scared of us."

Bob stopped and thought for a moment. "I guess none of us were acting as if we had much sense," he said. "The lady who was waiting with me at the bus stop just disappeared while I was in the alley. I suppose the bus came and she automatically got on it. And the driver of the car that hit the blind man drove off when I told him the man was gone. And I stood there like a dope with the wallet. I should have given the driver the blind man's name, and my name too."

"You were in shock," said Jupe. "In emergencies, people often behave in odd ways."

While listening to Bob, Jupe had been tinkering with an old television set that his Uncle Titus had brought into the salvage yard the week before. Jupe had replaced worn tubes with new ones and had made several adjustments to the inside of the set. Now he put the television upright on the workbench and plugged in the set.

There was a promising hum. "Aha!" said Jupe.

"You've done it again," said Pete, in mock admiration.

"Perhaps," said Jupe. He twisted a dial.

The three boys grinned. Jupiter Jones was something of a genius when it came to repairing things or making things out of salvaged parts. He had put together three walkie-talkie radios which the boys used with great enjoyment. He had repaired the old printing press that now stood in one corner of the workshop. He was also responsible for the periscope that was part of the equipment in Headquarters--an old mobile home trailer which was hidden away near Jupe's workshop, concealed by piles of junk and all but forgotten by Jupe's Uncle Titus and Aunt Mathilda.

Jupiter's aunt and uncle were aware that Jupe, Bob and Pete were interested in crime and detection. They knew that the boys called themselves The Three Investigators. But they did not know how really active the boys were in the field. The mobile home had been fitted with all sorts of equipment to help the Investigators solve the puzzles that came their way. It held a small crime lab, complete with fingerprint equipment and a microscope. The boys did their own film developing in the photographic darkroom. A filing cabinet was filled with notes on their cases, and there was a telephone which they paid for with money they earned helping out around the salvage yard.

It appeared that a television set would now become part of the furnishings in Headquarters. The set on Jupe's workbench squawked to life, and a picture flickered on to the screen and steadied.

". . . coming to you with a mid-morning news-break," said an announcer.

A newscaster appeared on the screen and wished everyone a good morning. He then said that the latest Pacific storm had passed through Los Angeles, and that Southern California could look forward to several days of clear weather.

"There have been mudslides in the hills above Malibu," said the newsman. "And in Big Tujunga Canyon, residents are mopping up after yesterday's flash flood.

"On the local crime front, our remote unit is on the scene of a daring robbery that took place at the Santa Monica Thrift and Savings Company less than two hours ago.

"Thieves entered the bank yesterday evening disguised as the cleaning crew. They imprisoned the security guard in the bank's board room, and were waiting this morning when employees reported to work. When the time lock was released at eight forty-five this morning, Samuel Henderson, executive vice-president of the bank, was forced to open the vault. The holdup men escaped with approximately a quarter of a million dollars in cash and an unknown amount in valuables from the safe-deposit boxes. Stay tuned for additional details when we return at noon."

"There!" said Jupe. He switched the set off.

"Good grief!" exclaimed Bob. "The Santa Monica Thrift and Savings! I was right across the street from that bank last night when the blind man . . . when . . ."

Bob stopped. He looked rather pale. "I must have seen one of the holdup men," he said.

Pete and Jupe waited, watching Bob.

"Yes, sure I did," he said. "From the bus stop I could look across the street right into the bank. I saw the cleaning people leave and go up in the elevator. Then the man came back--the cleaning man--and he knocked at the bank door and the security man opened it."

"He came back?" said Jupe. "The same man?"

"Well, I suppose . . . I suppose . . ." Bob looked puzzled. "I don't know," he said. "The blind man dropped his cup and his money rolled all over the place. So the lady and I picked it up, and after we gave the cup back to the blind man, that's when I saw the cleaning man at the bank door."

"So it could have been a different man?" said Jupe.

Bob nodded.

"What a scheme!" cried Pete. "The cleaning people finish their work and go upstairs. Then somebody who's dressed up to look like a cleaning man comes and knocks at the door. The security guy lets him in and whammo! The security guy winds up stashed in a back room and the crooks are inside the bank and they're home free. No alarms. Just sit and wait for the employees to show up."

"Why sure!" said Bob. "It must have been that way."

"Did you see where the cleaning man came from?" asked Jupe. "I mean, whether he came into the lobby from the elevator or the street?"

Bob shook his head. "The guy was already at the bank door in the lobby when I noticed him. I thought he'd come back down in the elevator. But I guess he could have come in from the street, if he wasn't one of the cleaners in the building."

"Which opens up an interesting line of thought," said Jupiter. He picked up the wallet that Bob had left on the workbench. "Say the man came down the street. The blind man dropped his money just as the bogus cleaning man was approaching the bank door. You and the woman at the bus stop bent down to pick up the money. Anyone would do the same. And you were so occupied with the task that you didn't see the robber enter the lobby. Does that suggest anything?"

Bob gulped. "The blind man was a lookout!"

Jupe examined the wallet. "This is very nice," he said. "It's made of ostrich skin and it came from Neiman-Marcus. That's one of the most expensive stores in the city."

"I didn't notice that," said Bob. "I only looked to see if the blind man had a telephone number in it so I could call him. But he doesn't."

Jupe looked through the wallet. "One credit card, twenty dollars in cash, and a temporary driver's licence. Now what would a blind man be doing with a driver's licence?"

Bob nodded. "Right. Of course. He was faking. He's not blind."

"Hector Sebastian," said Jupe, reading from the licence. "According to this, he lives at 2287 Cypress Canyon Drive in Malibu."

"Malibu is a nice place," said Pete. "Maybe being a beggar pays better than you'd think."

"It may not be the beggar's address," Jupe pointed out. "Perhaps the man is a pickpocket and he stole the wallet. Or perhaps he just found it somewhere. Have you looked in the telephone directory for Hector Sebastian, Bob?"

"He's not listed," Bob answered.

Jupiter stood up. "We may have something here that would interest the police," he said. "On the other hand, the fact that a blind man dropped this wallet may mean nothing at all. The fact that the blind man ran away may mean nothing. But Cypress Canyon Drive isn't very far from here. Shall we investigate before we decide what action to take?"

"You bet!" said Bob.

The boys all had their bicycles with them. In a few minutes they were on Pacific Coast Highway pedalling north towards Malibu. In less than half an hour they had passed the main shopping area of the famous beach community.

Cypress Canyon Drive was a narrow road that turned and twisted for a couple of hundred metres as it climbed up from the Coast Highway, then ran roughly parallel to the highway but some distance inland from it. As the boys rode along the drive they could hear cars and trucks on the highway, and they could glimpse the ocean between the trees that lined the drive on the left. On the right, the coast range sloped up and away, with the sky clear and blue beyond the tops of the mountains.

"I don't think anybody really lives here," said Bob, after they had gone some distance along the rutted, muddy road. "I don't see a single house. Do you suppose the address on that driver's licence is a phony?"

"The plot thickens," said Pete. "Why would a blind man have a driver's licence? And if that is the beggar's licence, why would it have a fake address?"

The drive dipped into a hollow where a small stream of water ran across. Then it climbed again. On the far side of the rise the boys stopped. There was a gully in their path which might have been dry in summer, but which was now a torrent of brown water. And beside the road on the left, almost at the edge of the muddy wash, there was a shabby, barnlike old building with dormer windows in the second story. Neon tubing ran along its eaves. A sign across one end proclaimed that it was Charlie's Place.

"A restaurant?" said Bob.

Jupe took the wallet out of his pocket and looked again at the driver's licence. "Number 2287," he said. "That's the number on that new mailbox out in front."

The boys heard a car on the road behind them. They moved aside, and a red sports car came splashing slowly through the little stream they had already forded. A thin man with greying hair and a lined, somewhat sad face passed without seeming to notice the boys. He turned into the muddy yard that was the parking lot of Charlie's Place, stopped his car, got slowly out, and took a cane from the floor of the vehicle. Then he went slowly up sagging steps into the ramshackle building, letting a dilapidated screen door slam behind him as he disappeared.

"He's got a limp!" exclaimed Pete. "Hey, Bob, didn't you say that the beggar limped when he ran off last night?"

"Well, he limped after he got hit by the car. Who wouldn't limp?"

"Could that man be the beggar?" said Jupe. "Is he at all like the beggar?"

Bob shrugged. "He's about the same size, and I guess he's about the same age, but there must be a million guys like that."

"Very well," said Jupe. Suddenly he was brisk and businesslike. "I'm going in there."

"What are you going to do?" asked Pete. "Go in and buy a hamburger?"

"I may," said Jupe. "Or I may simply ask for directions. But one way or another, I'll find out who that man is. Bob, you had better keep out of sight. If that man was outside the bank in Santa Monica last night, he might recognize you--and he might get nasty."

"I'll wait with Bob," said Pete. "I'm allergic to guys who might get nasty."

"Chicken!" Bob taunted.

"I'm only ambitious," said Pete. "My ambition is to live until I am very, very old."

Jupe chuckled. Leaving his friends standing beside the road, he pushed his bicycle into the parking area of Charlie's Place. He leaned the bike against the wall of the building and went up the steps. He crossed the little porch, put his hand on the screen door, and pulled. The door opened.

Jupe stepped out of the sunlight into a place that was dim. He saw polished hardwood floors and dark wood panelling. Straight ahead through a wide doorway was a large, empty room. Its front wall was made entirely of windows, which looked out through the trees to the sparkling ocean beyond. Jupe guessed this room had once been the main dining room of a restaurant. The restaurant was clearly out of business now.

Jupe was standing in a wide passageway that was really a sort of lobby outside the huge room. To the left of the lobby was an area that was a dusty jumble of coffee urns and counters and stools and booths. Jupe realized that this had once been a coffee shop. He looked to the right and saw a wall with several doors in it. There were cartons and crates piled in the coffee shop and more cartons piled up in the lobby. Several crates stood on the hardwood floor of the big room. One crate was open, and packing material overflowed and drifted down its side.

Jupe moved forward slowly. He was about to call out when he heard the sound of a telephone being lifted from its cradle. He stood still and listened. Someone out of sight in the big, bright room ahead of him dialled a number.

There was a pause, and then a man said, "This is Sebastian."

After another pause the man spoke again. "Yes," he said, "I know it will be expensive, but everything has its price. I'm prepared to pay for it."

At that moment something small and hard pressed into Jupe's back just above his belt.

"Please to reach for the sky," said a soft voice. "If you move I make you in two pieces!"

3

A Man of Mystery

JUPITER RAISED HIS HANDS above his head. He could feel his scalp prickle.

"I only wanted . . ." he began.

"Please to be quiet!" said the person behind him.

There were footsteps on the hardwood floor. The grey-haired man who had driven up a few minutes before appeared in the doorway to the big room. He stood leaning on his cane, looking at Jupe with his head slightly to one side, as if he were puzzled.

"What is it, Don?" he said. "Who is this?"

Jupe frowned. There was something familiar about this man. Jupe could not be sure whether it was just the voice, or the tilt of the head. Had they met somewhere? If so, where? And when?

"This person breaks and enters," said the individual who was holding Jupe at gunpoint. "He stands and listens to you talk on the telephone."

"I only wanted to ask directions," said Jupe. "The sign outside says this is Charlie's Place. Isn't it a restaurant? And I didn't do any breaking and entering. The door was open."

"Well, of course," said the grey-haired man. He came towards Jupe, smiling. "It used to be a restaurant, and the door is open, isn't it?"

Jupe saw that the man's cheeks were ruddy, and that his high, thin nose had recently been sunburned. It was now peeling. The eyes under the thick, grey-black brows were very blue. "Relax, young friend," said the man. "Don couldn't shoot you even if he wanted to."

Jupe cautiously lowered his arms. He turned to look at the person called Don.

"You think I have gun," said the man with satisfaction. He was an Oriental, not much taller than Jupe, quite slim, with a smooth, pleasant face. He held a wooden mixing spoon with the handle pointed towards Jupe. "You see it is not really gun," he said. "It is trick I see on television."

"Hoang Van Don came from Vietnam recently," said the grey-haired man. "He is presently learning English by watching late-night television. I see now that he is also learning other useful things."

The Vietnamese man bowed. "If imprisoned in upper room, proper course to follow is to braid bedsheets into rope. If bedsheets not available, slide down drainpipe."

The Vietnamese bowed again and disappeared into the shadows of the coffee shop. Jupe stared after him with curiosity.

"You wanted directions?" said the grey-haired man.

"Oh!" Jupe started. "Oh, yes. A river crosses the road just beyond here." Jupe pointed. "Does the road continue on the far side? Is there any place we can cross, or should we go back to the highway again?"

"The road doesn't go on. It dead ends just beyond the river. And don't even try to cross that gully. It's quite deep. You'd be swept off your feet."

"Yes, sir," said Jupe, who was not really listening. He was staring curiously at one of the cardboard cartons that stood in a corner of the lobby. Half a dozen books were piled on the carton, and all seemed to be copies of the same title. Jupe saw black dust jackets and brilliant scarlet lettering. The cover illustration on the top copy showed a dagger stuck through a document. Dark Legacy was the title of the book.

"Hector Sebastian!" said Jupe suddenly. He walked over and picked up one of the books. Turning it over, he found a photograph on the back--a photograph of the man who now stood facing him in the dim little lobby.

"Why, it is you!" said Jupe. For once the poise on which he prided himself completely deserted him. "You are the Hector Sebastian! I mean, you're the one who's been on television!"

"Yes, I have," said the man. "A few times."

"I read Dark Legacy," said Jupe. His voice sounded strange in his own ears. It was high and excited. He was babbling like a star-struck tourist. "It's a terrific book! And so is Chill Factors! Mr. Sebastian, you sure don't need to rob any banks!"

"Did you think I did?" said Hector Sebastian. He smiled. "Well, now, I don't think you just wandered in here looking for directions. What's this all about?"

Jupe's face got red. "I . . . I don't even like to admit what I was thinking," he said. "Mr. Sebastian, are you missing your wallet?"

Sebastian started. He felt in the pocket of his jacket. Then he patted his hip pocket. "Good heavens!" he exclaimed. "It's gone! Do you have it?"

"My friend Bob has it," said Jupe. Very quickly he told Sebastian of Bob's adventure the night before. He described the blind man who had dropped the wallet, and he mentioned the bank robbery and the accident in which the blind man was hit.

"Terrific!" said Mr. Sebastian. "It sounds like the beginning of a Hitchcock movie."

Jupe immediately looked crestfallen.

"What's the matter?" said Mr. Sebastian. "Did I say something wrong?"

"Not really," said Jupe. "It's only that Mr. Hitchcock was a friend of ours. When Bob wrote up our cases, Mr. Hitchcock used to introduce them for us. We felt very bad when he died, and we miss him."

"I'm sure you do," said Mr. Sebastian. "But I don't understand. What sort of cases? And where is your friend Bob, who found my wallet?"

"I'll get him!" said Jupe. "He's right outside."

Jupe barrelled out the door and trotted across the parking lot. "Come on!" he called. "Mr. Sebastian wants to meet you. You know who he is?"

Bob and Pete looked at one another, and Pete shook his head. "Should we know?" he asked.

Jupe grinned. "I should have known," he said. "I should have recognized the name right away. My brain must be turning to oatmeal! He's the one who wrote Dark Legacy and The Night Watch and Chill Factors. He's been on all the television talk shows lately. Moorpark Studios just finished making a movie of Chill Factors, and Leonard Orsini is going to compose the score for the picture."

Pete suddenly grinned. "Oh yeah! I heard my father talking about Chill Factors. You mean this guy Sebastian is the writer?"

"You bet he is!" said Jupe. His face was flushed with excitement. "He used to be a private detective in New York City, but he was hurt when the small plane he was piloting crashed. His leg was crushed. While he was waiting for it to mend, he began to work on a novel inspired by one of his cases. It was called The Night Watch, and it became a big-selling paperback. After it came out Mr. Sebastian wrote another book called Dark Legacy about a man who pretended to be dead so that his wife could collect his insurance, and that was made into a movie. Remember? And then Mr. Sebastian gave up completely on being a private detective and became a full-time writer. He wrote the screenplay for Chill Factors after the book was sold to Moorpark Studios. Come on! Don't you want to meet him? Bob, have you got the wallet?"

"I gave it to you," said Bob. "Don't you remember? Boy, you really are bowled over!"

"Oh," said Jupe. He patted his pockets, then grinned. "Yes. Okay. Come on."

Pete and Bob followed him back to the building, and when they were inside he introduced them to Mr. Sebastian. Sebastian ushered them into the big windowed room and motioned them to the folding chairs that were placed around a low, glass-topped table. It was the sort of table that is usually outdoors on a terrace or beside a pool. The table, the chairs, and a telephone were the only furnishings in the room.

"Eventually we'll have all sorts of luxury here," said Sebastian. "Don and I moved in only last week, and we haven't had time to do much."

"You're going to live here?" said Pete.

"I am living here," answered Sebastian. He limped to the lobby and bellowed for Don. Presently the Vietnamese appeared with a tray on which there was a glass coffee server and a cup and saucer.

"Something for the boys," ordered Sebastian. "Do we have any soft drinks in the refrigerator?"

"Lemonade," said Don as he set down the tray. "Nature's Own, for tree-ripe flavour."

Jupe smiled, recognizing the advertising slogan of one of the popular brands of lemonade. No doubt this was a bit of wisdom that Don had learned from his television watching.

"Lemonade okay?" said Mr. Sebastian. He looked to the boys, who quickly nodded. Don went back to the kitchen, which was located in the far corner of the house, beyond the coffee shop.

"I wish Don would watch some cooking programmes, instead of all those old movies with commercials stuck in every five minutes," said Mr. Sebastian after the Vietnamese left. "Some of the meals that we have are unbelievable."

Mr. Sebastian then went on to talk about the old restaurant that he had just moved into, and the plans that he had for making it over into a home. "Eventually the coffee shop will be a formal dining room," he told the boys. "There's a storeroom next to the lobby that can become Don's bedroom, and I'll have a bathroom put in for him over there, under the stairs."

The boys looked towards the staircase that went up along the inner wall near the lobby. At the top of the stairs was a gallery that ran the length of the building, overlooking the huge room where Sebastian sat with the boys. The big room had a vaulted ceiling that was two stories high. The other half of the building--the front half occupied by the lobby, storeroom, coffee shop and kitchen--had rooms on the second floor, with doors opening on to the gallery.

"I know this place is a wreck," said Mr. Sebastian. "But it's structurally sound. I had an architect and a building contractor look at it before I bought it. And do you know what it would cost me to buy a house this size so close to the ocean?

"A fortune, I'm sure," said Jupe.

Sebastian nodded. "And think what a beautiful place this will be once it's fixed up. This is a great room just the way it is--a fireplace at each end and all these windows facing the ocean! And the roof doesn't leak. That's the sort of thing you may take for granted, but I lived for twenty-three years in a Brooklyn apartment where the roof leaked regularly. I had to keep a collection of buckets and pans to set under the drips when it rained."

Mr. Sebastian grinned. "Who was it who said that he'd been rich and he'd been poor, and rich was better? Whoever it was, he knew what he was talking about."

Don came in then with the lemonade. As he served the boys, Sebastian picked up the handsome wallet that Jupe had put on the glass-topped table.

"Dropped by a blind beggar, eh?" said Mr. Sebastian. He looked into the wallet. "He couldn't have been a beggar in great need. He didn't spend any of the money."

"But he was begging," said Bob. "He had a tin cup with coins in it. He kept shaking the cup."

Mr. Sebastian looked thoughtful. "I wonder how he found the wallet?" he said. "If he was blind . . ."

"Exactly," said Jupiter. "Blind people don't see things that are lying on the pavement. Of course he might have stumbled on it and picked it up. Where did you have it last, Mr. Sebastian?"

"You sound very professional," Sebastian told Jupe. "I almost expect you to whip out a pencil and pad and take notes. You mentioned Alfred Hitchcock a while ago. You said he used to introduce your cases? Are you boys learning to be detectives?"

"We are detectives," said Jupe proudly. He pulled out his own wallet and took a small card from one of the compartments. He handed the card to Mr. Sebastian. It read:

THE THREE INVESTIGATORS

"We Investigate Anything"

? ? ?

First Investigator -

Second Investigator -

Records and Research -

JUPITER JONES

PETER CRENSHAW

BOB ANDREWS

"I see," said Sebastian. "You call yourselves The Three Investigators, and you volunteer to investigate anything. That's a rather brave statement. Private investigators can be asked to do some very odd things."

"We know," said Jupiter. "We have encountered some highly unusual circumstances--even bizarre ones. That's our speciality. We have often been successful in cases where ordinary law enforcement people have failed."

Mr. Sebastian nodded. "I believe you," he said. "Young people have nimble minds, and they aren't burdened with notions about what can happen and can't."

Bob leaned forward. "We're interested in the blind beggar because we wonder whether he might have something to do with the robbery at the bank," he said. "Were you in Santa Monica yesterday? Did you drop the wallet there? Or could he have picked your pocket?"

"No." Mr. Sebastian leaned back in his chair. "I know I had the wallet yesterday morning. I remember putting it in my pocket when I left the house to go to Denicola's. I never thought of it again until just now. Obviously I must have dropped it at Denicola's, since that's the only place I went yesterday, but it must have been an accident. I certainly didn't get into any crowds where someone could have jostled me and picked my pocket--and I would have noticed a blind man."

"Isn't Denicola's the place up the coast where they have a charter boat for sports fishermen?" said Pete.

Mr. Sebastian nodded. "I keep my speedboat there," he said. "It's closer than any of the marinas. When I want to use the boat, the boy who works for Mrs. Denicola rows me out to the buoy where it's tied up. I had the boat out for a run yesterday. I must have dropped the wallet near the dock, or maybe in the parking lot there."

"And the blind man picked it up," said Pete.

"Then the blind man went to Santa Monica without saying anything to the people at Denicola's about the wallet," said Bob. "And he happened to be across the street from the bank at the exact moment the holdup men got in disguised as cleaning people. Maybe he even created a diversion by dropping his cup of coins so that the people at the bus stop wouldn't guess what was going on."

"The cup of coins may have been slippery in the rain," said Mr. Sebastian.