The Mystery of the Hichcocke Inheritance

by Mark Zahn

  written on it in flourishing pen-strokes.

  Jupiter brought the envelope out, his eyes gleaming with excitement. But when he turned the letter over in his hands to break the wax seal, a strange expression crossed his face.

  “What is it, First?” asked Bob.

  “Come on, Jupe,” Pete urged, “open it!”

  Timothy and Stella Fitchhorn were nearly dancing from foot to foot. “Yes, boy,” the fat man grinned, licking his lips, “open it!”

  “That’s just it,” Jupiter said, holding the envelope up in front of his face, “it’s already been opened!”

  The Opened Letter

  “WHAT THE DEVIL do you mean it has been opened?” Winston gaped. “It’s sealed in wax!”

  “Explain yourself, tubby,” Timothy Fitchhorn, demanded. “I’m growing quite impatient with your Sherlock Holmes routine!”

  “How do you know the letter has already been opened, Jupiter?” Ben asked.

  “Look here,” Jupe instructed. The group crowded around and looked closely at the wax seal. “I’m assuming this letter is from Mr. Hichcocke, and, if so, he originally sealed the back of the envelope in dark red wax. Now, when colored wax is put on paper, it leaves a stain,” he explained. “Whoever opened this letter re-sealed it with a different, lighter color of white wax – failing to completely cover up the darker wax from Mr. Hichcocke’s original seal.”

  Stella Fitchhorn produced a white handkerchief from her sleeve and blew her nose. “And what does all this prove?” she sniffed haughtily.

  “Simply that someone in this house may have already found the treasure,” replied Jupiter.

  The bird-like woman put her hand to her throat and pursed her lips. “But, but, w-w-we’re entitled...” she stammered.

  Winston stepped up beside Patricia and cleared his throat. “If I may, madam. I suggest we at least open the envelope and reveal what is written.”

  Patricia hesitated for a moment, eyeing the Fitchhorns as if they were a dangerous enemy. Finally she sighed and then nodded at Jupiter. “Go ahead, Jupe,” she said, “let’s see what my father had to say. I’ve had about all I can handle of these riddles. Let’s just get it over with!”

  Jupiter nodded and put his thumbs on either side of the wax seal, splitting it in two. He carefully pulled out a piece of fine parchment from inside the envelope. The paper had been folded three times. He spread it flat on the green felt of a billiard table and smoothed it with his hand. The group crowded close together so that they all might read what it said.

  The letter read:

  *

  ???,

  *

  I shall be much surprised if it is not you who are reading this – if my assumption is correct, then you should know that this letter has been sealed with wax. If the wax has been broken, or the letter is without an envelope, then someone has beaten you to it! However, all is not lost! For if you are reading this, then I must say to you...“tsk, tsk, tsk!” Your interpretation of the clues does not live up to your reputation! You did not truly believe the mystery would be that simple did you? I certainly hope not! Study the clue from the record again, and this time - remember who you are dealing with!

  Sincerely,

  *

  A.J.H.

  *

  “Unbelievable,” said Pete. “It’s not the treasure after all!”

  “Which is why the thief re-sealed the envelope,” Jupiter murmured seriously. “Whoever it was that opened this letter couldn’t deduce the last clue’s meaning – and needed us to do it!”

  The group that was gathered around the billiard table looked around at each other as if the culprit might be in their very midst.

  “We’ll put off the search until first light,” decided Jupiter. “Tomorrow morning we’ll tackle the clue from the jukebox record again and see where it leads us.”

  “Very well,” yawned Winston, “with your permission, madam, I shall retire for the evening.”

  “Of course,” said Patricia. “We should all get to bed. It’s been a long day.”

  “I’ll take a double helping of that!” Pete said. “It’s not every day that you get locked in the cellar by a ghost!”

  “What?” everyone cried together.

  “Oh, yeah,” Pete said sheepishly, “we got so wrapped up in the clue from the record that I forgot to tell you my story.”

  “You say you were locked in by the ghost?” Jupiter asked incredulously.

  “I know what you’re going to say,” Pete moaned, “you’re going to say that it was only my imagination, and that there are no such things as ghosts, and I must have jumped to conclusions.” He went on to describe everything he remembered before he was left alone in the dark cellar. “I know what I saw, and what I saw had on a dress and was holding a noose and was glowing!” he concluded.

  “Amazing,” said Winston.

  “Yeah,” Timothy Fitchhorn replied flatly, “amazing imagination. I’m going to bed!”

  His wife nodded sleepily, “I’m heading upstairs as well. You boys better come along, too.”

  “No one believes me,” muttered Pete.

  “I believe that something strange is going on in this house,” said Patricia wearily. “And I just might sleep with the lights on tonight.”

  “I’ll sleep on the floor in your room, Aunt Patty, if you’d feel more safe,” Ben offered.

  “I’d feel a lot safer,” she confessed.

  Jupiter tried to be logical about Pete’s ghost. “In a situation like that, your mind can play tricks on you,” he lectured. “Perhaps you only saw what your mind wanted to see.”

  “Or perhaps you can’t admit that there might really be a ghost in this house!” Pete grinned at his overweight friend.

  “Ghost or no ghost, someone is going to have to keep a watch at all times tonight,” Jupiter said, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. “We can take turns, switching off every three hours.”

  “I’ll go first,” volunteered Bob. “Now there are two things I want to see in England – the Tower of London and Pete’s ghost!”

  The Single Footprint

  EARLY THE NEXT morning, Pete and Bob were roughly shaken awake by Jupiter.

  “Whassis...?” Pete mumbled sleepily, “I wanna sleep in, mom...”

  “Pete!” It was Jupiter whispering in his ear. “Pete, Bob, wake up!”

  Bob stretched his arms. “What time is it?” he yawned, reaching for his glasses and looking out the window. “It’s not even light yet, Jupe.”

  “Two important things have happened,” Jupiter Jones whispered dramatically.

  “What are they?” asked Pete. “You’ve discovered you have insomnia?”

  “One is that I believe I’ve solved the riddle from the jukebox record,” said Jupiter, ignoring Pete’s sarcasm.

  “And what’s the other?” asked Bob.

  “Someone is prowling around downstairs! Get your shoes on and follow me. Maybe we can capture a ghost before breakfast.”

  “Couldn’t we have waited for the sun to come up before going on a ghost hunt?” muttered Pete to himself.

  The boys crept silently down the hallway and tiptoed down the old oak stairs. When they reached the first landing, Jupiter got down on his belly and looked around the corner of the top railing. From his vantage point he could see a shadowy figure lurking about the main floor’s great hall.

  “Whoever it is down there is looking for something,” breathed Jupiter.

  “Can you tell who it is?” asked Bob.

  “Negative – it could be anyone. We’ll have to go in for a closer look.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that,” said Pete.

  “Should we wake Ben?” Bob asked.

  Jupiter shook his head. “We’ll let him sleep in, he’s going to have a long day.” Without bothering to explain, Jupiter stood up and grasped the railing. The Three Investigators eased down the giant curved staircase, being careful not to make a sound.

  When they had reached
the last step, Pete accidently put his foot on a loose board, which gave a screech like a rusty nail being pulled from a wood plank. Pete scrunched up his face and held his breath.

  “Too late!” hissed Jupiter. “They heard it. Come on!”

  The three boys went charging into the great hallway, but stopped short when they saw it was silent and empty. They waited for a sound that might give away the intruder’s location.

  Presently, they heard a faint creak that Pete recognized. “That’s the door to the cellar,” he whispered. “In the pantry.”

  “Are you sure?” Bob urged.

  “Believe me, Records, I was hoping I would never hear that sound again!”

  “To the kitchen!” Jupiter commanded.

  With Pete leading the way, they raced to the kitchen where they saw the cellar door in the pantry standing slightly ajar.

  “We’ve got them trapped in the cellar,” chirped Jupiter with glee. “Bob, get the flashlight and candles from the cupboard.”

  Bob raced to the cupboard below the kitchen sink and grabbed the large flashlight and two candles. He quickly lit the candles and handed one to Pete. Sticking close together, they descended the cellar stairs.

  “Let’s stay close,” Jupiter intoned.

  “You took the words right out of my mouth,” Pete mumbled through clenched teeth.

  As quietly as mice, the three boys examined row after row of dusty shelves. When they had reached the last row, Jupiter silently pointed to the large door of the room Pete had been trapped in earlier, and nodded his head.

  “In there,” he mouthed silently.

  Pete and Bob gulped and nodded back. With Jupiter in the lead, they approached the iron rung door. Pete grabbed a bottle of vintage wine off the nearest shelf and handed it to Bob. Then he grabbed one for himself. He felt better having some kind of weapon in his hands, just in case there really was some kind of bloodsucking, ghoulish creature on the other side of the door.

  “On three,” Jupiter mouthed. With his fingers he slowly ticked off the numbers. When he reached three, the hefty First Investigator gripped the heavy iron ring and pulled with all his might.

  With a cry, the three boys rushed down the three stone steps and into the dank room.

  It was empty.

  Jupiter flashed his light around the small room in disbelief. Dusty shelves, crammed with junk and boxes of various sizes, lined the walls all the way around the room. It appeared as if the intruder had simply vanished.

  “He must be in here!” Jupiter said stubbornly. “Look for a hidden door.”

  Pete shook his head. “If there was a secret door in here, Jupe, I would have found it!”

  “It was dark and you were under considerable stress,” said Jupiter. “It would have been difficult for anyone to make a precise, methodical search.”

  “There’s always a lever or a catch to these doors,” said Bob. “Look for something on the shelves that seems out of place.”

  The boys began to carefully pull things off the dusty shelves. They had no luck until Bob came to a small shelf in the corner that seemed different somehow. All the other shelves nearly touched the low ceiling and were about five feet in length. But this particular shelf was only about two feet long. Bob tried to lift a small jar off the top shelf and yelped.

  Jupiter Jones was by his friend’s side in a flash. “What is it, Records?”

  “This is it!” cried Bob. “Look!” The small boy tried to pull an ancient desk fan from the shelf, but it wouldn’t budge. “Everything on this shelf is either glued or nailed down!”

  “Look for the catch” urged Jupiter.

  It didn’t take long for Bob to find it. By rotating a small can of bolts and washers, a mechanism inside the wall released a catch, and the entire shelf swung open on hinges like a door. Cold, musty air blew past the boys as Jupe shined his light into the creepy space. A narrow passageway lined in crumbling, moss covered stone, led to a flight of steep steps made of cobblestone.

  “This wall is part of the foundation,” nodded Jupiter. “Those steps must lead outside. And look at these cobwebs, they’ve been swept aside. The ‘ghost’ obviously used this as an exit. Bob, stay in the room until I’ve got the door leading outside open – we don’t want to get trapped in another passageway.”

  Bob looked nervously behind him. He hadn’t considered that the ghost might still be in the room somewhere.

  “Don’t worry, Records, the cobwebs were disturbed, so he probably went through this door,” Jupiter pointed out.

  The stocky boy went up the stairs until he reached a small door in the ceiling. Putting his shoulder against it, he heaved until the heavy trap door creaked open. Another whoosh of cold air blew past Pete and Bob.

  “This door does lead outside,” reported Jupiter. “Come on up, fellows.”

  Pete and Bob hurried up the stairs and looked around them. A cool fog rolled in from the moors, and the sun was just beginning to rise, signaling the start of a new day. Bob examined the three foot by three foot trap door and noticed that it had been sodded over, so that it blended in perfectly with the grass of the yard.

  “You wouldn’t know a trap door was here even if you were standing on top of it,” he said in genuine admiration.

  “We’re behind the house,” whispered Pete. He looked up at the foreboding stone structure. It seemed to tower over them – looming ominously, like it wanted to swallow them up.

  “Look at this,” said Jupiter, pointing to the turf at the foot of the secret doorway. Pete and Bob looked closely at the ground. In the dew covered grass was the unmistakable imprint of a large man’s shoe!

  “But there’s only one!” said Pete. “Where’s all the rest?”

  Jupiter stepped out of the trap door and placed his foot directly on top of the shoe print. It was much bigger than his own. He balanced himself for a moment and then leaped sideways onto a stone path a few feet away.

  “Our ‘ghost’ paused on one foot long enough to shut the trap door,” Jupiter explained. “Then leaped over to the stone path so as not to leave any more footprints than necessary. The act of an experienced criminal.”

  Pete and Bob came up from the secret door, closing it behind them. They stood on the ancient stone path, shivering in the misty morning air.

  “Where does the path lead?” asked Pete.

  “I was back here all day long,” exclaimed Bob, “I know exactly where it goes! The Abernathys’ cottage!”

  “Come on,” said Jupiter grimly, “it’s time to give the Abernathys a wake-up call!”

  Jupiter Has A Plan

  THE THREE INVESTIGATORS followed the stone path that led to the Abernathys’ cottage, but before they reached the front door, Jupiter stopped short.

  “Hello,” he said. “What have we here?” The stocky boy bent over and picked up a white piece of cloth.

  “It’s a handkerchief!” said Bob.

  Jupiter turned the material over in his hands and examined it closely. “A monogrammed handkerchief,” he said, holding it up for Pete and Bob’s inspection. In fine stitching they could clearly read the letters: “S.F.”

  “Stella Fitchhorn!” Pete cried.

  But Jupiter shook his head. “That footprint was too big to be hers,” he reminded them. “You’ll recall she’s a very slight woman, and that footprint was larger than my own.”

  “Mr. Fitchhorn?” asked Bob.

  Jupiter pulled his bottom lip and was quiet for a moment. “Possibly,” was all he would say. Without saying another word, the stocky First Investigator abruptly turned on his heel and jogged towards the back door of Hichcocke Manor, leaving Bob and Pete gaping at each other with bewildered expressions.

  When they finally found him in their upstairs bedroom, Jupiter was hastily loading film into his flash-bulb camera he had packed in his suitcase. “I’ll have to ask Ben to drive me into London again today,” he announced.

  “You have a plan,” guessed Bob.

  “I do. But there’s no
time to explain. Just play along. Ben and I will leave after everyone has had breakfast. Hopefully we will be back before nightfall.”

  Bob and Pete were quite used to Jupiter Jones being secretive when he had an idea or course of action in mind. It was just the way he operated. Jupe didn’t take kindly to being wrong about anything, so he often clammed up until he was sure he was right. It was a trait that could be maddening to anyone who didn’t know him well.

  “And what should Bob and I do all day?” asked Pete. “I’ll tell you one thing – I’m not going anywhere near the cellar. As far as I’m concerned it’s London’s hotspot for Monsters Incorporated!”

  “Stay close to Mrs. O’Connell,” Jupiter instructed. “I believe she’ll be safe, but it’s better not to take any chances. And keep an eye on Cousin Jebediah, the Fitchhorns, and the Abernathy’s. As of now, they’re all suspects!”

  Jupiter snapped the back of his camera closed and advanced the roll of film as he trotted down the stairs. The sunny kitchen was bustling with activity. Patricia, in a robe and slippers, was pouring coffee for her Cousin Jebediah, while Julia scooped heaping portions of eggs onto the Fitchhorns' plates. Winston entered the room with the morning paper under his arm. He unfolded it on the table in front of Timothy Fitchhorn and then turned to the boys.

  “Good morning, sirs,” he said, flashing a broad smile. “I couldn’t help but overhear the activity outside my front door earlier – I trust everything is okay?”

  It didn’t take long for Bob and Pete to see the First Investigator had some kind of scheme devised. Jupiter had been an actor on a television program when he was just a toddler called “The Wee Rogues,” in which he played a character with the unfortunate name of “Baby Fatso.” He was a natural actor then, and he could still be a very good actor now – when he wanted to. As he entered the kitchen, he allowed his shoulders to sag and his face to droop – effectively giving the impression that he was an utter and complete imbecile.

  Jupiter gave the butler a look of absolute incompetence. “Gee, we’re sorry if we woke you up,” he yawned, sitting down at the breakfast table. “We thought we heard the ghost again, but it turned out to be Pete walking in his sleep.”