CHAPTER 8 : The Man With The Scar
AS THE ROAR of the landslide subsided, the boys found
themselves in pitch darkness. The air was full of dry,
gritty dust.
“Jupe,” Pete said, coughing,“we can’t get out.
We’re trapped! We’ll suffocate.”
“Breathe through your handkerchief until the dust
settles,” Jupiter advised him. He felt round until he
found his partner in the darkness, and put a hand on
his shoulder.“Don’t worry about the air. This crevice
must go a long way into the hillside, so there’s plenty
of air in here for now. Thanks to Skinny Norris, we at
least have a torch.”
“It’s thanks to Skinny Norris we’re here!” Pete
exclaimed wrathfully.“Wait till I get my hands on
him. I’ll wring his skinny neck!”
“Unfortunately we can’t prove it was he who rolled
the rocks down upon us,” Jupiter said.
As he finished speaking, a broad beam of light from
the torch displaced the darkness. Jupiter slowly
moved the beam round the entire crevice in which
they found themselves. It was a kind of rough natural
cave, about six feet high and four feet wide. To the
rear it rapidly narrowed to a mere crack which,
though it seemed to extend into the hillside for a long
distance, could not be entered.
Where the mouth of the crevice had been, a huge
rock was jammed. Other boulders topped it and
surrounded it, and spaces between these were filled
with dirt.
“Our exit,” Jupiter remarked,“is effectively
barricaded.”
“Even at a time like this you use long words!” Pete
complained.“Why don’t you just say we can’t get
out? We’re stuck.”
“I won’t say we can’t get out because that fact
remains to be proved,” Jupiter said.“Help me push
against these boulders ... If they can be moved――”
But they couldn’t. Both boys thrust against the
barricade with their full weight, to no avail. Panting,
they paused to get their breath.
“Worthington will eventually come looking for us,”
Pete said gloomily.“But naturally he won’t be able to
find us. Then he’ll call in the police and the Boy
Scouts and they’ll look for us. But nobody will be able
to hear us yell through all this rock, and if they do
find us, it’ll be about next week. And then――What
are you doing?” he broke off to ask.
Jupiter Jones was down on his knees, staring
towards the rear of the crevice and using the torch to
illuminate the area.
“I see ashes of a camp-fire under the dust,” he said.
“Obviously in the past some wayfarer used this
crevice for a shelter.”
He reached out, brushed loose dirt off something,
and pulled free a stick about four feet long and two
inches thick. One end had been whittled to a point It
was charred and burned, the point broken.
“And here,” he said,“is the stick he used to hold
his food over the fire. This is a very fortunate find.”
Pete looked at the stick dubiously. It had been there
a long time, and was old and fragile.
“That isn’t strong enough to pry any rocks loose,”
he said,“if that’s what you’re thinking of.”
“It isn’t,” Jupiter assured him.
When Jupiter had a scheme in mind, he usually
preferred not to explain it in advance. He liked to see
how his ideas worked before he talked about them. So
Pete did not ask any questions as his stocky
companion unhooked from his belt his prized Swiss
knife, with its eight blades. He opened the large
cutting blade and went to work on the charred tip of
the stick.
When he had the point sharp again, he stood before
the wall of rock and dirt which imprisoned them.
Shining the torch carefully over the whole expanse, he
picked a spot near the corner of the rocky wall and
inserted the point of the stick into the dirt. After a
moment it met an obstruction. He withdrew it and
inserted it a few inches away.
Then Jupiter gently twisted and pushed the stick,
finding a crevice between some smaller rocks. After a
minute or two the stick went forward easily. Jupiter
pulled it back. Some dirt trickled back in with the
stick. But both boys spied a tiny hole of bright
daylight where it had been.
Jupiter returned to the job of probing. the wall of
rock and dirt. Time after time the stick met an
obstruction, but he did not give up. After some
minutes, he had pushed away enough dirt so that they
could clearly make out a small rock, about the shape
of a football, near the very top of the wall.
“Now,” Jupiter said with satisfaction,“if you will
push on the lower left side of that rock, Pete, making
certain to push towards the right instead of straight
ahead, I believe we’ll find my stratagem successful.”
Pete stood on a loose rock, braced himself, and
pushed as Jupiter had advised. At first the rock
resisted. Then it gave way suddenly and popped out of
place. It went on down the hillside and with it went a
dozen other boulders, leaving a clear space almost two
feet high at the top of the entrance to the crevice.
“Jupe, you’re a genius!” Pete said.
“Please!” Jupiter winced slightly.“Don’t call me a
genius. I simply endeavour to exercise my native
intelligence to its fullest ability.”
“All right,” Pete agreed.“But you got us out of
here―or will have as soon as we crawl through that
hole.”
But when they were finally outside and brushing the
dirt from themselves, a moment of doubt assailed the
taller boy.“Golly, look at us!” he said.“We’re a
mess!”
“We can wash our hands and faces and get the
worst dirt off our clothes at some service station,”
Jupiter decided.“Then we will continue on to Mr.
Rex’s residence.”
“We’re still going to see Mr. Rex?” Pete asked, as
Jupiter led the way down to the road, now more rock-
strewn than ever. They were heading back towards the
spot where Worthington and the car waited.
“Yes,” the First Investigator told him.“It is now
too late to enter Terror Castle by daylight. We’ll just
have time to see Mr. Rex.”
As they came into sight, Worthington turned
towards them with an exclamation of relief. He had
apparently been pacing back and forth beside the car.
“Master Jones!” he said.“I was beginning to
worry. Did some mishap befall you?” he asked,
eyeing the condition of their hands and faces and
clothing.
“Nothing serious,” Jupiter said.“Tell me, did two
boys leave Black Canyon about forty minutes ago?”
“Somewhat longer ago than that,” Worthington
said, as they climbed into the car.“Two lads came
running this way, saw me, and ducked to one side.
They entered some bushes down the road. Apparently
they had concealed a car there, for a moment later a
blue sports car roared off.”
Pete and Jupiter looked at each other and nodded.
Skinny Norris’s car was a blue sports car.
“And then,” Worthington continued,“I heard the
sound of rocks sliding. When you did not appear, I
began to fear for your safety. My orders are that I
must never let this car out of my sight, but if you had
not appeared in another moment, I would have come
in search of you.”
“You heard the sounds of rocks sliding after the
two boys drove away?” Jupiter asked.
“Definitely after,” Worthington said.“Where to
now, sir?”
“Number 915 Winding Valley Road,” Jupiter said,
his tone absent-minded. Pete knew what was puzzling
him. If Skinny Norris and his pal had driven away
before the landslide, then who had pushed down the
rocks that had imprisoned them in the crevice?
Pete glanced at his companion. Jupiter was
pinching his lip, deep in thought.
“We seem to have solved the mystery of the other
tyre tracks,” Jupiter remarked.“Obviously Skinny
Norris made them. But then whom did we see in the
canyon after Skinny and his friend ran away?”
“Maybe it was the little man who wasn’t there,”
Pete said.“Anyway, it wasn’t a spook, phantom,
ghost, or spirit.”
“No, whoever it was was human enough,” Jupiter
agreed.“When we come to a gas station, Worthington,
we’d like to stop long enough to wash up.”
After they had cleaned up, the car took them up a
long, winding drive over the ridge of the mountains,
then down into the broad valley beyond. They turned
right, and after another mile found the beginning of
Winding Valley Road. At first it was a wide, attractive
drive, with expensive houses on both sides. But as it
continued on back up into the ridge they had just
crossed, it became more narrow and winding. In
places the walls were almost vertical. At other spots
there was barely room for a tiny bungalow or an old
shack.
Still Winding Valley Road continued, rising higher
and higher, getting narrower, until finally it came to
an abrupt end against a steep, rocky slope, with a
small turn-round area to enable a motorist to reverse
his direction.
Worthington brought the car to a stop with an air
of bewilderment.
“We’ve reached the end of the road,” he said.“But
I do not see any habitation.”
“There’s a mailbox!” Pete exclaimed.“It says Rex-
915. The house must be round here somewhere.”
He and Jupiter climbed out. The mailbox leaned
beside a ragged bush. Behind it a rough trail of rocky
steps led up the hillside, through other bushes and
small trees. They started up this, and in a few
moments they had left the car many feet below them.
Then they rounded a clump of shrubs and saw,
tucked against the side of the hill, an old-fashioned
Spanish bungalow with a red-tiled roof. To one side
of the bungalow, against the canyon wall, were several
very large cages, and in these cages hundreds of
parakeets were flapping and flying from perch to
perch, keeping up a constant screeching sound.
As the boys stopped and stared at the cages of
brilliantly coloured birds, they heard footsteps behind
them.
They turned and gazed with startled eyes at the man
who was coming up the trail behind them. He was tall
and completely bald, his eyes hidden behind huge
black glasses. A livid scar ran across his throat from
below one ear almost to his breastbone.
He spoke, and his voice was a sinister whisper.
“Stand right where you are! Don’t move a step, do
you hear?”
As they stood frozen, he came towards them,
swinging in his left hand a great machete, its razor
edge gleaming in the sunshine.
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