13 : A Wild Flight
HALF AN HOUR later they started out in the truck. Mr.
Claudius was driving, and everyone was in a very cheerful
mood. Pete and Bob sat in the front seat. The five parrots
in their cages were hung from a rod arranged across the
inside of the closed truck, and Mrs. Claudius rode back
there to tend to them.
It was a good many miles from Mr. Claudius’s hiding
place in the mountains beyond Hollywood to the house
where Carlos and his uncle lived, in the flatlands down
the coast, but they expected to arrive by mid-afternoon at
the latest.
After they had been winding down the lonely hill road
for a few minutes, Mrs. Claudius called to her husband in
an alarmed voice from the rear of the truck.
“Claude! I was looking through the window in the rear
door. There’s a car following us! ”
“Following us?” The fat man peered into the rear-view
mirror fastened to the front wing. “I don’t see any, my
dear.”
“It’s behind a curve—there it is. About a quarter of a
mile behind us.”
“Yes!” he said. “I see it! A big grey sedan. Are you
sure it’s following us?”
“I can’t be positive,” his wife said. “But it certainly
looks that way.”
“Grey sedan?” Pete asked excitedly. “Let me have a
look.”
He couldn’t see over to look into the outside rear-view
mirror. Finally he solved the problem by opening the door
on his side and leaning out, with Bob grasping him round
the waist.
“I don’t see——” he began. Then, “It’s gaining on us!
And it looks just like the car we met in Mr. Fentriss’s
driveway!”
“Huganay!” Mr. Claudius groaned. “He’s on our trail!
What will we do?”
“Keep ahead of him until we come to a town!” his wife
said, sharply.
“There’s no town for five miles,” Mr. Claudius said.
“Just these lonely hills. But I’ll do my best.”
He stepped on the accelerator, and the old truck began
to race down the long, winding road through the hills.
They went round one curve and saw a drop of five
hundred feet with only a flimsy guard-rail at the edge of
the road. The truck skidded along the guard-rail and
jolted back into the road, as Bob and Pete swallowed
hard, their hearts pounding.
“Huganay is right behind us now!” cried Mrs. Claudius.
“He’s trying to pass us.”
“I see him in the mirror,” her husband muttered. “I’ll
do what I can.”
He swung the truck to the middle of the road. Behind
them a horn blared and brakes screamed. The grey sedan,
which had started to pass, fell back. The truck went rock-
ing and swaying down the mountain road, holding to the
centre and keeping the car behind from passing.
Then up the long slope ahead they saw a big Diesel
truck, and they were heading straight for it.
“Look out!” Bob yelled. Mr. Claudius swung the
wheel. They gained their own side of the road and rock-
eted past the truck, getting just a glimpse of the astonished
expression on the driver’s face.
The grey sedan also swung over to miss the big truck.
Then in a burst of speed, the sedan roared up beside
them. Bob and Pete, hanging on for their lives, saw three
men in the sedan-three men and a boy. Pete recognised
the man nearest them, waving to them to stop. It was
Huganay. But they both recognised the white face pressed
against the window of the rear door. It was a thin, long-
nosed face that mingled triumph and fear. It was certainly
the well-known, if not well-appreciated, face of E. Skinner
Norris.
“Skinny Norris!” Pete exploded. “Wait’ll get him! I’ll
fix him!”
At that moment, though, it looked as if he would never
have the chance. They came to a stretch of the road where
on their side a steep slope fell hundreds of feet down to a
small stream. And inch by inch the grey sedan was
crowding them towards the edge.
“I have to stop. Huganay will kill us!” Mr. Claudius
cried, jamming on the brakes. The truck came to a stop
inches from the edge, while the sedan stopped exactly
beside them, so close that they were trapped. They could
not get out either door. On one side the deep gulch
yawned under them. On the other, the grey sedan pre-
vented the door from opening.
The well-dressed Frenchman smiled across at them,
puffing on a cigar.
“Ah, Claude,” he said in feigned good humour. “Fancy
meeting you here. America isn’t such a large place after
all.”
“What do you want, Huganay?” the fat man asked. He
was sweating and his face was white. “You almost killed
us then.”
“Nonsense,” the other said. “I knew you would stop. I
believe you have a cargo of parrots in your truck. I am
very fond of parrots, so I am going to relieve you of their
responsibility. Adams, go round to the back and get the
parrots out of the truck.”
“Yes, sir!” The little man who had been driving slipped
out and went round to the back, where Mrs. Claudius
could be heard protesting.
“Let him have the birds, Olivia,” Mr. Claudius called
to his wife. “There’s nothing we can do.”
Pete and Bob could see her passing out the five cages to
the small man in the road. They could also see the face of
E. Skinner Norris who, now that the danger was past,
seemed to be enjoying the triumph. He rolled down the
rear window of the sedan so that he could speak to them.
“Ha!” he jeered. “Investigators! What a joke you kids
are! Actually helping a crook! ”
Bob and Pete disdained to answer him. By now Adams
had the cages out on the road beside the sedan, but he
paused.
“Boss,” they heard him say, “these cages will take up
room. That kid is in the way.”
“Okay, boy,” Huganay said, “climb out.”
“Climb out?” Skinny Norris looked startled. “But I’m
helping you.”
“You’ve finished helping us. Lester, toss him out.”
“Sure, boss,” the third man in the sedan said. He was a
big, ugly bruiser, sharing the rear seat with Skinny. It
took him only a moment to send Skinny Norris flying out
of the sedan so hard that he almost fell into the road.
He regained his balance and turned to Huganay. His
face was almost comical in its dismay.
“But you promised me a five-hundred-dollar reward.”
he protested, “for tracking this criminal for you and help-
ing you get the parrots back.”
“Send him a bill, kid,” Adams smirked. He finished
putting the parrot cages into the sedan. “Hey, boss, there’s
one missing. The dark one isn’t here.”
“It isn’t?” Huganay leaned out of the car so that his
face was only inches from the pale countenance of Mr.
Claudius.
“Claude,” he said, and his voice was low and danger-
ous, “where is Blackbeard? I have to have all seven to
have the complete message.”
“So you did get into my apartment and read my notes!”
The fat man showed a spark of spirit. “That’s how you got
on my trail!”
“Claude,” the other man repeated, “where is Black-
beard? I have to have all seven.”
“I don’t know!” Mr. Claudius cried. “I haven’t seen
him!”
“But those boys have.” The Frenchman transferred his
gaze to Pete and Bob. The man’s grey eyes had a pecul-
iarly deadly quality. “They’re very clever lads. Tell me,
boys, where is Blackbeard?”
“We haven’t got him,” Bob said defiantly. What he
said was true—they didn’t have him. Jupiter had him,
back at Headquarters.
The grey eyes studied them for a moment, then spotted
the slip of paper Mr. Claudius had tucked into his outside
breast pocket—the paper on which Bob had written the
names of all the parrots and the passages they knew so
far.
Mr. Huganay reached over and plucked the paper from
Mr. Claudius’s pocket.
“You’re usually very tidy, Claude,” he purred. “So this
may be important. If——Ah!” he studied it with pleas-
ure. “Four of the seven parts. So we do not need Black-
beard. We have the other three parrots now and can un-
ravel the complete message at my leisure. Au revoir,
Claude. See you in London.”
The big sedan started up and in a moment was out of
sight. Mr. Claudius, whose face was now a pasty colour,
leaned against the steering wheel and groaned.
“What is it Claude?” his wife asked. “Are you ill?”
“My stomach again,” the fat man gasped. “The pain
has come back.”
“I was afraid that would happen! We’ve got to get you
to a hospital.”
The woman jumped out of the back of the truck, hur-
ried round to the front and slid in behind the wheel,
pushing her husband over as gently as possible. Bob sat
on Pete’s lap to make room. Mr. Claudius groaned and
doubled up, his arms wrapped round his stomach.
“It’s a stomach condition,” the woman told the boys as
she started the engine. “At times of great excitement it
flares up. He’ll have to spend several days in hospital.”
She looked across at the boys.
“Please don’t mention what has happened to anyone,”
she said. “Unfortunately, Huganay is not wanted in this
country by the police, and we can bring no charge against
him. Publicity would mean that the story of the painting
would come out and someone might find it while Claude
is in hospital. Naturally, if you can by any means locate it,
his offer of a reward still holds. But don’t risk a clash
with Huganay. He can be very dangerous—very dan-
gerous.”
They had almost forgotten E. Skinner Norris. But now,
before they could start, the tall, thin boy hurried across
the road to put a hand on the truck door.
“Wait!” he said. “You’re going to give me a ride into
town, aren’t you?”
Mrs. Claudius gave him a look that made the tall
boy cringe.
“Get in,” she said sharply. “I want you to tell us exactly
how you put Huganay on our trail. You had better start
talking—fast!”
“Well,” Skinny Norris said, speaking rapidly. “I hap-
pened to be walking down the street in Rocky Beach
when that car stopped and that Mr. Huganay spoke to
me. He asked me if I knew some boys who rode round in
an antique Rolls-Royce sedan, which he had traced there
by the licence plate number.
“I said sure I did”—he gave Bob and Pete an uneasy
smile—“that they called themselves investigators but
were-were——”
He saw the two boys looking at him and faltered. Pete
spoke up.
“Go on, Skinny,” he said. “Say it”
“I said you were just some kids playing at being detec-
tives who won the use of the car for thirty days in a con-
test,” Skinny said, hurriedly. “Mr. Huganay asked me if
any of you had recently acquired one or more new par-
rots, particularly yellow-headed ones. I said I’d find out
and he gave me a number to call. He said some rare
yellow-headed parrots had been stolen, and he would give
me a hundred and fifty dollars for any I located. Then he
drove off.
“Well, that night I was in Hollywood, and I acciden-
tally learned you really were looking for yellow-headed
parrots, and I got the address where there was one. So I
got there first and bought it. After I bumped into you
there, I hurried to telephone to Mr. Huganay.
“He was very nice. He said he was sure you were help-
ing a criminal engaged in stealing rare parrots, but proba-
bly didn’t know it. He asked me to follow you, if I could,
to see where you went
“I drove round the neighbourhood until I sported the
Rolls-Royce. Then I parked round the corner. I was
pretty puzzled when it drove off without you, but then I
saw you come out with a parrot and get into this truck. So
I followed the truck until I saw where it went. After that I
drove to the nearest phone to call Mr. Huganay again.
He congratulated me and said to wait for him at the
phone, that he’d pick me up and we’d nab the criminal
and I’d get a five-hundred-dollar reward.
“He came and we were just in time to see you starting
out in the truck, so we followed and—and—well, I didn’t
know he was a criminal himself.”
Skinny Norris had never looked so miserable since Pete
and Bob had known him.
“Well, that’s the whole story,” Skinny said nervously.
“That’s enough. I’ve heard all I need to. Now get out!”
Mrs. Claudius shouted. “You can walk the rest.”
Skinny slipped out of the truck, trembling.
“Thanks to you, young man, I have to take my hus-
band to a hospital. Thanks to you, a dangerous criminal
will find a lost masterpiece.” Mrs. Claudius’s voice was
cold. “You may think about that on your long walk
home.”
She started the truck. Behind them Skinny Norris stood
miserable and forlorn in the road, watching them go. Bob
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