2 : The Stuttering Parrot
THE BIG ROLLS-ROYCE raced down the winding street.
When they had covered nine blocks, Pete and Jupiter saw
a small, black foreign car pull out of a driveway ahead
and turn towards them. It picked up speed swiftly and
raced past them. They just had time to see the figure of
the man at the wheel.
The driver was a very fat man, wearing large glasses.
They couldn’t see his face well because it was turned away
from them.
“That’s Mr. Fentriss!” Pete shouted.
“Correction. It’s the man who pretended to be Mr.
Fentriss,” Jupiter said. “Don’t let him get away. Worth-
ington! Follow to see where he is going.”
“Right, Master Jones,” the chauffeur said, and put on
the brakes. He started to turn round. Pete looked doubt-
fully after the fast-vanishing foreign car.
“What can we do if we catch him?” he asked. “We
haven’t any evidence against him. Besides, the real Mr.
Fentriss may need our help.”
Jupiter hesitated, torn between a desire to follow the
fleeing imposter and a desire to help someone who might
need their aid. Then he nodded.
“You’re right,” he said. “First we must discover if Mr.
Fentriss is unharmed. Continue to Mr. Fentriss’s house.”
he requested of Worthington.
The chauffeur continued on up the street until they
reached Mr. Fentriss’s driveway, from which the foreign
car had emerged. Worthington turned into it and eased
the big car along the narrow road, past palm trees and
bushes which brushed its sides, until they came to the rear
of the old house in which Pete and Jupiter had been a few
moments earlier.
“Pete,” Jupiter said, quietly. “Tell me—the foreign car
that passed us—did you notice anything about it?”
“It was a two-door sports model Ranger, a very good
English car,” Pete said. “Practically new. It had a Cali-
fornia licence plate. I didn’t get the number except I re-
member it ended in 13.”
“Did you get the licence number, Worthington?”
Jupiter asked.
“I’m sorry, Master Jones,” the chauffeur answered. “I
was intent on the road and failed to observe the car
closely. I did note that it was a Ranger, however, and had
red leather upholstery.”
“Well, we know something. Later we will tackle the job
of finding the fat man and his car again,” Jupiter said.
hopping out of the Rolls. “Now let’s see if the real Mr.
fentriss is within.”
Following him, Pete couldn’t help wondering how
Jupiter was going to find one single car out of the millions
of cars in Southern California. But somehow he had a
notion Jupiter would find a way.
Then Pete and his stocky partner paused abruptly. From
the gloomy old house came another cry for help.
“Help!” the voice was weak and choked. “Please,
someone—help me. Someone—quick, before I——”
The voice trailed off into nothing.
“He sounds as if he’s dying!” Pete gasped. “Come on!”
With his long legs he led the way to the back door. It
stood slightly open as if the fat man had left it that way
in his haste to leave. They entered, blinking as their eyes
adjusted to the dimmer light.
For a moment they stood listening. No sound broke the
silence, except the faint creak of an old board.
“We were in that room,” Jupiter said, pointing down
the hall. “We’d better try the opposite side of the house.”
They hurried down the hall and tried the door on their
right. It opened into a big, old-fashioned living room
which had a huge bay window.
“Who’s—there?” It was a weak voice, and it seemed to
come from a large plant in the bay window. A purple
tower bobbed up and down and Pete had the strange
sensation that the flower was talking to them.
“Has—someone come?” the flower seemed to ask.
Then Pete saw something huddled behind the tub in
which the flower was rooted, almost hidden by trailing
leaves.
“This way!” Pete cried. In a few strides he was kneel-
ing beside a very haggard, rather thin man who lay on his
side, hands and feet bound, a cloth rudely tied between
his teeth.
“It’s all right, Mr. Fentriss,” he said. “We’ll untie you.”
The knots proved quite loose and were quickly removed.
The gag Mr. Fentriss had already almost worked from his
mouth. Leaning on Pete and Jupiter, he managed to reach
a leather couch, where he stretched out.
“Thank you, boys,” he whispered.
Jupiter, looking solemn, pulled up a chair and sat down.
“Mr. Fentriss,” he said, “I think we should call the
police.”
The man looked alarmed. “No, no!” he said. “Any-
way, we can’t. I have no telephone.”
“We can call from the car, sir. We have a mobile
phone.”
“No,” Mr. Fentriss insisted. “However——” He rolled
over and leaned on his elbow to stare at the stocky boy.
“Who are you? How do you happen to be here?”
Jupiter handed him one of The Three Investigators’
cards explaining how Alfred Hitchcock had sent them.
“That was very nice of Alfred,” Mr. Fentriss said.
“Are you sure you don’t want us to call the police?”
Jupiter asked. “Naturally, if you wish us to try to recover
your parrot, The Three Investigators are at your service.
However, you have been assaulted and bound and——”
“No!” Mr. Fentriss said. “I will be very happy to have
you boys undertake the case for me. I feel I can trust you.
I have already been to the police. At first they said my
parrot probably flew away. Then, when I became insist-
ent, they hinted that since I am an actor I was seeking
publicity.”
“I understand, sir,” Jupiter said. “They might think this
was still another attempt at publicity.”
“Yes, my boy.” Mr. Fentriss relaxed. “Therefore—no
police. You must promise.”
They promised, and Jupiter requested all the facts con-
cerning the missing parrot.
“I was very attached to Billy,” the man said. “His full
name is Billy Shakespeare. You know who William
Shakespeare was, of course.”
“Yes, sir,” Jupiter said. “The world’s greatest play-
wright. Born in England in 1564 and died in 1616. His
plays are still popular all over the world. Hamlet is prob-
ably his best-known play.”
“Many’s the time I played Hamlet,” Mr. Fentriss said
with animation. “Oh, I was a great success as Hamlet.”
He put one hand against his chest and stretched out his
other hand. In a deep voice, he said, “‘To be, or not to
be, that is the question’.” Then he turned to the boys. “A
line from Hamlet,” he said. “Probably the best-known
line Shakespeare ever wrote. And my parrot used to quote
it. He said it over and over.”
“Your parrot quoted Shakespeare?” Pete asked. “He
must have been a very educated bird.”
“He was, definitely. He quoted it in a very good British
accent. There was only one drawback.”
“Drawback?” Jupiter asked.
“The poor bird stuttered,” Mr. Fentriss told him.
“When he quoted the line, he said, ‘To-to-to be or not to-
to-to-be, that is the question’.”
Jupiter’s eyes lighted with intense interest.
“Did you hear that, Pete?” he asked. “Whoever heard
of a stuttering parrot before? I have a feeling that this is
going to be a most unusual case.”
Pete had a feeling, too. He had a strange, sinking feel-
ing that Jupe was right.
As Mr. Fentriss regained his strength, Jupiter pro-
ceeded to get the facts from him. The actor had owned
his stuttering parrot about three weeks. He had bought it
from a pedlar, a small man with a strong Mexican accent
who had driven up to the house in a little Mexican don-
key cart.
“We must have all the facts, sir,” Jupiter said. “How
did this pedlar happen to come to your house?”
“Oh, Miss Irma Waggoner sent him,” the man said.
“She lives in the next block. She bought a parrot from
him, and when she heard Billy quote Shakespeare, she felt
sure I would be interested. So she sent him here.”
“I see.” Jupiter was pinching his lower lip. “Was this
man a regular parrot pedlar?”
“Why, I really don’t know.” Mr. Fentriss blinked
vaguely. “When I saw him he had just two cages on his
cart One held Billy. The other held some curious-looking
darkish bird, all bedraggled, which, he said, was a rare
black parrot. But I was sure no such thing existed. He said
no one would buy it because it looked ill.”
“Did he tell you his name or have any name written on
his cart?”
“No.” The actor shook his head. “He was raggedly
dressed, and he coughed badly, and he seemed very
anxious to sell the parrot. I bought it for only fifteen
dollars. You see, no one else had been willing to buy it
because it stuttered.”
“And it was just a plain, two-wheeled donkey cart?”
Jupiter asked.
“That’s right,” Mr. Fentriss agreed. “Badly needing
paint. It was pulled by a little donkey he called Pablo, but
that’s all I can tell you.”
“You think he stole the parrots. Jupe?” Pete asked.
“I doubt that he would have been selling them on the
open street if he had,” Jupiter said thoughtfully. “How-
ever, it is obvious that he was not the original owner and
trainer of Billy.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Quite simply. Mr. Fentriss says Billy spoke with a
British accent. The man who sold it had a Mexican
accent.”
“Oh, sure.” Pete could have kicked himself for missing
that one.
“Now, Mr. Fentriss,” Jupiter said to the tall man, who
was sitting up, “tell me all you can about the disappear-
ance of the parrot.”
“Well, my boy,” Mr. Fentriss answered, “about three
days ago I went for an evening stroll. I left the door un-
locked and the window open. When I returned. Billy was
gone. There were tyre tracks in my driveway, and I don’t
own a car. To me it was obvious that someone had driven
up, entered the house, and stolen Billy in my absence.
“And the police said he flew away!” The actor’s voice
grew deep with scorn. “Have you ever heard of a parrot
flying away and taking his cage with him?”
“No, sir,” Jupiter agreed. “Now that we have the
background facts, please tell us all you can about what
happened to-day. That is, about the fat man and what he
wanted and how he came to tie you up.”
“That scoundrel!” the actor exclaimed. “First he told
me his name was Claudius, and that he was from the
police. They had sent him to help me find my lost parrot.
He asked more or less the same questions you did, and I
gave him the same answers. Then he asked me if I knew
anyone else in the neighbourhood who had bought a par-
rot from the pedlar, and I mentioned Miss Waggoner.
“That seemed to interest him very much. Next he asked
me what my parrot said when it spoke, and I told him I
had already reported that to the police. This seemed to
confuse him, but he replied he merely wanted to check, so
I told him that Billy always said, ‘My name is Billy Shake-
speare. To be or not to be, that is the question.’
“At this he grew even more excited, and wrote the
speech down carefully.”
“Excuse me. Mr. Fentriss,” Pete put in. “You didn’t
tell him that Billy stuttered?”
“No.” The actor passed his hand across his forehead. “I
was afraid the police would simply laugh at the idea of a
stuttering parrot.”
“Yet Mr. Claudius was very interested in the bird’s
speech,” Jupiter said. “Can you tell us anything more,
sir?”
“I don’t believe so.” The actor shook his head. “Oh,
yes, one strange thing. This man, Mr. Claudius, asked me
if the pedlar had had any other parrots for sale. I men-
tioned the dark bird that seemed ill, and he became tre-
mendously excited.
“‘That must be Blackbeard,’ he said out aloud. ‘Yes,
that certainly must be Blackbeard.’ At that point I be-
came very suspicious. I became convinced that Mr. Clau-
dius was not from the police at all.”
“Excuse me. Mr. Fentriss.” Jupiter looked at the notes
be had been making. “I forgot to ask for a description of
your parrot,” he said. “What type of parrot it is. You
know, there are many varieties.”
“I know nothing of such things,” Mr. Fentriss said.
“However, Billy has a beautiful yellow head and chest.”
“Now, Mr. Fentriss, what happened when the fat man,
Mr. Claudius, saw you were suspicious of him?”
“Why, I confronted him,” the actor said indignantly
He drew himself up to his full height. Like an actor on the
stage, he stretched out his hand. “‘You are not from the
police!’” he said in a deep, dramatic voice. “‘I believe
you are the infernal scoundrel who stole my Billy. Return
him at once or it will be the worse for you.’ That’s what
I said.”
“And then?” Jupiter asked.
“And then,” said Mr. Fentriss, “we heard a noise out-
side. Mr. Claudius rushed to the window. Apparently he
saw you boys coming up the path, and he may have
thought the police were with you. He swiftly overpowered
me. I called for help, but he bound me, gagged me, and
hurried out. After that I lay here until you rescued me.
“I don’t understand it at all,” he said. “But I do want
Billy back. Do you think you can possibly find him for
me?”
“The Three Investigators,” Jupiter said, “will do their
best.”
Then, having all the information they could get, they
said good-bye and Jupiter led Pete back to the car.
Worthington was polishing it, but he ceased as they
appeared.
“Home, Master Jones?” he asked as they clambered in.
“I guess so,” Jupiter agreed. As they started out the
long, winding drive, he turned to Pete.
“I think it is almost certain,” he said, “that Mr.
Claudius stole Billy Shakespeare. He came back because he
needed more information. Our first job, then, is to locate
Mr. Claudius.”
“I’d rather not,” Pete said. “He looked like a man who
could use a real pistol just as easily as he used that cigar
lighter. Anyway, how can you find him without any clues
at all?”
“I will ponder the problem,” Jupiter said. “There must
be some way——Worthington, look out!”
His warning was not needed. The chauffeur had already
seen the new grey sedan racing into the driveway directly
towards them and had turned the wheel hard. The Rolls-
Royce ploughed into an old, neglected flower bed while
the oncoming sedan shrieked to a stop, brakes locked,
tyres skidding, as the small, sharp-eyed man at the wheel
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