Earthquake! It was an earthquake! Any second the old house would come down. The roof would pull away from the walls and fall in to crush them. They had to get out!
But Jupe could not get out. He could not even stand up. He lay on the heaving floor, his nails digging into the wood beneath him. Any minute the house would collapse. Jupe was trapped!
16
Complaints!
The shaking went on and on. Would it ever stop? Jupe clung to the floor, obsessed with the mad idea that he would fall off if he did not keep a firm grip on the boards beneath him.
He heard timbers groan and squeal around him. The roof was trying to pull away from the walls that held it up. There was a shattering, long drawn-out sound nearby and Jupe winced. Somewhere a wall was giving way. A house was coming down. Was it this house? Would Jupe and his friends be crushed — buried in debris?
The shaking stopped at last. Trembling, Jupe sat up. He saw a square of light in the blackness of the room, and he knew it was a window, and so he knew that the wall was still there. The house hadn’t collapsed. Jupe was safe. So were Pete and Bob.
Pete spoke up in the darkness. “I hate it when that happens! I’ll never get used to it — not ever!”
“Move to Illinois.” Bob was trying to make a joke of it, but he sounded shaky.
Jupe staggered to his feet. When the shaking started, Ramon had been standing in the outer doorway with his bat in his hand. Now he was gone.
Jupe went to the door and looked out. He saw the air thick with dust, and he smelled the musty, dry-rot smell of old houses, but there was no sign of Ramon.
Car lights blazed on the freeway, but the noise was muted. The tireless, endless stream of traffic had halted. People shouted and horns blasted, but nothing moved.
With a shock, Jupe realized that he shouldn’t have this unobstructed view of the freeway. Minutes ago there had been a house in the way. That house had changed its shape. It looked more like a lean-to shed. Three of the walls had collapsed, and the roof had come down. It leaned against the one remaining wall like a giant, tilted pot lid.
But that was the house where Navarro had imprisoned Pilcher! “Oh, no!” Bob groaned. “He’s buried —” He was interrupted by a light. A car was coming, bouncing across the cleared area near the wrecked house. Its headlights stabbed through the blackness and touched Ramon.
Ramon stood gazing helplessly at the remains of the old house. He looked around toward the approaching car. The headlights blinded him, and he did not see the second car behind the first one. The second car had red and blue lights flashing from the top. It was a police car.
Jupe grinned. The police had arrived.
Ramon turned to look back at the boys. He still had the baseball bat. The Three Investigators braced themselves. If he came at them, they would have to move fast.
But Ramon dropped the bat and started to run. In a flash he had disappeared beyond the fallen house.
The police car jolted to a halt. The doors flew open and two officers jumped out and raced after Ramon, shouting for him to stop.
The other car stopped and Ray Estava got out. He was moving almost as quickly as the policemen. “Mr. Pilcher!” he yelled, racing toward the wrecked house. “Mr. Pilcher! It’s all right.”
A voice came back — a high, cracked voice. “It is not all right! Don’t be an idiot! A house just fell on me. Don’t tell me it’s all right!”
Incredibly, Jeremy Pilcher was still alive in that ruined place — alive and complaining! The policemen reappeared. They had overtaken Ramon before he reached the freeway. He was handcuffed and he marched between the officers with his head down.
“That’s the kidnapper!” Bob stepped toward the officers.
Ramon tried to yank free and kick, and Bob ducked away.
The officers put Ramon into the back of the squad car as Estava cried, “Don’t worry, we’ll get you out, Mr. Pilcher!”
“Don’t be all night about it!” snapped the cranky collector.
At that point Estava remembered who he was and why he was there. He thought of his father, ruined by the old grouch in the wreckage.
“Mr. Pilcher, drop dead!” he said. He stalked back to his car, got in, and did not do one more thing to help — not even when a third car came hurtling across the field with Marilyn Pilcher at the wheel.
“Estava must have phoned Marilyn,” Pete guessed. “No wonder it took him half the night to get back.”
Mrs. Pilcher was with Marilyn. She helped to restrain the girl when she tried to go in through the window in the one standing wall so that she could comfort her father.
“You leave it to us,” said one of the two police officers. “We’ll get him out.”
“Get the lead out of your pants!” shouted Pilcher. “Don’t stand there talking about it!”
The house creaked and groaned and threatened to come down completely.
The two policemen went in through the window, and the watchers outside held their breath. For the moment Pilcher was safe. The leaning roof and the one standing wall formed a sort of tent over the old collector. But there were often aftershocks following a quake. Even a mild one could bring the rest of the house on Pilcher and the rescuers.
There was no aftershock, but an officer soon came back out of the window. He scowled at the boys.
“The old man is chained to the floor,” he said. “Nobody warned us.” He went to his car and called in for help.
Firemen came after that. It took almost half an hour for them to arrive, but once they were on the scene, they went about the rescue of Jeremy Pilcher in an efficient way. Two of them climbed through the window and surveyed the situation. They called for a hacksaw. After they used the hacksaw, they needed a crowbar. The boys heard wrenching and heaving in the wreckage. Then a stretcher went in through the window.
Shortly after, Jeremy Pilcher was lifted out. By that time an ambulance was waiting. “Careful, you clumsy ox!” Pilcher cried as the attendants lifted him into the ambulance.
“Oh, Dad!” Marilyn got in to ride to the hospital with her father. “Dad, just this once take it easy, huh?” she said.
At that instant there was an aftershock. The earth rumbled briefly. The old house where Pilcher had spent his captivity collapsed completely into a pile of termite dust.
17
An Ancient Mystery
The Three Investigators were ready and waiting when Dr. Gonzaga arrived at The Jones Salvage Yard a week later. As the professor from Ruxton drove them up the coast toward Malibu, the boys filled him in on their upcoming visit.
“You’re going to like Mr. Sebastian,” Pete promised. “He’s a terrific guy. He used to be a private eye in New York. Now he writes mysteries out here. He’s got this neat house that used to be a restaurant.”
“And he’s got a houseman from Vietnam,” added Bob. “Hoang Van Don. You just call him Don. He’s nice, but he’s kind of weird about food. Some of the stuff he cooks is great, but some of it is — bleaaah!”
Following Jupe’s directions, Dr. Gonzaga soon turned off the Coast Highway and drove slowly up a rutted canyon road to a big white-painted house.
“Hey, look!” Pete pointed. The house door was open and a very small girl stood on the porch. She wore a headband with a red feather stuck in it.
“Ah,” said Dr. Gonzaga. “A little Indian girl. You didn’t tell me about her.”
“She’s a new member of the cast,” Jupe said, “and I don’t think she’s an Indian.”
Dr. Gonzaga saw then that the child was Oriental. She smiled shyly and waved. Hoang Van Don came onto the porch and took her by the hand.
“Chumash princess!” he called. He pointed to the child. “Learning ways of early people in California.”