"Aw, it could happen to anybody," Pete answered. "I mean, it sounded so logical.

Who could guess we were going to run into some kind of gang? Especially when we didn't find any traces outside of anybody using this place as a hangout."

"Yes, and I was so sure Mr. Terrill must be the one who was responsible," Jupiter said, "that it never occurred to me to suspect otherwise. Tell me, can you move your hands?"

"I can wiggle my little finger, if that's any help," Pete said. "I'm all tangled up in these meshes."

"Fortunately I have the use of my right hand," Jupiter told him. "I am making some progress towards freeing myself. Maybe you can help by telling me where to cut next."

Pete flopped over on his side. Jupe did likewise. Now that his partner's back was towards him, Pete could see that Jupiter had managed to get at a Swiss knife that hung from his belt. Its eight blades included a screwdriver and a pair of scissors.

Jupiter had opened the tiny pair of scissors and had snipped several of the net's meshes so that he could get his hand out.

"Cut over towards your left," Pete whispered. "You'll be able to get your left hand free ... That's it."

The scissors were small and the net seemed to be made of tough nylon, but with Pete directing Jupiter made progress. Soon he had both bands free. After that he was able to make much faster progress. He was starting to cut off the whole bottom half of the net when they suddenly heard footsteps.

For a moment they were too terrified to move. Then Jupiter's wits began to work, and he rolled quickly over on to his back, to hide the cut net. They waited with pounding hearts.

In a moment a stooped old crone came into the room, holding an electric lantern high over her head. She wore tattered gipsy robes and had huge gold rings in her ears.

"Well, my pretties," she cackled, "resting nice and comfortably? So you wouldn't take the warning that Gipsy Kate, good Gipsy Kate, went to so much trouble to leave you! And now look what's happened to you. Always heed a gipsy's warning, my pretties, and you'll be the better for it."

Something about the stiffness with which they lay attracted her attention, for she hurried directly to their sides.

"Tricks, my pretties, tricks?" she cackled. Deftly she turned Jupiter over and saw the cut net.

"So that's it! The chicks want to escape!" She grasped Jupiter's wrist and twisted it. The knife fell to the floor. She scooped it up. "Now we must teach you a lesson, pretty ones," she said, and raised her voice. "Zelda!" she screamed. "Ropes! Ropes!

Our birdies want to fly away."

"I'm coming, Kate, I'm coming," a voice answered in English accents. In a moment a tall woman well dressed appeared in the doorway. She held a length of rope in her hand.

"They're clever, very clever," the gipsy crooned. "We must tie them tightly, tightly. You help hold this one while I truss him up."

Pete could do nothing but watch as the two women made short work of securing his partner again. First they cut the net loose from Jupiter, then tied his hands securely behind his back. Next they tied his feet. Finally they ran a rope from his wrists to a rusty old iron ring set into the stone wall.

Since the net that held Pete was still intact, they just wound the rope round him a few times and tied it well.

"Now they'll stay, Zelda," the old gipsy cackled. "They'll never leave. I've convinced the men we mustn't be cruel. Oh no. we mustn't be cruel, we mustn't spill blood. We'll just leave them and close the door to this dungeon cell. They'll never tell anyone what has happened."

"It's a pity," the Englishwoman said. "They seem like nice boys."

"Don't get soft now, Zelda," the gipsy screeched. "We voted, and you can't go against the vote. Hurry now, we must hide our tracks and be gone."

She took the light from the wall and scurried out. The Englishwoman held the other lantern and played its beam down on the two helpless boys.

"Why did you have to be so stubborn, ducks?" she asked. "Everyone else got scared and stayed away. One little tune from the terror organ, and no one else has ever returned. Why did you have to keep coming back?"

"The Three Investigators never give up," Jupiter said stubbornly.

"Sometimes it's more sensible to give up," the woman replied. "Well, it's time for me to say goodbye. I hope you won't be frightened in the dark. I have to go now."

"Before you go," Jupiter said and Pete had to admire the way he kept his voice steady "may I ask a question?"

"To be sure, boy, to be sure," the woman said.

"What criminal enterprise are you and your confederates engaged in?" Jupiter asked.

"La, such long words!" The woman laughed. "Why, young man, we are smugglers. We smuggle valuables from the Orient, mostly pearls, and use this old place as our headquarters. For years we've kept everyone from coming near it by making it seem haunted. It's the perfect hiding place."

"But why do you wear such noticeable costumes?" the boy asked. "Anyone who sees you is bound to notice you."

"No one sees us, young man," the Englishwoman said. "And I mustn't answer all your questions or you won't have anything to think about. Goodbye now, in case we never meet again. And I don't think we will."

She took the electric lantern and hurried out. As she slammed the cell door shut, darkness wrapped itself around the two. Pete felt his throat getting dry and his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.

"Jupe!" he said, "say something! I want to hear some noise."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Jupiter sounded absent-minded. "I was thinking."

"Thinking! At a time like this?"

"Why, yes. Did you notice that when Gipsy Kate left us a few minutes ago she turned to the right and went down the corridor in that direction?"

"No, I didn't notice. What difference does it make?"

"Well, that's the opposite direction from which we came. So she's not going back upstairs into the castle. She's going deeper into the dungeon. That suggests there must be a secret entrance somewhere. Which would also explain why there's no sign of anyone going in and out outside."

Whiskers! Even tied up in a dungeon and left to starve, Jupiter couldn't keep his grey cells from buzzing.

"I don't suppose while you've been doing all that thinking," Pete said, "you've thought of any way to get us out of here?"

"No," Jupiter said. "I haven't. I can't think of a single, solitary way for us to get out of here una.s.sisted. Please accept my apologies, Pete. I made a bad miscalculation in this ease."

Pete couldn't think of anything to say to that, and in silence the two boys lay and listened to the tiny sounds in the darkness. Somewhere a mouse scampered. And somewhere else water was dripping. The slow drops, as they fell, seemed to be measuring off one by one the minutes that were left.

Chapter 17.

A Trail Of Question Marks WORTHINGTON and Bob Andrews were getting anxious. They had been sitting in the Rolls-Royce an hour, waiting for Jupiter and Pete to come back, but so far there had been no sign of them. Every five minutes Bob hopped out of the big car to look up Black Canyon. And every ten minutes or so Worthington got out and took a look, too. It was like staring down the throat of a giant snake.

"Master Andrews," Worthington said at last. "I think that I should go after them."

"But you can't leave the car, Worthington," Bob reminded him. "You're not supposed to let it out of your sight."

"Master Jones and Master Crenshaw are more important than an automobile,"

Worthington said. "I am going to search for them."

He got out of the Rolls and opened the boot. Bob was right beside him as the chauffeur picked out a big emergency electric lantern.

"I'm coming with you, Worthington," Bob said. "They're my buddies."

"Very well, we shall go together."

Worthington paused to take a heavy hammer out of the boot, in case he needed a weapon, and then they started up Black Canyon. Because of his leg, Bob had difficulty keeping up with the tall, rangy chauffeur, but Worthington half lifted him round the worst piles of rocks. In almost no time they were at Terror Castle.

They discovered at once that the front door had no k.n.o.b, and could not be opened from the outside. Then Worthington spotted the loose k.n.o.b lying on the tiles.

"Obviously the lads did not enter through the door," he said. "We must look for another entrance."

They ranged up and down the front of the place, flashing the light in the windows.

Suddenly Bob spotted the mark a big ? ? chalked on a French window which was slightly ajar. chalked on a French window which was slightly ajar.

"They must have gone in here!" he yelled, explaining to Worthington about The Three Investigators' secret mark. They pushed the window open and slipped through.

Inside, as Worthington flashed his lantern round, they could see they were in an old dining room.

"No telling where the lads went from here," Worthington said, looking disturbed.

"There are several doors and none is marked."

Then Bob spotted the big mirror. There was a question mark chalked in the centre.

"They could scarcely have walked into a mirror," said Worthington, perplexed.

"Still, it bears investigation."

He grasped the frame of the mirror, and to their amazement it swung open like a door. Behind it there was a narrow pa.s.sage.

"A secret door!" Worthington exclaimed. "The boys must have gone through here, so we must do the same."

Bob was sure he wouldn't have had the nerve to go down that narrow, pitch-dark pa.s.sage by himself, but Worthington marched directly into it. Bob had no choice but to go along with him. Discovering the First Investigator's mark on the door at the other end, they went through and found themselves in the projection room.

Worthington flashed the light round, over the decaying velvet drapes, the ragged seats, the old dust-covered pipe organ. But they could see no sign whatever of Jupiter and Pete.

Then Bob noticed an odd gleam coming from under the seat. He reached down.

"Worthington!" he shouted. "Here's Pete's new torch!"

"Master Crenshaw would not simply leave it here," Worthington said. "Something must have happened in this area. Search carefully for indications."

They got down on hands and knees in the aisle between the seats, and Worthington held his light close to the floor. "Look, the dust here has been disturbed over a large area."

He was right. And in the middle of the place where the dust had been stirred up there was a raggedly chalked white question mark.

Worthington seemed upset when he saw the mark, but he did not tell Bob what he was thinking. Rising, he scouted around carefully until he found footprints in the dust, leading round in front of the seats, then behind the rotted movie screen, and through a door behind it. Beyond the door was a hall. A flight of steps wound down into more pitch blackness. The hall itself, however, went off in a different direction.

As they stood there wondering which way to go down the stairs or along the hall Worthington spied a faint question mark on the top step.

"Down the stairs," he said. "Master Jones is very resourceful. He has marked his trail for us."

"But what do you think happened, Worthington?" Bob asked as they trotted down stairs that wound round and round until he felt dizzy.

"We can only guess," Worthington said, stopping briefly to inspect another chalked mark on a landing. "If Master Jones had been walking, he would have placed his mark as eye level on the wall. I am forced to conclude he was being carried, and that he took the opportunity to make the mark when the person, or persons, carrying him set him down to rest. He could probably touch the floor unseen."

"But who would have carried him down into this cellar?" Bob asked in dismay. "If it is a cellar. It looks more like a dungeon to me."

"It is exactly like a dungeon I once saw in an old English castle where I was employed," Worthington told him. "A very unpleasant place. As for who may have been carrying Master Jones, I cannot guess. Unfortunately we seem to have lost the trail."

They had reached the bottom. Three different directions, each one blacker than the others. And there weren't any more chalk marks.

"Let us turn out the light and listen," the chauffeur said. "In the darkness we may hear something."

They strained their ears in the silent blackness, smelling the damp, musty air.

Then, unexpectedly, they heard a sound like a rock sc.r.a.ping against another rock. A moment later they saw a glimmer of light, coming from far down the middle corridor.

"Master Jones!" Worthington shouted. "Is that you?"

For a brief second they saw a woman holding a lighted lantern. Then the light vanished and they heard the sound of sc.r.a.ping rocks again. Once more everything was dark and silent.

"After her!" Worthington shouted. He dashed down the corridor, leaving Bob to hobble after him as fast as he could. By the time the boy caught up with the chauffeur, Worthington was pounding on a smooth concrete wall. The pa.s.sage simply came to a dead end at that point.

"She went through here!" Worthington said. "I'll swear to that. Stout measures are called for." Pulling the heavy hammer out of his belt, he began smashing at the wall.

In a moment they both p.r.i.c.ked up their ears. One section sounded hollow.

He gave that spot a few hard smashes, and the cement began to crumble. In no time he had knocked a hole right through the wall. It was only about six inches thick there, made of cement on a wire frame. A secret door, When he found that he could get a hold on the door, Worthington began to yank it back and forth. On the fourth yank it came open, revealing another secret pa.s.sage behind it. This one seemed to lead directly into the hillside. The roof and sides were formed completely of rock.

"A tunnel!" Worthington exclaimed. "Whoever captured the lads departed through this tunnel. That woman must be one of them. Quick before she gets away from us."

He tucked Bob under his arm to make better speed and started into the tunnel.

After a few feet, the pa.s.sage became very rough, and the roof dipped down so low that Worthington had to stoop to get through. As he was stooping, he knocked his lantern against the wall and dropped it. The light went out. While Bob was feeling round for the lantern, he heard a flapping of wings all round them, then excited squeaks and chirps. The next moment something soft slammed into him in the darkness. Then another object and another flapped against his head.

"Bats!" Bob yelled in alarm. "Worthington, we're being attacked by giant bats!"

"Steady, lad!" Worthington said. "Don't panic."

He got down on his knees to hunt around for his light, while Bob covered his head with his arms. Large, soft creatures were flapping all round him now, and one tried to land on his head. He gave a wild yell and knocked it off.