"Worthington!" he shouted. "They're big as pigeons! They're giant vampire bats!"

"I think not, Master Andrews," Worthington said as his light finally came on again. He aimed its beam upward, and they could see dozens of things with wings flying around them. But the things were birds, not bats. As soon as they saw the light, they flew towards it, squeaking and screeching in their excitement.

Worthington snapped off the lantern.

"The light attracts them," he shouted to Bob. "We'll make our way back in the darkness. Here, give me your hand."

Bob grasped Worthington's hand, and the Englishman led the way back, groping along the rough wall. The birds seemed to disappear. At least in the darkness they quietened down again, so that the two investigators got to the door and back into the cellar of Terror Castle without any more interference. They closed the door to keep out the birds.

"I don't think the lads were taken through that tunnel," Worthington remarked.

"Their captors would have had to put them down to open the hidden door. Then Master Jones would have had a chance to leave a mark. And there is no mark here."

There was no mark. But suddenly a voice started yelling. And there was no mistaking whose voice it was. Jupiter was calling for help. A moment later Pete joined in.

Their voices were coming from behind Bob and Worthington, and were very m.u.f.fled. The tall chauffeur hurried back up the dark corridor, and found a closed door he had missed while chasing after the vanishing woman. Inside was a real dungeon cell with iron ring-bolts on the wall. And there were Pete and Jupiter, tied up like Christmas packages. They didn't seem any too happy to be rescued, either. In fact they were annoyed that their yelling hadn't been heard sooner.

As he cut them loose, Worthington explained that in chasing after the mysterious woman and hammering on the hidden tunnel door, he had made too much noise to hear their shouting.

"We must get out of here at once and fetch the authorities," the English chauffeur said, while Jupiter and Pete were dusting themselves off. "These people are dangerous. They left you here to die."

But Jupiter wasn't paying much attention. He had p.r.i.c.ked up his ears when Bob mentioned being attacked by birds in the tunnel.

"What kind of birds were they?" he asked.

"What kind of birds?" Bob yelled belligerently. "I didn't stop to ask them. They acted like small eagles, the way they came after us."

"Actually they were harmless," Worthington said. "They were merely attracted by the light. They seemed to be parakeets, Master Jones."

"Parakeets!" The First Investigator acted as if he had been stung by a hornet.

"Come on, follow me! We must act fast!"

And getting the torch loose from his belt, he dashed out.

"What bit him him?" Pete asked as Bob handed him his torch.

"A clue, I guess," Bob answered. "Anyway we can't let him go alone."

"Definitely not," Worthington agreed. "We must follow him, lads."

They raced after Jupiter, who was already fifty yards ahead of them, despite his taped ankle. Pete out-distanced Worthington, who paused to a.s.sist Bob. As the latter two ducked into the tunnel, they could see the others' lights bobbing along ahead of them going up, then down, then round a corner of the natural rock tunnel. They made the best time they could, ignoring the frightened parakeets that fluttered round them. In some spots Worthington had to duck low to squeeze through. Finally they came to a straight section of tunnel, and saw the bobbing lights ahead come to a halt.

They hurried along the final stretch and found a wooden door wide open. Stepping through it, they joined Jupiter and Pete in a big wire cage, surrounded by fluttering parakeets screeching in fright.

"We're inside the big cage where Mr. Rex raises his parakeets!" Jupiter yelled to them. "The end of Black Canyon must lie exactly parallel to the end of Winding Valley Road, with only a few hundred feet of rocky ridge separating them. I never thought of that possibility they start so many miles apart on opposite sides of the mountain."

Jupiter pushed hard on the wire door that closed the cage, and it burst open. All four squeezed out and found themselves just a few feet away from Mr. Rex's little bungalow. Through the window they could see Mr. Rex and a small man with bushy hair playing cards, as if they didn't have a care in the world.

"We'll surprise them," Jupiter whispered. "Extinguish all lights."

They did, and followed him silently round to the front door. He pressed the doorbell. In a moment the door opened. Mr. Rex stood in the doorway, glowering at them. For the first time Bob had an opportunity to see at firsthand how sinister he looked, with his bald head and the awful scar on his throat.

"Well, what is it?" Rex whispered in a menacing way.

"We'd like to talk to you, Mr. Rex," Jupiter said.

"And supposing I do not wish to be bothered, boy?"

"In that case" it was Worthington speaking up "we shall have to call the authorities to investigate."

Mr. Rex looked alarmed. "No need for that!" he whispered. "Come in, come in."

All four followed him into the room where the other man sat at the card table. He was a very small man, scarcely more than five feet tall.

"This is my old friend, Charles Grant," Rex said. "Charlie, these are the boys who have been investigating Terror Castle. Well, boys, have you found the ghosts yet?"

"Yes," Jupiter said boldly. "We have solved the secret of the castle." He sounded so convinced that he startled both Pete and Bob. If they had solved anything, n.o.body had told them about it.

"Indeed?" The Whisperer said. "And what is the secret?"

"You two men," Jupiter said, "are the ghosts who have been haunting the castle and scaring people away. And just a few minutes ago you tied up Pete Crenshaw and me and left us in the dungeon under the castle."

The Whisperer scowled at him so hard that Worthington tightened his grip on the hammer.

"That's a very serious accusation, boy," Rex whispered. "And I'll wager you can't prove it."

Which was what Pete was thinking, too. Had Jupe gone off the rails? They had been tied up by an Englishwoman and an old gipsy.

"Look at the tips of your shoes," Jupiter said. "I marked them with our secret mark while you were standing beside me, tying me up."

The two men looked down at their shoes. So did the others.

On the polished black leather of each right toe was chalked the trade-mark of The Three investigators a question mark.

Chapter 18.

Interview with a Ghost BOTH MEN looked startled, as did Pete, Bob and Worthington.

"But " Pete started to say.

"They were just wearing women's clothes and wigs," Jupiter said. "I realised that when I felt their shoes and discovered they were wearing men's shoes. Then I understood that all five of the gang who captured us were really just two men in different costumes.

"You mean the two Arabs and the Oriental and the two women they were all Mr.

Rex and Mr. Grant?" Pete demanded, dumbfounded.

"He's right." Mr. Rex sounded very weary. "We were acting the part of a large gang to give you boys a real scare. The costumes with robes or skirts we could put on and take off very swiftly. However, I don't want you to think we actually intended to harm you. I was on my way back to untie you when your friends caught sight of me."

"We're not murderers," the little man Mr. Grant said. "Nor smugglers either.

We're just ghosts."

He chuckled, but Mr. Rex looked solemn.

"I'm a murderer," he said. "I killed Stephen Terrill."

"Oh, that's right." The little man said that as if it was just something that had slipped his mind like forgetting to wind his watch. "You did do away with him, but that hardly counts."

"The police may think differently," Worthington said. "Lads, I think we should summon the authorities."

"No, wait." The Whisperer held up his hand. "Give me a moment and I'll let you talk to Stephen Terrill himself."

"You mean talk to his ghost?" Pete yelled.

"Exactly. Talk to his ghost. He will explain to you why I killed him."

Before anybody could do anything to stop him. The Whisperer slipped through a door into the next room.

"Don't worry," Mr. Grant said. "He's not trying to escape. He won't be a minute.

By the way, here is your knife back, Jupiter Jones."

"Thank you," Jupiter said. He was attached to that knife.

It was barely sixty seconds before the door opened again, and a man came out. But this time it wasn't The Whisperer. This man was shorter and younger looking, and had neatly combed grey-brown hair. He wore a tweed jacket and looked at them with a pleasant smile.

"Good evening," he said. "I am Stephen Terrill. You wanted to see me?"

They all stared at him, not knowing what to say. Even Jupiter was silent for once.

Finally Mr. Grant spoke up. "It really is Stephen Terrill," he said.

And then Jupiter looked as if he had bitten into a nice, juicy apple and found half a worm left in it. He looked angry at himself.

"Mr. Terrill," he said. "You are also Jonathan Rex, The Whisperer, are you not?"

"Him The Whisperer?" Pete exclaimed. "Why, he's not as tall, and he's got his hair, and " The Whisperer?" Pete exclaimed. "Why, he's not as tall, and he's got his hair, and "

"At your service," said Stephen Terrill. He suddenly whipped off a wig and showed a bald head underneath. He stood very straight, making himself look much taller, squinted his eyes, changed the set of his lips, and hissed: "Stand still! If you value your lives!"

It was so convincing they all jumped. He was The Whisperer, all right. And he was also the movie star who had supposedly died so long ago. That much, at least, Bob and Pete were able to figure out.

Mr. Terrill took from his pocket a curious object. It was an artificial scar, made of plastic.

"When I attached this to my throat, took off my wig and put on elevator shoes, I stopped being Stephen Terrill," he explained. "I reduced my voice to a sinister whisper and became that frightening individual known as The Whisperer."

He put his wig back on and looked like an ordinary man again.

They all started to ask questions at once, and he held up his hand.

"We'd better all sit down," he said, "and I'll explain. You see that picture?" He pointed to the photograph on the table, which showed him shaking hands with The Whisperer shaking hands with himself, really.

"That was trick photography, of course to further the illusion of two totally different men. You see, many years ago when I became a moving-picture star, I found my shyness and my lisp made it very difficult to handle my business affairs properly. I hated to talk to people. I couldn't argue for my rights.

"So I created the character of The Whisperer to be my business manager. The Whisperer always whispered in a fierce tone, which hid my lisp; and he looked so menacing that I had no difficulty in dealing with anyone. No one, except my friend Charlie Grant here, knew that I was both men. Charlie was my make-up man, and he used to help me change from being Stephen Terrill into being The Whisperer.

"This scheme worked well until I made my first talking picture. Then the whole world laughed at me! It was a terrible blow to my pride. I withdrew to my home.

When I learned the bank wanted to take that away from me too, I became despondent and desperate.

"At the time of building my castle, the workmen had discovered a fault in the rocks of Black Canyon. The fault ran all the way through the ridge to the other side, where Winding Valley Road ended. I had the natural tunnel walled up, but secretly installed a hidden door. Then, as Jonathan Rex, I bought the land at the other end of the secret pa.s.sage and built a small home there. That way I could come and go and no one would suspect my double ident.i.ty.

"Often in those days I went for long, solitary drives in an effort to shake off my deep depression. One day I was driving high above the ocean when I conceived the brilliant idea of a faked accident."

"You drove your car off that cliff yourself, didn't you?" Jupiter broke in.

Terrill nodded. "Yes. First I wrote the note, leaving it where someone would be sure to find it. Then one dark, stormy night I staged the accident, letting my car topple over the cliff without me in it, of course. And that was the end of Stephen Terrill as far as the world was concerned. Also as far as I was concerned. To me he was as good as dead and buried, and I wanted to keep it that way. I also wanted to keep my castle. The thought of anyone else owning it or living in it was too much to bear.

"Although the castle was empty now, I could enter it at will through the natural tunnel. So I was secretly on hand when the police conducted their search, and I made sure they all left in a hurry. When I built the castle, you see, I installed various devices in it for giving my friends thrills. Later these were most useful in helping me to build the public impression that the castle was haunted.

"I made even more of a ghostly disturbance when the bank sent their men to collect my goods. Soon it was scarcely necessary to do anything to frighten those who entered the castle. Their own imagination did it for them. But I made certain that the fearsome reputation of the building did not wane. And just to make the whole spot seem less desirable to anyone who might even think of buying it, I occasionally rolled rocks down the hillside on to the road.

"My scheme worked. No one wanted to buy the castle from the bank. Meanwhile I began to save money to buy it myself. As Jonathan Rex, a breeder of rare pet birds, I acquired almost enough money for a down payment ... Then you boys came along."

The actor sighed.

"You boys were much more stubborn than anyone else had ever been," he said.

"Mr. Terrill," asked Jupiter, who had been listening intently, "did you phone us after our first visit, and use a spooky voice to scare us?"

The man nodded. "I thought it would help keep you away."

"But how did you know we were coming that night, and how did you know who we were?" Jupiter asked.

The actor smiled slightly.

"My friend here, Charlie Grant, is my lookout," he said. The very short man nodded. "Just at the entrance to Black Canyon there is a small bungalow, barely visible. Charlie lives there. Whenever he sees anyone enter the canyon, he telephones me and I hurry through the tunnel to be ready for them.

"When he saw the Rolls-Royce go up the canyon, I recognised it from his description as being the car I had read about in the paper. And of course I had also read that you were the one who had won the use of it.

"You boys left rather hurriedly that night. Don't feel badly about that others have left even more swiftly. I returned to my bungalow and looked for your name in the telephone book. Not finding it there, I called Information and found you did have a telephone. So I called you."