"Oh," Jupiter said, and Pete scratched his head. As Jupiter had said, answers to mysteries can be simple when you know them. But until you know them they can seem very tough.

"Then that's why Skinny Norris that is, those other two boys left in such a hurry the day Pete and I came to see you," Jupiter remarked.

"Yes, Charlie had warned me and I was waiting for them. However, your arrival at almost the same time caught us unprepared."

Little Mr. Grant looked embarra.s.sed.

"I'd like to explain about that, boys," he said. "When you drove up, it was too late for me to warn my friend Steve. So I slipped into the canyon by a side trail to keep watch. I saw those other boys run out, and watched you chase them. Then I accidentally started a rock rolling, and you looked and spotted me."

"So it was you we were trying to catch!" Pete exploded. "And you sent that rock slide down on us."

"It was truly an accident," Mr. Grant said earnestly. "The rocks were piled there to push down on the road some time when they might help discourage a prospective buyer. I tried to hide behind them and dislodged them. I was extremely worried that you had been seriously hurt, though I saw you duck into that rocky crevice. Then I saw the end of a stick appear through the dirt blocking the entrance ... and I deduced you were safe.

"I waited there until you were safely out, however. If you had encountered difficulty, I would have come to your aid."

At this point Pete couldn't think of anything more to say. At least Mr. Terrill's and Mr. Grant's explanations had cleared up several mysteries. It was easy now to see how the two men had managed to be ready for them every time any of The Three Investigators had visited the castle.

Jupiter was still scowling.

"I believe I understand most of what happened," he said. "But a few points still remain unclear."

"Ask anything you want to," the actor encouraged him. "You've earned the right to know the answers."

"The afternoon we called on you, Mr. Terrill," Jupiter said, "you had a pitcher of lemonade freshly made, as if you were expecting us. You also said you'd been cutting dry brush, and that wasn't true. They are small points, but I'd like to clear them up."

The actor chuckled slightly. "After you escaped from the cave," he said, "you were too preoccupied to see my friend Charlie shadowing you back to the car. He was hidden close enough to hear you give the chauffeur my address. As soon as you drove off he telephoned me.

"I immediately got ready for you. From my window I can see down into a stretch of Winding Valley Road. That antique Rolls-Royce with its gold tr.i.m.m.i.n.g is a car very easily recognised. As soon as I saw it, I made the lemonade, then slipped out into the bushes, carrying the machete as an excuse. I was watching you as you came up my path.

"At that point I had not decided just how to handle you. I finally decided to be friendly, give you a cold drink, and try to impress you with the frightening quality of Terror Castle so you would stay away of your own accord. Please remember that I did my best to tell you as few untruths as possible. Of course I said that Stephen Terrill was dead but so he was, in my mind.

"I also said I had never entered the door of the castle again. I never have. I've gone and come through the tunnel. Having the entrance inside my cage of birds, I've been able to slip in and out without ever being noticed. Tonight I was in such a hurry I left the door open, and the birds got into the tunnel."

Jupiter was pinching his lips again.

"The gipsy warning you sent us, Mr. Terrill," he said. "That was your friend Mr.

Grant dressed up as an old gipsy woman, was it not?"

"Exactly, my boy. When I learned you three were investigators, I knew you might be persistent. So Charlie made up as a gipsy woman and brought you the second warning. I did hope it would scare you into staying away."

"It actually made me curious, Mr. Terrill." Jupiter said politely. "No one else ever had any warnings. I wondered why we were getting them. Ghosts don't bother to warn people. So I deduced someone human didn't want us round Terror Castle.

"Then, when I studied the photographs Bob made, I noticed that the suit of armour in Echo Hall wasn't very rusty and there wasn't much dust in your library.

After so many years, there should have been lots of rust and dust. It certainly looked as if someone was secretly taking care of things in Terror Castle.

"And the person the castle meant most to was the owner, Stephen Terrill. So I deduced at last that you were still alive, sir. Of course, you threw me off the track tonight by acting the role of a gang of international smugglers when you captured us. I believed you were an Arab, the Oriental and the Englishwoman, and Mr. Grant was an Arab and the old gipsy?"

"That is correct." Stephen Terrill's eyes twinkled. "We used part of my large collection of wigs and costumes. I wanted to give you a lasting scare. I thought that if you were worried about the vengeance of a gang of smugglers, instead of mere ghosts, you might abandon your investigation of Terror Castle. You were really becoming much too persistent!

"Well, that just about gives you the whole story. Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

"There's plenty!" Pete piped up now. "For one thing, what about that eye that looked at us from the picture the first night?"

"That was my eye," Stephen Terrill said. "There's a secret pa.s.sage behind the paintings, and there was a peep-hole in the picture."

"But when Bob and I examined the picture later on," Pete argued, "there wasn't any hole in it."

"After you fled, I hung another similar picture there," Mr. Terrill said. "Just in case you came back to examine it."

"But the Blue Phantom?" Pete asked. "And the old organ playing that weird music? And the Fog of Fear? And the ghost in the mirror? And the cold draught in the Hall of Echoes?"

"I hate to tell you," the actor said. "It's like a magician telling how he performs his tricks. It takes the mystery away from them. But you've earned the right to know, and if you really want to "

"I believe I have been able to deduce some of the methods you used, sir," Jupiter said. "The cold draught was a flow of gas from melting dry ice coming through a hole in the wall. The weird music was a record played backwards through an amplifier.

The Blue Phantom was probably cheesecloth covered with luminous paint. The Fog of Fear was no doubt some chemical that makes smoke, forced into the secret pa.s.sage through small holes."

"You're right, boy," Stephen Terrill admitted. "I suppose that once you realised a human agency was behind the strange manifestations, you were able to deduce the method of creating the effects."

"Yes, sir," Jupiter told him. "And the ghost in the mirror was probably a projection of some kind. But one thing I'm not sure of. How did you manage to induce the feeling of nervousness and terror inside the castle?"

"Please don't ask me to tell you everything," the actor begged. "I'd like to preserve some of my secrets. As it is, you've found out enough to ruin all my plans ... I want to show you something. Look!"

He flung open the door through which he had ducked to change himself from the sinister Whisperer into Stephen Terrill. Within they saw a large dressing room. There were costumes of every kind hanging from the wall. Wigs were piled high on wig stands. And in one corner was an enormous pile of the sort of round cans used for storing motion-picture film.

"There, in that room," the actor said, "... there is there is the real Stephen Terrill. Those costumes. Those wigs. All those motion pictures stored in the cans. Those are the real me. Stephen Terrill is just an instrument that transformed those costumes and wigs into strange characters to provide enjoyable thrills for millions of people all over the world. the real Stephen Terrill. Those costumes. Those wigs. All those motion pictures stored in the cans. Those are the real me. Stephen Terrill is just an instrument that transformed those costumes and wigs into strange characters to provide enjoyable thrills for millions of people all over the world.

"For many years Terror Castle was my last pride. There I was still frightening people instead of being laughed at. And all the time I was practicing. I cured my lisp. I managed to speak with a deeper voice. I learned to sound like a ghost, a woman, a pirate, an Arab, a Chinese dozens of others. I dreamed of making a come-back.

"But as those years pa.s.sed, the kind of motion picture I made was no longer desired. Now scary pictures are often produced just to get people to laugh. Old pictures shown on television have funny voices and sounds added to produce laughter.

And I refuse to degrade my talents to provide cheap laughter!"

Mr. Terrill was becoming quite excited. He slapped his fist into his palm and was breathing hard. "But now there's nothing left for me. I can't be the Phantom of Terror Castle any more. I'll lose the castle itself. I can't be The Whisperer. I don't know what I'll do."

He paused to get control of himself and Jupiter, who had been pinching his lip practically off, spoke again.

"Mr. Terrill," he asked, "do those cans in there contain all of the wonderful scary films you made, which no one has seen for many years?"

The actor nodded, looking at him.

"What are you thinking of?" he asked.

"I have an idea how you can get your castle back and still go on entertaining people by scaring them," Jupiter said. "You see "

And, as usual, Jupiter had hit upon an incredibly good idea.

Chapter 19.

Mr. Hitchc.o.c.k Makes A Bargain THE NEXT MORNING, as Worthington and the Rolls whisked them into Hollywood to see Mr. Hitchc.o.c.k, Jupiter didn't look happy. Pete knew what the trouble was. Jupe was still sore at himself for not deducing that The Whisperer and Stephen Terrill were the same person.

The two boys were visiting Mr. Hitchc.o.c.k without Bob, who unfortunately had to work that morning.

"As soon as Worthington mentioned that the secret tunnel under Terror Castle was full of parakeets," Jupiter said, coming out of his deep meditation, "I realised that they must be Mr. Rex's that, in fact, the tunnel must end inside the case where he raised his birds. And he had accidentally left the entrance open. But I still didn't realise that Mr. Rex was really Mr. Terrill."

"You had everything else figured out," Pete told him. "Even to the fact that Mr.

Terrill was still alive, though for a time you got thrown off the track. You ought to be proud of yourself."

But Jupiter just shook his head.

This time, there was no trouble getting in to Mr. Hitchc.o.c.k. The guard at the gate waved them through, and in a few moments they were seated in the famous director's office.

"Well, lads," Mr. Hitchc.o.c.k rumbled. "What have you to report?"

"We found a haunted house, sir, Jupiter said.

"Ah, indeed?" The director raised a quizzical eyebrow. "And what type of ghost is it haunted by?"

"That's the trouble," Jupiter confessed. "It's been haunted by a man who is alive, not dead."

"Mmm. That sounds interesting." Mr. Hitchc.o.c.k settled back in his chair. "Tell me about it."

He listened attentively to the tale. When Jupiter had finished, he remarked, "I'm glad to know that Stephen Terrill is alive. He was a great artist in his day. But I confess I am curious to know how he produced the atmosphere of terror which filled his castle and affected everyone who entered."

"He said he would rather not tell us, sir," Jupiter answered. "But I believe I can make a guess. I was studying a book in order to help my uncle a.s.semble a pipe organ and I came across a mention of the fact that subsonic vibrations too deep and low to be heard have curious effects on the human nervous system.

"It is my guess, sir, that among the pipes of Mr. Terrill's supposedly ruined pipe organ are several which emit these deep vibrations felt by the body's nervous system, rather than heard. At a distance the effect of the vibrations would be to make one nervous. Close up, a feeling of anxiety and terror would probably result. But naturally the effect would not extend outside the castle, a fact which my partners tested for me one evening."

Pete shot his stocky partner a glance. So that was why Jupe had insisted that he and Bob visit Terror Castle that day! Pete was about to say something scathing, but Mr. Hitchc.o.c.k started to speak again.

"Young man," he said, "you apparently did a good job of ferreting out the secret of Terror Castle. But now that you have done so, what is to become of Steve Terrill?

It does not seem to me you have done him any favour by uncovering his secret."

Jupiter squirmed a little.

"Mr. Terrill has an idea, sir," he said. "In fact, he seems very enthusiastic about it.

He is going to the bank with the money he has saved raising parakeets, and arrange to buy back the castle. He has a plan, and I am sure they will lend him more money when he explains it.

"You see, first he will reappear as Stephen Terrill, the long-lost movie star, and move back into the castle. There will be many stories in the newspapers, naturally."

"Naturally," Mr. Hitchc.o.c.k agreed, eyeing Jupiter down his nose. "And then what?"

"Next he will open his castle to the public for an admission fee. He will show his famous old scary pictures in his private projection room. He will also let people wander round the castle, which will remain almost exactly as it is now. Tourists will go there in great numbers to enjoy the films and to be frightened by the Fog of Fear and other devices Mr. Terrill has installed in the castle for giving people a harmless thrill.

"Mr. Terrill will also demonstrate, in various costumes, his portrayal of the sinister figures he played in his greatest movies. I am sure it will be a great success."

"Hmmm." Alfred Hitchc.o.c.k studied the stocky lad. "I suspect, young Jones, that I detect your active young imagination in the plan you have just set forth. But let that pa.s.s. The Three Investigators have done a commendable job, even though you were unable to find me a house haunted by genuine ghosts. I will stand by my word and introduce your account of the case when it is written."

"Thank you, sir," Jupiter said. "It will mean a lot to The Three Investigators."

"If it is any consolation," Mr. Hitchc.o.c.k said, "the difficulty of finding a genuine haunted house proved so great that I have abandoned that particular project. But tell me, what are your plans now?"

Pete was tempted to speak up and say their plans were for a little peace and quiet, getting over some of the harrowing moments that Terror Castle had provided. But Jupiter spoke first.

"We are investigators, Mr. Hitchc.o.c.k. We will start looking for another case at once."

The director eyed him shrewdly.

"I don't suppose you're planning to come back and ask me to introduce your second case, when you get one, are you?" he demanded.

"No, sir," Jupiter said with dignity. "I had no such idea in mind. However, if you would be willing to do so "

"Not so fast, young man!" Mr. Hitchc.o.c.k thundered, and Jupiter subsided. "I said nothing of the sort. Nothing whatever of the sort."

"No, sir," Jupiter said meekly.

The director glowered at him for a moment, then continued. "I had in mind," he said at last, "to suggest a case for you. An old friend of mine, a former Shakespearian actor, has lost his parrot. He was very much attached to the parrot. The police apparently are of no help. You have shown I must confess it a certain ingenuity.

Perhaps you can help him find his parrot. Unless" he gave Jupiter and Pete a frown "hunting for lost parrots is too tame a task for The Three Investigators."

"No, sir!" It was Pete who spoke this time. If they had to go on a case, hunting for a lost parrot sounded to him like just about as much excitement as he cared for at the moment. "Our motto is, 'We investigate anything'."

"We will be glad to try to help your friend, sir," Jupiter said.

Mr. Hitchc.o.c.k smiled. It was a smile that might be hiding certain secret thoughts, but they could not be certain.

"In that case," he said, "I will also introduce this case for you."

"Thank you, sir!" the boys said in unison.

"But only on one condition!" the director stated firmly. "It has to be a case worth writing about. Obviously, simply finding a lost parrot, even if it is a parrot that stutters, is not enough to warrant writing a book about. If the case turns out to be a simple and easy one, naturally I shall have nothing further to do with it or with The Three Investigators."

"Did you say the parrot stuttered?" Jupiter asked, his eyes already alight with interest.

"I did," the man stated. "Did you also hear what else I said?"