The Mystery Of The Nervous Lion Part 5

"All right, Aunt Mathilda," Jupe said.

"Konrad is driving me in the small lorry," Mrs. Jones said. "Now mind you don't leave, and don't miss any sales, Jupiter."

"I won't. Don't worry."

Mrs. Jones nodded and walked away.

Inside the small office, the boys found piles of sandwiches wrapped in wax paper and several bottles of root beer and orange pop.

"Too bad, Jupe, about having to work tomorrow," Pete said, wolfing down a thick sandwich. "I was ready to go back to Jungle Land and have Mike show us around."

"We'd have some news then," Bob said, "about what happened to Rock Randall.

If George really did it, they're in big trouble."

Jupe looked glum. "We still have a lot of work ahead of us at Jungle Land. We don't know the terrain at all yet. And there are far too many possibilities of what might be going on at night. Mike stated that George became nervous and restless at that time. So we'll have to check that out." He scowled. "Animals tend to become restless before an approaching storm. But Mike didn't mention the weather. Far as I can recall, it's been pretty good the past month. If not that, then who or what could be making the lion nervous? It's still a complete mystery."

"Why did Hank Morton pretend to be Jim Hall and bring us out to where George was?" asked Bob. "If you ask me, that's a mystery, too. What did he have against us?"

"I don't know," answered Jupe. "But notice another curious thing. George was roaring before we got to him. It's possible that Hank Morton did not inflict that wound. No," he concluded, shaking his head, "I'm afraid next time we go back we'll have to keep our eyes and ears open. We have to learn a lot more than we know."

Pete noticed a movement out the window. "Uh-oh, Jupe-I think you have a customer. Somebody just came in. Didn't your aunt tell you not to miss any sales?"

A dark saloon had pulled into the salvage yard. A light-haired man was looking around the neatly arranged junk. He walked quickly around the piles, lifting objects off the top to peer behind and below. Seeming unsatisfied, he wiped dust from his hands and turned to the door of the office.

Jupe was standing there waiting. Bob and Pete were behind him, ready to help.

The customer was thin and broad-shouldered, wearing a business suit and a bow tie. His eyes were a very pale blue and his face had a curious, hatchet-like shape, wide at the cheekbones and tapering abruptly to a narrow, pointed chin. When he spoke, his voice had the toughness of a man used to giving orders.

"I'm looking for some iron bars," he said. He looked at Jupe questioningly. "Is the owner around?"

"No, sir," Jupe replied. "But I work here. I'm sorry, but we don't have any more iron bars. We just sold the whole stack of them."

"What? When was this-who bought them?"

"Earlier today, I guess. I don't know who purchased them, sir."

"Why not?" the man demanded. "Don't you people keep records of your sales here?"

"Only of money received," Jupiter said. "Whoever bought those iron bars loaded and transported them himself. So we have no record of delivery. In a junkyard business like this, people generally just come in, pick what they want, and take it home with them."

"I see," the man said. He looked around again, disappointed.

"My Uncle t.i.tus, the owner, is out now," Jupe said. "He might be hauling back some more iron bars. If you care to leave your name and address, he could get in touch with you."

"That's a thought," the man said. His eyes kept darting about the junk piled in the yard. "But so far as you know, there's not a single bar available now, big or small. Is that right?"

"Yes, sir," Jupe said. "I'm sorry. Maybe if you told me what you wanted them for, I might be able to find something else here you could use as a subst.i.tute."

The man shook his head. "I'm not interested in any subst.i.tutes." He suddenly pointed, his voice loud and triumphant. "What's that over there? What are you trying to do, kid-hold out on me?"

Jupe looked in the direction in which the man was pointing. "Those are animal cages," he said.

"I know they are," the man said nastily. "But they have bars, don't they?"

Jupe shrugged. "Some do and some don't. We have to repair those cages, replace the missing bars, rebuild and repaint the tops and bottoms, you see, and-"

"Never mind all that," the man said impatiently. "I'm just interested in buying the iron bars. As many as I can get. How much?"

He took a thick wallet out and started to leaf through a number of notes.

Jupiter blinked. "You want the bars? Not the cages?"

"That's right, genius. How much?"

Jupe frowned. He remembered his uncle's plans to fix up the cages for the circus.

Jupiter never questioned what his uncle wanted, nor his reasons.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Those bars aren't for sale. We need them to complete the cages so they can be sold to the circus."

The man grinned. "Okay," he said. "That's fine. That's just what I want-circus cages. I'll take them as is, and fix them up myself. How much?"

Again he riffled the thick pile of notes impatiently.

"Do you work for a circus?" Jupe asked.

"What's the difference?" the man snapped. "I want circus cages, and you got them. How much kid? C'mon. I'm in a hurry."

Jupe looked speculatively at the cages. There were four of them, all in extremely poor condition.

"That would be one thousand dollars," he said sleepily.

The man's fingers tightened on his wallet. "A thousand dollars for that junk? Are you kidding? Take a look at them-they're falling apart!"

Jupe heard Bob and Pete clear their throats nervously behind him. He looked again at the cages, then very deliberately at the man. "That would be one thousand dollars apiece," he said distinctly. "Four thousand dollars for all four."

The hatchet-faced man stared at Jupiter and slowly replaced his wallet in his pocket. "Maybe you shouldn't be left alone to run a business, kid. I can get new cages for that kind of money."

Jupe shrugged. Having been a child actor when he was very young, he appreciated the scene he was playing now. "Perhaps you can, sir. I've no idea what the current market price is for new circus cages. If you should care to drop back when my uncle is here, perhaps he might give you a more satisfactory price."

The visitor shook his head impatiently. "I don't have time for that, kid." He brought a note out of his pocket and offered it. "Here's twenty dollars for the lot.

Take it or leave it. My guess is your uncle bought the whole lot for five dollars. That's all junk, kid." He waved the twenty-dollar note under Jupe's nose. "Well, what do you say? Twenty dollars?"

Jupiter sucked in his breath, hesitating. He knew the man was right. The bars as well as the cages were practically worthless. But he had learned to trust his instincts.

"Sorry," he said, turning away. "No deal."

He saw the man's hand dart to his pocket. For a long moment, Jupe held his breath, wondering if he had made a mistake.

Chapter 9.

More Trouble THE HATCHET-FACED man's voice was cold and threatening. "All right, kid-have it your way. I'll be back!"

The man quickly got into his car, started his engine, and roared out of the salvage yard.

Jupe slumped, blowing out his cheeks in a long, relieved sigh.

"Good grief!" Bob exclaimed. "What was that all about?"

"A thousand dollars for each of those crummy cages?" Pete asked sarcastically. "I bet that man was right-that your uncle didn't pay more than five dollars for the lot- including the loose bars and pipes that we stacked."

Jupe nodded, feeling deflated. "I know," he said. "Uncle t.i.tus hardly ever pays more than five dollars for anything."

"Then why did you ask so much?" Bob demanded. "That was a tough-looking customer. He wasn't happy when he left."

"I know." Jupe started to explain. "I-I had a hunch something was wrong, that's all. I'm not sure why. I felt he wanted those bars too much. So I just stepped up the price to find out how much they really were worth to him."

"Well, you found out," Pete said. "Twenty dollars. And when your uncle finds out you turned down that much money, I'll bet he blows his top."

Jupe looked up and sighed. "We'll find out soon enough. Here comes Uncle t.i.tus now!"

The large pickup truck rolled into the yard with Hans behind the wheel. As t.i.tus Jones got down from the cab, Jupe noticed that the truck was empty.

"What happened, Uncle t.i.tus?"

His uncle tugged at his long walrus moustache. "Seems as if there's been a run on iron bars lately. Guess I got to the place too late. Every last one of them was gone."

Jupe cleared his throat. "Aunt Mathilda already sold that batch you bought yesterday. And we just had another customer looking for some, too."

"That so?" his uncle asked. He dug out his pipe and lit it. "Well, no mind. We'll get some more in some day."

Jupe moved his feet uneasily. "This customer wanted to buy those last few bars, the ones for the cages. He was willing to buy them with or without the cages."

His uncle looked at him. "Buy the bars without the cages? How much did he offer?"

"Twenty dollars," Jupe replied, swallowing hard.

"Twenty dollars?" t.i.tus thought about it. "What did you tell him?"

"I said it wasn't enough. That we didn't want to sell the bars alone. That we were planning to fix up the cages to sell to the circus."

t.i.tus Jones rocked back and forth, blowing smoke. "How much did you ask him for the cages?"

Jupe took another deep breath. "A thousand dollars," he said, waiting for the explosion. The only response was more smoke as t.i.tus Jones puffed silently away. "A thousand dollars apiece," Jupe added slowly. "Four thousand for the lot."

His uncle removed the pipe from his mouth. As Jupe waited for the expected tongue-las.h.i.+ng, a car swung into the yard. It came to a quick, jarring stop near them.

A man stepped out.

"That's him," Jupe said.

The hatchet-faced man walked up. "You the owner of this junkyard?" he demanded.

"I am," Mr. Jones said.

"My name's Olsen." The visitor jabbed his finger in Jupe's direction. "Fine help you leave when you're away. I tried to buy some of your old junk bars and this kid tried to scalp me."

"That so?" Mr. Jones asked in a matter-of-fact voice. "Sorry to hear about it, mister."

The man grinned. "I thought you would be." He took out his wallet and extracted a twenty-dollar note. "I offered him twenty dollars for those bars over on that pile and he turned me down flat."

t.i.tus Jones inclined his head towards the pile the man indicated. "Ain't no bars there, mister. Just some old animal cages."

"I know," Mr. Olsen said impatiently. "But I don't need the cages. Just the bars."

He extended the money to t.i.tus Jones. "Here you are-twenty dollars. Is it a deal?"

t.i.tus Jones relit his pipe and puffed hard to get it going properly. Jupe waited. The man stirred restlessly.

"Sorry, mister," t.i.tus said at last. "But my nephew here told you the truth. Those bars you're talking about there are for animal cages. When we get 'em fixed up nice and proper, I figure on selling them to the circus for their animals."

Jupe stared at his uncle. Pete and Bob stood open-mouthed.

Mr. Olsen scowled. "Okay-animals cages. Do you know what he wanted for the four of them? Four thousand dollars! He asked a thousand dollars apiece!"

"Well," t.i.tus said, "the boy's young, and he did make a mistake quoting the price."

"I thought so," the man said, smiling with satisfaction.

"The price is six thousand dollars," t.i.tus Jones said. "That would come to fifteen hundred dollars apiece."

The visitor stared. t.i.tus Jones put his pipe in his mouth, puffed, and rocked on his heels. Once more Jupe held his breath, waiting for Mr. Olsen to explode.

At that moment Hans walked up. "Anything else I can do, boss?" he asked Mr.

Jones. "I still got time to do some cleaning up."

Mr. Olsen looked at the hulking figure of the yard helper. His cold eyes flickered.

Then he snarled. "Forget it, mister. I've got better use for my money."