The Death Trapmine
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TTHHEE MMYYSSTTEERRYY OOFF TTHHEE DDEEAATTHH TTRRAAPP MMIINNEE M. V. Carey 1 | P a g e A word from Hector Sebastian HELLO , MYSTERY FANS ! I again invite you to share the adventures of The Three Investigators — a trio of young detectives who specialize in solving unusual mysteries. Join them this time in a trip to a remote New Mexico mining town where a dead man waits in a dead mine to betray one of the living . and where a mysterious woman — but I’m getting ahead of myself. If you’re not already acquainted with The Three Investigators, let me tell you that Jupiter Jones, leader of the group, is a chunky boy with an excellent memory and an amazing talent for deduction. Pete Crenshaw is quick and athletic, but in his more cautious moments he objects to Jupiter’s tendency to stir up trouble. Bob Andrews is a studious boy who is in charge of research and records for the trio. They all live in Rocky Beach, California, on the outskirts of Los Angeles, but they never avoid traveling far afield in search of mystery and intrigue. HECTOR SEBASTIAN 2 | P a g e Chapter 1 The Invitation “HEY , JUPE ! Guess who’s looking for you!” said Pete Crenshaw as he pushed open a trap door in the floor and scrambled into the Headquarters of The Three Investigators. “I don’t need to guess. I know,” said Jupiter Jones. He leaned back in his chair, which squeaked under the weight of his chubby frame. “Aunt Mathilda was up at six o’clock this morning,” he said, in his precise way. “She cooked a hearty breakfast and sent Uncle Titus off to a garage sale in Oxnard. I deduced at once that she planned a busy day.” Jupiter peered at his watch. “It is now exactly one-fifteen. From your question, I now deduce that Uncle Titus has returned, that he has made some purchases in Oxnard, and that Aunt Mathilda wishes me to help unload the truck.” “Jupiter Jones, boy genius!” Bob Andrews chuckled. The slender, bespectacled youth was leaning on a file cabinet, quietly reading through some notes. The three boys were in the battered old mobile home trailer that Jupe’s aunt and uncle had given them for clubhouse. It sat in a far corner of The Jones Salvage Yard, concealed behind stacks of old timbers, beams, and scrap iron. The salvage yard was a busy place. Filled with all sorts of ordinary scrap, it also contained a variety of unusual items rescued from houses that were being torn down — antique sundials, old marble bathtubs, carved doorframes, and stained-glass windows. In the press of cleaning, sorting, and storing these things — and of waiting on people who came from up and down the Pacific Coast looking for hard-to-find objects — Jupiter’s uncle and aunt had completely forgotten the trailer in the corner. The boys had turned the trailer into a headquarters for their junior detective firm, The Three Investigators. Inside was a tiny lab and darkroom, and an office outfitted with a worn desk, chairs, and a telephone. A large file cabinet held reports on all the boys’ cases, meticulously written up by Bob Andrews. Jupiter, the leader of the trio, spent much of his free time in Headquarters, pondering the firm’s cases and exercising his incredible brain. Jupiter was proud of his uncanny knack for deduction. Now, as Pete and Bob grinned at him, he scowled. “Aunt Mathilda is not looking for me?” he asked. “Don’t complain,” said Pete. “When Aunt Mathilda’s looking for you, you know what it means — work! No. I was down at the Rocky Beach Market this morning and I bumped into Allie Jamison.” Jupe sat suddenly upright in his chair. Bob stopped shuffling papers and stared. Allie Jamison, the daughter of one of the wealthiest families in Rocky Beach, had been their client the summer before. In a case they called “The Mystery of the Singing Serpent,” they had helped her get rid of a sinister houseguest and had exposed a diabolical blackmail plot. But their association with the girl had not been a complete pleasure. She was impulsive, devoted to getting her own way, and not above bending the truth when it suited her. “Oh, good grief!” said Jupe at last. “I thought that girl was spending the summer with an uncle in New Mexico. The Jamison house is closed up and Mr. and Mrs. Jamison are in Japan!” 3 | P a g e Pete nodded. “I know. But right now Allie is here in Rocky Beach. She told me she and her uncle needed to pick up some stuff from the house, and her uncle had business in town. And something’s up with her. She’s just busting with some great news and she’s going to come tell us about it before she and her uncle leave for New Mexico.” Bob sighed. “And it started out to be such a peaceful summer.” “Never mind,” said Jupiter. “She is leaving again — soon, one hopes! Pete, how long will Allie be here?” “Only until tomorrow!” said a voice from behind the curtain that separated the little laboratory section of the trailer from the office. Pete groaned as the curtain was pulled to one side and Allie Jamison stepped out, grinning. She looked like a young rodeo rider in her faded jeans and western shirt. Her face was tanned and her long, tawny hair was sunstreaked. “Aren’t you glad to see me?” she asked innocently. But her hazel eyes sparkled with malicious glee. “How did you get in here?” demanded Pete. Allie laughed. She went to the desk, pulled herself up onto it, and sat there cross-legged. “I got here ahead of all of you,” she said. “There’s a painting of the great San Francisco fire on the back fence of this place, and in the painting there’s a little dog watching the fire.” Jupe slouched wearily. “And there’s a knothole in the dog’s eye. You stuck your finger through the knothole, undid a catch on the inside of the fence, and the boards swung open.” Jupiter was referring to Red Gate Rover, one of several secret entrances to the salvage yard that the boys had devised. “You deduced right this time,” said Allie. “I watched you guys open that gate at least a dozen times last summer. And I didn’t have to be an Einstein to figure out that you had some kind of secret hideout back here.” “Go ahead, Allie,” said Pete. “Rub it in. How did you get in here?” Allie went on with obvious delight. “You guys aren’t as smart as you think! There’s a sign that says ‘Office’ on top of a pile of junk right inside that gate. But the arrow on the sign doesn’t point to the junkyard office. So I figured it must point to your detective headquarters. And I was right! I just followed the arrow through the junk . and ended up in front of that sliding panel.” Allie pointed to a panel at the back of the trailer. “That’s darn good detective work, if I do say so myself,” said Allie. “We must put a lock on that panel,” said Jupe. “Yeah, and take down that sign!” added Pete. “Don’t bother,” snapped Allie. “I am leaving tomorrow, and I don’t care about your silly secrets anyway.” She gave a saucy toss of her head. “Besides, I’ve got better things to do.” “Such as what?” demanded Pete. Allie leaned forward intently. “I’ve got a case of my own,” she said. “I’m going to investigate like you guys, and I’m going to keep my Uncle Harry from having the wool pulled over his eyes.” “Oh?” said Jupe. “Is your Uncle Harry incapable of taking care of himself?” Allie’s face was serious. “My Uncle Harry is Harrison Osborne, and he’s no dope,” she 4 | P a g e told them. “He made a couple of fortunes in the stock market before he retired and bought that Christmas tree ranch in New Mexico. But when it comes to people, he can really be dumb! ” “And you’re smarter?” Pete laughed. “I can spot a phony when I see one,” said Allie. “The place my uncle bought once belonged to a mining company. There’s a mine on it — Death Trap Mine.” “That’s a great name,” jeered Pete. “What was in the mine? Dinosaur bones?” “Silver,” said Allie. “The mine’s dead now. The silver’s all gone. It’s called Death Trap Mine because a woman once wandered in there and fell down a shaft and was killed. Some of the old-timers in Twin Lakes — that’s the town where Uncle Harry’s got his place — they say the woman’s ghost still haunts the mine. Of course, I don’t believe a word of that. But there is a spook around. He’s the guy who bought the mine and a hunk of land around it from my uncle.” An angry spot of colour showed on Allie’s tanned face. “He’s up to something,” she said. “He’s playing some kind of part. He was born in Twin Lakes, see?” “Is that a crime?” asked Bob, puzzled. “No. But there’s something funny about a guy who’s born in a town and who leaves when he’s practically a baby and then, years and years later, he comes back a millionaire and puts on this big act about how he’s so glad to be home.