The Mystery of the Laughing Shadow

“So you two think that whoever called for help also threw this statuette over the wall,” Jupiter said. “Then the two men you heard caught him and came out to find the statuette.”
“Sure, Jupe,” Bob said.
“However, the call for help and the statuette aren’t necessarily connected,” Jupiter pointed out. “You’re only making an assumption without actual proof.”
Pete protested. “Gosh, Jupiter, it’s okay to be careful investigators, but what more do you want? We heard the cry, the statuette was thrown over the wall, those two men came after it, and one of them called the other ‘boss’! It sure sounds like some kind of gang to me.”
“Perhaps, Pete, but you still saw and heard nothing that actually connected the statuette with the cry for help,” Jupiter insisted.
“What about that weird shadow?” Bob said quickly. “I never saw any man who looked like that shadow or laughed that way.”
“Can you fellows describe the laugh?”
“It was high like a kid,” Pete said,
“No, it was sort of like a woman,” Bob corrected.
“It wasn’t any woman. It was crazy.”
“Hysterical and scared.”
“A real mean laugh, nasty.”
“Sort of sad, I’d say. Maybe an old man.”
Jupiter listened to his fellow investigators with a puzzled expression. “Are you sure you both heard the same laugh?”
“Sure we did,” Pete said lamely, “but I guess we didn’t hear it the same.”
“Yet you both heard it clearly, and very close.” The First Investigator sighed. “I guess I’ll have to hear it for myself to know what it sounded like. Are you both at least sure you heard a call for help?”
“We’re sure!” Bob and Pete said in unison.
Jupiter’s round face was deep in thought. “From where you say you were, and your description of the wall and gate, I’d say you must have been outside the old Sandow Estate.”
Bob snapped his fingers. “Of course! The old Spanish Land Grant. More than five thousand acres!”
“It’s mostly mountains, but old Miss Sandow’s father had herds of cattle there a long time ago,” Jupiter added.
“Don’t they have cattle now?” Pete asked.
Bob shook his head. “No, Pete. I remember reading about the Sandows and their estate when I was doing some research in the library. Old Miss Sandow’s father was the last one who actually worked the estate. When he died, only Miss Sandow was left, and she became a kind of hermit. My dad says she’s what they call land-poor, which means she has more land than money. She lives alone out there except for a maid and a day-gardener. No one ever sees her.”
Bob was the Research and Records man of the Three Investigators, and his facts were always correct about something he had looked up. Jupiter’s face took a serious expression.
“Which means that what you saw and heard to-night, fellows, is quite strange. What were those men doing on the Sandow Estate, and where did this statuette come from?”
“Maybe a gang was stealing from Miss Sandow,” Pete said.
“But she doesn’t have any money,” Bob pointed out.
“Perhaps the estate has nothing to do with what you heard. The men might have just happened to be there,” Jupiter suggested. “A little statuette like this would hardly be worth the time of any gang.”
The First Investigator turned the tiny gold man over and over in his hands, staring at it as if the miniature man would somehow tell him what the boys wanted to know. Suddenly, he bent over the statuette, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
“What is it, First?” Bob said.
Jupiter was, examining the statuette closely. His fingers began to push and pick at the bottom of the small figure. He pressed the statuette and twisted it and uttered a cry of triumph as the bottom of the figure flew open. Something fell to the floor.
“A secret compartment!” Pete cried.
Jupiter retrieved the small piece of paper that had fallen out of the statuette. He spread it out on the desk of the office, and Bob and Pete crowded round to examine it. Jupiter stared at the slip of paper and groaned.
“Is it a message, Jupe?” Bob asked.
The First Investigator bit his lip in frustration. “I don’t know. It looks like writing all right, but I can’t read it. It’s in some foreign language!”
Pete and Bob stared at the ragged piece of paper.
“It isn’t any language I’ve ever seen before, either,” Jupiter added glumly.
The boys fell silent in disappointment. Bob and Pete both knew that Jupiter had some knowledge of several major languages and spoke three. If he didn’t recognize the writing, what could it be? Then Bob stared more closely at the paper.
“Fe-fellows,” he stammered, “that’s not written in ink! It’s blood!”
Jupiter examined the strange writing again, while Pete brushed uneasily at his hair.
“Bob’s right,” Jupiter said at last. “It is written in blood. That must mean that whoever wrote it had to do it in secret without any pen or pencil.”
“He must be a prisoner,” Bob decided.
“Or maybe someone who wants to break away from the gang,” Pete added.
“It could be many things,” Jupiter agreed, “which makes me think this is a job for The Three Investigators. The first thing we have to do is find someone to read the message.”
“Who?”
“Well, we know one man who knows a lot about strange languages, and strange people,” Jupiter decided.
“Alfred Hitchcock!” Pete said.
“Exactly,” Jupiter declared. “It’s too late tonight, but tomorrow we will call on Mr. Hitchcock and show him this message.”
 
3
Attacked!
The next morning, the instant they had finished breakfast, Pete and Bob hurried to the salvage yard. Jupiter was already waiting there with Worthington and the gold-plated Rolls-Royce the boys had originally won the use of in a contest solved by Jupiter.
“We’ll go to Mr. Hitchcock’s studio first, Worthington,” Jupiter instructed as the boys clambered into the big car.
“Very good, Master Jones,” Worthington acknowledged. Despite their now firm friendship, the elegant chauffeur insisted on being properly correct at all times.
The boys had learned that it was never easy to get into the studio to see the famous director, so they always used the Rolls-Royce when they went to call on Mr. Hitchcock. The car was now at their permanent disposal, thanks to the financial aid of a grateful client who might not have received his rightful inheritance without the help of the Investigators. Because of their impressive car, they were passed quickly through the gates of World Studios.
“Well, my young friends, what strange events bring you to me this time?” the famous director asked from behind his mammoth desk in his private office.
The boys eagerly explained the events of the night before and described their discovery of the message inside the tiny statuette. Mr. Hitchcock listened impassively until Jupiter reached the part about the gold statuette and laid it on the director’s desk.
Mr. Hitchcock’s eyes sparkled as he studied the jewel-like grinning little man. “It is indeed very old, boys, as Jupiter surmised. And it is an amulet of American Indian craftsmanship without a doubt. I happened to learn a good bit about Indian crafts while filming one of our suspense stories for television. I would say that this amulet is definitely the work of our local Chumash Indians. We had one quite like it for our story.”
“What’s an amulet, sir?” Pete inquired.
“A magic charm, my boy, usually worn on a cord round the neck to ward off evil spirits or bring good fortune,” Mr. Hitchcock explained. “That is the reason for the metal loop at the head of the figure. The Chumash had many different kinds of such amulets.”
“Gee,” Pete said, “I didn’t know we ever had Indians round Rocky Beach.”
“Sure we did, Pete,” said Bob. “I’ve read all about the Chumash. They were a small, peaceful tribe. They lived right on the coast here and later worked for the Spanish settlers.”