Part 5 (1/2)

”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.