Part 9 (1/2)
”They're here at my invitation, Eastland,” said Jim Hall. ”They've a job to do for me here. Now, is anything else bothering you?”
Eastland glowered. His chest rose and fell quickly. ”Just make sure your animals don't get loose again, or you'll be sorry!”
Head down, he stamped away.
As the station wagon roared off, Jupe looked after it, puzzled. ”That man certainly doesn't act like a movie producer, Pete. He acts - well - very unstable!”
Pete smiled. ”He's what they call a 'quickie' producer in the trade, Jupe. They're hustlers, only interested in grinding out something fast and getting their money back even faster. If you ask me, Mr. Eastland has money problems. So what he does is holler and bully and bl.u.s.ter.”
”Speaking of noise,” said Jupe, ”we haven't heard the metal shredder for a while.
Let's go back to the fence. I want to have another look round down there before we leave.”
”I'd go with you, Jupe, but I've a lot of ch.o.r.es to do around here yet,” Mike said.
”I'll have to say good night.”
Jupe glanced at his watch. ”We'll have a quick look. And we'll try to come back tomorrow to continue our investigation.”
With that, the stocky boy headed away from the house into the darkness. Pete and Bob shrugged and slowly followed.
”Here goes,” Bob said. ”We're off to test the sound barrier again. Remind me next time to bring along earm.u.f.fs.”
”Remind me next time to stay home,” Pete said. ”I've had enough excitement tonight with that gorilla chasing us.”
They walked down the slope and soon caught up with Jupiter. He was crouching behind a tree near the bottom.
”What-” began Pete, stopping when Jupe held up his hand.
Putting his finger to his lips, Jupe motioned them towards him. Quietly they stooped and scuttled over.
The metal shredder was quiet, but something else wasn't. They heard a dull thud, then a clanking noise. Then a crackling sound.
”In the salvage yard,” Jupe whispered. ”There's a man there. Tell me if he looks familiar.”
Pete and Bob peered intently through the fence into the moonlit yard. Suddenly there was a flare as a man struck a match and held it to a cigarette. His sharp features were clearly seen.
”Hatchet-Face!” Pete whispered. ”The man who came to the junkyard!”
”That's him, all right,” Bob whispered. ”He said his name was Olsen, didn't he?
What's he doing here?”
”Listen,” Jupe said.
They heard a crackling, sputtering sound.
The hatchet-faced man hunched over. Something dark glittered in his hand. His lips moved.
Again there was the sputtering sound.
”Walkie-talkie,” Jupe said. ”Hatchet-face is transmitting!”
Chapter 14.
Pursued!
”COME ON,” said Jupiter, ”I want to hear this.”
He pointed diagonally ahead to a clump of eucalyptus trees right by the fence.
Their low-hanging branches would give good cover if the boys could get under them un.o.bserved. Cautiously Jupiter wriggled forward, practically on his stomach. Pete and Bob slithered after him. Soon they were safely under the trees, enveloped by darkness and the oily, medicinal smell of the eucalyptus leaves. The boys peered out and found themselves staring at Olsen barely twenty feet away.
A metallic sputter came from Olsen's walkie-talkie. He bent to speak into it, and this time the boys could hear him clearly.
”Come on over this way,” Hatchet-Face ordered.
His walkie-talkie crackled. ”Okay,” came the answer.
A dark figure was making his way slowly across the huge, disorderly pile of sc.r.a.p.
He held a walkie-talkie, too, with its long antenna extended.
The hatchet-faced man spoke. ”Any luck yet, Dobbsie?”
The other shook his head as he slowly advanced, peering closely at the sc.r.a.p metal under his feet. ”Not a thing,” he said, his voice filtering through Olsen's walkie-talkie.
”Stay with it,” Hatchet-Face said. ”It could be buried.”
Olsen stooped and tossed an old mudguard aside. It fell with a dull clank. He repeated the action with a b.u.mper and a radiator grill, scrutinised the area closely, and shook his head.
The other man drew closer, also lifting and discarding objects in his path. At last he came close enough to join Olsen. He was dressed like Olsen, in a dark business suit.
Both men pushed down their walkie-talkie antennas. ”It's like looking for a needle in a haystack,” the other man complained wearily.
”I know,” Hatchet-Face said. ”But we can't take the risk of losing it now. It's too big a haul to let get away.”
”What about the other place?”
”The junkyard? Probably clean, but we'll have to keep an eye on it. The fat kid may be wise to something. We'll get back to him later.”
Jupe and his companions exchanged glances. He was the only fat kid they knew of connected with a junkyard. Jupe swallowed. He didn't like being called fat. And he liked even less the threat in Olsen's last words.
The other grinned. His face was square and pale, centred by a flat, mashed nose under little beady eyes. ”What about the two new ones Hall just got in? Shouldn't we go for those?”
Olsen shook his head. He reached into his pocket for a sc.r.a.p of paper and looked closely at it. ”Not yet. It would be too risky and our birds might fly away.” He tapped the paper. ”The information we got from Dora's alarm spells it out for us. DOX ROX NOX EX REX BOX. Six X's. It could be the cable code or else they're talking about six hundred K's. That's about half a million dollars, Dobbsie - not bad, at all. That's a lot of rocks.”